Page 157 of Ready to Cash Out

It made him think of Juicy, and he smiled a little.

One of the men from the security detail approached, saying, “All right, Mr. Legrand. We’re ready for you.”

“Excellent. Thank you.” Cold led the way into the restaurant, Trev trailing behind with Jules.

The inside of the restaurant was very brown with splashes of red in the upholstery and the dingy carpet. There were dozens of framed black-and-white photographs on the walls. It was clean but quite old, and Trev could smell mildew seeping in through the scent of baking bread and a floral deodorizer.

They were shown to a table in the corner. Cold took the seat that would give him the best view of the restaurant and Trev took the next closest one to his left. While he couldn’t see as much of the back as Cold could, he could still see the front pretty well.

Where would the attack come from?

If it was one of the staff, then the back.

But what if the staff member tried to come through the front to throw off suspicion?

Did the mayor even know what was going to happen? Did his staff?

Fuck, fuck, fuck, how much of a mess was this?

Cold touched Trev’s shoulder. “Remember. No matter what happens, you stay inside the restaurant.”

“What?” Trev blinked.

“You heard me. No matter what happens, you stay.” Cold pointed at the table. “Right here.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Mr. Usher?—”

“Got it, bro.”

“Trevanion.” Cold frowned. “Please.”

The urgency of Cold’s plea was surprising and Trev shrugged. “Yeah. Okay. I got it.”

Jules hovered by the edge of the table. He grunted. “Just trust the boss, all right? This ain’t our first rodeo.”

“Yeah.” Trev snorted. “Exactly how many generations of the Luchesi family have you wiped out again?”

“Allegedly wiped out.” Jules looked very proud of himself.

Cold sighed.

“So. We’re just sitting here waiting for you know what?” Trev asked.

“Yes.”

“This is stupid.”

“You’ll understand. Very soon.”

Trev reached up to adjust his collar.

Two members of the security detail took positions against the far wall while the others headed to the front door. A short older man in a suit, with a big white mustache and even pastier skin, was being ushered in, followed closely by a younger man in a sweater vest with big white teeth like Chiclet gum.

Trev hated him on sight.

Sweater Vest came forward, saying politely, “Hi, hi, there. Lawrence Ember, the mayor’s personal assistant. He likes to sit in that corner because the light especially this time of day is so much more flattering?—”

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