Sal sat in the back of the SUV with Vegas on his mind.  They were outside of a chop shop in windy Chicago, in the dead of night, and his underboss was inside interrogating their target.  Nothing about being there set right with Sal.  He could have been home, in his warm bed, with his beautiful wife.  Instead, he was in an SUV, on a dead-end street, waiting to find out what happened to one of his men.

Sal Gabrini was the head of the Gabrini Crime Family, and was considered to be among the top three most powerful bosses in the country.  Most bosses would be concerned that one of their capos went missing, but they wouldn’t dream of handling it personally.  Even lesser bosses wouldn’t.  Sal Gabrini was not most bosses.

“Can I ask you a question, sir?”  His driver and bodyguard, sitting behind the wheel of the SUV, looked at him through the rearview mirror.  But Sal didn’t even bother to look up.  He knew he could ask Sal a question.

After waiting for a response that didn’t come, the driver asked.  “You think Robby’s up to the job?”

But that kind of question was so out of left field that Sal did look up.  And frowned.  “What the fuck you asking me something like that for?”

“I’m just asking!”

“What are you asking it for?”

“I see stuff.  I see things.”

“Like what?”

“Like Robby.  Like the changes in him.”

“What changes in him?”

“He ain’t the same like he used to be.”

One thing Sal hated were men who didn’t have the balls to say what they meant.  “Spit it out, motherfucker,” he ordered.  “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying Robby has changed,” the driver said.  That’s all I’m saying, Sal.  We all see it.”

“If your ass don’t tell me how you mean he’s changed I’m gonna come up there and slam your balls through your throat!  Now tell me what the fuck you mean!”

“We told him Gunner was missing,” the driver said quickly, knowing Sal meant every word he had just said.  “We told him almost a week before you found out, Boss.  I couldn’t get a hold of him.  Hawk couldn’t get a hold of him.  Even Nails couldn’t and he and Gunn were real tight.  And we all told Robby.  But he didn’t do nothing.  He told us to keep calling.  Gunner probably just want a little time away, he said.  We had a busy month, he said.  But we said, ‘what are you talking, Robby?  Gunner Leach don’t take no days off.  That ain’t him!’  But Robby wouldn’t listen.  The old Robby would have listened.  And we might have found out what happened way before it came to this.”

Gunner had been missing for days?  That was news to Sal.  And he couldn’t lie and say he hadn’t seen a change in Robby, either.  He had.  But he knew it was stress.  He’d been overworking all of his men, especially Robby.  Hell, he’d been pushing himself even harder than he was pushing them!  He didn’t just have a wife at home now, he had a baby there too.  His ass was putting too much on everybody.

“I’ll talk to him,” he said to his driver.  He didn’t like when his men told on their colleagues.  And he especially didn’t like the fact that his driver waited until Robby wasn’t around to spill the beans.  They were supposed to be a family, not a pack of snitches!

The driver, apparently, sensed that was exactly what he was sounding like.  A fucking snitch.  “I’m not trying to get Robby in any trouble,” the driver quickly pointed out.  “And I’m not saying anything everybody else hasn’t been saying.  But everybody else is afraid to speak up.  I figure somebody had to tell you so it doesn’t happen again.”

“It won’t happen again,” Sal said bluntly.  “He’s new in his role.  He went from my consigliere to my underboss, when he had to replace Vinnie Vazzano’s two-timing ass, and he’s still getting his legs.  And next time you have something to say, you say it in front of Robby, you hear me?  You have the balls to tell me in front of the man you’re complaining about so that man can give his side of this shit.  Then I’ll take your ass more seriously.  Then maybe you can move up like Robby did.  He fucked up on Gunner’s case.  Yes, he did.  He should have come to me as soon as he knew Gunn couldn’t be located.  But he’s still the best underboss a don can get.  And don’t you forget it.”

The driver nodded.  “Yes, sir,” he said.  “And I wasn’t trying to get him in any trouble.  I just got concerned.  It’s getting crazy out here!”

He wanted Robby’s job.  Fuck that crazy shit.  They all wanted Robby’s job.  Sal had enough intel to know what his driver and the rest of his complaining capos were up to.  They thought Fat Frank shouldn’t have been demoted to number three, and Robby should have stayed where he was.  But that wasn’t their call.

But Robby still needed to step up his game.  He’d already decided that Robby was on the clock tonight.  If he didn’t do a good enough interrogation to get Gimp to flip by the time Sal walked into that shop, he would consider making a move.  But right now, Sal thought, as he leaned his head back, Robby Yale was still his number two.