No fed comes alone.
But Jardine came by himself, took Liam out, and . . .
Killed him.
Jesus Christ.
Think, Danny tells himself. Think like a leader.
Use your head for once.
You thought Moretti staged all this to take you out, but Peter Moretti can’t afford a six-million-dollar loss, even to win the fucking war. It would cripple him. That amount of money would mean he lost the war even if he “won” it.
So why . . .
Think, Danny tells himself again. Why would Peter spend money he can’t afford to lose?
Because he’s expecting to get it back. Peter brings in forty kilos of heroin, he manipulates you into hijacking it, then sends Vecchio to rat you to the feds. So the heroin ends up in federal custody and . . .
Jesus Christ.
How many keys did Jardine say on television they seized?
Twelve?
You gave Vecchio five keys, you kept ten. Liam took twenty-five kilos with him to the Gloc, but then took three to sell. So there were twenty-two kilos in the Gloc when it was raided. Twenty-two, not twelve like Jardine said in the press conference.
So he took ten for himself.
He’s probably got Vecchio’s five, too.
Fifteen freakin’ keys of dope. Say he splits it with Peter. It gets the Morettis halfway to making their investment back once they cut it up and step on it.
No, Danny thinks.
Peter isn’t going to take a three-mil hit, either.
He knows there’s ten more kilos out there. Jardine turned in twelve keys. If they take twenty-eight kilos for themselves, it all works for them. Even splitting with Jardine, they’ll make a small profit.
Jardine and the Morettis are partners.
And one or both are coming for the other ten keys.
The old man is asleep in his chair, a ratty old red blanket wrapped around him. The television is on, casting a dull glow on his face.
Vic Scalese, one of Peter Moretti’s soldiers, looks at his partner, Dave Cousineau. “Marty fucking Ryan. Look at him.”
Cousineau steps over and slaps Marty across the face.
Marty wakes up and blinks at him.
“Where’s Danny?” Scalese says. “Where’s your son?”
“I know who my son is.”
“Where is he?” Scalese asks. He lights a cigarette.
“Fuck if I know,” Marty says. “Why?”
“He has ten kilos of my boss’s dope,” Scalese says. “That’s why.”
“Ask Liam Murphy.”
“Yeah, we would, except he’s dead,” Scalese says. “That leaves Danny and you, and Danny ain’t here. So tell us where he is, or where the dope is.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about it,” Marty says. He wonders where Ned is.
“You better know something about it,” Scalese says. “Or we’re going to have to hurt you.”
He takes the cigarette from his mouth, steps over, and jabs it at Marty’s cheek.
Marty fires from under the blanket.
The bullet hits Scalese in the gut and he staggers back. The flash sets the blanket on fire. Marty tries to snuff it out and turn the gun toward Cousineau at the same time, but the fabric gets caught in the trigger guard and he can’t do it.
So Marty freakin’ Ryan lunges up from the chair and goes for Cousineau’s throat. The bigger, younger man swats him away easily, knocking him to the floor. Then he points the gun down at Marty’s face. “Last chance, you old fuck. Where’s the dope?”
Cousineau’s head explodes in a blossom of red.
Ned stands in the doorway and lowers his gun. Then he goes and steps on the smoldering blanket, grinding his foot to put out the last of the flames. He walks over to Scalese, who sits slumped against the wall, grabs him by the chin and the back of his head, and twists, snapping his neck.
Then he helps Marty up.
“You took your goddamn time,” Marty says.
“Sorry, Mr. Ryan.”
Then headlights flash across the window.
“Where’s Ian?” Danny asks.
“Asleep in the car,” Ned says. “I didn’t want to wake him up.”
Danny recognizes the bodies, two of Moretti’s people.
Used to be, anyway.
“They wanted to know where the dope was,” Marty says.
“They what?”
“Are you deaf?” Marty says. “They wanted to know where the dope was, or where you were.”
But Peter Moretti already knows where the dope is, Danny thinks, because Jardine would have told him.
Or not.
Jesus, is Jardine ripping Peter off, too? Used him to bring in forty kilos of heroin, get it stolen with the promise that he’d get it back, and then ultimately steals it himself?