Page 132 of Parrish

“What the fuck man?” Riggs says. “We’ve been calling Bas off the hook. We got the books, took a good look at them too.”

“And?” I question.

“And we don’t need to buy any toilette paper for a good week or so,” he deadpans.

“There is mention of the cartel in the books,” Wolf supplies. “Nothing specifically naming Javier though.”

“The books are over seventeen years old. Javier wasn’t in the game back then,” Pipe adds. “All we got is a couple of locations where the Ice Riders picked up their supply. We don’t know if they still operate out of them either.”

“The only good thing is that these warehouses and fucking drug dens are all located in Queens,” Riggs adds. “If Javier took over this territory, they may still be in play but unless we scope them out, we won’t know for sure.”

Waiting for my response to their intel, all eyes turn to me.

“Reina remembers,” I reveal, leaning back against my chair. “She spotted the black Cadillac sitting on the corner of our house that morning when she took Danny to school, said there was writing on the passenger side that read, ‘rest in peace, Padrino,”

“That still don’t specifically name Javier as the culprit,” Wolf points out.

“No, it doesn’t but if we find that fucking car at one of these sites that will,” I rebut. “She went on to confirm that the fucking car intentionally pushed her into that fucking truck. Reversed and plowed back into her. She saw the truck headed for them and told Danny to close his eyes because she didn’t want his last fucking memory to be that truck.”

“Jesus Christ,” Stryker mutters. Peeling his eyes away from me, he turns to Wolf. “We don’t got any beef with any Mexicans or any kind of club of Spanish descent. Nobody avenging Yankovich or looking to settle a score with Cain is going to break into Blackie’s house and deliver a message in Spanish. That only leaves Javier.”

“And after what happened to Bas’ mom, I don’t feel comfortable sitting on this with Blackie in the same position,” Cobra shares.

Looking across the table, I lock eyes with Wolf.

“I put in a call to Schwartz like we discussed but he didn’t answer. I say we find out where the motherfucker is and we pay him a visit. Make him use his daddy’s high-profile connections to get word to Blackie.”

“What about the deal?” Pipe asks. “We going to let him in on that?”

“What deal?” Linc questions.

“We can’t throw down with Javier,” I tell them. “We’ll get ourselves killed. The only way to make him disappear and get Blackie off on the charges is to hand Ritzer the cartel,” I explain.

“No blood is shed, and no one can trace it back to us,” Wolf adds.

“And how do we do that?” Needles asks. “Even if those locations check out, we don’t know what the fuck goes on in them. It might not be enough to warrant a deal.”

The guy has a point.

“That’s where you guys come in,” Wolf says, pointing a finger between Arrow and Mac. Leaning his forearms on the table, he glances around the room.

“You said the Ice Riders put a marker on Scout’s woman because of these books. What if we use that to our advantage and get them to give up whatever intel they got on the cartel. They want them bad enough, they’ll fucking talk and if they don’t, we go a different route.”

“Meaning?” Mac questions.

“We fucking dismember them until they squeal,” Wolf grinds out. “We get what we need to send the district attorney in the right direction and you guys get a couple of extra hands to deliver your revenge.”

“Everybody wins,” Pipe adds.

Apprehensively, Mac eyes Arrow. I don’t blame them for questioning the plan. They probably came here with a solid plan and here we are pissing all over their shit.

“I’ll call Scout, catch him up to speed and suggest he gets on the next flight,” Wolf offers. “We won’t strike until he comes up. In the meantime, Riggs you try to get a lock on this fucking mysterious Cadillac but first find out where the fuck Schwartz is hiding. The rest of you pair up and check out these locations mentioned in the ledgers.”

He pauses, turning his attention to me.

“You’re with me,” he says.

“That right?”

“Yeah, motherfucker. You’re going to give me another fucking heart attack,” he growls.

My lips quirk.

“Where we going, Prez?”

“To pay your new lawyer a visit,” he replies.

Poor Schwartz.

The bastard has no fucking idea what he’s in for.

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