It’s a rainy, ugly night, and visibility’s not great.
Any other job, and I would’ve called it by now. This kind of weather is a real risk.
But this is too important to pass up.
The information came to me at Vito’s funeral. It was actually a little comical—the old pimp would’ve fucking loved it.
A dozen girls showed up, all of them dressed entirely inappropriately, wailing and prostrating themselves in front of his casket, making a real fucking racket. I thought it was disrespectful at first, at least until one of the older madams came to speak with me in the back.
“He hired us,” she explained with a wry grin. “Paid in full a few years ago for this service.”
“No fucking kidding?” At the time, I was totally taken aback, but now I get it. Vito’s always been a showman at heart. He wanted to go out on his terms, and he sure as hell did.
But that wasn’t everything. That woman and I stood in the quiet of the back vestibule as the majority of the mourners moved off to the cemetery for the burial. She gave me a look, and the smile disappeared.
“One last piece of information for you,” she said, head cocked to the side. “Already paid for, so don’t worry about that. Call it a parting gift from Vito.”
Now, I’m staring at a casino on the outskirts of the city as rain hammers the windshield. Alexan’s by my side, quiet like always, but it’s not the silence of an anxious man.
We’ve gotten to know each other better in the weeks since Damian’s death. At first, I thought Alexan was too unpredictable, but now I know better. He’s a gifted hacker and a loyal bodyguard, and I’m beginning to trust him with my life.
I wish he could be back at the house with my wife, but I need him tonight.
A dozen highly paid guards plus a fortress of a house will have to suffice for a few hours.
But I check the cameras on my phone, just to be sure.
“Movement up front,” Alexan murmurs.
I force myself to stop watching the hallway back home and focus on the street. Two men are hurrying out, both of them exposed to the rain. They’re tall and broad, one stockier than the other. The thinner one tries to light a cigarette but can’t do it with all the rain. They’re arguing about something and slowly walking together toward the main road.
“That’s them,” I say, pushing open the door.
Alexan follows without a word.
I’m soaked after two steps. Drenched after five. But none of me cares at all. I pull the collar of my black leather jacket higher and grip the gun in the holster at my ribs. It’s right above my old wound, healing now.
The two men stop to bicker again, and they don’t notice me approaching in the downpour. I get close enough to hear some of what they’re saying.
“…doubled-down, you fucking asshole,” the stocky one’s yelling. “It’s your fault we lost his fucking cash.”
“You think one double-down’s gonna save twenty fucking grand?” the other shouts back, baring his teeth.
I gesture with my head for Alexan to peel off. He slips into the line of cars to our right and disappears.
“He’s gonna fucking kill us!” the stocky man screams, waving his hands. “You know how fucking Seamus gets!”
“You don’t think I know that?” The skinny one tears at his hair. Rain drips off his face. It’s all very melodramatic.
“I might have a solution,” I say, drawing my gun.
Both men stare at me. Neither reacts at first. They look dumb, drugged, probably drunk, fucking wrecked from spending all day losing an obscene sum of cash.
The stocky man has enough time to open his mouth before I shoot him straight through the nose.
The bullet blasts his face into the consistency of a crushed orange. Blood sprays all over the sidewalk, drenching his friend. It’s runny and thin from the downpour. The stocky man’s corpse collapses in a heap at his friend’s feet.
“What the… what the fuck…” The skinny man staggers backward as I raise my gun toward him.
“Tim O’Malley,” I say, stalking closer. “You’re Tim O’Malley. You work for Seamus McGrath.”
“I mean, I’m, uh, who the fuck—” He doesn’t finish that sentence. I slam into him with my shoulder, knocking him to the ground, and shove the barrel of my gun into his mouth. He stares at me in total shock.
It takes a strong man to watch a friend get murdered in cold blood and still function afterward.
Tim O’Malley’s not fucking strong.
“Where is Seamus?” I snarl in his face.
He tries to speak, but it’s muffled by my gun. I grin and pull it back enough that he can cough and answer.
“I don’t know,” he says. I shove the gun back.
“I’m going to ask one more time. You know I’m hunting your boss. You’re not my first fucking stop. If you want to live, tell me where Seamus is.”
He makes another panicked noise. I pull the gun out again.
“He changes locations,” he says quickly, hands raised above his head. “That’s why I don’t know! I swear on my fucking mother’s life.”
“You shouldn’t do that,” I say, getting close to his face. “Not to a man like me. You think I won’t cut your poor mother’s wrinkly old throat? You think I won’t bleed your entire family dry to find Seamus? Tell me where he is.”
Tim’s quivering now. If he thinks I’m bluffing, he should really change his mind. I’d happily slaughter a thousand old ladies if it means catching Seamus and getting revenge for what he did to my wife.
“He’s got houses,” he moans. “A few of them. Down in the inner harbor.” His eyes go wide. “He’s obsessed with her, you know. Your wife. He talks about her all the time.”
“What did you say?” I snarl in his face, barely able to control myself.
“It’s fucking true! He’s sick for her! Always saying how she should be dead or something crazy. It’s not me, Tigran, it’s Seamus! He’s the one—” But then he stops talking. His eyes flit to the side, and something changes.
He grins broadly.
Oh, fuck.
I throw myself back. That saves my life. A shotgun explodes in the night, the muzzle flash like lightning. The pellets barely miss, scattering above me, close enough to feel hot against my skin. My shoulder and side slam to the pavement, and it fucking hurts. My ribs aren’t healed from the last goddamn time I got shot.
I roll, trying to come up for a shot on my attacker, but it’s too slow and awkward. I hear him rack another shot, and I’m fucked.
I’m caught out, and there’s no way I can escape in time.
Until Alexan appears in the pouring rain like a wraith from hell. He knocks the gun sideways as it goes off again, spraying shot ten feet to my left, then grabs the man’s hair and slices his throat straight across.
Blood pours from the open wound. He gurgles in panic, drops the shotgun, and slumps down to the ground in a boneless lump of flesh.
Tim tries to scramble away. He’s no dummy. His best chance at survival just got his throat slit, so he’s thinking he better make a run for it.
Unfortunately, I’m pissed, so I just shoot him in the back of the knee.
He drops with a scream of pain.
I take a second to give Alexan an appreciative nod. He shrugs back, wiping his knife off on the dead man’s clothes.
“Time to talk,” I tell Tim, kicking him sharply in the ruined leg.
He moans, rolling from side to side in agony. “Please, stop it,” he cries, blubbering like a fucking child.
I’m utterly disgusted by his weakness.
“How many houses?” I ask him. “What part of the inner harbor? Give me addresses.”
“I don’t know,” he says, sobbing and shaking. “Please, I need a doctor. Just call me an ambulance.”
Fuck it. I hold the gun up and shoot Tim right in the forehead. His skull cracks like an egg.
Pathetic. Died crying like a child.
He’s obsessed with her.
Anger rings through my body. It makes me sick thinking that Seamus is talking about my wife. What’s worse is Oisin said something similar when I killed him. He said Seamus is sick for the girl—and he was talking about my Dasha.
That crazy fuck isn’t going to stop until I put him down.
I shove my gun into my holster and join Alexan. Lucky for us, the rain’s falling even harder now. “A real monsoon,” I shout over the downpour. Blood’s sloughing off our clothes, washed away.
We get back in the car.
“What’d you learn?” he asks as I check my phone. No messages, no calls. The cameras look fine. Relief hits me, sweeter than killing my enemies.
“Seamus has safe houses. More than one, it seems. He’s shuffling between them and probably doesn’t stay in the same place twice. I bet he’s got some random pattern worked out.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Alexan says, frowning deeply. “That’ll make it hard to catch him.”
“He’s in the inner harbor. So we’re neighbors for all I know.” I put the car into gear. Over on the sidewalk, three corpses are getting waterlogged. He’s obsessed with her. “Don’t worry, this is a good thing. Now we know where to keep looking. We’ll just have to get more creative.”
I leave the dead behind.
Only the living and the soon-to-be-born matter to me now.
