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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

F rom the car, I call Carlo. Bring him up to speed about the ambush in the hospital.

I put him on speaker. He asks, “Are you okay? Are you both alright?”

“We’re both fine.”

Bruno says, “Sure. Never better.”

“You really are something.” then he adds, “Both of you, truth be told.”

I tell Carlo, “I got a phone and a wallet from one of the goons. I don’t know if they will do us any good but, could you meet us and take a look?”

“Of course.”

Bruno says, “The W isn’t too far. Let’s meet in the lobby.”

After I hang up, I put my hand on Bruno’s thigh.

“Woah, what’s this, car head?”

I laugh. “Maybe another time. In city traffic that could get us way too much attention.” The smile between us is secret and divine.

“No,” I tell him, “I just wanted to be sure that you’re really okay.”

He smiles back and I can feel it all the way through me.

His eyes swivel back to the road.

“I’m good.”

All the bright colors and dazzle patterns of the W lobby make my head spin. I hope we won’t be here too long. The seating is mostly on little cylinders with no backs like tom-tom drums, or on a snaking bench that’s way too deep for comfort. A few big swivel chairs in vibrant cyan look like they wandered in from an M&Ms convention.

The green tea is a revelation, though.

It’s a thrill, watching Carlo’s quick, sharp eyes and his cool fast fingers. The only thing sexier is the arrogance of certainty in his voice when he delivers the verdict. He spent all of ten minutes with the phone, then less than five minutes with the contents of the wallet.

“What I get for certain is that this guy is a pro. Nothing on the phone gives anything away. There are messages, but they’re all from dead numbers. Most likely burners. All the phone’s location data wipes itself about every half hour. That’s pretty neat, actually. I’m going to poach their code and do something even better for us. Assuming we’re still in business long enough. The wallet? It’s full of ghost plastic and photos that are probably AI. Got to say, it’s a slick operation.”

Bruno looks as impressed as I am.

I ask, “Can we learn anything from that?”

Carlo’s shrewd eyes lock onto mine. “Whoever this guy is, all I can tell is that he’s so much in the Life, he’s most likely been in it since he was wearing diapers.”

Bruno says, “Could he be Don Romano’s crew?”

Carlo shrugs. “Could be anyone’s crew. Anyone’s except ours. That’s all I can really say.”

I ask, “Might he be a freelance?”

“He could, but this wallet really feels like it’s been carried and handled a long time. Could be faked, but I doubt it.”

I ask him, “So? Why would that not make him a privateer?”

“If he was, then he would more likely have a kit like this for each location. Maybe every job. If they were all this well-worn, well, it would take a lot of doing for a guy who was most likely about a week in any given place.”

“So, we’re no further forward.”

“Not really.” Carlo says, “But, If it’s not Don Romano, who else could it be?

I agree.

Bruno says, “Don Pucci is the only other name around here with these kinds of resources. It’s not like he wouldn’t think of mounting a takeover or whatever all this insanity is, but the way it’s done, it’s all too crude. If Don Pucci wanted to take us over, we would just wake up one morning and find it done. He would be smooth, silent, and fast.”

Carlo says, “I’m thinking the same thing. And there’s been too much of it. Too much force, manpower, co-ordination and precision for it to be anyone from outside. I don’t even think one of the government alphabetti spaghetti agencies would come in cold and pull all of this off. Not without leaving big smoking clues everywhere. No, it has to be Don Romano.”

Carlo is thoughtful for a moment, while he takes a few pulls on his beer. “Okay, here’s the thing. Whoever it is? They’re down four hefty goons, as of today. So, their options for putting out muscle are narrowed.”

I say, “Meaning?”

“Because we pulled back from trying to protect our own businesses, we have a lot of spare manpower. We could put them watching Don Romano’s people.”

I want to sit back. I hate these stupid button seats. I want to move to a swivel chair but they look so conspicuous, I’m not even comfortable being near them.

Bruno’s eyes gleam. “We know the places Don Romano’s bully boys usually hang out, so when they swing into action, there’s a fair chance that we’ll have advance warning.”

Carlo says, “We may be able to track them. Anticipate what their moves are going to be.”

I look at them both. “That gives me an idea.”