Page 12 of Witness Security Breach

Bill tugged on a self-assured smile. He was always right. Tommy was a fool to have doubted him in the first place and an even bigger fool to have taken the bet and staked his money on those bayou boys.

In his gut, Bill knew this would come down to the A-Team. “Nothing wrong with outsourcing, but this is why it’s important to have a contingency. Our local fellas will get the job done and collect the fee.”

Ignoring the steak, he picked up the cash and tossed the roll in his desk drawer. Later tonight he’d give it to his little lady. He’d learned after two failed marriages to stick with a mistress who was young, had perky breasts, a firm backside and took more interest in shopping and staying pretty than in where his money came from.

That kind of curiosity could be used against him. The feds would jump on any weak link around him and crawl even further down his throat. They were already so deep in his gullet he was choking on their surveillance. Wiretaps on the phones. Spies in the casino. Bugs on the gaming floor and in the Windfall’s offices. His every move watched by hawkeyed stalkers.

Besides his house, Avido’s was the only other safe space where he could talk freely.

Tommy had the restaurant swept for surveillance devices daily before Bill set foot inside.

All Big Bill’s men were absolute in their loyalty. Still, the only one he ever fully trusted was Tommy, since he was family.

“But it was good initiative on your part,” Bill said, appreciating his nephew’s gumption, “for thinking outside the box and contacting those Cajun housepainters.” A euphemism for hit men who offed someone in their home. Quite acceptable to use around the little lady or in polite company without raising suspicion.

Tommy plopped down in a leather chair across from his desk, rested a booted ankle on the opposite knee and rubbed his bald head. Tall and thickset, the twenty-six-year-old kept his head clean-shaven to spare himself from getting the receding hairline that Bill had.

At fifty, Bill was too old and busy to fret over his lack of hair that emphasized the smooth cliff of his forehead and abundance of wrinkles.

“Do you think they’ll bring him in alive or dead?” Tommy asked.

Bill wasn’t a religious man and believed in no higher power than himself. Nonetheless, he was praying for alive.

His mouth watered to sink his teeth into Edgar. Literally. He wanted to rip off a body part Edgar would miss. Bill just hadn’t decided which one first.

The depth of Edgar’s betrayal was despicable. Unfathomable. What he had done was absolutely beyond the pale. Thinking of it, as Bill had endlessly done for the past two years, made his blood pressure skyrocket to the point his eye sockets ached.

It was a wonder he hadn’t had a stroke.

Edgar had had a gambling problem and been in the hole up to his eyeballs. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Edgar offered to work it off, using everything he knew about accounting, bookkeeping and tax laws. The proposal had possibilities, so Bill had taken him up on it. Recognized Edgar’s true talent for balancing the books and hiding illegitimate activities under legitimate umbrellas without raising any red flags with the feds. Struck a gold mine. Introduced Edgar to some other outfits. Vouched for him as one of Bill’s own. Claimed a sweet finder’s fee. Had a really great thing going for everybody, especially for Edgar.

Then the weasel had got nervous about heat from the feds, jumped the gun and cut a deal.

But the way he’d left tore at Bill’s heart every day... Irene.

The fallout was never-ending. If Edgar had evidence on two outfits, it was reasonable to assume that he had the goods on all of them.

Now every gangster Edgar had dimed out and every mafioso he’d done business with blamed Big Bill big-time. And each one of them wanted their pound of flesh.

Well, no way in hell was it going to come from him. No sirree!

Bill felt the vein in his temple bulge.

Money bought many things. Silence. Loyalty. But there was no amount in the world that’d buy a pardon for Edgar.

Or Bill. He’d tried and lost half of the Windfall. There was only one way out of this mess.

The vultures were circling, particularly Enzo, who wanted the entire casino, and Edgar Plinski would be on the menu.

He ground his back molars together so hard his ears rang. “Tell D and the boys, if they can bring him in alive, I’ll throw in an extra mil.”

“They’re going to love the sound of that.” Tommy clapped his hands, rubbing his palms together. “They expect to have him within the hour.”

Restraining his excitement, Bill simply quirked a brow. “Pretty specific. Pretty damn confident, too.”

“D wasn’t pleased to hear about the bayou boys getting first dibs. Understandably so. But I think he was planning to let them do the hard part, then kill them and still collect the fee all along.”

Nodding, Bill agreed. Sounded exactly like a stunt Devlin would pull. Tommy wasn’t ever going to make it into Mensa, but he was sharp as a tack, had solid street sense.