Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I had at least fifty minutes to taste every inch of her and turn her into a sweaty, spent mess.
That was barely enough time, but I could work with it.
* * *
Steven picked us up right on time and we drove through the city, up north to South Street. Schmitz Bar was between Seventh and Eighth Streets in a popular and busy part of the city. Drunk young college kids were all over the place, crawling from bar to bar. Schmitz had a large, wood-paneled front facade with these huge double doors. Everything was authentically German, or at least that’s what they claimed.
I never got into big beers and schnitzel, but the bar was packed just based on the number of people coming and going. We parked right down the street and staked it out. Aida sat in the back and I sat up front with Steven as we watched the flow of people coming and going.
“You spot him?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Entrance is just there,” he said, pointing to a nondescript, unmarked gray door next to the restaurant’s entrance. “As far as we know, that’s the only way in.”
“All right,” I said. “So he might’ve gone up a day ago or something. How long have you been watching?”
“Since Gerardo mentioned it,” he said.
“Fine. Doesn’t change anything.” I leaned back in my seat. “Too crowded to go up right now. But give it a few hours.”
Steven nodded and settled in to wait.
It was a long night, and I worried Aida might get impatient. Staking out a spot wasn’t fun work and it wasn’t glamorous. The mob life could be fast paced and exciting, but sitting outside of a location just staring at its front door wasn’t the fastest way to pass an evening.
Still, we sat there and waited. Steven got us food from the German place and it wasn’t so bad. Schnitzel was basically just fried chicken pounded thin, and it was actually pretty good. We ate, joked about Aida slapping then girl down, then went back to waiting some more.
Just after midnight, the crowds began to thin out. Bars closed at two in Philly, and there was always a big rush right at closing time. I frowned at the street, at the few couples and groups of young men walking from place to place, and turned to Steven.
“Let’s move,” I said.
“Now?” he asked. “We wait a few more hours and this place will be empty.”
“It’s empty enough and I’m tired of waiting. We go right now.”
He frowned at me then shrugged. “What the fuck, why not.” He turned on the car and flashed his headlights three times, which was the signal to the other cars stationed all along the street that it was time to get moving.
I got out of the car first and Aida followed. I looked back at her and was about to tell her to stay behind, but she gave me a fierce look and spoke first.
“I’m coming,” she said.
“It’ll be dangerous,” I said.
“Good.” She gave me a hard look and I just laughed.
“I turned you into a monster,” I said, and stepped closer to her. I kissed her softly. “I think I like it.”
“I bet you do,” she said, grinning.
I let her go and stalked across the street. Steven followed, with Aida in the rear. I saw Biagio, Ryan, and Carmine coming up toward us, while John, Cosimo, and Chad came from the other end of the sidewalk. We converged in front of the apartment’s door, and Cosimo took point, producing a lockpick set from his jacket pocket. He dropped to one knee and got to work.
We couldn’t just break down the door, because that was loud and would’ve drawn attention. I noticed a few people walking past looked over at the group of us with a little suspicion, but nobody stopped or said anything. I gave them steady stares and they kept on walking.
It took Cosimo three minutes to pick the locks, which was pretty damn fast. Once the top bolt came undone, the door swung open, and I went in first.
Steven followed after me, followed by Biagio. I told Aida to at least come in last. Cosimo and Chad would watch the door and make sure nobody came in behind us.
The staircase was cramped and old. The steps creaked under my weight. They were wood, painted gray, and the walls were bare and white. A single light burned up in the ceiling as we reached the first landing, turned, and hurried up the next flight. The bulb sat just above the single apartment door at the very top of the steps. I could hear noise from the bar down below us, some shouts and cheers, and a general clatter of glasses and plates.
I tried the knob but it was locked. I grabbed onto the railing, braced myself against the wall with my other hand, and reared back my right leg. I smashed my boot into the door right below the handle. It flexed and wood cracked, but it took a second kick to smash the door inward. It flew open and banged against the wall as I barreled inside, my Glock up and ready.