Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Corvus…
“What happened to the moving company I hired?” I demanded.
“Uh, yeah – we canceled that. Figured we’d save you a few bones,” Fear said.
“What the fuck are you all up to?” I demanded.
“Nothing much – just feeling her out. She’s kind of a timid little thing.”
“She’s almost as tall as I am,” I said. “Save me your bullshit.”
“She may be as tall as you are, but one stiff breeze she’s liable to blow away. Seriously, I like mine with a little meat on their bones. What’s it like to fuck a twig?”
“Oh, shut up,” I grated, and Fear laughed on the other end of the line.
“Where is she now?” I demanded.
“With Reaper, headed on back over to your place and the re-established fuck studio. Torment should be there already; he’s stocking her fridge.”
“Seriously?” I demanded.
“You let her go with Reaper?”
“Hey, that was Grim’s idea.”
“Who else is at my place?” I demanded.
“Uh, nobody that I know of.”
“Jesus Christ, Reaper and Torment,” I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a steadying breath in and let it out slowly.
“Relax,” Fear said. “I Reaper’s been on a short leash since that thing with Hangman’s girl, and Torment… you know what? On second thought, you might want to get over there.”
“Fear, I swear to God,” he laughed and hung up. He was good at that, the fucker – sowing fear and watching the chaos unfold. I shook my head with a small smile and looked at my calendar.
I wasn’t really all that worried, to be honest. Reaper had a deep respect for women who were still breathing, and honestly when it came to Torment, it was all about what kind of mood he was in.
I figured that if there was ever an introduction to the deep end of the pool and it was sink or swim, Fear had set up a perfect opportunity for Savannah to learn and to learn fast.
I just hoped that Tor wasn’t in one of his moods – he could put the cruel in cruel intentions and pull some fucked up shit. He loved to watch a motherfucker squirm. Just as long as that fucker wasn’t my Savannah, we’d be cool.
I had too much to do today, and I was stretched like a rubber band. I was irritated with Synister – this had him all over it. He’d likely seen the charge to the moving company and had gotten into things. That’s what I got for having each other as backups on accounts.
I’d deal with that later – tonight I was meeting with Luca Di Maritzi over a rather nice Italian dinner to talk business.
Mostly about using some of his warehouses as pop-up underground fight locations.
So… underworld real estate bargaining, which just so happened to be my niche and thus I was required to appear.
I got through the rest of my day as a mundane before I switched gears into full club life, even if I wore an Armani suit. I took the Porche, because riding in an Armani suit would have been idiotic and I didn’t have time to go change… not that biker wear was appropriate for Luciano’s. Far from it.
Still, it was intriguing, this prospect… the Italians had actually reached out to us, which meant we were certainly going places when it came to our underworld dealings… still; it was an interesting and potentially volatile cocktail as they did butt heads with the Colombians from time to time.
It gave Syn and I some pause, wondering if they were trying to butter us up to turn on Castaneda and his boys, which we had no interest in doing.
Not unless the Italians had a very sweet offer indeed to make us.
Castaneda and the Colombians were our main cash cow.
We did the odd street deal here and there with the local gangs, but there was nothing like the Colombian’s money; so long as the supply chain didn’t dry up from Parris Island anytime soon.
Of course, it’d been America’s prerogative since something like the early 1970s to destabilize South America, and nothing about that had really changed; thus, I didn’t perceive that being a problem anytime soon.
Luciano’s was a small, but fine dining experience.
You wouldn’t find your typical tourist fare here.
Jacket and tie required, hats off before you even stepped through the door – an elegant sign out front stating the rules clearly.
It wasn’t one of those places you walked into in your summer shorts, flip-flops, political tees and a baseball cap being loud and obnoxious about your First Amendment rights to free speech or whatever.
That was liable to get you a swift escort out into the back alley for an even swifter and unimaginably brutal lesson in how free speech doesn’t equal freedom from consequences by the rather large and intimidating Italian men in the corner booth reading the newspaper and chewing on toothpicks.
Seated with them was a familiar pair of faces, Death and peeking out and around looking my direction was Shade.
Death inclined his head ever so slightly, and I threw him some barely perceptible chin.
The guy reading the newspaper beside him barely glanced in my direction, but that glance was enough to take it all in.
Yes. It was that kind of establishment, and a relatively new addition to Savannah at that; the neighborhood it inhabited near the water, but also newly gentrified causing an already strained housing market to become completely unbearable for the lower and what was left of the rapidly shrinking middle class.
Which was not my problem, thankfully. Never had been, and never would be as long as I did my part and kept myself and everyone else out of prison for any term length of time.
Even then, we had sheltered assets that were untouchable from our legitimate ventures, held in offshore accounts and invisible to nearly any but the most elite of forensic accountants.
“Corvus, for Luca Di Maritzi,” I told the hostess at the podium greeting guests and looking up reservations.
This was the kind of place that reservations were all but required, but if you were very lucky, or willing to wait; you could snag a seat in off the street.
Typically, the wait was two hours or better, though.
I’d had yet to try the food here, but I was told by Torment it was a treat – and that was high fucking praise indeed coming from that epicurean snob.
I was led to the upstairs of the place, which held tables all around the outer edge looking down over the tables below.
There was a secluded round book set back behind a fountain at the top of the stairs, the gently tinkling water loud enough to foul any parabolic microphones in employ anywhere in the restaurant.
The fountain was a heavy marble piece of work, and a small-scale replica of one of the famed fountains in Italy – no doubt the same region where the food was from. Torment would certainly know; but I didn’t really particularly care. I was here on more pressing business; the food was just a bonus.
I slid into the booth beside Synister, who was already waiting with Di Maritzi.
“I told you he wouldn’t be late,” Synister intoned, and I glanced at my watch. It was two minutes to the appointed hour we were to meet. Of course I wouldn’t be late. I abhorred being late as much as Synister did.
“Would have been ten minutes early, but parking was a bitch,” I said.
“Corvus, this is Luca Di Maritzi,” Synister made the introduction. “Mr. Di Maritzi, this is Corvus, the man in charge of our real estate dealings.”
“Please, please, we’re all friends here – call me Luca.” Luca snapped his fingers. He was younger than I had expected. Late twenties, maybe – when I had expected late thirties to early forties. I glanced at Synister as someone nearby came and dropped a drink at our table.
We didn’t tend to fuck with the Italians, so this was pretty much highly unorthodox.
What’s more, these Italians happened to be new to the area.
The Mancini’s were the usual game in town, and we’d had a rather unfortunate run in with them about eight months or so back when one of their presumed stiffs had ended up on Grim I certainly didn’t have anything nice to say.
“The last family came around here treating us like their errand boys were the Mancini’s. You, no doubt, heard how that worked out for them…” he said, and it was as deadpan as I had ever heard him. He was even less impressed with their bullshit than I was.
“Ten-thousand down, as a gesture of good will, a single event, you can have five percent, and this is a onetime deal,” I said. “To see how things work out – a trial if you will, and nobody owes anything to anyone. That’s just clean business.”
“Alright, alright,” Luca looked like he was mulling it over. He sipped his drink and stared plaintively at me.
“Twenty-five down if you’re only offering five percent, ten down if you’re offering fifteen percent,” he said.
“We’ll do fifteen and ten,” Synister said quickly. “That’s if you really do want to be friends…” I smirked and hid it as best I could behind my glass.
We turned a few hundred thousand, sometimes as far upward as a mil on a good fight. The percentage would far outweigh the cost of renting a venue. Our fights were popular and we had good talent.
Luca looked thoughtful and said, “Open to renegotiation after this inaugural investment?” he asked.
“Sure,” Synister said.
He raised his glass, and we clicked ours to his, sipping before setting them down.
“A deal’s a deal,” he said. “Sorry if you’ns thought I was gettin’ cute.”
He snapped his fingers twice, and plates were brought out. The rest of the negotiations, locations, legal and forward-facing contracts etc., were worked out – which was all me and my job.
On paper, we were renting the warehouse for a month to store shipments going out to parts to be decided.
It was, of course, all a shill just to get things done on the back side.
Of course, this did make for a handy opportunity to change things up with the Colombians.
Easier access and all of that, which why not kill two birds with one stone?
The chess pieces were constantly moving across the board, and it wasn’t really paranoia if they were out to get you.
The “they” in question? Law enforcement, of course.
While we’d done a fair bit of investment into Savannah PD there were any number of a veritable alphabet soup of government agencies who were likely out there lurking.
FBI, ATF, hell when it came to the South Americans, I was hazarding CIA, not to mention with the Marines involved there could possibly be NCIS and JAG in the bowl too.
See… alphabet fucking soup.
Dinner was fabulous, of course; and Synister was rejoined by this evening’s wrecking crew as we headed out the door.
“Shade,” I gave a polite nod. “Death.” I spared him the nod – but that was just how things were with me and Death.
He’d been the one that Courtney had set her eyes on back in the day, which who could blame her?
He definitely had the looks to go along with his money.
We were good, don’t get me wrong. We’d squashed that shit years ago; but with Savannah so new and now firmly in the mix thanks to Synister? Well, old ghosts… you know?
“You good?” Synister asked me, because of course he didn’t miss a thing.
“I’m good, just personal shit,” I said. “I’ll get to that with you in a moment.” I scowled at him, and the fucker grinned.
“Let’s walk,” he said. “Where’d you park?”
“Lot down the street,” I said.
“Good,” we fell into step, Death and Shade bringing up the rear.
“You know I’m just ripping the Band-Aid off. She had to meet the majority of them sooner rather than later.”
“Thought that was what tomorrow night was for,” I said and he chuckled.
“I was just saving you a few grand on moving expenses.”
“Fuck you, a few grand is nothing.”
He laughed.
“There’s a reason I’m here tonight, man.” Death chimed in quietly from behind me.
“I kind of figured, and I appreciate you leaving the introductions to me,” I said with a sigh.
“No problem,” he said.
“Bros before hoes,” Shade pitched in.
“Always,” I said and Synister slowed.
“First time I’ve heard you even come close to hesitate with that one.” My best friend stopped and turned to me.
“I have no idea what I’m doing here,” I confessed. “The pull is strong with her and it came out of nowhere,” I told them.
“One day at a time,” Shade put his hand to my shoulder and gave me a nudge. “Keep moving, boys – before the Italians think this is some shit it isn’t.”
I laughed at that, and nodded, “Fair point, my brother in blood. Fair fucking point,” I said. We kept moving.
We talked about it a little more as we moved down the sidewalk and ultimately, I was surprised the rest of the guys were being so easy on me with this.
“Why is it, none of you have been giving me a ration of shit?” I asked as we reached my Porche.
“Maybe we just think you deserve a shot at happiness, too,” Death said with a shrug and Synister gave me a look like ‘duh.’
“Thanks,” I murmured, and they said their farewells until tomorrow night as they wandered on down the street back toward Luciano’s and whatever vehicle they’d ridden in to get there.
I drove home and wondered to myself how Savannah’s day had been, hoping like Hell that Tor and Fear hadn’t given her a run for her money.