Page 82 of Demise

“That’s why you got him to try to shoot the chandelier. I thought you’d gone crazy.”

I chuckle, but then turn somber, exhaling a heavy breath. “We got him,” I mutter.

Sweep grabs my shoulder. “Soon this will all be over.”

We leave the gun in the hole and get out of there. I call Henry in Postings and give him the address of the mansion Moretti is at and the spot where Moretti killed Trig. The other body will be blamed on Trig, having his bullet through his skull.

I give them murder and confession to sex trafficking. Moretti is got.

I stand in the shadows as they raid the home and watch as they bring out Ruel and his brothers. The girls come out, too, with thick blankets covering their bodies.

Moretti is last, and when they haul him out in handcuffs, I step into the light.

He stops in his tracks when he notices me. Realization hits him like a concrete slate. “You motherfucker,” he curses, spit flying from his lips as he tries to get to me, but the cops won’t let him.

I lift my chin, disgusted by this creature. “You’re a sick vulture.”

He yanks his arms. “You’re dead, Bones. You hear me.Dead.”

I smile. “By the way, you owe me five grand.” And then after over twenty years, I walk away.

Chapter Fifty-Six

Bones

(A few months later)

I stand inside the clubhouse, walking from the main room to Moretti’s office. The police have confiscated everything they needed for evidence, ripping the place apart. The couch is turned over, the pool table broken. Glass is shattered from the bar, and Moretti’s office is wrecked.

The men and women who hung out here, who helped run our business, have scattered like ants. The warehouse has been shut down, and Red has also been closed until further notice.

It’s all done.

It’s all over.

I take my hand from my pocket and throw down the can. My senses burn from the smell of gas.

Moretti Galo

I should have killed that motherfucker when I had the chance. All the goddamn shit I did for him, took him in when he was still pissing in his bed. I sit in the courtroom with the most renowned lawyer in the state of Jersey.

Wearing orange and shackles around my ankles, I link my fingers as they rest on the table and listen as my lawyer pleads my case. Been in this business for over fifty years and never got my hands dirty. They got nothing on me. I have witnesses.

I’m not going down for that psychotic motherfucker’s murder. I’ve never had to do a hit in my life. I lift a brow and people get killed. That’s how it works. I built the kingdom. I put in every brick so others could have a different way to live. I made Postings what it is today.

I’m the king, and there’s no fucking way a rat is going to take me down.

Danny O’Brien

Sweep stands beside me, his eyes roaming the clubhouse. I’m sure he’s recollecting on the years spent here just as I am. He retrieves his Zippo from his pocket, flicks it open, and lights the smoke hanging from his mouth, and then he smiles over at me.

Memories flood. Old times bring melancholy.

“Start pouring,” Johnny whispers.

“Don’t get it on you,” I say, twisting the cap off. The place fills with overpowering fumes as we both begin drenching everything in moonshine, soaking the couch and all the furniture.

Johnny stops and looks at his old man, studying him as though he wants this moment captured in his memory for the rest of his life.

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