Page 61 of Nikki Sinatra: For Her Lover
“How’s the security?” Mick asked.
“It’s heavy,” said Nikki.
“Almost look like your compound, Uncle Mick,” said Reno. “Except for the barns. And the bales of hay. And the horses out back. And the--”
“In other words, it’s nothing like Uncle Mick’s compound,” said Sal. “You idiot,” he added, to Reno.
“It’s similar to a large estate,” said Nikki, “until I noticed a very odd pattern.”
“What’s the pattern?”
“Every ten minutes, the guards change locations.”
“Every ten minutes?” asked Reno. “What kind of sense does that make?”
“I don’t know,” said Nikki. “It didn’t make sense to me either. But I’ve been studying their pattern for nearly an hour, and it’s a definite way they’re doing it.”
“But why?” asked Sal. “I’m with Reno. That don’t make no sense.”
“It makes sense if you don’t know what you’re doing,” said Mick, and they all looked at him. “They think constant rotation keeps fresh eyes on potential breaches. But that’s what amateurs would think when we know it’s just the opposite. Steady eyes will see changes in their sectors before fresh eyes every ten minutes will even notice a change.”
“So what are you saying, Uncle Mick?” asked Reno. “This Reeves joker has amateurs working for him?”
“So far that’s what we found. At every crime scene, including that shootout with Teddy and Nikki, all the dead bodies were local guys. Almost all smalltime hoods promised a nice paycheck.”
“Which leads you to think?” asked Sal.
“That Jackson hired who he could afford,” said Nikki.
Mick nodded.“Right.”
Sal smiled. “Ain’t this some bull? I don’t know the last time I been on a case with some broke motherfucker trying to manhandle a Sinatra or a Gabrini. This is different.”
Then Mick looked at Nikki again. “How do you want to handle it?”
Although Sal and Reno glanced at each other again, they let it ride.
“I go in alone,” said Nikki. “You monitor guard movements,” she said. Then she said to Reno Gabrini, the man voted the most powerful boss in Vegas, and to Sal Gabrini, the second-most powerful mob boss in the world behind Mick, and to Frankie “The Monk” Paletti, the third-most powerful mob boss in the world behind Sal Gabrini and Mick, that they would be her backup.
Her backup!
That was a bridge too far for Sal. “Are you serious? Who the fuck you think we are, Nikki? Mo and Curly? The Pips?”
Nikki didn’t quite get the Mo and Curly reference, but she understood the Gladys Knight and the Pips reference.
But before she could respond to any of it, Mick took over. “We need quiet drone support,” he said and looked at Monk. “Get drones in the air to confirm what Nikki’s telling us. These trackers are good but their subject to hacking. I want a clear view before we go in.”
“I’m on it,” said Monk as he pulled out his phone. Monk ran New Jersey. He and Mick worked across networks. If Monk Paletti gave an order to Mick’s men, it was as good as Mick, Teddy, or Nikki giving that order. And vice versa.
“When drone support arrive and confirm,” Mick continued, “we set up perimeters based on guard movement.”
“How many are we talking?”
“Three up front,” said Nikki. “Three in the back. One on the right side. One on the left side. And one guarding the front door.”
“But not the back door?”
“Nobody’s at the backdoor.”
