CHAPTER ONE

 

Jason Trent opened his eyes and found himself lying in a dark alley behind a dumpster. He tried raising his head but found that he couldn't. He felt stiff, numb.

"Anyone here?"

No answer. He was alone.

Last he remembered, the drug drop on I-79 had gone well. It took less than half an hour for him and his buddy Bill Russo to hook up with Cal Arnetto and Miguel Sandoval at the rest stop. It had been simple, transferring the two suitcases to Cal's rented SUV, taking the money and driving back to town. No fuss, no muss. Once he and Bill got back to the club, the money was delivered to Sam Torino and their cut was taken out. Case closed. Time to hit the showers, men. Tomorrow was another day.

Not so, this time. A celebration was in order. Bill felt good. And he should. He almost had enough saved to buy that classic '55 T-Bird he'd been lusting after for so long. He'd turned to classic cars as therapy to help him get over Tanya, his former lady, who'd left the club suddenly one day without telling anyone why. He'd really been stuck over her, even wanted to marry her and settle down, maybe even have a kid in a couple years. There were plenty of babes working at the club, but Bill had wanted Tanya for some time, and couldn't care about anyone else. The classic cars took his mind off things, but Jason could tell his buddy was still hurting.

But the extra money helped. Bill was riding high this evening, and wanted to cap it all off with dinner at the Waffle House on Liberty Avenue, then hit one of the new clubs on Smithfield for a couple of drinks before calling it a night.

So why the fuck am I lying on my back in an alley behind a dumpster?

Jason's memories of the evening had turned cloudy not long after the drop. The exchange rang clear as a bell in his head. Hell, so did the short trip from I-79 back to Liberty Avenue. But from that point, things turned all screwy, like when you've had a joint after too much blow and your head starts spinning around.

After stopping at the intersection of Penn and Sixth, Bill had taken his flask out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Jason, who took it and stared at it.

"Somethin' wrong? It's good stuff."

Jason shrugged. "I thought we were going to dinner first. Drinks later on?"

"What's wrong with a kick right now? I'm still a little fucked up from that drop. I kinda think we mighta been followed over the bridge."

Bill was right. Even in heavy traffic, a guy could tell he was being followed. Good thing Bill was good at losing a tail. Jason had been tense as well. It was okay to be tense during a drop--it kept you from doing something stupid, like lowering your guard. He and Bill hadn't been armed, for obvious reasons. Having a piece during a drop could easily turn things into a giant cluster fuck. The cops stopped you, they not only found enough coke to supply a neighborhood for a week, they also found illegal guns with the serial numbers filed off. Bad enough you couldn't dump two suitcases on the run. Even the dumbest of cops could spot guns flying out of the side windows.

Yeah, a strong sip of Wild Turkey would hit the spot.

Jason opened the flask and coaxed a good splash down his throat. It burned like hell, filling his insides and turning his limbs into Jell-O. Good stuff, all right. This batch was stronger than what Bill usually carried. Probably from Gandy's private stock. He handed the flask back to Bill, who put it in his lap while he turned when the light went green.

"Yeah," Bill said, "that was one smooth drop. Gandy'll be pleased."

"Hope so." Jason let his head fall back onto the headrest. It was real easy; his head felt as if it weighed half a ton. These drops took a lot out of a guy. "About damn time the big man stopped ripping us new assholes."

Bill pocketed the flask. "You gotta put yourself in Gandy's shoes. He's got places to run, people to answer to."

"Aren't you gonna have a swig?"

"Just being careful. Thought I spotted a cop back there."

Jason glanced toward the back. He didn't see anyone, but you could never tell. A lot of traffic out there, and it was getting harder to spot unmarked cars. Bill could be right. But he was wrong about Gandy. "Gandy runs the mob. He's the big man. He doesn't answer to anyone."

"Really?"

"Who would you answer to if you had ten million in one of your bank accounts?"

"Sure, he's loaded. He owns Janine's, Rachel's, the Fox Hole, and three other clubs. Hell, he's even got two places in North Hills, one in Butler, and one in Grove City. But he's got two dozen employees in each place, not counting babes. You count the babes, you're talking close to forty employees per club, and he's only got one manager and one bookkeeper in each club, running things. The managers and bookkeepers are the ones calling the shots. They have to. Otherwise, the books won't balance and the places'll all go under in just a few months. Gandy has to trust his people. Besides, he's got all those political connections to cater to, make sure they keep him out of trouble. Ya think he tells them what to do?"

"I guess you're right." Jason was getting too tired to argue. Bill was one of Gandy the Lip's biggest kiss-asses, and it pissed off Jason to see his friend humiliate himself like that. But it was okay

--he and Jason went way back. They'd grown up together in Aspinwall and had gigged together at clubs on Penn, Sixth, and Wood Street, before they both grew tired of the nightclub scene and started working for Gandy.

Jason relaxed in the seat and closed his eyes. Maybe he'd been overdoing it lately. Hell, this was the third drop they'd done this week, and if you added the extra work they'd been doing in the warehouse the last couple of weeks, it was no wonder his ass was dragging. But he couldn't complain; he'd volunteered for the work. It was great to have extra money.

"Man, you look done in." Bill was watching him. "You sure you wanna have dinner?"

"Yeah ... dinner ..." Christ, it was hard keeping his eyes open. He struggled to sit up, but his body weighed a ton. His arms wouldn't work. They felt like columns of stone.

"You okay?"

Jason tried focusing his eyes on his friend, but Bill kept fading in and out. "What the hell ... was in that ... drink?"

"You're just tired, man. I don't think we'd better--"

"I'm fine." Christ. Now he couldn't feel his feet. "I'm fucking fine. I just need--"

"We both need sleep, buddy." Bill's voice sounded far away. Jason thought he heard him yawn. "Sleep. Lots and lots ... of sleep ..."

"Yeah ... maybe ... I need ..."

It took too much effort to talk. Blackness came quickly.

But not before he felt the car slowing down.