42. Angelo

Chapter 42

Angelo

I drop Claudia off back home and text my mother to come check on her in a little while. She's emotionally raw, and my mother's usually pretty good about handling that sort of thing. Mom messages back promising to drop over shortly as I head back out into the city.

Davide and Emilio are waiting for me. They're sitting in Davide's truck outside of an old apartment complex in the north part of the city. It doesn't look all that different from the jail I just left, minus the barbed wire and fencing. The exterior's water-stained and crumbling, and the door's covered with graffiti and painted-over graffiti. Whoever's been trying to clean the place must've given up a while ago.

"You sure this is right?" I ask once we're standing together in the parking lot, shielded by a group of overgrown bushes and our trucks.

"It's definitely the place. I had my guys double check." Davide cocks his head toward the complex. "You still sure about this?"

I mull it over. Allegedly, one of the Serbian guys Ivona mentioned lives here. It feels wrong—the place is a fucking dump—but there's no reason she was lying.

"It's our best lead. We take this guy and we smoke Tommy out before he can make his move. That's the plan." I nod toward the building. "You know a way in?"

Emilio laughs and gestures in the air. "Yeah, straight through the front door. The locks don't work."

"Figures." I pull my gun and check the chamber. "You got more guys?"

"There are a few spread out around the perimeter." Davide goes through the same check as me and Emilio follows suit. "If it goes wrong, we call for an extraction."

"Works for me." I stuff the gun into my waistband where it'll be easy to draw. "We want him alive, alright? He's a bargaining chip."

"I'll do my best." Davide's smile is tight and unnerving. My older brother isn't really the take prisoners type.

I head in first. It's around midnight, and the building is silent. There are a fair number of cars in the lot, which makes me think most units are full, which might be a problem. The more people there are inside, the more ways this could go wrong.

At least Emilio is right, the door's push open without resistance. The downstairs interior is as depressing as the exterior. The walls are painted mauve, and the tile is chipped and stained in spots. The doorman's desk is vacant, and I wonder if anyone ever sits there. A bank of mailboxes covers one wall, and an elevator's on the left. We skip it and take the stairs.

The only sound is the echo of our boots on concrete. The guy's on the fourth floor, which isn't too far; we march up without speaking.

Most people might be nervous, but I don't feel that anymore. I've been through too much, and at this point I'm ready to handle whatever's going to happen.

My only hesitation is Claudia, she'd be really upset if I got killed tonight.

I reach the landing and stop outside of apartment 408. The door looks like all the others and the hallway is dead silent. A light flickers at the far end. I gesture at Davide and he nods, taking point, preparing to kick right above the handle, underneath the lock.

I draw my gun. Emilio does the same. We share a moment of silence before Davide nods, winds up, and smashes his boot into the frame.

The door buckles. The sound is nuclear and resonates along the concrete walls. He does it a second time and wood splinters as the lock cracks and the door slams open with a massive bang.

I'm in first, gun raised. The apartment's dark and I hit the first light I find. The living room is messy and cluttered with empty bottles on the coffee table. A big flatscreen hangs above a beat-up entertainment center. Crappy speakers flank a window on the left and an ancient turntable is covered in ashtrays and half-smoked cigarettes. The place smells like stale liquor and nicotine.

Kitchen is clear. Closets are empty. I hurry down the hall, check the first room, and find only a carpeted space with an exercise bike, a bench press, and a bunch of random weights. I turn to the next door, throw it open, and find a bed, some blankets, and a body.

The guy's reaching into a drawer. I can guess what he's about to pull and I don't give him a chance to bring it around. Instead, I squeeze off a shot, and the bang's like a tornado tossing lawn furniture against a steel wall. It hits true though and the guy screams in pain as he curls around his leg, and a pistol clatters from his fingers down onto the floor.

I'm on top of him in half a second, the barrel of my gun pressed against his cheek, a knee slammed into his gut. He's bleeding from a wound in his thigh, but not bad enough to be an immediate threat. "Move and you die," I whisper. "Anyone else here?"

He rattles something at me in Serbian and I don't think it's very kind. I smash him in the face with my gun and repeat the question.

"Alone," he groans. "Alone, alone."

Davide lurks behind me. "It's clear," he murmurs. "We should move. Emilio's in the hall waiting."

"You're Bianco." The guy's staring between us. He's got bad teeth and yellowing eyes and his hair is cut in a rough buzz. I'm guessing meth, maybe something harder. "I know you from the club."

"Then you know that you're going to die if you don't do exactly what I say."

"Please, I'm already dying. I need a hospital."

"Not yet." I start to drag him from the bed, but he's not being much help, the fucking prick. Instead, he's moaning in pain and talking in Serbian. "Move your fucking ass."

"I can't walk. Please, please, stop it, take what you want, just stop."

"Angelo," Davide says, sounding impatient. "Carry the asshole."

"You know Tommy." I shove my gun harder against the Serbian's cheek. "Answer if you understand."

"Yes, I know him. I know him!"

"You work with him."

"I work for guys who work with him." He moans again. "Please, please." Then he babbles in Serbian.

I slap him lightly. "Tommy's going somewhere. You're going to help lure him out. You and your fucking bosses."

"Tommy? Tommy? He's leaving the day after tomorrow. There's a flight—my cousin is going to drive him there—it's this whole plan. They have a truck. Please, it's the day after tomorrow."

I glance back at Davide. He doesn't give me anything. Emilio's voice filters in through the hall. "Time to move, everyone. Neighbors are getting restless."

"Are you sure?" I hiss at the Serbian. "Tell me right now and I'll call an ambulance."

"I'm positive! I'm sure! My cousin told me the plan, but they cut me out of it."

Big surprise there. Ivona made it sound like she was handing over a big fish but now it's clear this guy's only some fucking pawn in the Serbian family. Either way, it doesn't matter—a new plan begins to form.

"Thank you for being so forthcoming," I tell him and pull the trigger.

My Serbian friend's brains splatter against the wall and his body slumps onto the bed.

"Time to go," Davide says.

I shove the gun away and follow him. Emilio's looking annoyed when we join him. "Too much noise," he says, nodding at the group of bystanders. It's a group of four older ladies in their nightclothes, chatting away.

"You can't just leave," one of them says. She's in all pink with a bonnet over her puffy white hair. "You boys can't just come in here and kick down doors. The police are on their way."

"If you're smart, you're going to forget that you ever saw us," Davide says very casually, and it sounds like he just threatened to cut off her head and use it like a soccer ball.

The lady shuts her mouth and steps back into her group.

We walk past. The steps go by twice as fast, and when we reach the bottom, there are already sirens in the distance. The night's cool and calm, and my truck engine starts right away.

I don't wait around to find out if the ladies of the apartment complex are going to be smart and keep their mouths shut.