Page 12 of Wrapped in Silver

“Like rice? That’s weird. Hm. I think I’ll keep calling you Silver.”

Bitch.

“I’m going, I’m going.” She puts her hands up, able to tell I’m getting annoyed. “Bye, Aros. Thanks for the tip.”

Kchrk!

The door shuts. I lock it behind her and beeline it to the office room to watch her scurry away, then head to the window to make sure Mr. Rookie isn’t staring through any of the windows. I’m being paranoid, true to my nature. There’s a rush attached to it that I haven’t felt in ages, though.

Pacing to my duffle, I pull out a burner phone stashed away for emergencies, and can’t believe I’m about to use it. Out of habit, I start dialing Stanzo’s number, then wince when I remember his fate.

I should be used to death at this point. An old ghost like me experienced more than his share, but for some reason, this one still hurts. Deleting the number, I reenter John Scar’s and put the phone to my ear.

“Uh… John’s phone?”

I know that voice anywhere. Sal DiceyMatteo, right hand to the fucking Don. His nickname should be Jester, ordouchebag.Either fits.

“Hi, Sal,” I say.

“Hey, John.”He pretends to cover the mic. “It’s weird, just wind on the other line,” he says to someone else in the backdrop.

I shut my eyes and sigh.

“Hah. Ghost. I feel like the last time you called, I was in diapers.”

“Hilarious as ever, Dice.” I massage my temples.

“Oh really? I got more. Ahem… now you’re the one in diapers.”

“How does the Stallion deal with you?” I ask genuinely.

“Pfft. The bastard is numb to me. Anyway. What can I do you for, good man? And when are you going to get me into your cool big-time movies, huh?”

“Put John on.”

“Mm. He’s a little—uh—busyat the moment.”

I shake my head, missing the thrill of the job. The old Scar is still at it. “Fine. The Russians charged the kingdom,” I speak in code.

“The fuck outta’ here.”Sal spits.

“Right next to the Six Flags castle,” I say.

“Dirty Jersey? The one off Windham? Goddamn.”

“Sal…”

“Relax, old man. Our calls are double-VPN-blocked. Putin couldn’t even hack us. Tell me more.”

“Captain of homicide, mid-Jersey unit. He lived right across the way. Scooped up in the middle of the night.” I look out the window, spotting Quinn with her laptop open outside—likely matching the Russian mob star with the shaded points on her house. Brat doesn’t trust me.

“Dall, something or other? That dude has been stirring all sorts of shit for our Jersey crews. I’ll let Trino know. Thanks for the heads up. Might be open season for a bit down there, huh? You, Mr. Ghost, just opened the floodgates.”

“Mm,” I growl.

“Stay put, will you? Need to let big boss know. This ain’t no little biscuits move, now that I think about it.”

“Glad that finally clicked for you.”

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