don’t you, Black? Swaggering around town like some kind of fucking king. Leaving blood and death in your wake. Your time is coming, my boy.”
My eyes must be glass as I hold his stare. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, Higham.”
“Not this time.” He tosses the warrant at me. “Your days are like your father’s. No more.”
I’m forced to call on endless control before I grab the fucker and pull out his teeth one by one with plyers. “That’s rather insensitive of you, Higham.” My voice is unmistakably quivering with rage. “I only buried him yesterday.”
“Sir,” an officer calls from across the yard.
Higham snarls at me before stomping to the first container. “Get it open,” he yells, prompting three officers to step forward, each holding a battering ram.
I remain where I am, watching as an army of agents charge down one of my container doors. I could tell them the doors are unlocked. But I won’t. Fat bastards look like they could do with a workout. Sitting on a nearby rock, I watch as they ram-raid the first container and Higham comes out, his brow wet, his face twisted.
“Beautiful machines,” I say. “Want to buy one?”
Higham hisses and stamps his way over to the next container, barking orders left and right.
“Fucking hell, Danny,” Brad whispers out the side of his mouth. “This is a bit close for comfort.”
“They don’t even know what they’re fucking looking for.” The FBI is a constant ball-ache, but fucking clueless. They know we have money, but they have no idea where it comes from, and it’s been their mission to find out for decades. I kick my feet out and get comfortable, watching Higham ordering the beating down of door after door. I can’t deny it, I’m tense as they search the containers that are literally loaded. I can hear Brad’s heart hammering ten to the dozen, his feet shifting in the gravel. “Be cool,” I whisper, getting up and wandering over casually, being glared at by every cop I pass. I lean my shoulder on the side of one of the doors, motioning to the Sea-Doo that was hanging off the end of the dock not ten minutes ago. “If it’s power between the legs you want to feel, I recommend that one.”
Higham’s up in my face quickly, steam billowing from his ears. “I’m onto you, Black.”
I push my forehead to his, my eyes blazing. “I’m quaking in my fucking wetsuit, Higham.”
Wisely, he backs up, his frustration obvious. “You’re as arrogant as your father was.”
“Don’t get personal, Higham. You’ll regret it,” I warn, moving forward, prompting a nearby agent to reach for his belt. I throw him a death stare. “Calm down, Tackleberry.”
Brad chuckles as he approaches, lighting a cigarette before offering me one.
“Are you done?” I ask, accepting and slipping it between my lips. “Unless you’re in the market for a jet ski, I don’t think you have any business around here.”
“Get me a hammer,” Higham spits, holding his hand out as he glares at me. I don’t let my eyes waver from his as one of his minions runs to his car, returning a few moments later with an axe rather than what his superior requested.
Taking it by the handle, Higham swings it a few times, all cocky as he wanders over to the nearest jet ski. Which happens to be the one we just hurried back into the container. I sense all of my men tensing as Higham proceeds to smash the machine to pieces while everyone looks on. I glance across to Brad who’s broken out in a sweat. Me? I smile, making my right-hand-man give me a what the hell? look.
“You done?” I ask as Higham heaves and kicks pieces of the jet ski away, looking for something he won’t find. “Or are you going to smash up every jet ski I have?” I ask, motioning to the one beside it. “Feel free. Because with every one you damage, you’re racking up I-owe-yous, Higham.”
His nostrils flare, and he throws the axe down into the dirt, throwing his arm in the air in signal for his men to move out. “This isn’t done.”
I pout, lighting my Marlboro and pulling in deep. “Nice seeing you, Higham,” I say, exhaling thick smoke all over him. It takes everything in him not to cough.
“Yeah,” he mutters, marching away, frustration pouring from him.
As soon as they’ve fucked off, I take one last drag of my cigarette, thoughtful, before flicking it away.
“What the fuck?” Brad