Slowly, I eased the door open wider, my pistol up and aimed. The garage had no windows, so it was pitch black inside. I used the burner cell phone’s screen to shine the light around. Two cars. An Escalade and a BMW. Both of them belonging to Freddy. No people. No sound except the hum of a freezer and the whoosh of air through a heating vent.
I slipped inside without touching anything directly. I cleared the garage, pistol in one hand, cell phone and light shining in the other. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Except for that open door inviting me inside.
The door from the garage into the house was unlocked. I turned the handle carefully, easing the door open with my weapon ready. No turning back now.
The kitchen beyond was dark and quiet. Dishes were piled in the sink. The faucet had a slow drip. The air smelled heavily of red wine and herbs and faintly of vinegar.
The feeling that something was off grew even stronger, but I didn’t back off. I couldn’t. This might be my only chance for answers. It was a risk, I knew it, and you didn’t get old in this game by taking risks. But if I didn’t find some answers, I could never be certain that Sofia would remain safe.
Quietly, I stalked through the kitchen. The lights were off in the house, but it wasn’t pitch black like the garage. Light seeped in through the blinds from the street lamps. With the pistol raised, I moved slowly out of the kitchen into some kind of formal dining room.
Freddy Russo was slumped at his dining room table, facing me. His brains were blown all over the table and his last meal, which appeared to be lasagna. The metallic stink of blood was strong.
I didn’t move closer. I stayed in the doorway near the kitchen, listening so hard my ears seemed to ring. My breath was harsh, faster with the adrenaline lighting up my body.
I kept my pistol aimed toward the living room beyond the table and dead Freddy. The depth of the quiet was unsettling. I remained very still, waiting, listening, scanning for a threat in the darkness. From the look of the gore, he’d been dead for at least an hour, but I wasn’t willing to take that on faith.
Someone had killed Freddy before I could wring information out of him. His murder left me with nothing but more questions. Instinct and experience told me that Freddy wanted to kill me to keep Sartini involvement in this dirty business quiet, so I wasn’t going to shed any tears for him. But now I was back at square one.
Now the questions were even worse. Had Freddy been whacked because Sofia was still alive or because I was still alive? Or was he killed because we had the thumb drive? Was this some kind of heist disguised as murder or the other way around? If the higher-ups in the Sartini Family had killed Freddy to hide a fuck-up and cover their tracks, then they were going to want Sofia and me dead more than ever.
It was long past time to get the hell out of here. I wasn’t going to waste time tossing the place. Most likely, Freddy wouldn’t keep anything incriminating here in case the cops ever got a warrant. Not only that, but I didn’t want to be here in case someone called in the murder and the cops crashed the party.
A light clicked on in the living room, illuminating the half of the room I could see from this angle. My heart lurched and pounded as fresh adrenaline rushed through my veins.
“I want to talk,” a male voice called from a face I couldn’t see. He was wisely keeping out of sight and out of my line of fire.
I didn’t answer, keeping the pistol aimed toward the living room but listening in case other people were circling to flank me.
“I killed Freddy, in case you’re curious,” the unseen guy said. “I’m going to step around the corner now. Men look each other in the eye, am I right?”
Again, I didn’t bother to answer. Let this bastard sweat, worrying that I’d shoot him on sight. I wouldn’t because I wanted to hear what he had to say. Freddy had been my best lead and this guy had iced him. The least he could do was explain why. But if I had to kill him, I wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.
The man’s shadow appeared on the far wall as he approached the dining room threshold. He paused at the corner, then stepped into view.
“You.” I aimed my pistol at his head.
It was the guy from the motel shootout. The bastard who’d opened fire and missed with every shot. He’d been in the passenger seat of the car rolling up on us, and I’d shot the driver. Sofia had recognized him. What was his name? Dominic or something. DeMeo?
Yeah. Dominic DeMeo.
Dominic held a 9mm pistol in his hand. Some kind of Glock variant. He was aiming back at me. Not shooting. Not yet. So I didn’t shoot. Yet.
“I figured you’d show up here eventually,” he said.
“How’s your friend? Breathing through the air hole I put in his head?”
“You’re a real fucking funny. Freddy told me all about you.”
“Before you iced him, you mean.”
“Don’t blame me. I’m cleaning up messes.”
I didn’t bother to answer. If he didn’t say something interesting soon, this would turn to shooting faster than he might like.
He didn’t appreciate my silence. “You have the thumb drive.”
