Page 30 of His Passerotta

Clyde shakes his head, horrified defeat hanging heavily in his cries. “I don’t know.”

Lorenzo nods as if accepting that. “How can we get in contact?”

“I-I don’t know where they’re stationed, but some of them hang out under the bridge, past the old bread factory on the south side… Please.” His eyes implore Lorenzo, as if he might help.

I almost laugh.

I drop the drill, and Clyde lets out a grateful wheeze, closing his eyes as if the pain is over. It is. I’m done with him.

After pulling my gun from its holster, I point it at his head. “Anything else?”

Clyde’s eyes widen to saucers, and his lips quake as if he’ll say something, but I pull the trigger anyway. He’s useless. He was useless an hour ago.

His head flies back, sending a drop of blood running into the crease of his opened, dead eye.

Settimo walks over and picks up the drill, lifting it up for me to see. “Overkill, don’t you think?”

“I had to be sure he didn’t know something.”

“You were sure a long time ago.” Settimo walks the drill to its spot on a counter. “Now we have to sort through the bullshit he gave us while protecting his sack.”

“Has anyone ever heard of the Lost Boys?” Lorenzo asks.

I shake my head while Settimo scoffs. “I doubt they exist.”

He snatches a rag off the bench and wipes blood off his hands, then he tosses it to me so I can do the same.

“I’ll look into it anyway,” Lorenzo says, his eyes moving curiously to Clyde.

“The whole thing’s a waste of time,” Settimo groans. “Who gives a shit who set fire to the Russians’ property? Good for them.”

“We’re not going through this again.” Lorenzo comes up to me and takes the rag before laying it over Clyde’s face. “What’s done is done, Settimo. It isn’t any extra work for you.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” He turns to scowl at me. “Speaking of this not being any extra work for me… Cormac called my office and left a message I’m assuming was meant for you. He wants to know if our problem was taken care of after the meeting last night. What the hell is he talking about?”

My throat clogs, and I wipe my face on my shoulder for the sake of breaking eye contact. Blood stains my white shirt, confirming my earlier suspicion. The smell is still potent in my nose.

“It was taken care of,” I answer, caught off guard. I didn’t think they’d actually follow up. Not with Settimo.

“What was the problem?” Settimo asks. “Maksim?”

Yes. The word is on the tip of my tongue, but I’m afraid he’ll make me explain further. Or worse, take action on whatever fake altercation I make up. Or even worse, catch me in a lie.

If he checks into it, he’ll find out. If they push harder for a follow up, he’ll find out.

It’s better just to say the truth.

“No. One of my employees showed up last night at the restaurant and overheard part of our conversation.”

Settimo looks like he couldn’t care less, but Lorenzo perks up. I keep my eyes on Settimo.

“I handled it,” I say before anyone can ask.

“Great.” His hand flicks toward Clyde. “Now handle your mess.” He takes a few steps to the door before pausing to look at Lorenzo. “You coming?”

They rode together. We’re supposed to be having lunch at La Divina after this, so I’ll be behind them shortly.

Finally, I look at Lorenzo, and in an instant, I regret it. His eyes bore into me like he knows something isn’t right.

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