a call to Raff as I pulled away. “Head to Sullivan’s,” I said, my entire body jerking from the bumpy ride.
“I’m there now,” he said, and I heard the chatter in the background when he opened the door.
“There’s a boy you need to save from Father Flanagan’s lecture before you take him to a safe house. If he hasn’t gotten to him, you get to him without noise. Trucker hat over blonde hair. Plaid jacket. Ripped jeans and boots. Then I want you to call Colin and make sure he’s with us for this ride. Tell him we found the place, Sal’s, but nothing else.”
“Inconceivable,” he said, quoting that movie again. “You found a way in.”
“Vegetables,” I said. Then I hung up.
Later that night, Colin sat in the passenger seat of an expendable car. His leg bounced up and down and he chewed his fingernails. He kept checking the rearview mirror.
“Let’s go over this once more,” I said. “You know what truck the keys Raff has belongs to, and the drugs are already loaded and waiting at Sal’s?”
“I’m guessing about the key,” he said, not looking at me while he spoke to me, but at the mirror again. “It has a number on it. And I’m guessing that since the trucks pretending to deliver vegetables to Sullivan’s have ‘Sal’ painted on the side, that’s where the drugs are. Or they have something to do with Lee. Worth a look.”
I said nothing else the entire ride to Hoboken, and as we pulled in front of the center, I knew I’d been right. Sal’s was the real deal. It was a front business for either the Scarpones or Lee Grady. The Scarpones had a few of them, including Dolce, one of the most popular Italian restaurants in the city.
“Where are the other guys?” Colin said, finally turning to look at me when I found a spot to park across the street. Trucks were lined up in the lot down the block from Sal’s—ones that were not being used. All identical to the ones that had been “delivering” to Sullivan’s. After I had another one of my guys do some digging, he’d found out that Sal’s actually delivered to Sullivan’s on the regular.
Nothing suspicious about it, until the trucks that came and went that day added up to the magic number seven. Either Sullivan was preparing for a feast made of vegetables, or the truck I stole was going to pick up drugs at the dock after regular delivery hours ended.
Bingo on theory two.
I stepped out of my car, going around to the passenger side, waiting with my back against the hood. A few seconds after I did, I noticed Raff pulling into the parking lot, going to get directions on where to go from there. He was going in place of the guy that was being held at one of the safe houses I had in the city.
Colin stepped out. He looked left and then right. “How are we going to do this alone, Kelly?”
“Trust, Colin McFirth,” I said. “Do you trust me?” I looked him straight in the eye. Those were the exact words he had used right after he gave me the story about the key.
A second. Two. Three. He swallowed hard. Nodded. But said nothing.
It took over an hour for the truck Raff was driving to leave. It was one of the last ones. Raff didn’t pass in front of us, but after he drove out of the parking lot, he pulled over a few seconds later. I didn’t want Colin to see him.
I gave it another two minutes and then hit Colin on the chest. “No more trucks,” I said. “We’ll check the lot down the street. We can see if the number on the key matches any of them. If it does, we can use it to follow that one.” I nodded toward Raff’s truck. “We need to hurry, though. If he pulls off, we don’t have shit.”
“Yeah,” Colin said, out of breath. He hadn’t taken two steps.
We casually walked down the street, like we were going for a stroll, and then slipped into the parking lot without any trouble. The lot had one small light, and it haloed some, but it wasn’t enough to truly see by.
I could see enough, though.
I lifted the key. “Number 22.” I pointed to a row across from where we stood. “You check that one. Whistle if you find it.”
Each of the trucks had a number painted on the side, toward