Chapter 3
By 4:00 a.m., the rain had become sleet.
It struck the corrugated roof of the South Side chop shop like handfuls of gravel.
Inside, the air carried motor oil, stale beer, and the metallic smell of fear.
Adrian stood in the center of the concrete floor.
He still wore the damp shirt from the hospital, sleeves rolled above his elbows.
He carried no weapon.
He did not need one.
6 heavily armed men stood around the perimeter.
In front of Adrian, kneeling in hydraulic fluid, was a man named Ricky.
Ricky was a mid-level contractor specializing in stolen vehicles and intimidation.
Behind him sat the burned, stripped chassis of a black SUV.
“I’m going to ask you once,” Adrian said. “Who paid for the rental?”
Ricky spat blood onto the floor.
His left eye was swelling shut.
“I told you. I just procure the rides. It was a blind drop. Cash in a duffel. I don’t ask names.”
Adrian looked toward Carter.
Carter was built like a bank vault, with a face that looked as though it had been reconstructed from memory.
He stepped forward holding a heavy iron lug wrench.
“Wait.”
Ricky raised both hands.
“I swear to God, Cross. Burner phone. Voice modulator. They just said they needed a heavy vehicle to box in a sedan on a residential route.”
“And you didn’t think to ask who the target was?”
“Not my business.”
“It became your business.”
Adrian crouched until they were eye to eye.
“You provided the cage they used to trap a woman who balances my books. You facilitated a breach of my perimeter.”
His voice remained calm.
“The men you leased that car to put a baseball bat through a window. They put hands on my employee. They bruised her ribs and split her temple.”
Adrian tilted his head.
“I am going to take my time dismantling the people who ordered it. But I need a thread to pull. Give me the thread, Ricky.”
Ricky stared into his eyes and understood that there would be no negotiation.
“The drop,” he stammered. “The cash drop for the SUV. The bills were wrapped in old casino bands. The Royal Crown in Hammond.”
Adrian stood.
The Royal Crown.
An old gambling boat controlled by the O’Bannon family, Irish remnants who had been losing territory for a decade.
May you like
“Carter.”
“Yeah, boss.”
