Page 44 of The Picasso Heist

MALCOLM HADN’T LEARNED all the wolves’ names yet. Not that he really needed to call anyone by name. Almost everything they wanted to communicate could be accomplished with a simple nod or a finger point.

Including which Panda would get the first beating. That was easy.

The first kid dumb enough to deny the wolves’ accusation.

“Whoa, I think there’s been some kind of mistake,” said the tall, lanky one wearing flip-flops and a purple NYU T-shirt.

With his palms raised, he stepped forward near the staircase on the first floor of the brownstone, doing his best to sound calm and convincing despite clearly being scared as shit.

Malcolm watched from the back of the pack as one of Lugieri’s men nodded to another; he immediately stepped forward and punched the kid in the gut so hard that he puked even before he keeled over, his just-eaten SpaghettiOs shooting out of him like a firehose.

Red sauce splattered everywhere, including on the shoes of one of Lugieri’s other men.

He didn’t wait for any nod or finger point before he compressed his anger into a balled fist and delivered a vicious uppercut to the puking Panda and then to a kid who had come to his aid.

Both of them were now on the floor, blood gushing from their noses.

Did anyone else want to deny they were skimming money?

The question hung in the air for barely a second before a scream came out of nowhere and a kid appeared, the knife in his hand held high. None of Lugieri’s men had time to react.

Malcolm didn’t either, and yet his legs still moved, his arm still swung, the instincts kicking in like a mule, courtesy of living every day in a war zone halfway across the planet where death was always lurking over your shoulder.

Before any of the crew could reach for a gun, Malcolm had sprung forward and grabbed the kid’s wrist; the tip of the knife was only inches away from ensuring that everything was truly, horribly, irrevocably about to go sideways.

With a twist and a pull, all in a blur, Malcolm knocked the knife to the ground, put the kid in a headlock, and jammed the barrel of his Beretta against the kid’s temple, ready to blow his brains out.

“I’m only going to ask this once, and you’ve got three seconds to answer,” said Malcolm calmly. “Yes or no: Are you boys skimming?”

Maybe it was the shock, or maybe it was fear of the unknown.

If they confessed, came clean, would they all be killed?

Malcolm could see it in their faces. The anguish.

The torment. Not a single kid understood that this stranger in their house, the guy who didn’t look at all like the other men, was doing them the biggest favor of their lives.

Malcolm had reacted when no one else could. In the blink of an eye, he’d moved from the back of the pack to front and center. He was no longer the new guy. Among Lugieri’s men, right here and now, he was the wolf in charge.

“One,” said Malcolm.

The kids shifted back and forth on their feet, a wave of panic crashing over them. They were desperately looking at one another, asking with their wide eyes what to do.

“Two,” said Malcolm. For Christ’s sake, he thought. Someone better speak the hell up. I can’t help you if no one speaks up.

Malcolm had no intention of killing the kid or anyone else. But if he got to three and didn’t shoot, he’d no longer be in charge. If he didn’t pull the trigger, one of Lugieri’s men surely would.

There was only one more thing he could do before getting to three. A version of “two and a half.” Malcolm cocked the hammer on his Beretta; the loud, metallic click pierced the silence.

“Yes!” came a voice. One of the kids stepped forward. “Yes!”

“Yes what?” asked Malcolm.

“Yes, we’ve been skimming,” he said.

“How much?” Malcolm watched as the kid hesitated. “And don’t make me ask twice.”

“About half a million.”

“Is it here?”

“Most of it.”

“Where?” asked Malcolm.

“A safe in the basement,” said the kid. “You can have it all.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Malcolm lowered the hammer on his Beretta. “On top of that, for the next six months, every penny you take in flows directly to Mr. Lugieri. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” the kid said.

“All of you say it.”

“Yes,” they all echoed.

Malcolm nodded at two of Lugieri’s men to go to the basement with the kid to get whatever money was in the safe. The two men nodded back, not thinking twice about taking orders from the new guy. Malcolm was the leader of the pack now.

He was a big bad wolf.