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“Quick.”
The man croaks just before Rocco’s boot lands against his kidney. The man howls again, and I roll my eyes. I don’t doubt it hurts, but for fuck’s sake. Really? It wasn’t nearly as bad as it could be. As bad as it will be.
“Then you tell me what I need, Giacomo.”
I see the shock on his face as he registers that I know exactly who he is. Edoardo’s nephew. He stares up at me, and I know the moment he realizes who I am. People consider me the pretty one in the family. But all the men look enough alike that there’s no doubt we’re related. He met Luca, so he knows I must be his brother.
“Clock’s ticking, Giaco.”
“What? I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”
“Oh, I think you do.”
I fire directly at his left kneecap. Now his cries of pain are real.
“You chose the slow and painful.”
“I’ll tell you.”
I shoot his right femur. If I let him live — which I won’t — he’d never walk again. Between the two injuries, he’d be wheelchair bound for life. I knew it would only take a few broken bones to make him crack.
“Edoardo wants to make a move in NOLA. He knows the only way he can afford to do that is to build his business between here and Kansas City. He wants to take over the meth market.”
“So, he’s trading these kilos of coke to the Grassos for their meth.”
It’s what we suspected, and what Carmine’s investigating. But even before the guy responds I know it’s the truth. There’s not a chance in hell we’re letting them get a port city like New Orleans.
“Yeah. They have a deal where the don trades twice as much coke for meth for the next two months. Then they call it even, and the don can take over the production in Missouri.”
That sounds like the dumbest deal I’ve heard in ages. Once upon a time, Missouri was the leading producer, but they’ve lost the title to Indiana. Woe is them. A kilo of this coke will go for twenty-two K. A kilo is about two times as heavy as a pound. So, it’s basically eleven K per pound.
Meth in Missouri goes for about twelve K per pound. The thing is, cocaine is one of the most valuable illicit drugs in the world. Meth is for junkies and street hustles. The upsell on coke is way higher than meth. The street value for one of these kilos once packaged into eight-balls could be upwards of thirty grand. The meth value isn’t going up. Giving up two months revenue to take over the meth production doesn’t make it a long-term gain. There has to be another reason.
“Who’s Edoardo selling the meth to?”
“I don’t know.”
I shoot near his head, careful not to hit him but close enough to make him piss himself.
“I think you do.”
I fire my gun again. This time the bullet lands in the dirt between his legs. I think he’s about ready to shit himself.
“It’s Tony. He wants to take it on. He thinks there’s more to be made in meth. He thinks they can make the profit through the quantity sold rather than the price it’s sold at. I don’t know whether that’s true, but he insists meth is more popular than coke since it’s not the eighties anymore.”
Edoardo’s son-in-law isn’t wrong. Coke’s popularity has waned, but that’s in the U.S. It’s still more profitable in other parts of the world. Hell, with pot now being legal in so many places, even that would be a better deal. But this is shortsighted.
“Where’s the handoff?”
“I—”
“If you say I don’t know, I’ll beat the shit out of you.”
“Aren’t you already doing that?”
My shoe rams into his junk.
“I am now.” I kick him in the other kidney as he rolls onto his side again. “Where’s the fucking handoff?”
