Chapter Seventeen
Michael
Cap looked around the office and then shifted his eyes toward the desk. “I’m tellin’ ya, Tripp. It’d seem weird as fuck to be sittin’ at that desk. That’s your desk.”
He was right. It would seem strange seeing him sit there. I’d spent all my post-military years behind that desk, making deals, crunching numbers, and solving the world’s problems one bottle of scotch at a time.
I hadn’t set foot in my office in more than two months, and being there made me feel out of place. There was a void that needed to be filled in the grey market weapons trade, and the family needed to fill it before someone else did.
I couldn’t think of a better man to take over the operation than Cap.
I walked to the edge of the desk and opened the drawer. Half a bottle of scotch stared back at me. I pulled it from the drawer, poured two glasses, and sat in what had been Cap’s chair for years.
“Seems appropriate, your name being Cap and all,” I said.
He sauntered toward my old chair, studied it for a moment, and then sat. “What the fuck’s that mean?”
“Tonight. We’re meeting with Anthony at 7:00. You’re being promoted.”
He reached for his scotch, took a long drink, and then met my gaze. “To captain?”
I nodded. “He told me to tell you.”
He kicked his feet onto the edge of the desk. “Like the sound of that. Captain Cap.”
“There’s a lot of responsibility that comes with the position.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You sayin’ I’m irresponsible?”
“Not at all.”
He reached for the bottle. “What are you sayin’?”
“I already said it. It’s not an easy set of shoes to fill. You’ll have men under you, you’ll be responsible for making profit, meeting quotas, the safety of your men, planning your day-to-day operations—”
“Basically, I’ll be back in the Corps, but making money.”
I chuckled. He was right. It wouldn’t be anything new to him. “Basically.”
“But I can lean on you if I’ve got any problems, right? We’re still tight like that, right?”
“We’re brothers. We’ll always be brothers, Cap. Anything you need, you can come to me. Now, and always.”
He took a sip of the scotch and then looked around the office. “Can I use Lucky, Trace, and the Snowman?”
I gave a nod. “Couldn’t imagine using anyone else.”
“Well, fuck. I didn’t know if there was some kind of stupid fuckin’ rule that said they had to be made men or some shit. I can’t imagine that Cupcake fella deliverin’ a truckload of MP-5s to the Argentine Army. Sal maybe, but not Cupcake.”
“You can use whoever will make your operation run smoothly. Whoever will make you the most profitable.”
“And who will I answer to?”
“The man himself,” I said.
His eyes shot wide. “Agrioli?”
“Yep.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
He took another sip of scotch, peering over the rim of the glass at me as he did so. As he lowered his hand, he nodded. “I can handle that. Kind of funny now that I know him. He ain’t who I thought he was. You know, when we first bumped into him, I thought he was a shit hat. Man’s just trying to run a business. His men need some trainin’, though.”
He was right. Most of the lower tier, the soldiers, could benefit from some basic training. Cap’s suggestion caused me to wonder about the improvements that could be made from providing the men with a military-type training program.
“I might suggest that,” I said. “A training program. I’d hate to be shot by one of my own men some night if things got hairy.”
“Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth.” He glanced around the office. “I’m actually gonna be in charge of this operation?”
I took a sip of the whisky. “Solely.”
“Seems weird.”
“Does on this end, too. Just a little.”
He locked eyes with me. “If you’re a captain, and I’m a captain. We’re equal. How come you ain’t runnin’ it?”
It was a good question. A question I couldn’t accurately answer. “I’m not sure. Even though we’re equal, I’ve got other responsibilities.”
“‘Cause you’re dickin’ his daughter.”
I let out a laugh. “That has nothing to do with—”
“Bullshit. If you wasn’t nuts-deep in his daughter, he wouldn’t be as tight with you as he is. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it, but accept it, Tripp. You’re his golden-haired boy. He put your ass in charge of the operation. You ain’t Italian. I bet I can count on one fuckin’ finger how many times that’s happened in the history of the mob. There’s benefits of pokin’ his daughter.”
Cap didn’t mince any words. He wasn’t delicate in his display of his thoughts, either. I grinned. “You’re probably right. It’s neither here nor there. You’re going to be in charge of this, and I’m going to rub elbows with Anthony.”
He chuckled. “Sounds about right.”
“How’s things with Michelle?”
He shrugged. “Good as ever. Her mom’s cool as fuck. Been goin’ over there a few times a week. One of these days they’re gonna figure out that Gino’s not coming back.”
“You’re okay with that? When the time comes?”
“Gino was a no-good son of a bitch. If he had his way, we’d all be rottin’ in jail. Am I okay that he’s gone? Sure as fuck am. Am I okay that I’m the one who whacked his ass? Yep. Am I okay that the girl I’m seein’ is gonna hurt when she finds out he’s gone? No, and you can’t expect me to be. I care about that girl, Tripp. Seein’ her in pain ain’t on the list of things I like.”
“I’m sorry that ended up the way it ended up. You know if I knew then what I know now—”
“We’ve already talked about it. I’m fine with it,” he said. “The man was a walkin’ turd. I’m glad he’s gone.”
Watching the woman you love writhe in pain wasn’t an easy thing to do. To think Cap was going to go through even a portion of what I went through with Terra saddened me. Arguing with him, however, was going to be impossible.
With reluctance, I conceded. “I’ll give it a rest.”
He stood. “So, when do I get to start runnin’ this show?”
“Right now, as far as I’m concerned.”
“What are the rules?”
I stood, shrugged, and looked around the office. Everything that once seemed close to my heart now felt so far away. My life was changing, and I wasn’t in complete control of the outcome.
Yet.
I didn’t seem to care.
“There aren’t any,” I said.
He shot me a look. “None?”
“I made up my own rules when I was in charge. You can make up yours,” I said. “You’ve got a good moral compass. I trust you.”
“Might wanna get a few truckloads of wheelbarrows,” he said flatly.
I scrunched my nose. “Wheelbarrows?”
He pushed his hands into his pockets and gave a playful nod. “Yep.”
“What the fuck for?”
“For all the money,” he said with a dry laugh. “To haul it out of here.”
I coughed out a laugh. Cap’s way of dealing with life’s stresses was to laugh about everything. To see him cutting jokes was a reassurance that he was hurting, but I simply couldn’t tell how much.
In respect to the comment he’d made, I hoped he was right. Nothing would make Anthony prouder than if Cap succeeded at the operation.
And, nothing would make me happier than Anthony being proud.