Page 62 of Remember When We
Damn it. He could certainly say that again.
“You just need to focus okay.” Dante shoved a hard hand into my arm.
I nodded. “It just pisses me off when I don’t know shit. I hate being lied to and I hate being taken for an idiot. If she’s got something like that I want to know.”
Gibbs straightened and held out his cigarette like he had heard something. He then placed his finger over his mouth signaling us to be quiet and pointed outside.
The area we were in was boarded so that we were looking through the crevices in the wood.
You have to go through the sewer to get to this place and from the outside it looked like it was just part of the boardwalk. It was situated right in the gap between the areas that curved off the stairs and the drains for the club. It was right at the back of the club.
In front of us came a shadowy figure that became visible under the lamppost outside the club.
Fucking Frankie Santora.
My new friend. I balled my fists.
He lit a roll up and smiled at a man who approached. The very man we were looking for ... Captain Bailey Donovan.
The contact guy said we’d find him here. Said the other day when he saw him he looked like he was planning something. This was the spot where they always met because it was away from everyone.
We’d come here on the off chance to see him.
Seeing this guy made my blood heat to boiling point almost instantaneously. I could sense it, there was something in him that made me feel he was definitely Marshall’s killer.
It was my instincts.
I wanted to go out there and beat him to death.
“Is it done?” Frankie asked.
“Yes. Everything’s ready to get Torrez out,” Bailey replied. “I need your best men to protect him. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that he’s not being watched in some kind of way.”
The dude had to be in his late sixties, still built with that superior look his, military short buzz cut, and the moustache.
Asshole.
Even if I’d met this guy at the police station, I would have thought he was as shady as shit. Yes, definitely as shady as shit.
“Don’t worry man.” Frankie told him. “Chill out.”
“Don’t give me orders and tell me shit about chilling out.” Bailey stepped closer to him. “You just do your job. Get the transport ready like I said.” It gave me an idea of the dynamic they had. Frankie was who he was, but clearly Bailey called the shots.
“It’s ready now.” Frankie smirked. “Where should we get him from? Same place?”
They were talking about someone. Bailey had said Torrez a minute ago.
“No. He’ll be at the Double Tree on main. He’ll be ready at six on Wednesday. I’ll send details of his room. Get him and do this without any flaws Santora. I don’t want anything traced back here.” Bailey poked Frankie in his chest. “You’ll get your money when Emilio Torrez is on that boat back to Guadalajara.”
This just kept getting better and better.
Fucking hell.
Emilio Torrez, terrorist and black market trafficker. He was a member of the anarchist group called The Ra and was wanted by every country known to man.
Fucking hell.
Obviously, this Bailey Donovan was bigger than what I’d first thought.
