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Quietly, Pops asked, “How is she?”
My heart constricting from rage and pity, I kept my voice down, “That fucker is haunting her dreams.”
Exhaling smoke, Vice thumbed over his bulky shoulder and whispered, “I think these jokers are his.”
Underneath the only streetlamp in the parking lot sat a black Mercedes. It stood out like a neon sign compared to the chipping paint of the motel. We had chosen this should-be-condemned facility to stay under the radar but had somehow been tracked down.
“Same car Brass’ boys spotted?”
“Yup.”
Blowing smoke into the night, Dagger held up two fingers, informing me there were two men in their hotel room. He had been the man on watch when they arrived.
This is something that usually would flare my temper because I didn’t like to be tailed or have my space infringed upon. This time, however, with Elle as my Old Lady, trying to stay levelheaded continued to be a work in progress.
I quietly asked, “Definitely Italians? Not Mexicans?”
In answer, Dagger’s blue eye looked to the door behind me.
Fucking Italians.
I couldn’t wait to sink a blade into Lorenzo’s decrepit heart, then twist it until I felt it shred like he had done to Elle’s.
Fighting the urge to run across the parking lot and start slicing bodies in the dark, I took a long drag of my cigarette. After exhaling, and begging my ego for control, I said, “Vice, you gotta check her jewelry.”
As he nodded, his unruly dirty blond hair bounced. He stayed quiet while agreeing, “I was thinkin’ the same.”
With his long greying hair pulled back in a ponytail, Pops stared over his shoulder to the Italians’ motel room. “That fucker must’ve put a tracker in one of her gold charms or somethin’.”
Maliciously grinning because I was about to get my hands dirty, I stated, “Either way, we need to lose these assholes.”
Dagger evilly smirked and stroked his brown beard. “A damn shame we gotta release some pent-up aggression.”
Keeping his growl muffled, Pops stepped on his cigarette bud. “Hate to point out the obvious, but someone only gets to watch.”
Dagger, without any maturity, quickly put the tip of one of his fingers to his nose. “Nose-goes.”
Pops froze and stared at Dagger as if he had sprouted a horn. “What are you, twelve?”
Vice, not wanting to be noticed, slowly dropped his finger from his nose.
Pops still caught it. Shaking his head, he said, “A bunch of ol’ deadly morons—” then quickly put a finger to his nose and looked at me.
My jaw dropped before I heavily whispered, “No fucking way! I want in on the action.”
Pops, continuing to hold his finger to the tip of his nose, shrugged then pointed to my stomach with his other tattooed and ringed hand. “You still have a hole in your gut.”
Dagger’s brown hair swayed as his head bobbled to Pops—both with fingers still to their noses. “Prez does have a valid point.”
Trying not to be loud while laughing, I smacked his hand from his face. “You better open the curtains so I can at least watch.” Then I smacked my dad’s hand away. “Pops! Jesus. Have some self-respect. Someone could be watchin’ you actin’ like this.”
He gestured across the parking lot. “But it’s fine to open the curtains so they can watch me murder someone?”
“At least your rep won’t be in question.”
Pouting, Pops started across the parking lot with Dagger and Vice in tow. “I liked him better when he was a rebellious asshole.”
“Right?” agreed Dagger. “Fucking women and fixin’ men that ain’t broke.”
