Page 17 of Working for the Mob

“They have that cat house out by the river––” Lance said, but I cut him off.

“No women!”

“And their pimp, Eddy McLaurin,” Lance continued, as if I hadn’t said anything––I knew the worthless piece-of-shit Eddy by reputation only, “lives just out of town.”

“By himself?” I asked, and Lance nodded. “Then why can’t someone else go? Why does it have to be me?”

“Because I want to remind them ofwhatyou are. And word has it that he’s been takinglibertieswith the women in his employment.”

I tightened my fists, even though he added the last bit on purpose. My brother knew me well enough to know that I wouldn’t let a slimeball like McLaurin continue to operate.

“We need to make sure that he’s the only one there. I’m not risking any casualties,” I said.

“I already put Henry on it.”

Before I even agreed to the job? Presumptuous ass.

???

The new moon made it difficult for me to see the dirt road under my feet. To avoid McLaurin from hearing my car, I had parked a half mile away from his house and walked the rest of the way on foot. Only the bright stars overhead stopped me from tripping on the hill I climbed, illuminating its silhouette at the top of the horizon.

A fall breeze made me appreciate the wool coat I wore, although I didn’t need the rabbit-skin lined gloves. I hoped that Genevieve would stay warm overnight. A new stack of logs laid behind her house, but I didn’t know whether she knew how to start a fire herself.

At least it wouldn’t get cold enough for them to freeze to death overnight, but it might not hurt for me to check in on them in the morning.

The house came into view once I made it to the top of the hill, and I stepped off the road to prevent being seen. McLaurin lived in a run-down farmhouse that needed a lot of work. The overgrown fields and brush both needed to be mowed, but McLaurin was too lazy to address either one. He hadn’t even closed the door to the shed beside his house. Any animal could sneak in there during the night.

The dark outline of a car sat parked in front of his house, and I could discern the faint outline of smoke against the starry sky; McLaurin was home.

I scanned the tree line until I found our rendezvous point. The trunk of the sycamore that had blown over in a storm years ago. McLaurin should’ve cut up the stump by now, but he left it there like a sore thumb.

I moved slowly through the tall grass. One wrong step in the dark and I could sprain my ankle. However, I didn’t want to risk carrying a lantern and give away my location.

I spied Henry sticking his head out from behind the sycamore, his attention fixed on the house. He wore a gambler hat and a tweed jacket.

A twig gave away my position, and he whirled around, a cocked gun in his hand. “Who’s that?”

His wide eyes scanned the forest, but his gun wasn’t pointed remotely in my direction.

“Calm down, Henry. It’s just me,” I said, and waved my hands for him to see.

Relief washed over his face and he smiled. Henry was dark skinned with a shaved head and a mile-wide smile. He was built like a blacksmith, with broad shoulders and strong arms.

“You gave me the damn heebie-jeebies, Art,” Henry said crossly, and lowered the hammer on his gun. “Why do you have to sneak around like that? I could’ve shot you.”

“From the way your gun was pointing, you would’ve shot a tree.”

Henry shrugged. “I’ve been waiting for you all night. What took you so long?”

“I wanted to make sure that McLaurin was asleep,” I said, and even in the darkness, I knew that Henry rolled his eyes beside me. “Is he in there?”

“He got in a few hours ago,” Henry said.

“Is he alone?”

“I haven’t seen anyone else go in the house, and I’ve been here since six,” Henry said, and I immediately felt for him. He had been out here for eight hours. We were going to need to give him a raise.

“Good. It’ll just be the three of us,” I said. “I’ll go through the front. You go around the back just in case.”

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