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“T-that’s not necessary, Mr. Hendrix,” Bertie said. “Seriously, boss.”
“A man with focus,” I said and clapped his shoulder. “Irina, why don’t you and Minnie go keep each other company until I join you?”
Irina stood up, still holding her breasts, and kept her head held high as she walked by me. I slapped her ass as she walked by and she didn't so much as flinch.
“Any time you want to fuck her mouth, Bertie, you just let me know,” I said. “Or eat her pussy. I don’t mind sharing. Just can’t stick your dick in my rotation.”
“Sure. Thanks, sir,” Bertie said and hefted up his briefcase as we walked to the table.
“Drink?” Bertie nodded and I held up the bottle. “Kalaschnikow. Can’t get enough of the stuff, lately.”
“That from the Volksov acquisition?” Bertie asked with a grin.
I barked out a laugh. “Among other things. Damn, old Volksov’s taste in whores, booze, and drugs was top notch. We’re doing well, Bert.”
“We’ll be doing better once we get the Michaelsons off the streets – that way our drug trade won’t have to go around their fucking white-knighting,” Bertie said and accepted the shot. I sat, then he did, and we clinked glasses. “According to White’s sources, it’s enough to throw Ty Michaelson and his whole crew in jail for eternity.”
“Too bad Massachusetts doesn’t have the death penalty,” I sighed. “But it’s kind of satisfying to think of that prick rotting in a federal joint with his fucked-up uncle.” I laughed. “And maybe I’ll take his crazy cousin in as my pet monster. Michaelson was wrong for that one, but it was damn smart of him.”
Bertie frowned. “Cousin? I thought Luca Michaelson was overseas, laying low or something.”
I shook my head and put a finger to my lips. “Sorry, trade secret. Anyway, you said you were working on what we’d do when we shit on the Michaelsons?” I glanced at my watch. “Should be tonight. I gave White five days.”
“Yeah,” Bertie said and opened his briefcase, pulling out documents. “We’re going to create a ruckus in the media, release all the evidence online and then put pressure on our guys in the FBI and BPD. We may not even need to do the latter but it might speed things up.”
“We’ll need to,” I said. “We’ve got to take over the drug market as soon as possible.” I scowled. “I thought taking out the Russian would secure my position as Boss but my father refuses to hand over the family until I get more cash in our coffers.” I rolled my eyes. “My old man is fifty percent oxycodone, has one foot in hell, but still, he refuses to die.”
My jaw twitched. If I didn’t get this squared away, my father had threatened to do the last thing I wanted. He’d make me boss but Cole, my younger brother, would have fifty percent stake in all my shit.
The old man had to be high to fuck me over like that.
It didn’t matter if I was boss in name, a move like that would split the weight of the crown. We’d be a family with two bosses and in no way we’d survive.
Still, the old man’s word was law and I couldn’t risk a war within my own family — at least, not without the money from holding onto the whole drug market. I’d gotten close with taking over Volksov but the rumor was that the Michaelsons fed information to the Feds to fuck over anyone who moved narcotics. Now I had guys saying that the goddamn government paid them or someshit. If it was true, they were bigger bastards than I’d even given them credit for.
“Old Boss Hendrix has been sick for almost two years, hasn’t he?” Bertie asked.
I nodded. “Selfish prick won’t keel over. Might take the devil himself visiting Boston to get my old man to finally croak so I can take control of the family business.”
There was another knock and this time, I stood up, walking over to the door. I thought it might be Minnie, who was the most impatient hooker I’d ever met.
Instead, it was RickyfuckingGold. I shook my head. Son of Celt or not, I could never take this kid seriously – not when his uncle had fucked over half of Boston. Thank Christ I’d have the foresight not to trust Lou Goldin to even breathe on my money.
“Ricky,” I drawled and leaned against the door. “What the hell do you want?”
“White sent me,” Ricky said and swallowed hard as I gestured for him to come in, then held out my hand. “What?”
“The flash drive, you fuckwit,” I said with a laugh and then grabbed Ricky around the neck, ruffling his hair. “God, how the fuck did they let your dumb ass become a Son of Celt?”
When I let him go, Ricky shrugged and smoothed back his hair. “Sorry, Mr. Hendrix. I don’t have it.”
I stared at Ricky. “Repeat that.”
“I don’t have the flash drive. The hire failed to get the information.”
I heard someone laugh and a second later realized it had been me. “What? Did I not pay White enough money? Was it you, you fuckup?”
Ricky shook his head and something flickered in his eyes. While I believed that Ricky hadn’t been the hire, I was pretty sure he knew who had. But I’d save that for later.
