Page 33 of O'Mega's Revenge
“Tits?” He knew some of the story. Hell, he was right there when I won her.
“And others,” Nonno confirmed. Then he expanded on things. “When he took that guy’s family, he castrated his sons, sold the daughter to one of his pimps. Cut the guy’s wife open and took out her lady parts. Then went after the guy’s brother and his family. The man was thorough. Not a single member of his family was left untouched.”
“Shit. Effective. Almost impressive.” Jackson wasn’t one to pace, but he did drop his nonchalant stance.
Jackson had some fucked up morals.
“Okay, he’s probably not the only guy in history with a bunch of blackmail in his safe. Why the fuck are you so whipped that you were fucking kneeling at his feet?” he asked.
Nonno hung his head.
“Probably has shit on him, too.”
The man fixed a laser beam intensity glare on me.
Bingo.
“What the fuck?” Jackson’s volume went up. “Our next fucking national president owned by the fucking mob?” His fists balled up. “You going to sell us out?”
That pissed off Nonno. “Listen up, you fucking idiot. You know this isn’t a game. We’ve been in good for a long fucking time. Keeping a psycho like that happy is worth swallowing a bit of pride once or twice. And think about that blackmail angle. He’s had a long time to build up his power. We deal with men like this all the time. And it’s been this way for longer than you’ve been alive, boy.”
“What did you just call me?” Jackson puffed his chest out.
I stepped between them and got in his face. “History, man. The club and mob? Working together since Capone days.”
He blinked and then laughed in my face.
“We aren’t lackeys. We’re Destroyers.”
“And as such, we aligned with some powerful families. A little scratch here, a bit of muscle there. They look away at our enterprises and don’t ask for a cut. And we act the thug when they ask nicely.”
Nonno put his finger on his nose, indicating I’d nailed it.
“Think bigger, Jackson,” Nonno said.
That wasn’t an understatement. Crime ignored borders almost as much as it ignored propriety. You get someone pulling strings, and voila. Teamsters moving product. Bikers providing muscle and security. Mobsters providing capital, product, and connections. Their money moving back and forth, buying both silence and cooperation from the law and the lawmakers.
On the other side, groups like the Destroyers monitored the streets where the dealers and the pimps worked to distribute the product to the masses, keeping a layer of grit between the filth and the veneer. Nice and tidy in symbiotic anarchy.
Bigger. As big as the whole world. Power. What kind of a person reached that far?
“You fucking knelt at his feet.” There was more than scorn in his expression. If I had to describe it, I might even say, hurt. Finding out your gods have clay feet did that.
“I don’t have to explain myself.”
Surrender before you’re defeated.I played the scene back in my memory.
“He wants Tits,” I concluded.
“Yes. How fast can you bring her to me?”
At my hesitation, Jackson ruffled what was left of my hair and chuckled. “Might be a bit. Bitch broke up with him last night, and her girls counted coup on his head.
“That’s what happened? Here I thought you lost a fight with a lawnmower.”
Their amusement was at my expense. I could laugh it off to throw Nonno off, play a game with them both by letting them think I’d sell out. But Jackson was right in calling Nonno out on his weakness.
“They’ll close ranks on her.” Jackson ran through the logistics out loud.
