Page 84 of Fury

I was in Chicago on business this time, a scouting mission on the Smoking Guns’ relationship with a crime family. We knew they had ties, but National decided they wanted more specific intel. I had volunteered for the job, figuring I could slip in some time with my woman, plus I had a contact in Chicago who I’d put on the case. I couldn’t do much inconspicuous legwork with my scars.

The Smoking Guns had first raised their level of notoriety and cash flow in the eighties by being the errand boys for the Tantucci family. Once they made a name for themselves, they separated themselves from obvious ties with Italian mafia and worked hard to make their reputation seem more “road outlaw.” They weren’t the purebred motorcycle club they pretended to be. Not like us.

My buddy Rhys, one of my few friends from high school in Missouri, was acting as my scout. I’d found him by chance on my last visit to Chicago, spotting him in a park strung out on drugs the VA had shoved in his hand before kicking his ass out. Rhys was former Special Forces, three tours of duty. After his years of service, he’d been living in his car and on the streets.

I’d given Rhys a chance by offering him a small job, a delivery. He’d come through on his first go round, and I’d paid him all the money I’d gotten for it. With me, he got straight and got busy, and I trusted him. I’d offered him a job as a freelancer and kept his existence a secret.

We were going to meet late tonight so he could tell me what he found out. He’d been following the Sergeant at Arms of the local Guns chapter the past month as well as two Tantucci foot soldiers.

Since I’d gotten into Chicago early and got my shit done, I had time to check out a man from another Chicago family before I met up with Serena. She still hung out with Ciara, but I’d insisted she didn’t get too comfy with her and definitely kept away from Turo. She promised she’d avoid him and not spend so much time with Ciara anymore.

I wanted to see him for myself.

I found Turo by finding Ciara. The two of them had lunch at a French restaurant, then they strolled up Oak Street where he waited for her outside a shoe store, smoking some fancy short, thin cigar. He was average height, sported wavy reddish-blond hair he put effort into slicking back with shiny gel, a smooth shaved face, and light colored eyes. He wore an overcoat that hung on his wide shoulders, a slim-fitting suit and a perfectly tied tie, a small knot smack at the base of his long throat, and a starched collar so stiff any momma would approve of. I’d bet his fingernails were professionally manicured.

He put a gloved hand on Ciara’s chin and dropped a quick kiss on her lips then opened a taxi door for her. She pouted, he ignored it and shut the car door and walked off on his own.

Trashing the remaining Italian beef sandwich with sweet peppers I’d gotten a few streets back, I brushed my hands together to be rid of the crumbs and grease and headed uptown to the shit neighborhood where I was meeting Serena.

I finally got to the hotel with ten minutes to spare. We’d meet in the lobby, in a phone booth at the back. I jumped the stairs two at a time, heat flaring through me. What would she be wearing? What color would her hair be? Would she have any new tattoos I could lick?

“Dude! Finger, that you?”

My heart froze mid-beat. I swiveled on the stairs. Skid. A Flame from Ohio. A skinhead disciple of Reich’s white supremacist ways.

“What’s up, man?” Skid jogged up the stairs and slapped my shoulder with his hand. “What are you doing out here from the boonies?”

“On an assignment.”

He cast a look at the entrance to the small hotel where three backpackers stood looking at a map. “What the hell you doing here?” He nudged me with an elbow. “Gay boys come here, man.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Fuck yeah. Ain’t you staying at the club over on—”

“I just got in, been working most of the afternoon. I needed to take a leak, figured I’d find a john I could use in here.”

“Better watch your back while you’re taking a piss, man.” He let out a loud, obnoxious laugh.

I forced my mouth to curl up into a tight grin.

“But you know Chicago real well, don’t you?” he asked, his eyes hanging on mine.

“What do you mean?” I tugged on my jacket collar.

“I heard you come out this way a lot.”

“You heard?”

“Yeah, Reich mentioned it. You know, I got a brother-in-law here at the Chicago chapter. He hasn’t seen you around any, though.”

A prickle tracked up my spine. I didn’t usually poke my head in to the local chapters whenever I was in town, but Reich was keeping tabs on me? Of course he was.

I shrugged. “I’m in, I’m out, off and on.”

“Right.”

I held his gaze straight on. “What are you doing out this way?”

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