Page 83 of Burn this City

“Yes.”

“Nice.” A hint of glee in Spadaro’s voice. “I’ll call when I got him.”

Fucking speed demon, but at least Spadaro was on his side. “Great, meet you at the airport.”

43

Amsterdam, then. Jack looked at the departure board—the next flight to Chicago O’Hare was already boarding, and he hadn’t even checked in, so he wouldn’t be able to make the Frankfurt flight. He waited in line for the business class check-in. He’d have plenty of time on the tourist visa to decide where he wanted to live, but right now, a couple years in Europe sounded like just the ticket.

He knew a lawyer in Valletta who could help with acquiring permanent residency in Malta, where one official language was English, and Italian was also widely spoken. Plus, it wasn’t Italy and nowhere near his parents or other connections. Excluding fees, that would cost about 150,000 Euros, and if he liked it there, he could always buy Maltese citizenship as a next step. That would open the whole continent to him, giving him plenty of options.

The woman behind the counter smiled and indicated that the gate would open in 30 minutes, and he thanked her and turned away.

Spadaro stood before him, dressed in his biking leathers, helmet dangling from his right arm. “Hi, Dad. I found a seat for us over there.” Without taking his eyes off Jack’s face for a second, he pointed over to a corner near a luggage shop and a fast-food outlet.

“Do you think it’s smart, bringing a weapon into an airport?” Jack asked in Italian.

“Wasn’t going to go through security.” Spadaro responded in the same language. “Come, let’s sit.” He took Jack’s arm in an unsettling echo of how Jack had offered him support while Spadaro had been wearing a dress and high heels.

Creeped out, Jack allowed Spadaro to lead him over to the empty group of seats. Spadaro sat down next to him, and placed one leg across his knee, taking a lot of space. He could have been nothing more than a manspreading teenager, but his dark eyes remained fixed on Jack, and that made this whole situation a whole lot less casual.

“What do you want? Tying off loose ends?”

“You wouldn’t be talking to me now if you were a loose end. No. Sal Rausa wants a few minutes of your time.”

Shit.“If I wanted to talk to him, I’d have stayed at the Lodge. In fact, we’ve talked plenty. Our business is concluded.” He forced himself to breathe calmly and evenly, part of him trying to figure out where the gun or knife was. Inside the suit? In the helmet?

“Running from finished business is weird, don’t you think?”

“Listen, I need to catch that plane. I’ll write you a check for a hundred grand, and you missed me.”

For the first time, Spadaro actually smiled an almost normal smile. “Cute.”

“Two hundred then.” Jack did have the feeling it was futile and, worse, pathetic. But seeing Spadaro not even blink at such a handsome bribe was really fucking disturbing.

“Yeah, sorry, not currently taking any other jobs, but happy to give you my number.” Spadaro reached inside his bike jacket and pulled out a card that he slid across to Jack. Jack took it mostly because there was no point in rejecting it.

“I have reasons to leave,” Jack tried again. Plan B. A new start. No more responsibilities. Nobody would know him. He could leave this part of his past behind in much in the same way he’d left prison behind for good several years ago.

“We all do,” Spadaro said and stood. He focused on something else in the check-in hall, and with a sinking heart, Jack spotted Sal Rausa in an almost full run, behind him Enzo. Sal’s face was flushed, but whether it was exertion or rage was impossible to say.

Oh hell.One reason for running was that he hadn’t want to have this discussion with Sal. This was nothing he could negotiate. All this would do was hurt him more and push out the inevitable.

Sal reached them, breath going hard. “Jack. Fuck.”

Spadaro pulled back and shifted his attention to their surroundings, people wrestling with their luggage or digging for their passports or ordering a burger. Jack could barely hear the airport noise over the pulse pounding in his head. The seventy yards to the entrance of the security entrance might just as well have been miles. He could raise an alarm and attract attention, but even so these three men could grab him and bundle him into a car before the security guard over there looked up from his phone.

44

Sal honestly didn’t know whether he wanted to shake or punch Jack, but seeing him, he was just relieved that he’d caught up to him. Spadaro had spotted Jack the moment he’d entered the check-in area, and then given Sal directions.

And while an airport was not the best place for this, it also wasn’t the worst. “What the hell is going on here, Jack?”

“I’m done in Port Francis.” He sounded very calm, very reasonable and now straightened in his seat.

Sal sat down next to him, with one seat between them, still catching his breath. “Done with what?” None of this made sense, but if Jack needed to put this into his kind of words, he needed to ask questions and listen to the answers, even if he didn’t like it.

“My job. Sal, you got everything you wanted. Every last bit. Everything …” Jack’s voice vibrated with some kind of suppressed emotion that Sal couldn’t parse. “Everything and more. You didn’t take any losses. Your enemies are dealt with. You got the money, the power, the businesses. Nobody will ever disrespect you again. It’s a fantastic victory. Congratulations.”

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