Page 55 of In Ruins
“Yes, sir! We’re ready,” they all reply.
“Alright. Let’s roll,” I say, looking at my watch and seeing it’s time to go.
The men on Team Three, who are taking the guns, head out the back once more to get into their SUVs, while the rest of us head out the front to get to ours. Team One, plus Aldo, stick with me in my SUV, not that I need them to stick to me, but try telling these assholes that.
“Team Two, you guys in place yet?” I inquire through my earpiece. They left a few minutes before we did, so they’d be in place before we got there.
“Affirmative, boss.” They reply.
Once Aldo hears that they’re already in place, he speeds up a little.
“Copy that,” I respond.
“We’re almost there,” Aldo says a few minutes later, like I can’t see that for myself. I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes at the man.
“Protect yourselves, stay focused, and try not to get killed,” I tell the guys in the car with me. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Yeah. Sure thing, boss,” Aldo grunts out, and I know the asshole didn’t listen to a word I just said.
“Everyone else in place?” I ask into my earpiece.
“Yes,” each team utters one after the other in my ear.
“Stay sharp, men.”
I step out of the vehicle, with the guys doing the same before they flank me, standing just a step behind me. The place is just like where you’d expect shady deals to go down.
The air smells of salt and rust, with a faint scent of rot beneath it all. The few street lights around the place cast a dim orange glow around us. There’s a distant clang as the hulls of the few boats here knock against the dock. The sound is a little too loud in the otherwise quiet atmosphere that surrounds us.
The old industrial buildings, shipping containers, and crumbling concrete piers are the only things around, besides the dark water ahead.
Gino Gambino is already here and steps out of his vehicle.What the fuck kind of name is Gino Gambino anyway?
“Mr. Andretti, nice to see you again,” he tells me as we walk toward each other, meeting in the middle. He puts his hand out for a shake.
“Nice to see you too, Gino,” I tell him as I shake his hand. A flicker of annoyance crosses his face at me using his first name before it quickly disappears. “How are the wife and kids?”
“Good. Good,” he tells me. I don’t even care, but I’m trying to be nice and make small talk, since my dad says I scare people when my face is set like I constantly want to murder someone. “How are your parents?”
“They’re good. My father sends his regards,” I say.
“Tell him we’ll have to set up a golf session soon,” he replies.
“Will do. Now, enough of this chit chat. Let’s get down to business,” I tell him, tired of the small talk already.
“Did you bring the merchandise?” he questions.
“Obviously,” I deadpan. “Why else do you think I’m here? Where is my money?”
“Three point five million, correct?” he asks.
“That’s the price we agreed on, isn't it? I’m not in the business of double-crossing my clients,” I tell him, already wanting to shoot him just on the principle of him being an annoying old bastard.
“Right. Right. I apologize. That’s not what I meant at all,” he quickly reassures me, before lifting a hand up to motion one of his men forward. His guy walks up to him and hands him two briefcases. Gino then gives them to me. “It’s all here.”
“Forgive me, but you wouldn’t mind if I double-check, would you?”
“Of course not,” he says, in what is obviously an insincere tone.
