Dante let Luis steer him down the road and into a nearby pharmacy, the only business on the street that didn’t look like the resident crew’s own real estate. They wound up by the over-the-counter hearing aids. Scowling, Luis turned his back on them and faced Dante. “The club is in the basement?”
“Yeah. They said the front door would be unlocked, so just go on in and head downstairs.”
“That’s it?”
“What else do you want? A formal invitation?”
“I want to know how we get out of there if it goes tits up. Is there a back door? A fire escape?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you need to find out, cos we’re not going in there unless you do.”
“Never had you pegged as a pussy. Guess you really don’t like it, eh?”
“If you say so.” Luis eyed the snooker club through the shop window. “They’re expecting me, right? Not you?”
“Yeah. And you’re supposed to be alone.”
“Have you met any of them in person?”
Dante snorted. “Course not. You think I’m stupid?”
“Yeah, I do. But whatever. They won’t be looking out for you, so head round the back and have a look.”
“No.”
“Do it. Or I’m flushing this package down the drain.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
“You wouldn’t have before prison made you soft.”
Luis hauled Dante out of the shop and down a nearby alleyway. He threw him against the wall and drove his fist into Dante’s gut hard enough to send him spluttering to the ground. “Prison didn’t make me soft. It taught me what was worth fighting for, and it isn’t you. Stay here, I’ll be back in a minute.”
He left Dante on his knees and ducked back onto the main street. The snooker club was on the end of a row of attached premises. Luis circled around, keeping his head down as he assessed the access routes. There was no back door, but a fire escape exited at the side, straight onto the pavement. If they came out that way with full pockets, they’d have to do it quietly. At least, Luis would. He didn’t give a shit about Dante.
In the alleyway, he found Dante on his feet, red faced and irritated. “You gotta stop hitting me.”
Luis grunted and pointed at the snooker club. “There’s a fire door on the side. If we need to dip, we’ll head for it and hope it’s not locked.”
“So dramatic.”
“Whatever. Let’s go.”
Without waiting for Dante, Luis exited the alleyway and crossed the road. He strode straight to the boarded-up door, eased it open, and slipped inside.
Dante followed, his trademark blandness plastered back in place, and pushed past Luis towards the steep stairs that apparently led to the basement.
Luis trudged after him, keeping a sharp eye out for locked doors, cameras, and anything he could use as a weapon if things got real. A metal pipe caught his attention. He shuddered and looked away. He’d die before he picked it up.
At the bottom of the stairs, they met a reinforced door that was far newer than anything else in the building. Cameras guarded the shadowy entrance. Luis had learned long ago that hesitation gave away nerves to whoever was watching the camera feed. He knocked, hard and loud, and stepped back to give whoever was coming room to stare him down.
He didn’t hear them coming until the door started to move, opening with a slow slide that revealed a man that made Asa look small. Large hands reached out, grabbed Luis’s borrowed coat, and yanked him over the threshold, then Dante, and the door slammed shut behind them.
Irritated, Luis shook the hands off him. “The fuck? Where’s your damn manners?”
The beefcake ignored him and stepped away, returning to the shadows. Luis got his bearings and glanced around the smoky room that was straight off the set of a Guy Richie film. Eastern European men sat around a table, drinking vodka and playing cards. There was even a parrot in a cage in the corner.
Show no fear. The package, pressed against Luis’s ribs, seemed to throb. He squared his shoulders and fixed his stare at the man he pegged to be on top. “Got a delivery for you. Show me the paperwork.”
The man jerked his head at the card table. “Show us the product first.”
Same script, different day. Luis fished the brick from Dante’s coat pocket and handed it over. Some of the weight in his chest lifted, as if his subconscious truly believed getting rid of the package brought him any closer to redemption.
Top boy took the brick to the table and slit it open with a flick knife he drew from his pocket while the big man stepped forward to check the rest of Luis’s pockets. They came up empty, and beef cake moved on, but before he could lay his hands on Dante, the door behind burst open.
Masked men swarmed in, brandishing bats and knuckle dusters. Luis flattened himself against the nearest wall, but the men ignored him and surrounded the resident crew.
“Empty the safe,” one of them growled.
Luis’s damaged ear strained to catch the words, let alone identify the voice, but he’d always been good at remembering a profile. He studied the man’s long neck and wiry shoulders. Jesus fuck. It’s Martell.
He turned to Dante and was met with a smirk. He set this up. Of course. It made perfect sense. Why would Dante have wanted to come on a grunt mission? He never had before and was notorious for showing up after the fact, claiming glory for hustles he’d risked nothing to achieve.
Luis glared at him, fists bunched, ready to fly, but before he could move, the top boy with the flick knife drew a gun, and Luis didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Silence reigned.
Time was contradictory. It passed in a flash, but events played out in slow motion, gunmetal glinting in the dimly lit room. It wasn’t the first time Luis had seen a gun. He’d held them before. Carried them, fool that he’d been, with no real clue of how they worked. But, like everything, it had been years, and that period of his life belonged to someone else.
The man with the gun laughed. He pointed it at Martell and pulled back the safety. For the longest moment, Luis cringed, waiting for him to shoot, but at the last second, he swung left and fired directly into Dante’s foot.
Dante screamed. And even with the fitted silencer, the shot rang out, reverberating around the underground room. Luis’s weak ear popped. Splitting pain cracked through his skull. He clutched his head and ducked down, braced for all hell to break loose, but nothing happened. Martell’s crew lowered their weapons without fear. Martell took his mask off, stance relaxed, and . . . he laughed.
From the floor, Dante moaned and flailed around his shattered foot. “Kill them,” he gasped out. “And get me the fuck out of here.”
Martell didn’t look at him. He stepped forwards and reclaimed the brick of coke from the card table, then held out his hand to the grinning man with the gun. “I’ll set up the real supply tonight. You good with the price?”
“We are.”
“And you made it right with the St. Michael’s boys?”
“Of course. Money talks, young one, and we have plenty of it.”
Martell nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”
His crew filed out. Martell watched them go, then dropped down to Dante’s level. “That was a message, bro. Did you get it?”