Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Like now.
Most people, when they thought of the mafia, thought of luxury cars. And, yeah, there was some of that. But I was old school. I was far too fucking aware of the ways the cops could come down on you.
Like with the GPS in your car.
So this car I kept hidden away?
It was up there in years, with a press-button radio that did AM and FM radio, but didn’t do dick to track your moves. The fact that the windows and locks were automatic was a luxury, given the lack of bells and whistles.
On paper, the fucking thing didn’t technically belong to me, either. It belonged to one of the identities the Family spent a massive fortune to provide for me. But this was my safety-net one, not the one I used while doing jobs for the Family.
I had it all.
The title, registration, insurance, and driver’s license in this name.
So that was who I became as I drove up out of Jersey, stopping only to fuel up and grab coffees to keep me going, even as my fucking skin started to feel like it was shaking from the exhaustion and caffeine.
I couldn’t sleep.
Not until I had answers.
Not until I knew that the flash of red had, in fact, just been a trick of my mind, the storm, the exhaustion, and the shitty lighting in the woods.
I couldn’t claim that it wasn’t like me to be so obsessive. When it came to my work, I was exacting. Lives and futures depended upon it. Including my own. It didn’t matter that I didn’t do the killing. What mattered was that I was at the crime scene. If I screwed up, my own blood, hair, skin cells, or fingerprints would be left to be found by the police.
And, sure, they proved pretty incompetent a lot of the time. But there was extra scrutiny on us now thanks to Cosimo.
Everything had to be right.
Perfect.
Especially a job that involved hiding fucking bodies.
There couldn’t be witnesses.
It was late by the time I finally made it back up to the rural area of Upstate New York, and I decided to do a drive by the road leading to the property, but not actually go down.
It was dark.
The car’s lights would be necessary, and a dead giveaway if someone was around.
Better to wait for the early morning, then make my way on the property on foot. In the camping gear I had in the backseat. If I was caught, I was just a lost camper who’d gotten turned around. No threat here.
I reminded myself that the lack of police cars was a good sign as I drove a short ways down the highway to a truck stop, parking in a dark corner, and pulling out one of my phones, knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I checked the local police blotters.
Finding nothing suggesting there might be bodies buried in the woods nearby, I finally did what my body had been crying out for since I’d been woken up more than a full day before.
I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
__
A truck horn jolted me awake, cricks assaulting me in half a dozen areas at once, thanks to sleeping in my driver’s seat.
The sun was streaming in through the windshield, blinding me for a moment as I tried to focus past the disorientation of the deep sleep I’d been in.
Turning on the car, I checked the time, seeing a blue clock telling me it was after eleven in the morning.
“Shit,” I said, yawning as I opened the door, stifling a dozen curses as I unfolded my too-tall body from the too-small car and got to my feet.
Grabbing my bag, I went into the building, changing into my hiking gear, then grabbing some food and coffee.
By the time I parked down the road from the property, car partially hidden in the trees, it was around noon.
I grabbed a bottle of water, then tucked a gun into a holster, just in case, before making my way out into the woods.
I wasn’t a country sort of guy, but even I had to admit that it was nice to be out in the fresh air for a bit. As an hour passed, though, I was starting to resent that I wasn’t back in my apartment, waiting on some delivery, having a much-needed drink.
I was just about to turn around, satisfied that I was just being paranoid, that I hadn’t actually seen anything the night of the storm.
But it was that exact moment when I heard something. Something familiar.
The crunch of a shovel in the ground.
Lord knows I’d dug enough graves to recognize that sound when I heard it.
Panic gripped my system, wondering if I’d missed the cops, if they were out here, looking for the bodies.
But no.
I wouldn’t have missed that, no matter how distracted I was.