City on Fire (Danny Ryan, #1)(101)

“You got it, boss,” Sean says.

Kevin nods.

They all get back in their cars and head out.

We’re refugees, Danny thinks as he drives.

Freakin’ refugees.

Fugitives.

Exiles.





Two


Peter Moretti is freaking the fuck out.

Waiting for Chris Palumbo.

Sitting in the office of American Vending Machine on Atwells Avenue in Providence, Peter’s tapping his right foot like a rabbit on speed. The office is decorated like a mother, because his brother Paulie goes nuts at the holidays and because this was supposed to have been a very good Christmas, what with the heroin money coming in and the Irish going out. Wreaths and shit festoon the walls and a big artificial silver tree stands in the corner with wrapped presents underneath, ready for the annual party.

Maybe I should take some of the presents back, Peter thinks, because if Palumbo doesn’t show up, we’re all going to be broke. Last thing he heard from his consigliere, Chris, he was headed down to the shore to get the ten kilos of horse Danny Ryan had tucked away in a stash house. That was three hours ago and there isn’t anywhere in Rhode Island it takes three hours to get to and get back.

Chris hasn’t come back, hasn’t called.

So ten keys of horse is in the wind with him.

After you step on it like Godzilla on Bambi, ten kilos of heroin has a street value of over two million dollars.

Peter needs that money.

Because he owes that money.

Sort of.

Peter had bought forty kilos of smack from the Mexicans at a hundred thousand a key because he was desperate to get into the drug business. Guys like Gotti in New York were making money hand over clenched fist with dope, and Peter wanted in on the windfall.

But no way did Peter have four million in cash, so he and his brother went out to half the wise guys in New England, generously letting them in on the investment opportunity. Some guys bought into it because they liked the potential, others because they were afraid to say no to the boss, but for whatever reason a lot of people had a piece of the shipment.

It would have been fine, but then Peter let Chris Palumbo talk him into doing a very risky thing.

“We send Frankie V to the Irish,” Chris said, “and let him pretend that he’s flipping on us. He tips them off to the heroin shipment and gets Danny Ryan to boost it.”

“The fuck, Chris?” Peter asked, because what the fuck kind of idea was it to get your own dope boosted, especially by a gang you’ve been at war with. Christ, was Chris high himself?

Chris explained that he had a fed, Phillip Jardine, on the arm. The Irish take the heroin and Jardine busts them, effectively ending the long war between the Moretti family and the Irish.

“Four mill is too high a price tag,” Peter said.

“That’s the beauty part,” Chris said.

He explained that Jardine would keep some of the heroin to make it look legit but the bulk of the heroin would come straight back to them. They’d have to give Jardine a taste but by the time they cut up the drugs, there’d be more than enough in street value to make up for the loss.

“Win, win,” Chris said.

Peter went for it.

Yeah, and it all went according to plan.

Officially, Jardine seized twelve kilos from the Irish in a highly publicized raid. John Murphy, the Irish boss, got popped on thirty-to-life federal charges.

Good.

His son, Liam, got dead.

Even better.

Okay, twenty-eight keys is a fucking fortune and everybody gets paid.

Except—

Chris Palumbo and Jardine were supposed to go bust Danny and take his ten kilos.

Fine.

But—

No one’s heard from either of them since. And Jardine supposedly has the other eighteen keys.

Ryan’s gone, too. Left the hospital where his wife was dying, somehow got around Peter’s guys, and no one’s seen him since, either.

Billy Battaglia comes through the door.

He looks shaken.

“What?” Peter asks.

“Me and some other guys went with Chris to get that dope from Ryan,” Billy says. “Chris goes in, comes out ten minutes later—without the dope—tells us to go home.”

“What the fuck?” Peter’s heart feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest.

“Ryan had shooters outside Chris’s house,” Billy says. “Said he’d have them kill Chris’s whole family if he didn’t back off.”

“Why isn’t Chris here telling me that?”

“Chris hasn’t come?”

“You think you needed to tell me this if Chris already came?” Peter asks. “Where is he now?”

“I dunno. He just drove away.”

The phone rings and Peter jumps.

It’s Paulie. “I just got a call from a Gilead cop. They found a body on the beach.”

Peter feels like he could throw up. Is it Ryan? Chris?

“It’s Jardine,” Paulie says. “Two in the chest. Had his gun in his hand, one round fired.”

“What about Chris?”

“Nothin’.”

Peter hangs up.

The news about Jardine is devastating. The fed was supposed to deliver the rest of the heroin to them. And why did Chris take off? Shit, could he and Ryan have cooked up some deal? That red-headed guinea Chris triple-crossed everyone? It would be just like him.