Page 48 of An Eye For Illusion

Soft voices come from the room across from the entryway and the living room, but I can’t make out anything that’s being said. That must be where Vinny and Carlo are. I’m unsure if Moore is with them or somewhere else in the house. I lost eyes on them as soon as they entered the residence.

If I had to guess, Carlo and Dino are just the muscle or enforcers, and Frankie is Vinny’s right-hand man. Frankie seems to be more vigilant than the other two and ran the show both times I’ve interacted with him. I haven’t figured out if Moore is anything more than a way for them to launder the money.

Standing here makes me look like I’m on guard, so I take a seat on a couch that’s opposite Dino and Frankie.

Dino reaches over and turns on the TV, flipping until he finds the channel with the latest football game on it. Unfortunately, it effectively cuts out the soft murmurs I heard from the other room. I pretend to watch the game as Dino hollers at the players like they can fucking hear him, and Frankie continues to stand guard.

Maybe five minutes pass before Vinny enters the room. “Turn that fucking thing off, Dino.” There’s no sign of Carlo or Moore.

“Yes, sir.” Dino scrambles to find the remote he managed to lose in all of five minutes and turns it off.

“Now, Frankie tells me you have a knack for finding rare cars. Is that correct, Jax?” Vinny asks.

I lean back on the sofa and prop my arm on the arm of the couch to make myself seem comfortable. “I might have a knack for that, yeah.” I try to sound aloof so I don’t raise any red flags by overselling myself or sounding overeager.

Vinny smiles, and he claps his hands together. “Perfect. I’ve been looking for just the right guy to find a very special classic car.”

I start to sweat a little. The car needs to be something I can get my hands on. At the very least, it needs to be something I can make them believe I can get my hands on.

“I’m intrigued. What are we looking for?” I pray it’s something in the realm of possible.

Vinny smiles, and his eyes light up with excitement. “I’m looking for a 1966 Chevy Impala.”

I laugh a little as relief flows through my chest. He’s looking for an Impala? Sure, a 1966 model isn’t the easiest to come by, but it shouldn’t be that fucking hard to find one.

Frankie tsks at me.“ Jax, my boy, don’t think the boss would call an outsider in to find something he could easily find himself.”

My laughter dies, and I try to rein in my newfound rising anxiety while attempting to look intrigued.

Vinny’s eyes narrow. “Like I was saying, I’m not looking for any old Impala. I’m looking for a very special, very specific impala.”

I lean forward and clasp my hands, my brows furrowed. “Interesting. What’s so special about it?”

He grins. “I’m looking for the Impala my father owned and drove in the sixties and early seventies. The car hasn’t been seen since my father’s untimely death in 1975. Let’s just say some unsavory folks got a hold of it. I need you to find it and get it back for me.”

Vinny drops the bomb and walks over to stand in front of me, crossing his arms in obvious challenge.

I stay seated, leaning back again to mull over the task at hand. I don’t have a choice. I have to take the job. I’m just trying to figure out how to buy myself some time because this will take a lot of time and resources. Resources that Dunn Security doesn’t have to give right now.

I remain outwardly relaxed, though I’m anything but. “When do you need it?”

“My birthday.” The answer is swift and curt.

“When would that be?” I question.

“February twenty-seventh,” Frankie answers.

Fuck. That’s only a few weeks away. They’re basically asking me to do the impossible, and they know it.

“That’s a tough one. I don’t know if it’s enough—” Before I can finish the sentence, Vinny is in my face, pulling me up from the couch by my jacket.

His tone is dangerous and eerily calm despite the position we find ourselves in. “Don’t fucking tell me it isn’t enough time. You are supposed to be the best. Donovan vouched for you. Are you telling me he’s a liar? Are you saying I can’t trust his judgment?”

I don’t know how, but—minus my momentary lapse when my eyes widened as he initially grabbed me—I manage to keep my face neutral and impassive. Almost like I’m bored or used to this kind of show of force.

“I’m just trying to be straight with you. I can find it. I can get it. But I’ll need time to track it down. If they’re the kind of guys I think they are, there will be a lot more to worry about than a noisy fence and the hellhound down the street. I need to make sure I have the proper tools to take care of anything I come across, if you get my drift,” I say, holding my voice steady, hoping he bought my tough guy act.

I can’t show an ounce of weakness with these fuckers, or I’m dead.

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