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MAX
As far as not-so-gracioushosts go, I have no complaints so far about Bricker Soldano. The whole Esposito Family seems decent enough, in fact, and no one’s tried to kill me. The one or two unfriendlies in Bricker’s crew are made up for by the rest of them. Honeybee, in particular, came over several times today to ask if I wanted coffee or anything else. And Rook and Giddy were smart, learning fast when I showed them something new.
But there’s one thing about this whole situation that sticks in my craw.
I sit on the bed and consider my options. There’s a camera in here, of course, and I bet Bricker has night vision on it, too, so turning off the light won’t do anything.
Opposite from where I’m sitting on the bed is an attached half-bathroom. That’s my best shot.
I bend over to untie my shoelaces, then stand and stretch like I’m tired. Doesn’t take much acting; my back aches from spending so much of the day bent over those electronics. Then I go into the bathroom and close and lock the door.
I take a moment to turn on the shower, and then I have a look around the room, in the medicine cabinet, behind the toilet tank, stare hard into the vents, the exhaust fan, even let my fingers slide over the tiles, checking for uniformity.
As far as I can tell, there are no cameras or bugs in here.
Good to know Bricker’s not some deviant.
I’m a cautious man by nature, but I also know when to take risks. I’m as safe as I can be, so I slide the small radio out from where I stashed it in my sock back at the Lair, the clunkiness of it around my ankle having bothered me for the past few hours. I peel off my socks entirely and shake out the smaller electronic parts hidden within them, then take out the small wire cutters I palmed in those last moments when I wiped down the bench one last time.
And I begin assembling a comms device to contact the Castellani Family.
I have the pressure of time against me. I have a few minutes for my “shower,” and I’ll have to thrust my head under the water at least to make the alibi believable. Maybe another few minutes for teeth—but minus the time I took looking around in here for a camera.
Ten more minutes. Andthat’sstretching it.
Focus. I shove any distracting thoughts away as I fiddle with the radio parts. But as much as I narrow my mind, one particular distraction refuses to leave it.
Bricker Soldano.
My rocky history with his father aside, Bricker is an interesting guy.
And an attractive one. That smile and his surprisingly pretty eyes…the way he swaggers around… I grin to myself. Cocky.
But I don’t mind cocky.
Focus.
My hands work their magic, but when I turn the radio on, I have another problem: lack of range. Damn it. Well, tomorrow’s another day.
With a sigh, I pack up the half-assembled device, stand on the closed toilet seat, and stow my handiwork in the exhaust fan, in lieu of any other hiding place.
Then I wet my hair quickly and head back into the bedroom.
I don’t like subterfuge much, but in this case it’s justified. The Boss won’t be happy if he doesn’t hear from me, and as for Bricker…
Well, just like my work with his father, what Bricker doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
* * *
I’m woken the next morning by the click of the lock opening, and I jolt awake. But the door stays shut, and all I hear is Bricker shouting, “Morning, sunshine,” as he heads downstairs, judging by his footsteps. “Dress down a little today, yeah?”
I shower fast and dress in jeans and a button-down, and then I meet him downstairs. He’s whistling and cheerful and it smells like bacon is on the menu again this morning. I’m not complaining.
“You’re a quiet guy, Pedretti,” Bricker observes after sliding me a plate of bacon and toast.
“And you’re a bacon lover,” I tell him. “You ever eat anything a little less carcinogenic?”
“Now why would I want to do that?” he asks, picking up a crispy rasher from my plate and biting into it with a grin. “Go on, eat up,” he adds as he chews. “You can have something green at lunch if you like.”
