City on Fire (Danny Ryan, #1)(46)

“Cocksucker!” Paulie says.

“Come on, bring it!” Sal says.

“Guys!” Chris steps in between them. Even Frankie V gets up from his chair and steps in to calm things down.

“You want me to give the jewelry back?” Peter says. “Fine, I’ll give it back.”

“Good,” Sal says, settling down a little.

“But you’re going to kick to me on that Manchester job,” Peter says.

“What?!”

“You think I didn’t know about that?” Peter asks. “You think I wouldn’t find out?!”

“That’s my fucking money.”

“What,” Peter asks, “I’m supposed to walk away empty-handed? Everyone eats but Peter Moretti? Fuck that. You should have been kicking to me from moment one. Fifty percent. I was going to let it slide, but if we’re going to play by the rules now, we’re all going to play by the rules. I want it all now—not fifty, a hundred. A tax for not doing the right thing in the first place.”

Sal turns to Chris. “You believe this fucking guy?”

Chris shakes his head. “He’s the boss, Sal. He’s within his rights here.”

Sal’s hands flex, like he’s ready to go.

Frankie V reaches inside his jacket for his piece, just in case.

But Sal just slowly nods, then looks at Peter and says, “Fine. You got it. You want the money, you got it, you greedy fuck. But take a good look at this face, Peter, because it’s the last time you’ll see it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m out of your war,” Sal says. “Me and my crew. I don’t even know why I got in it in the first place—the Murphys never did anything to me, I never had a beef with them. I got in out of loyalty to you, but loyalty is a two-way street. Like respect. You want it, you have to give it.”

“You took an oath,” Peter says. “It’s for you to show respect and loyalty to me.”

“I have!” Sal yells. “I’m going to hell for the shit I’ve done for you. I’m going to hell, Peter. What more do you fucking want?”

“Go ahead,” Peter says. “Run away, you’re scared. You’re waiting for me to beg you to stay, don’t hold your breath. Who needs you?”

We do, Chris thinks, but he doesn’t say it.

Sal, he smiles at Peter, nods, and walks out.

“Make sure you get that money,” Peter says to Chris.



“Thanks for taking my back,” Sal says to Chris when the consigliere comes for the money.

“Sal—”

“You’re a two-faced son of a bitch, you know that?”

“Sal, you can’t just walk away.”

“No?” Sal asks. “Who’s going to come after me? You, Chris?”

Chris doesn’t say anything.

“What I thought.”

Tony comes out of the back room with a duffel bag and hands it to Chris.

“That was my house,” Sal says. “The house I showed you. For my grandkids.”

“I’m sorry, Sal.”

“Between you and me?” Sal says. “One of these days, I’m going to put that motherfucker in the dirt.”

Chris doesn’t have to ask which motherfucker he means.





Twenty-One


Danny lets go of the metal bar and steps forward.

Hurts like a son of a bitch, but it’s a good hurt because if he can put any weight on the left leg it means his hip is healing. He’s still a little afraid, though, that he’s going to hear some awful snap and the hip joint is going to come popping out of his skin.

By the time he makes it all the way down the length of the bar without grabbing it to balance, he’s tired and sweating hard.

Ten whole feet, he thinks, reminding himself that it’s progress. Also reminds himself that he’s an outpatient now—after three grueling weeks they let him leave the clinic and move to the nearby Residence Inn with Terri.

With Madeleine staying in a room down the hall.

His wife and his mother have become as thick as thieves. They have long days on their hands while he’s doing his rehab and they go shopping, go to lunch, go to the movies.

Danny don’t like it.

“What do you want me to do?” Terri asked when he brought it up. “Sit in the room all day, watch TV?”

“No.”

“Well?”

Danny didn’t have an answer.

“She’s nice,” Terri said. “We have fun.”

“Good.” He means it, sort of. It’s good for her to have company and also to be away from her family and Dogtown, with everything that’s happening.

Danny follows the war in the papers and on TV.

The media loves it. They haven’t had a full-out gang war to cover in years and it makes for great headlines and photos. Film at eleven. Readers and viewers following it like they’d follow baseball—get up in the morning to read the box scores.

Dante Delmonte, one of Paulie’s crew, shot in his car after making a collection in South Providence. And two more of Moretti’s guys, Gino Conti and Renny Bouchard, are gone—although it’s Pasco who’s reputed to have given the order.