Chapter 5 #2
However, as I stood outside a pristine, heavily guarded mansion just outside of New York City, I was beginning to wonder if I’d lost my edge.
“Hold out your arms,” the beefy giant told me.
While I wasn’t in the mood to be frisked, it was part of the job. Besides, I was supposed to be on friendly turf, visiting an old friend and nothing more. If I knew my buddy, he was having fun watching the surveillance camera while wrestlemania dude number one passed his hand over my balls.
“Give me your weapon and don’t try and give a shit statement that you ain’t got one,” the second brawny asshole demanded.
Since the dude had felt me up, he already knew the answer.
I slowly reached into the breast pocket of my jacket, sliding the piece into the night air.
The last thing I needed to do was to make any quick moves.
I had a feeling the various soldiers collected points for how many members of law enforcement they took down in a month.
“He’s clean,” the asshole said after taking my Sig, pocketing it, then giving me a grin.
“I get that back,” I stated as I adjusted my jacket, moving closer to the ugly fuck until I was only inches away from him.
He bristled but even with the dull look in his eyes, he had enough intelligence to realize this wasn’t a fight he should engage in.
“Of course. Any friend of Mr. Durante’s gets special treatment. I’ll just keep it warm for ya.”
“You do that. Can I go now?” I barked, twisting my head toward the other thug.
The use of the word ‘friend’ should be taken with a grain of salt.
I’d thought Alexander would remain out of my life.
That had been my intent over the years. I’d purposely chosen the CIA for a career so that I could avoid having to hunt him and his family down like the animals they were if I had joined the FBI.
We had a pact and one all three of us had maintained over the years. The expression ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas’ had nothing on members of the Wild Boys. Our pact had been sealed in blood, copious amounts of blood. To breathe a word of the oath we’d given each other meant death.
Alexander had received many death threats, two people that I knew of almost succeeding over the years. This one was different, and it bothered him more than he’d cared to admit on the phone.
“Sure thing, Mr. FBI agent. Our boss is expecting you.” His growled response allowed me to smile.
“That’s CIA.” I ignored whatever mindless bullshit one of them spouted off and headed toward the front door.
I had to admit that I was impressed with everything Alexander had achieved over the last fifteen years.
He’d taken on his father’s empire with all the gusto he’d shown in college, acting as if he was the superior Don in a world full of mafia syndicates.
His methods were nothing special, although he’d parlayed the family’s illegal wealth into legitimate sources, making it difficult for the FBI or any other law enforcement agency to catch them in actual crimes.
Alexander was the sole reason for their phenomenal success and additional hold on several markets.
They weren’t just into illegal drugs or weapons.
The Durante family had a hold in import/export, technology, and even several resorts.
Good for them. One day I’d hear about the suave man being arrested but I wouldn’t be behind the warrant for his arrest. That was only partly because I was CIA, working the international market.
The real reason he’d be taken down was the pact four boys had laid into place, one signed in blood.
I barely knocked on the door before it was opened, the tiny woman who appeared not a member of the family. I was surprised that her smile was genuinely pleasant.
“Mr. Norwood. Mr. Durante has been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
I wasn’t going to correct her on my title. It would serve no purpose.
“Where is he?”
“He’s in his study. You can go through the living room, and you’ll find him.”
I chuckled. That likely meant his penchant for cigars remained strong. “Thank you.”
“Can I get you anything?” she asked, almost eager to be of service.
“Nothing that I’m certain Mr. Durante can’t accommodate.”
She smiled, bowed, and walked away. Who the hell bowed these days?
Did Alexander actually fashion himself to be some kind of king?
In college he’d been the bad seed, the kid most likely to get tossed out of school for dozens of reasons.
Bad grades. Insubordination. Pranks. Theft.
Bullying. Nothing was left off the table if it suited him and his need for power.
And by the time we’d graduated, there hadn’t been a single kid at the school who didn’t fear us.
It had been almost eight years since we’d seen each other, but we kept in touch, one date in particular weighing heavily on our minds.
I sauntered through his living room, admiring his choice in furniture as well as art.
While he made billions, his tastes were surprisingly simple.
Within a few seconds, I gathered the scent of his favorite Cuban cigar.
His father had supplied us with a box every month or so.
Nothing had been too good or too outlandish for Bartholomew Durante’s kid or his kid’s buddies.
I heard the soft strains of Spanish guitar music and chuckled. Maybe his tastes had changed over the years. Alexander had been a heavy metal kind of guy, head-banging music the only sound that allowed him to harness his concentration.
As I moved into the doorway, all I could do was smile.
For a dead man, he looked pretty damn good acting as if he was conductor of an orchestra.
Seeing him in jeans and an untucked shirt, his feet bare surprised the hell out of me.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him in anything casual.
He’d been the kid who looked like a gangster from day one at the university.
His father had insisted on his attire. It was good to see he’d gotten out from under his father’s shadow and the man’s brutal fist.
After a few seconds, I cleared my throat. “Long time no see.”
He jerked around, his immediate reaction to grab the weapon positioned behind the waistband of his jeans, his face hard and prepared for an enemy attack.
Then his cold expression softened with a grin as he advanced.
“Well, well. My old buddy. Wow, dude. You’re looking almost presidential.
” He stubbed out his cigar, moving around his desk.
“Watch those insults there, buddy. I’ve killed men for less.
” Laughing, I moved closer. The only kind of embrace he’d ever allowed was to clamp our hands on each other’s arms so when he pulled me into a bearhug, I stiffened.
He was definitely out of sorts, the attempted murder weighing heavily on him.
Images and memories from our past flowed into my mind, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
How many years had it taken me to shove them in a dark padlocked box?
Having them resurface instantly pissed me off more than being in his world.
I could lose my job for associating with a known criminal. If the powers that be found out anything else… Well, I’d never see the light of day again.
He pushed away after a few seconds, lifting a single eyebrow. “How are you doing?”
“I’m doing fantastic, but I didn’t come here to talk about me.”
“I’m not certain that’s the case. How about a drink?”
I glanced at my watch then nodded. “Hell, I’m off duty. Sure.”
He was even more jittery than I’d seen him before, his hand twitching at least once. Maybe it was the remaining effects of the drug the killer had used to try to stop his heart. He seemed cagey, his statement making me curious as to what the hell he meant.
“Are you really ever off duty, my friend?” he asked, still grinning as he moved closer to a bar.
“Hell, no, but for tonight, no one can reach me.”
“Good to hear. Scotch?”
“You remember,” I mused, glancing around his study.
It was full of books in floor-to-ceiling bookcases.
I couldn’t remember the guy having ever read a single book when we’d been at the university.
Granted, the location was considered special, training for sons and daughters of elite members of society.
Our education had been… creative at best, although I’d learned more weaponry skills and martial arts in a short period of time than twelve years in the CIA had taught me.
“I never forget anything, my friend.” He suddenly became quiet, concentrating on pouring the two drinks. When he turned, his eyes held the same kind of darkness I’d seen on several occasions.
He was out for blood.
“So, you want to tell me what the hell happened and why the urgent call? I thought you had enough muscle to handle anything.”
He closed the distance, handing me the drink before answering. “Let’s wait until my other guest arrives. Tell me about your life.”
Other guest. Why did I have a feeling there was a hell of a lot more to whatever was going on than he’d told me in the brief conversation we’d had?
I accepted the drink, taking a sip and marveling at the smooth taste.
I still kept what he’d likely call a rotgut variety of scotch in arm’s reach at the office and at home, although I was rarely ever in either location.
“My life is great. Too much work. Long hours. Limited pay, but hell, it beats being…” I sighed, unable to finish the sentence.
The sad thing was my life was boring, dull, and almost nonexistent.
Lately, I’d started longing for an alternative life