“And a sister,” he said, nodding before I could even finish.
“And a sister.” I grinned. “I’d like you to set up a meeting. We can do dinner.”
His eyes narrowed before they lifted. “My brother—”
“He’s out of town,” I said.
Harry Boy became quiet for a moment, before he nodded. “My sister—” he paused. “She’s working at a fair this weekend. You might even enjoy it. It’s a medieval Scottish fair being held in upstate New York. Keely—that’s my sister—she’s savage with a bow and arrow. She’s going to demonstrate how shooting an arrow should really look.”
“Is she now?” My words rolled out slow. “That’s interesting.”
Harry Boy brightened. “Yeah, she’s…it’s hard to explain how accurate she is. She’s really good, and she enjoys it, but she’s really out to land a part in a Broadway play.”
“Grand.”
“We could meet at the fair.”
I handed him a piece of paper and a pen. “Write down the information. Date and time.”
He took the pen and paper, getting to work, jotting down the information I already had.
“It’s never too early to meet the family,” I said. “It creates a tighter bond. And this business? It’s family-oriented.”
He looked up at me and smiled, then pushed the paper closer to me. “For sure.”
Good boy.
“While I have you.” I opened the drawer to my desk, digging around. When I found what I was looking for, I threw them at Harry Boy.
He caught the keys with one hand.
“Like I said, I appreciate your work ethic. Think of the car as a bonus. It purrs real pretty for its age. ’69 Dodge Charger. Completely restored.”
He went to hand me back the keys, but I held a hand up. “One thing about me, Harry Boy—once I make a decision, it’s done. You hand me back those keys, you insult me. Then we have a problem. You don’t want a problem with me, do you?”
“No.” He cleared his throat. He held the keys up. “I appreciate it, Boss.”
“You earned it. Now get back to work.” I dismissed him with a hand. “I’ll see you and your sister at the fair.”
5
Cash
Raff announced that I had company before I left for the fair.
Rocco Fausti stood from his seat in the waiting room, straightening his expensive suit.
He nodded at me. “Cashel.”
No one called me Cashel but my family, since my mother supposedly picked the name, but out of respect for Rocco and his family, I never corrected him.
I held my hand out and we shook. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
He looked me over from head to toe. “I caught you on your way out.”
He could say that. I was dressed in plain clothes, not a suit, and whenever our circle met, we always wore clothes that showed respect to the job, and to us as men. It symbolized that we knew our worth in a world we fought hard to live in.
Instead of addressing my clothes, though, I invited him inside my office. If the Faustis were anything on the outside, it was professional, but whenever one of them was around, I always felt the sensitive spot on my neck—the one that can take even a dangerous animal’s life in a second—tingle with warning.
This couldn’t be stressed enough:
They. Were. Not. To. Be. Fucked. With.
Period.
Many had tried, and those many were never to be heard from again.
“You first.” Rocco motioned toward my office door.
They never walked ahead, always behind. Not because they didn’t consider themselves the top of the food chain either. It was because men like them, like me, knew the feeling of that eerie tingle.
He accepted a glass of fine whiskey and then got comfortable in his seat across from me. “Tell me about your graduation.”
I grinned at him. “Grand. Just grand. Best education life can afford.” I knocked hard on the desk once with a knuckle. “I’m officially a graduate of the school of hard knocks.”
He lifted his glass to me and took a sip. After the fine burn of it went down, he set the glass on my desk. “I will not keep you long. You were too polite to tell me you were on your way out, so I will keep this short.”
“Don’t rush on my account. I have time.”
He nodded. “There hasn’t been much noise from this end.”
“No,” I said. “It seemed to fall right back into my palm. However.” I lifted a finger and then took a sip from my own glass of whiskey. “I know what’s coming.”