Chapter 12 #2
Now that is not the suggestion I was expecting, and it’s definitely a hell of a lot more tempting than the idea of dinner and a movie.
I turn the corner and see the sign for the bar I’m looking for.
Babylon. It’s almost as good as lurking around the clubhouse if I want a surefire place to pick off a Reaper or two without doing much legwork, and I’m in the mood to rid the world of a couple more tonight.
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk to type out a response to Alessio.
SPETTRO: No, but I’m up for it. Friday.
I power my phone down after I hit send and shove it into my pocket. I check for my mask and my gun tucked into my waistband and slip into the alley next to the bar to wait.
I had a damn good night’s sleep last night—compared to my usual, anyway—so my energy level is up and I’ve got an ocean of patience tonight. I’ll wait as long as it takes for one of the Reapers to step out for a smoke break or a piss, and then it’s on.
I lurk in the shadows, letting time pass, not thinking about much of anything.
There’s something peaceful, almost meditative, about knowing I’ll have fresh blood on my hands soon and that all I have to do is be patient and let them come to me.
I idly calculate how many Reapers I’d have to kill each day to wipe out the club by the end of the year.
It’s roughly one a day, but that’s only if they stop adding new recruits every damn week.
Dammit, I really do need to think bigger if I’m ever going to get this done.
I hear the crunch of footsteps and I perk up, flattening myself against the wall and tugging my mask down over my face.
A slender, greasy man steps into the mouth of the alley and lights a cigarette, the glow of the orange ember illuminating his face for a few seconds.
He’s a Reaper. I recognize him from the last party I went to.
My heart beats faster, but I hold myself nice and still, taking quiet, shallow breaths as I inch a little closer.
I need him to come deeper into the alley, which means I need to make sure he doesn’t notice me hiding in the shadows.
He takes a drag from his cigarette and shuffles his feet in a bored sort of rhythm, taking a step deeper into the dark.
That’s right, just another couple of steps.
Here, rapist, rapist, rapist. Pspspsps.
A shadow appears at the mouth of the alley and I shrink back. Is it another Reaper? A random drunk coming out for a smoke at an incredibly inconvenient time?
“Hey,” a gruff voice says, and the Reaper startles, spinning around to face the voice and then immediately reeling back.
Okay, so not a Reaper.
The unmistakable sound of a fist crashing into flesh echoes, followed by a grunt, and the Reaper tries to flee down the alley towards me.
“Where you going? We just want to have a little chat.”
Oh, fuck.
I know that voice.
I hold my breath and quietly slip deeper into the shadows just as Alessio and another man come into view. I recognize the other man. He was at the meeting at Wild. Even if he hadn’t been, the stoic look on his face and the expensive suit would have given him away as one of the Morettis.
What do they want with this Reaper though?
“I didn’t do nothing,” the Reaper says, holding both hands up defensively as the two of them close in on him, boxing him against the wall with nowhere to run.
“Who said you did anything? Maybe we’re just looking to buy some Girl Scout Cookies,” Alessio says in a jovial voice that’s somehow more unnerving than the fact that the other guy hasn’t said a word other than “Hey” so far.
“I don’t got no cookies. I don’t know shit, I’m just minding my own business and having a smoke.”
“Hey, relax.” Alessio makes a show of dusting off the Reaper’s stained T-shirt then casually braces his hand against the wall near his head.
He uses the other to unbutton his jacket and push one side of it back.
I can’t see from this angle, but I’m guessing he’s casually flashing his gun.
“We just have a couple of questions. My buddy Xaviaro and I are in a good mood tonight, so there’s a solid chance that this whole thing can stay friendly. Of course, that all depends on you.”
The Reaper gasps at the casual name drop. Every criminal in Wildcliff knows the name Xaviaro—Lorenzo Moretti’s personal trigger man. A chill runs down my spine, and I’m willing to bet that the Reaper is pissing himself right now.
“I’ll try, but it’s not like Savage or any of the higher-ups tell me anything. I go to parties and I run whatever errands he tells me to. That’s it.”
“We don’t give a shit about your meth labs right now,” Alessio says, and Xaviaro grunts in agreement. “We want to know what you know about The Ghost. What rumors have you heard? Has there been any talk about Savage or any of his crew knowing who might be behind it?”
My blood turns to ice in my veins.
Fuck.
“We have a lot of enemies.” The Reaper’s voice is shaky now in a totally different way than it was a minute ago. Is he more afraid of me than of the Morettis?
I smile behind my mask, and I fight the urge to do a little touchdown dance.
“No shit.” Alessio chuckles. “So, no leads at all? No one that’s being looked into?”
The Reaper is quiet for a minute, and when he answers it’s barely above a whisper. “Some guys think… well, they think maybe it’s an actual ghost. You know, our parties get pretty wild, and every once in a while, a guy might OD or something.”
Xaviaro barks out a laugh and Alessio chuckles again.
“You bunch of geniuses think that the ghost of a junkie you passed around is floating through this city with a gun, shooting you mooks in the head?”
It sounds ridiculous when Alessio puts it like that, but I’ve gotta hand it to the Reaper.
Even a broken clock is right twice a day, after all.
He’s close anyway. And I have to admit, I like the idea of all the Sleepless Reapers clutching their teddy bears and rosaries when they go to bed at night, terrified they’re being haunted by a vengeful spirit.
“No?” the Reaper says uncertainly, and Alessio laughs again.
“Seriously, that’s it? You don’t know anything else? He hasn’t left any accidental survivors who’ve caught a glimpse of him? No one’s seen anyone strange lurking around the parties?”
“There was one guy. He wasn’t a member, just a…”
“Pass Around,” Xaviaro supplies in a cold voice for him.
“Yeah.” The Reaper clears his throat. “He was there when one of the guys got shot last week. He didn’t see his face or anything, but he said he smelled sweet, like butterscotch.”
Double fuck.
It’s fine; it’s not like I’m the only guy in Wildcliff who likes butterscotch candy.
“Butterscotch?” Alessio echoes, and I can’t tell if that’s ringing any bells. Has he noticed that I taste like butterscotch?
“That’s all I know,” the Reaper insists.
“Fine, but if you hear anything else, I want you to call me personally.” He reaches into his pocket and hands the man a business card.
“I swear on my mother’s life that if I hear about the Sleepless Reapers taking out anyone they think is The Ghost and I haven’t gotten a call from you first, I’ll slice you open and give your entrails to Xaviaro here to play with like a cat toy. You understand?”
“Yeah, I understand.”
“Good.” Alessio steps back and the Reaper takes off, bolting out of the alley as fast as he can, dropping his lit cigarette in the process.
Alessio picks it up and stubs it out against the side of the building. “By the way, smoking kills,” he calls after him, then sighs and turns to Xaviaro. “Well, that was fucking useless. Should we try again?”
“We can, but it doesn’t sound like they know any more than we do.”
“Tell me about it. You think Savage and his crew are sitting around a Ouija board trying to contact the ghosts of two dozen dead junkies to ask for forgiveness?”
They both laugh and wander out of the alley, their voices fading along with their footsteps. I let out the breath I’ve been holding since they appeared and sag against the wall.
What the fuck was all that about? Is that why Alessio was in that forum? Not out of personal interest but because he’s trying to figure out who The Ghost is? Why do the Morettis want to know? Something tells me it’s not so they can give me a medal for cleaning up the city.
Maybe I should lie low until I find out why the Morettis are so interested in me. I fucking hate the thought of any of the Sleepless Reapers having a single extra day above ground, but if I’ve pissed off Lorenzo somehow, I could end up dead. And I doubt I’ll get a second chance this time around.