Step Bride: A Bad Boy Mob Roman(36)

After all, he started it.

I stood up and walked over to the phone. I ordered some orange juice and a bagel.

I figured if I was going to get myself off again, I at least needed my energy.





Chapter Eighteen: Lucas





We spent the day planning.

Vince and I went around town, pulling in favors, dropping wads of cash, and basically bugging every single cop that we had on the payroll.

As far as a plan went, it was pretty simple. It came together a little faster than I was normally comfortable with, but I knew that speed was key here. We had to understand what had happened with the shipment, and we needed to find that rat as soon as humanly possible.

I was putting a lot on the line trusting Vasili. If we checked this truck and there was nothing but the shipment in there, no clues or any shit like that, then my credibility might be questioned. Granted, I’d have to hunt down Vasili and take the rest of his fingers, and he knew that.

Sometimes, being a violent, dangerous motherfucker had its perks. People tended not to lie to me, because it hadn’t worked so well for others in the past.

Still, it was always a risk trusting a gutter fuck like Vasili. But I didn’t have any other choice.

Losing that shipment was probably the biggest blow our family had taken in a long time. I knew my father mainly blamed me, though it was clear that something completely outside the realm of my control had happened.

Still, it was my responsibility to fix that shit.

And so I found myself standing with Vince a block away from the police compound lockup at three in the morning.

“Think he’ll show?” Vince asked.

“Fucker better,” I grumbled. “I’m tired and we dropped a lot of cash on this.”

Vince chuckled. “Who’s money, anyway?”

“My own personal stash.”

“You got that kind of dough lying around?” He whistled.

“I bury it in the backyard.”

He laughed and I just shrugged. I sipped my coffee. He didn’t need to know that I wasn’t kidding.

Ten more minutes of standing around, shooting the shit before we heard steps approaching. Vince’s hand twitched toward his gun, and I just nodded at him.

The guy rounded the corner. He was tall and thin, almost like a giant stick. His dark skin almost blended in with his dark blue cop uniform.

“You the guys?” he asked as he stopped in front of us.

Vince nodded. “Are you Sanders?”

“Yeah, man,” he said. “You got my money?”

I tossed him a small package. He caught it and quickly opened it, checking.

“It’s all there,” I said, a little annoyed.

“Hey, man, you can’t blame me for checking. I ain’t never dealt with you people before.”

“We just want to look around. No trouble.”

He shrugged. “Frankly, man, I don’t give a fuck what you guys do in there. Just be in and out in ten minutes and we’re good.”

He began to walk back toward the compound and we followed him. Vince gave me a bemused look, and I just grinned at him.

We walked past the main entrance. Our friend Sanders glanced inside but kept moving. The guy sitting behind the desk looked like he was asleep.

We turned a corner and went down a narrow alley. Halfway down, we stopped in front of a side door that had been propped open with a brick. “In here,” Sanders said.

We went inside. “Convenient,” Vince muttered.

“Can’t go through the front with you two gangster-looking mother fuckers,” Sanders said.

I laughed. I liked him.

We moved through a series of short hallways.

“If anyone asks,” Sanders said, “you just filed an ER-3481-C report, and I’m taking you to get your shit.”

“What?” Vince asked.

Sanders just kept moving head.

We came up to a long hallway. Ahead of us was a large garage door. We stopped in front of it, and Sanders ran his I.D. badge through a small scanner.

The door began to open.

“Ten minutes,” he said. “I’ll open it again in ten. If you ain’t here, it’ll close on its own and I ain’t opening it again. Got it?”

“Ten minutes,” I said.

“Good luck.” He turned and walked away.

Vince grinned at me. “Let’s do it.”

The door finished opening up into the outside portion of the lockup. The building was a simple square, with the center courtyard set up to act as the outdoor storage for vehicles. They kept smaller, more sensitive things inside.

The courtyard was packed with cars. We picked our way through, having to climb over a hood once or twice.

“How the fuck did they even get this shit in here?” Vince asked.

“Must be an outside entrance,” I said.

Soon enough we made it to the other side. Sitting there in front of a large garage door that likely led to the street was the truck itself.