Page 101 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

“It’s not him,” I murmured, getting a curt nod from him.

It wasn’t Stan.

But it was a dealer from one of the neighborhood crews. I couldn’t tell you which, though. Tall, a little on the stocky side, his pale skin ravaged by cystic acne, his face not having lost that pudginess around the jaw that usually happened in your mid-twenties, so he was younger than that. I would put him at no older than eighteen or nineteen.

“Where is Sheryl?” August demanded as he stood in front of the kid who looked equal parts defiant and scared.

There were three of them and only one of him. And he had just been divested of his weapon. It wasn’t looking good for him, and he knew it. But he was also pissed about it.

“Fuck you,” the guy snapped.

I didn’t know what I expected in this situation. I guess I’d never really given much thought to what mafia dudes were like in situations like this.

But I jerked back as August’s hand shifted on his gun, holding it by the muzzle, then pistol-whipping the guy with it.

The crack made my stomach turn over, but the guy jerked his head back up, his jaw tight.

“Let’s try that again. Where is Sheryl?”

“Fuc—“

“Before you finish that,” August said, glaring at the guy with cold eyes, “I’ll remind you that I’ve got all night. And if I get tired, I got two other people here ready to step in.” At that, the guy glanced nervously at Aurelio and Milo who both angled their chins up, looking very capable and willing to beat the shit out of him if necessary. “Now, where is Sheryl.”

“At the warehouse,” the guy grumbled, head hanging.

“What warehouse?” August asked.

“The one on Fourth,” he said, making August’s head turn to me, silently asking if I knew what he was talking about.

I gave him a barely perceptible nod, and his attention went back to the kid.

“Word to the wise, kid,” August said, sighing a bit. “You’re not cut out for this lifestyle. Get out while you still can.”

And with that, he cocked back and pistol-whipped him hard enough to have him out cold before he even hit the ground.

“Lock him in the basement,” August demanded, tucking his gun away as the other two did the same, then came to fetch the guy under his arms, dragging him down the stairs, then rigging the door.

He would be able to get out eventually. But likely not quickly enough to thwart our plan to descend on the warehouse.

“Let’s go,” August said, leading us back outside. “What is this warehouse?” he asked when we were in the car, and I’d given Milo directions.

“It’s an old mini meat mart. Not a giant warehouse or anything. It’s been abandoned as long as I can remember.”

“Seems like someone has co-opted it for their drug business,” August said, reached over to give my thigh a squeeze.

I placed my hand over his, trying to silently convey that I wasn’t upset about what I’d witnessed.

I would do anything to get my friend and my father back. I probably would have done worse than hitting the guy twice just because my emotions made me volatile in this situation.

“Is there a way to get to it without parking in front of it?” Milo asked, glancing at me in the rearview.

“I, ah… yeah, I guess. You can park the next street over. There’s an old chainlink fence but it’s broken in a section. We can just walk right through.”

“About that,” August started.

“I’m going with you,” I snapped, glancing over at him, fire in my eyes. “If you try to make me stay, I’ll just follow you.”

To that, he sighed. “Stubborn ass,” he grumbled, but he seemed like he knew that was going to be my response.

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