Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Neither Rocco nor Slater bought it.
I didn’t buy it, either.
A real punishment would have been for Roselli to have his goons beat the shit out of us. To break our jaws and some ribs. This would have been a proper lesson. It would serve as a reminder for us to never do anything without asking him first. Remembering our pain would prevent us from considering robbing banks or stealing from his friends.
He didn’t do that.
The question was why.
Didn’t he think his goons would have been able to give us a real beating? Maybe. He had six of those. They were big bastards, but they didn’t have what we did.
A ton of experience.
We’d been on the street since his new guys were in high school. Before that, we had to survive in foster families. This meant a lot of fighting, mainly for Rocco. He was our protector, until Slater and I were strong enough to fend for ourselves. So, in case Roselli used those goons to beat us up, they’d probably end up in hospital. He wasn’t a fool. I was sure he knew that.
Rocco’s opinion was rather different. Roselli could have hired more goons, if his real purpose had been to teach us a lesson. I didn’t agree with that. Nick had always been a cheap motherfucker. Spending money actually hurt him. The dollar was the love of his life. He would have hated to pay a bunch of strangers money, just to rough us up.
In any case, I had another theory.
There had to have been something special about The Rusty Bucket. Something that led Roselli to hire Baxter to blow it up. And there was just one person who knew that place inside out: Maggie Owens. She had spent more time in there than Rocco, Slater and I combined. If anyone knew its secrets, that would definitely be her.
So that’s why I headed over there around noon, after a morning spent making the rounds, doing my job. Busting some heads when needed, but all in all, it had been a fairly quiet morning. Which gave me more time to think.
I pulled up outside The Rusty Bucket on a silver Harley. It had been languishing in the corner of the parking garage at my building for some time now, but after my car got totaled in the blast, I’d spent a little time fixing it up.
Easing off my helmet, I took in the little bar. The last time I was here, I beat the crap out of Baxter and stuffed him with a bomb in his car.
Hopefully this time would be less eventful.
I squinted as I crossed the seat. It looked like a few of the windows in front had been replaced. They looked about a thousand years newer than the other ones. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting in the bar, but then I spotted Maggie setting glass beer steins into rows behind the bar.
“Hey,” I said, approaching the counter. “I see you got the place fixed.”
“Once the police let us back in here.” She sounded bitter, which was understandable. She’d probably lost at least a day or two of wages. “It sucks working at a crime scene.” She gave me a very direct look that I couldn’t quite interpret.
“I’m sure it does. But at least the place is open now. That Beamer was across the street, not right outside.”
“How did you know?” she whispered.
I frowned, but I knew I was on solid ground. “I saw the crater in the street.”
Maggie’s dark pupils were huge as she stared up at me. “How did you know that it was a BMW?”
“I heard it in the news.”
“No, you didn’t. They didn’t say the make of the car.”
Shit. “Sure they did. They always do.”
“No, there was a police officer; he kept coming in here to talk to me, and he told me they weren’t releasing that information.”
“He came back here to talk to you?” I knew I was focusing on the wrong information, but a sudden spike of jealousy flashed through me. Not hard to imagine a rookie cop drooling after Maggie and telling her tidbits to impress her.
She ignored that. “He said it might be a way to find out who planted the bomb. Looks like he was right.” She tossed a dish towel on the counter and walked away, heading down a dark hallway.
“Maggie…” I caught up with her. “Maggie, listen—”
“Save it.” She whirled around to face me. “It shouldn’t come as a surprise. I know what you guys do. And you should leave. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Shit, fuck, damn. “I’ll leave after you hear me out.”
“I’ve heard enough,” she said stubbornly.
“No, you haven’t.” I grabbed her arm and pulled her down to the end of the hall. The noise from the bar seemed distant here. “You want to know who blew up that car and why?”