Deep (The Pagano Family Book 4) (5 page)

So there was only one choice, then. “It’s time for you to go.”

Surprise was clear in the way she spun back to him. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to overstay.” She was blushing again, and Nick had a moment of regret for his plain speaking.

“Finish your beer first.”

She handed him the bottle. “It’s India Pale Ale, remember? And I don’t like it that much. Okay, well, I’ll see you in the hallway, then.” She went to the front door, and he didn’t follow her to see her out—it was only about fifteen feet. As she opened the door she turned back and smiled. Still beautiful, but the light was a bit dimmer than earlier. “Good night, Nick. Thanks again for the help.”

“Good night, Beverly. You’re welcome.”

She left, and he finished her IPA. Then he picked up his glass of scotch and continued his evening as he’d expected. Alone.

~oOo~

Early the next afternoon, Jimmy parked Nick’s SUV along a broken curb on a weedy street near the Providence Harbor. Most of the lots had been taken over by slapdash commercial interests; the few residences left were little more than squats. The Paganos kept one of the old houses for a certain kind of work. They had other locations for similar work—storage lockers, a seemingly abandoned warehouse, an old barn. Nick chose the location based upon the subject.

He used to choose the location. Now, because he had refused to offer up any name but Brian Notaro’s as his replacement, and Ben had cleaved to tradition and refused to promote a half-blooded Italian, J.J. Nicci, Julie’s son, was capo in charge of enforcement and information. Nick thought it was a bad fit, not least because J.J. had no interrogation experience. He was a knee-capper, with no finesse. But Julie had fought hard for his son, and he’d hit the right chord with Don Pagano.

Nick was keeping tabs, because he thought the don had made a mistake.

J.J. had brought the subject here, and that was stupid. They were only blocks from the guy’s own turf.

Jimmy got out, buttoning his jacket as he walked around the car and opened Nick’s door. It was a small thing, but this was a way that extra security rubbed at Nick—not even opening his own door. He felt the restraint as if it were an actual leash. No point in bitching about it, however; it was necessary, and this location was unstable. He got out and buttoned his jacket, appreciating the weight of his Beretta under his arm. Brian was already out and getting a kit from the back of the SUV.

They had parked near the building. Nick scanned the area. A primer-grey van was parked on the lawn behind the house; he could just see the back end. It looked as though it might have been there for a long time.

“They’re set up already?”

Seeing the van, Brian nodded. “Looks that way, boss.” Nick didn’t like hearing Brian call him ‘boss.’ From anyone else, he’d expect it, but he and Brian went far back, to second grade at Christ the King School. Still, he was the boss, and Brian was only a soldier.

“Okay. Let’s see what J.J.’s got.”

In the middle of what was left of the living room, a short, morbidly obese man was tied to a metal folding chair. First mistake. Folding chairs folded, and bindings gave more easily.

He was naked—that was good. A naked man was easier to intimidate, easier to hurt, and less likely to flee if the opportunity presented itself. Shame was a powerful inhibitor.

He was gagged with a rag tied around his face—rookie move. As evidenced by the wordless ruckus the guy was making, a gag like that made a man only incomprehensible, not truly quiet. And this was supposed to be an interrogation. They needed him to talk. There were other ways than gags to keep a man quiet.

He was sweating profusely but not bruised or bleeding, so J.J. had waited for him. Good. This would be his hands-on training—for him and his crew. Nick set aside his frustration at his uncle for the mistake of making J.J., thirty-five years old and only five years made, a capo, especially to replace him.

That new capo was staring steadily at him now, and Nick knew he was working hard to keep his face clear of the expression that suited the emotion rolling off him in waves—anger. He didn’t like being checked up on, and in front of his boys. But this was the first interrogation connected to business outside of the Church fight, and so the first one with J.J. on point.

“Tell me, J.J.”

“Boss. I just need to put some hurt on this fucker. I got it.”

“Tell me.”

J.J. sighed, walking the line between paying respect and taking a beating. “Got a guy buying up our notes. Paying off early, killing the vig. Can’t get a name, but this guy is one of his bagmen.” The bound man shook his head emphatically. Around the gag, he shouted “No!” J.J. stepped over and clocked him with the butt of his gun.

And now the guy was unconscious. Unconscious men did not give up intel. Nick swiped a hand over his face. Fuck, he hoped J.J. wouldn’t go down as his uncle’s greatest mistake.

Making high-interest loans was one of the Pagano Brothers most lucrative enterprises. Somebody coming in and paying off debt on a wide scale could cripple them financially. And it made no fucking sense. “Why the fuck am I just hearing about this now?”
 

“Shylocks just started reporting it a week ago. We didn’t know what was going on until we caught this guy coming out of Tanner’s last night.”

“We?”

“My da—Julie and Dom are seeing it, too.”

“And nobody said shit to me or the don.”

J.J. swallowed, finally seeing how deep and hot was the water he stood in. “Like I said, boss, it’s only been a couple days we understood the scope. We wanted to have good intel. That’s why we have this guy.”

“You think a bagman’s going to know who’s holding the strings? J.J., what the fuck? And you’re three blocks from his turf. It’s like you’re trying to fuck this up.”

J.J.’s face went red—with rage, not with shame. Over long years of this kind of work, Nick had learned there was a difference in the way blood suffused the face, depending on the emotion that impelled it. Regardless of the color of skin over it, the color of red was different. Rage had a blue undertone. Shame was more orange. Pain had a grey cast. J.J. was furious—and impotent, which was a dangerous combination. Nick had pushed too hard.

He backed off. “Okay. Make what you can of him, then. Use him to hone your skill. Maybe he’s got something good after all. Something that will get you to your guy.”

“You gonna let me handle it?” It was a demand J.J. made, a dare. Not a request.

Nick met it without a word, his eyes locked on J.J.’s. After a couple of seconds, J.J. lost some of that bluish red tone and turned to the man tied to a chair.

When he walked away, Brian stepped to Nick’s side. “Can I speak plainly, boss?”

“You know you can, Bri. You don’t need to ask.”

Brian nodded his appreciation of that. They were friends before they were associates. “This is over these guys’ heads. He’s gonna kill this mook before he gets anything out of him. And I think this is bigger than they know.”

Nick watched J.J. try to slap his guy back to consciousness. He was getting nowhere. At Nick’s feet was a kit he’d put together over the course of his career. Tools of his trade. A weak suck like this guy, he’d have not only awake but giving up his own kids within ten minutes. And then, if he so chose, he’d leave him intact to go home to those kids knowing to mind his business and his manners.

“Keep talking.”

“What if this is Church? Paying our notes—that’s a huge outlay up front. Even if he doubles the vig—which would collapse business under its own weight—it’s a bad investment, unless it’s a step toward a bigger goal. Somebody big enough to drop that much cash at once, and somebody who’s looking to take us down. That enemies list has one name on it. We don’t need this poor sap. We know who’s got his strings.”

Nick turned to his friend. He was right. “J.J.”

Watching his guys try to rouse his subject, J.J. didn’t hear him. Nick raised his voice. “J.J.”

He held up his hand to stop his men and then turned. “Yeah?”

“End him. Make him a message.”

If J.J. balked, Nick would handle this shit himself, right in front of J.J.’s crew. He didn’t give a fuck. This entitled halfwit had been made a capo. A capo! Nick decided at that moment that he would handle more than this shit if J.J. didn’t get his ass straight, and fast. He would not let his uncle, his
family
, be brought down over a promotion made for the wrong fucking reasons.

Ben had lost his edge.

J.J. didn’t balk. He blinked, and then he nodded and turned to one of his guys. “Picker. End him. Then let’s get to work.”

Deciding to be satisfied that J.J. could handle the rest, and would know which message to send and how, he put his hand on Brian’s arm and nodded toward the front door. Before they left, Jimmy in the lead, Nick turned back to J.J. “Bring the don his remembrance. This is on the books.”

Again, J.J. nodded.

When they were in the SUV again, Nick looked over the seat at Brian. “Call the guys. We’re going to Neon tonight. I need to talk to Jake.”

~oOo~

‘The guys’ were Chi-Chi Rinaldi and Matty Ferro. With Brian, they’d made up the heart of Nick’s crew for a decade. They were still working with him; he had them on Church detail, which was Nick’s special project. And now the capos’ trouble looked to be part of his big picture.

The four of them rode together in Nick’s Navigator, with Jimmy, as ever, behind the wheel. Neon was one of the hottest nightclubs in Providence; the Pagano Brothers owned a forty-percent share of the club and sixty percent of the escort business it fronted. Jake Chambers managed both and had his own substantial minority shares. He’d been a mover in the nightclub and escort businesses for more than thirty years and affiliated with the Paganos for most of that time.

Because Alvin Church also owned a nightclub—The Pink Hole, popular in its own way, with a different clientele, but otherwise similar to Neon—Jake bumped up against Church associates on a regular basis. And the escort service had a lot of client overlap with the shylocks; a man with one vice tended to have many, and that tended to be expensive. Jake was smart and perceptive; he’d know if there was something shaking underground.

Neon was a good place to conduct business. Loud and dark, with deep, plush booths for privacy, and with heavy, live-monitored, unrecorded security and daily bug sweeps, it was one of the most secure places the Paganos had to talk openly. Nick, though not a fan of the music, if that was what it could be called, preferred the club for business. And the women were fine and plentiful.

Jake came over within minutes of their taking their reserved booth, before their drinks arrived. Nick accepted his greeting of respect and then waved him off. It was better to put business off, look like they were there to party, in the event that snoops or competitors were mingling with the club revelers.

With these guys, though, it was easy to look like they were there to party. Chi-Chi and Matty, ten years younger than Nick and Brian, were always good to party, and they had a running competition between them for the most and best pussy. As soon as Nick nodded, they took off on the prowl.

Brian sat back and scanned the dancers. Nick drank his scotch and turn his sight inward, thinking through what he’d learned this afternoon and what he wanted to get from Jake. Then Brian whistled, the sound splitting the pulse of the house music.

Nick looked over, and Brian leaned in. “You see that guy? He’s almost as big as Jimmy. I thought he was security at first, but he’s out there dancing. Which is a sight in itself.”

Curious, Nick followed Brian’s finger and saw a big guy with long, blond hair dancing with a tiny twig of a girl with dark hair and a full sleeve of ink. Yeah, the guy was definitely big. He nodded.