He wasn
’t prepared for me to be here, and it didn’t fit whatever plan they had. He wasn’t a bright guy, and impromptu wasn’t his forte. This gave me a significant advantage.
“I bring news, old friend,” Greco said. He didn’t bother to hide the menace in his voice, which wasn’t a good sign at all. It meant he had already made a decision and there would be no pleasant negotiating before he intended to carry out his plans. “I do not consider it good.”
“Do tell,” Rinaldo said as he leaned forward on his desk.
I wanted to tell him to lean back – he would be able to drop to the floor much faster if necessary – but of course I couldn’t.
“A shipment of heroin,” Greco said, “a shipment with my hands already around it has gone missing from my docks. It is the third time in two months.”
“Unfortunate,” Moretti agreed. “Do you think these thefts of your property are connected?”
“I do,” he said. “I think they are connected to you.”
“That is quite an accusation,” Rinaldo snarled. “You speak without thought.”
“I speak with evidence!” Greco growled back. “Your own man found at the site with some of the goods still on his hands!”
“A mistake,” Rinaldo said. “Why would I do such a thing and spark war with my ally, hmm?”
“Because your supplier has been hit twice by the feds now, and you are losing money!”
“Why do you say this?” Rinaldo’s voice went calm, and he sat back in his seat, thankfully.
I tensed as Greco leaned forward slightly and placed his right hand on Rinaldo’s desk.
“Because your own man told me.”
“What man is this?” Rinaldo asked. “I would like to know who is claiming to be in my employ under such circumstances. Perhaps he had a Russian accent you failed to notice?”
The dig was definitely felt. Greco’s eyes narrowed slightly, and his hand clenched into a fist at the mention of the Russian spy who infiltrated his organization last year and killed one of his sons during a drug deal.
“There is only one mistake this time,” Greco said quietly, “and that mistake is yours.”
It was Flannigan who acted when Greco tapped his thick finger on the desk – a prearranged sign.
I moved without thought.
Flannigan was going for his gun inside his jacket, and I wasn’t going to be able to both outdraw him like an old western and protect my boss at the same time. Instead, I went with a more melee approach.
My hand moved out, knuckles forward, and collided with the center of his neck. The choking, raspy sound that emerged from his mouth was accompanied by bulging eyes and a rapidly reddening face. He dropped to the ground, and I kicked out at him while drawing my weapon from the back of my pants at the same time.
I didn’t bother with the other two men – there wasn’t time to actually shoot anyone. Their weapons were already out and aimed at me. I had to go with a more tactical approach, which meant pointing the barrel of the Beretta at Greco’s face.
Flannigan heaved in a breath, and in my peripheral vision I could see him drawing his weapon and pointing it towards my head. This wasn’t part of their plan, though, and he didn’t know what to do next.
With three guns pointed at various parts of my body, I remained completely still. My heart was pounding in my chest, and adrenalin coursed through my system, but I refused to let it show in my face or in the steady way I held my Beretta right between Gavino Greco’s eyes.
“You know you die if you pull that trigger,” he said quietly. The calm of his voice didn’t match the slight tremor in his fingertips, nor the tiny bead of sweat forming at his hairline.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“So why don’t I just have them fire?” Greco said with a sly little smile. “You’ll be dead before you can retaliate, and your boss there will follow you into the afterlife shortly.”
“No, sir,” I said. “If I get hit, even with an instant kill, my finger’s already tight against the trigger. With the angle and the trauma to my system, my finger will pull back in reflex. Yeah, I’ll be dead, but I’ll take you with me. Whatever happens after that…well, honestly? I don’t give a shit.”
Our eyes remained locked with each other. I could see the man’s eyes as they looked for lies within my face, but he could find nothing. He obviously played more cards than he watched the Discovery channel, and I could see him ask himself – was I holding aces or deuces? Was my knowledge of physiology accurate?