Page 7 of Deliverance
"Sorry, sir," I said and stepped aside so he could pass me.
He stopped. "Ric, you know, I've been meaning to talk to you."
I blinked. "About what, sir?"
"Come with me." The metal door closed behind us, and instead of getting into the limo that had just arrived, we stood beside it as he lit a cigar. "Have you ever wanted to follow in your uncle's footsteps?"
"How so?"
"You don't know what he did for my father?"
I shook my head. "I only know that he worked for your father, not what he did."
Frank nodded as though he approved of the fact I didn't know what my uncle did for his operation. "Your uncle was my father's head of security."
I bobbed my head slowly, thinking. I couldn't picture my uncle being security, but maybe he had been more in shape when he was younger. I knew his father had died of cancer, and his brother had been murdered. Both were in the newspaper when I was younger because the Russo family was well known and donated a lot of money to charities. "And you want me to …?"
Before Frank could respond, a gun fired from down the alley, the bullet hitting the brick wall of the club. I couldn't see the shooter, the only light coming from a few windows of the surrounding buildings and the light above the door of the back door to Lock. I moved into action, grabbing Frank and shielded him. Frank banged on the door as another shot was fired, ricocheting off the limo that I immediately assumed was bulletproof. The door to the club opened, and I pushed Frank back inside, closing the door behind us and locking it.
"Are you okay, sir?" I asked, looking over his three-piece suit for any bullet holes or blood.
"Yes." He pulled a 9MM from a holster under his suit jacket. "Can't say this is the first time this has happened."
"What happened?" Marcus asked, his back straight and alert. A bang sounded against the metal door, as though a body was thrown into it.
"Stay here," I ordered.
"Take this." Frank reached out his hand with the gun.
I shook my head. I was smarter than that. I didn't want my prints on his gun, especially if anything more were to happen and the police needed a murder weapon or something. "I'll be fine."
"Ivan's out there." I didn't know who Ivan was, but I assumed he was the limo driver we had left out with the shooter.
I opened the door, expecting to throw some punches. Instead, a guy—Ivan, I assumed—had his knee on another guy's back, holding his hands behind him where he lay on the dirty New York asphalt.
"Where's Frank?"Ivanasked.
"Inside," I replied.
"Get him."
I opened the door I had just come out of and nodded that the coast was clear. Frank stepped outside. "You got him?" he asked, confirming it was Ivan.
"Yeah." Ivan took a gun out from his waistband. "Here's the gun he tried to shoot you with."
Frank took it and nodded at him. Ivan lifted the guy off the ground, and Frank stepped forward, placing the barrel of the gun under the shooter's chin and causing him to tilt his head back.
"Seems you missed." Frank chuckled sarcastically.
The guy didn't say anything.
"Who do you work for?" he probed.
The guy didn't answer.
"You better fucking answer me, or you're going to get a bullet in your fucking head."
The guy still didn't reply.
