Page 61 of Forgotten Comeback
“Agreed. Do you have her number?” Inferno asks.
“I do.” I forward him Kat’s contact, and he types on his phone.
“I’ve sent her a message about dealing at my upcoming poker party,” Inferno says.
“What party? I thought those were on pause since Russell disappeared,” I remind him.
“They are.”
“Spell it out for me.” Both John and Inferno love being all cryptic.
“Kat will pass this ‘tip’ along to her boss, and while the family’s on a wild goose chase, we’re at the docks raiding their warehouse. But we’re keeping John out of the loop on this one,” he warns me.
“Why?” I raise an eyebrow.
Inferno slides his phone across the desk, and I grab it. “What am I looking at here?” It’s a picture of John entering a dump of a motel room.
“Keep swiping.”
The next picture is of the soldier, Enzo, entering the same room.
My eyes go wide. “But John said the Enzo angle was a dead end.”
“He did.” Inferno leans back in his chair.
“Maybe this was John’s initial contact with Enzo, and as he told us, he didn’t make any headway with the soldier.”
“Keep swiping.”
Picture after picture of Enzo and John meeting up at the motel; different days, different clothes, different times.
“What does this mean?”
“I don’t know,” he admits.
“Can’t you use your spidey-twin-senses or something?” I ask, sliding his phone across his desk.
Inferno tents his scarred fingers. “Things have been off with John for weeks now.”
“Yeah, I got that feeling too. But there’s zero chance he would betray us,” I argue.
“Can you think of another reason why he would continue to meet this soldier and not tell us?” Inferno challenges.
“Maybe John’s got a plan in motion we don’t know about yet, and he’s waiting for the right time to tell us,” I argue.
Inferno doesn’t look convinced.
I fall back in my chair. “Then what do you suggest?”
“We keep John out of the loop until this gets sorted.” His phone buzzes, and he grabs it. “Kat’s taken the bait. Tomorrow night we hit the Parisi warehouse. I’ll get our crew ready. Remember, John isn’t to know about any of this.”
“Alright, but I don’t fucking like it,” I tell him, walking to the door.
“You think I do?” he calls after me.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
