Page 60 of Salvation

Standing, I gesture to the corner of the warehouse where his shipment is carefully packaged and loaded into seafood crates. “Shall we take a look then?”

He nods and together we cross the warehouse. Max flanks my right side and only one gentleman from his party, Mr. Cabella, accompanies Mr. Whitesmith.

Several of my men are waiting by the crates. As we stop in front of one, the lid is carefully removed, allowing the contents to be seen. Mr. Whitesmith leans over to look inside. As he sees the contents, he smiles broadly. “Very good. Very, very good. You have certainly delivered for me, Mr. DeLucca.”

I indicate the next crate should be opened and my men comply. We inspect each crate until we reach the last one. Once they have all been resealed and covered with an impenetrable box lined with visqueen plastic sheeting, a layer of ice, and fish, Mr. Whitesmith leans back on his heels and regards me. He smiles again. “I am very impressed with the quality and the speed with which you delivered. My associates were right in directing me to you. I look forward to doing business with you again. I foresee a long and lucrative business arrangement between you and the Crescent City Crime Lords.”

Holding out my hand, I offer a gentleman’s handshake. His thick palm closes around it. After we shake, he waves one of his men over by curling two fingers in sharp succession. He’s holding a leather duffel bag in his hands. Passing it to Mr. Whitesmith, he returns to his post. Mr. Whitesmith unzips the bag, handing it to me. Max takes it from him, and we both look inside, Max removes one of the stacks of bills. Crisp 100s are neatly stacked in bundles of $10,000. Max randomly pulls a few stacks out and flips through then, making certain all are valid bills. Every stack he takes out is legit.

Nodding at him to let him know he can move with the money, I inquire with Mr. Whitesmith, “Shall we get you loaded up then?”

He nods and his men get to work. Within an hour, the transaction is complete; Mr. Whitesmith leaves for New Orleans with a million dollars in untraceable guns.

I breathe easy once the last SUV leaves my lot. Max looks over at me. I can’t see his eyes behind his black mirrored aviators, but I know he’s looking at me. He says, “That went well.”

Nodding, I watch as the black SUV turns onto the road that eventually leads to the interstate. “It did. It would be nice if all dealings could go that smoothly, right?”

He grins at me. “Nah. Where’s the fun in that?”

I chuckle dryly. “Says the man who wasn’t shot…”

He turns away from the sun and indicates the Escalade. “Ready to head out or do you have something else to do here?”

Looking at the sun, I shield my eyes and turn toward the SUV. “Let’s go. I want to put that money away.”

Nodding, he jogs to the SUV and opens the door. I climb in and my men hand me the duffel as I sit.

Max tells them to clean up and lock everything before leaving and off we go.

Once the door closes and I’m fully concealed within the SUV, I reach across the seat, swipe my arm sling from the console, and slip it over my neck before securing my arm. A groan slips past my lips.

Max chuckles and I tell him to shut up before I shoot him.

This causes him to laugh even harder. Grunting, I lay my head back on the leather headrest and close my eyes, knowing he’ll stay diligent, until he stops in front of my house. The drive is smooth and uneventful. My eyes open as he stops at the gated entrance and waits for it to open before pulling through and parking in front of the house.

Opening the door, I climb out. Max grabs the bag of cash and follows me up the steps and through the front door before we cross the foyer and head straight to the locked safe room. He sets the bag down atop my antique desk. Opening it, I grab six stacks and hand them to him.

He tucks one into his breast pockets before stacking the other five beside him. “Thanks, boss.”

I grunt again. The day already has me tired, and my arm is smarting like a son of a bitch. “Put that into the bag and head home. Go spend some time with that family of yours. I have some things I can do from my office here.”

He looks at me with surprise, saying, “Are you sure? I can stay.”

Shaking my head, I reproach him, “Go. You’ve been with me practically non-stop since I was shot. I’m sure your wife misses you. I’ll call if anything comes up. I’ll order in and have one of the men pick it up. I may invite Hope over for dinner tonight.”

He nods at me as we exit the safe room. I punch in my codes and listen as the multiple locks close. I turn toward my study while he heads for the entryway.

He calls out before opening the door, “If you decide to head out, call me. I can be back in ten minutes.”

I don’t answer him, but he doesn’t expect me to. He knows that I know he’ll come the second I call.

I have no intention of doing that though.

I plan on staying in and resting my arm while spending time with Hope tonight. I haven’t seen much of her lately.

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