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This place was one of those secrets. The house was right on the corner of the block, a quiet row home with a brown door and shutters with peeling paint. A satellite dish was perched on the roof, staring down like a raven. A stone wall covered the back yard, and I had to brush broken glass off the top before jumping it. The glass was there to keep amateurs out—but I was no amateur.
I landed quietly on the stone patio. There was a metal table and some chairs. Lights were on in the windows, though they were covered by blinds. I crept up to the door and crouched down next to it, listening as intently as I could for any sounds from inside.
I heard voices, talking at a normal level. I thought I heard the clink of glasses, and guessed there were three men in there, all of them drinking.
This place was a stash house. The Healy family kept some drugs here, cocaine and heroin and some pills or whatever the hell they were selling at the time. I wasn’t there for the goods though—I had a more important task in mind.
I was a patient man. That was probably why the Don chose me to go undercover around the Healy family. I could wait it out, listen and watch and learn before making my move. So many mafia guys couldn’t sit still long enough to figure out who was worth watching and who could be safely ignored.
Me though, I was good at waiting. I hunkered down in that back yard and kept my ear against the wall, trying to pick up any scrap of information about the guys inside that house. They were quiet, didn’t make a whole lot of noise, and the minutes slipped past, turned into hours, and my legs and back started to hurt from where I’d been sitting and crouching, occasionally changing position when necessary, waiting for my moment.
I didn’t know how long I’d been out there when the back door suddenly unlocked.
I got to my feet, gun in my hand. I pressed myself against the wall as the door swung open and a man stepped out. He was heavyset, a couple inches shorter than me, and was too busy taking a cigarette from a pack and lighting it to notice me. The door swung shut behind him and I stepped forward, shoving the gun against the base of his spine.
“Move and you die,” I said.
His mouth dropped and the cigarette fell to the ground. “What the fuck?” he said.
“Move,” I said, “and you die. Make a loud noise and you die. Do you understand me?”
Short silence. The guy was trembling slightly. Dark hair, thinning on the top. “You’re making a mistake, buddy,” he said. “You don’t know who you’re robbing.”
“I’m not here to rob anyone,” I said. “And I know exactly who you are, Healy fuck. Now turn toward the door and let me inside.”
He didn’t move. To his credit, he hesitated, which suggested he had a bigger set of balls than it seemed. But there was no way out of this for him, not if he wanted to survive. If he made noise, he’d die and I’d have to fight my way into the house. If he made a move, well, he’d die, and I’d have to fight. There was no winning.
Fortunately for both of us, he wasn’t stupid. He turned, nice and slow, and I shimmied to keep my gun pressed against his spine. He opened the door, hands in the air, and stepped into a brightly lit kitchen.
It took me a couple moments for my eyes to adjust. I’d been out in the dark for longer than I realized.
Two guys sat at the kitchen table. It was littered with beer cans and a couple bottles of whiskey. Cards were strewn all over along with some petty cash. The guys were probably playing cards and betting for the last few hours while I sat out in the night, waiting patiently.
“What the fuck’s with you, Todd?” the guy facing us said, some skinny kid in a baseball jersey.
Then he saw me, and his mouth fell open.
They stood up, drawing guns.
“Easy,” I said.
Todd was quietly praying. Poor bastard.
“Who the fuck are you?” the man closest to me said. He had on a backwards hat.
“My name’s Matteo,” I said. “And I’m here to talk with whoever runs this house.”
“Runs what house?” Jersey said. “You made a mistake, friend.”
“He knows who we are,” Todd said with a whine in his voice. “Guys, please just get Cullen.”
My feet began to tingle and a chill ran up my legs. Cullen, Cullen, that name echoed in my skull. He was the lieutenant I was sent to kill that first night, back when I slept with Sam and got her pregnant. He was the reason I was in this mess to begin with and now I was finally getting my chance to face him.
