Chapter Twenty-Two Joe Carter
Chapter Twenty-Two
Joe Carter
Carter stood behind the bar in the back room of Sal Marconi’s place. It was a comfortable room, with polished tables and cushioned
chairs. The bar itself took up one long wall, no mirror because of the illegal poker games they ran nearly every night. When
there were no poker games, Sal sometimes rented out the place for parties or pop-up casinos. Usually, though, the back room
was for friends, clients, and the occasional enemy. It was Sal’s domain, where he ran numbers and games both before and after
betting became legal.
There was nothing legal about Sal’s work, but he wasn’t a killer. Carter, who didn’t generally like or dislike anyone, liked
Sal. He’d been good to him over the years, both as an employer and father figure, and they had made a lot of money together.
Sal wasn’t a killer, but Carter was.
No one else was in the bar. Their client had insisted on complete privacy, his paranoia on full display. Carter was there
to protect Sal, though it would hardly be necessary. Sal was a strong, muscular man who could take care of himself if necessary.
“Monday,” the client said. “I need everything calm until then.”
Sal’s client had paid off his debt three and a half years ago. Carter didn’t know all the players, but Sal had been involved
in business with this man for longer than that—a man Carter didn’t trust. Carter didn’t trust anyone who gambled away their
money. Gambling was for fools.
Sal glanced at Carter, then said to their client, “Just continue doing what you’re doing. Don’t say or do anything that might
raise suspicions, and on Monday we’re all rich.”
“Good,” he said. “Because by Tuesday, I’m gone.”
The man didn’t say it, but Carter knew he was driving up to Canada, using a Canadian passport under a false identity that
Sal had helped him procure. For free. That, Carter didn’t understand. Yes, they were in business together, but Carter didn’t
think Sal should spend good money to help this jerk. Was it just to keep him silent? Did Sal think that he would turn them
all in?
Hmm. Carter would think on that.
Sal folded his fingers the way he did when he was lining up numbers, or people, in his head. People were predictable. Sometimes,
more predictable than odds.
“And why are you here?” Sal asked, though of course he knew.
“I need to know that if the Angelharts get too close, you’ll take care of it.”
Sal glanced at Carter; he ignored the unspoken question. Sal knew that Carter hadn’t wanted to kill the nurse. Was he worried
that Carter wouldn’t fulfill his obligations?
Carter nodded automatically. But he was watching the gambler, the man who had no qualms or guilt asking Carter to kill, but
didn’t have the courage to do it himself. A nervous man. Carter didn’t trust nervous men or gamblers.
This man would never get his own hands dirty. He would never pull a trigger or stab a man in the heart. He was weak, greedy, selfish.
Carter did not like him.
He turned and his gaze settled on a bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin. He blinked, as if he’d seen a ghost.
It was the same blue as Liz Swanson’s eyes.
He felt like he was underwater, barely able to keep his head above surface, her eyes accusing him.
I am a mother. A wife. Don’t do this . . . don’t take me from my children.
She hadn’t actually said those words to him, but he imagined that she had. She had only said one thing after handing him her
phone.
“Please don’t.”
He had killed her and walked away because that was what he did, but he couldn’t rid himself of the sour feeling that he’d
made a grave mistake.
He may have told Sal he would take care of whatever was needed, but he would not kill another woman.
He might as well put a gun to his own head.
The gambler fidgeted. He tapped his fingers on the table. Carter did not trust fidgeters. Another sign of nerves.
“The Angelhart family is sniffing around. If they get too close, you have to take care of it.”
Carter sensed that Sal was displeased before he tore his eyes from the blue gin bottle and watched his boss.
“We prefer to scare, not kill. Both have worked in the past, but right now there are too many people involved in this situation,
and we can’t kill them all. I won’t allow it. It puts my entire operation at risk.”
“But—”
“You need to trust me,” Sal said. “I have more at stake than you do. I’ve spent far more of my own money than you have to fix your mistakes.”
“That’s bullshit! It wasn’t my fault that Klein started asking the wrong questions and talking to the wrong people.”
“That isn’t the issue. We had a fall guy for Klein’s murder, and that worked to our advantage. But you were supposed to take
care of the records at that time, yet . . . you didn’t.”
“That wasn’t me.”
Sal said, “I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care.”
Carter watched the two men stare at each other. The weasel averted his eyes first.
He was the weak link. Carter wondered if Sal would ask him to kill the man as soon as the deal went through.
Yes, Carter suspected he would. That would be a job he wouldn’t charge for because it would be too much fun.
Some people were simply better off dead.
“We’ll watch,” Sal said, “and we’ll step in if absolutely necessary, but we’re not going to kill anyone unless there is no
choice. And I would suggest that you not be so rash. As you said, you will have your money in days. Which means I will have
my money in days. Answers will take a lot longer to come by.”
Carter breathed easier. He wouldn’t have to kill the woman. He could kill her boyfriend or her brother, spare her life. That,
he could live with. But not the girl PI.
A knock on the door, then Ed stepped in. Ed was the head of security for Sal’s place.
“Boss, there’s a dispute in the other room.”
Sal dipped his head once in acknowledgment. “I’ll be there in a minute,” he said. Ed walked out, closing the door behind him.
“Don’t come here again,” Sal told the gambler. “If you need to get me information, you know how to do it.”
“But—”
“Shh,” Sal said, putting a finger to his lips. “Go.”
The gambler must have sensed a shift in Sal’s demeanor, because he walked out without another word. Sal crossed to the bar
and nodded toward the whiskey; Carter poured him two fingers of Redbreast, neat. Sal drained it, put the glass down.
“Get your head in the game, Carter,” Sal said. “We may have another job, depending on what the Angelharts learn and when they
learn it. There’s a lot of money in it for you.”
“He’s an asshole.”
Sal nodded. “That he is. But he was instrumental in this project and we still need him.”
Carter nodded.
He had rules he followed like commandments. He didn’t like to kill the innocent, but sometimes he couldn’t avoid it, like
the nurse’s husband. Collateral damage. But the most important: Don’t kill women.
Devin Klein wasn’t innocent; he had stuck his nose where it didn’t belong, caused untold problems.
Liz Swanson saw something she shouldn’t have. That wasn’t her fault. It was the gambler’s fault, and he should have been the
one to pay the price, not an innocent woman.
Sal looked at Carter. “I don’t trust that man,” he said quietly.
Carter nodded his agreement.
“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Sal said. “He should never have come here. It was a risk to all of us.”
“I will kill him.”
“You may have the opportunity, but wait. There are too many moving pieces right now.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Good man. Set up for the poker game tonight.”
Sal left, and Carter set up for the backroom game that didn’t start until eight tonight, but Sal knew that Carter liked having something to do when he was struggling.
He had promised Sal he’d follow through if needed. But promises were easy to make.
Keeping them was something else entirely.