Paolo flushed the toilet and snorted. Mr. Rizzoli’s mother’s bathroom was, by far, the nicest bathroom he’d used to indulge his new habit. Mr. Rizzoli had paid for renovations to the house after he brought Matteo to live with his mother, and now the kitchen and bathrooms had granite counters, shiny tiled floors, and rich wood cabinets. He slumped on the floor and stared up at the pot lights twinkling in the ceiling like stars, waiting for the first crest of his high.
One day, he would have a bathroom like this, and not a dark hole-in-the-wall with rusty fixtures and brown water coming through the pipes. But he needed to get his ass in gear. He’d dropped by Crazy T’s place after picking up his supply, and the dealer’s girlfriend had been happy to give him the last of Crazy T’s labels and his label-making supplies. She’d even thrown in the plastic packets and some baggies and mumbled something about keeping Crazy T’s name alive.
Paolo didn’t know about Crazy T’s name, but he sure as heck wanted to keep the Pink Label brand going. He’d spent the morning repackaging his dope and then walked the streets of his neighborhood trying to figure out how to tell if someone was looking for “something special.” Was that guy really waiting for the bus or was he looking to score? Were those two girls giggling outside the convenience store needing a little something for a party they were going to tonight? Paolo didn’t know. People were a puzzle he couldn’t figure out the way he could figure out a lock, and he’d wished for a moment that he could make a living solving the puzzles of cold, hard steel.
He finally felt the rush he’d been waiting for, and peeled himself off the floor. After checking the mirror for telltale signs of his illicit activity, he smoothed down his hair, and opened the door.
“Alex.” He startled when he saw Luca’s brother leaning against the wall in the hallway. Although Alex was only a few years older than him, they’d never really hit it off. Alex was a serious drug addict, and Mr. Rizzoli had done everything he could to get Alex clean. He’d paid for a couple of stints in rehab, and even sent some of his crew out to shake up Alex’s regular dealers. But for every dealer who disappeared, another took his place. Just like Paolo had taken over for Crazy T.
Paolo fingered the packet in his jeans pocket. He didn’t need to guess whether Alex would want to buy it. Alex would take anything. And he could count on Alex’s discretion. No one wanted to endure Mr. Rizzoli’s wrath. But dealing in Mr. Rizzoli’s mother’s house to Mr. Rizzoli’s drug-addicted brother was all kinds of wrong.
“Um … Bathroom’s free.” He took a step, and Alex moved to block his way.
“You missed some.”
Boom. Paolo’s body turned into a fireball, and sweat sizzled on his skin. He put his hand up to his nose, realizing his mistake only when Alex grinned.
“Oldest trick in the book. Plus, if you’ve been around as long as me, you can smell another user as soon as he walks in the door.” He walked forward, herding Paolo down the hallway and into his bedroom. Taking a quick look behind him, he closed the door.
“You got a bump to share?”
Paolo swallowed hard. Was this a trick? Was Alex setting him up? If Paolo admitted to bringing drugs into the house, would Alex call in Mr. Rizzoli?
Alex sighed. “Christ. You gotta work on the game face. Everything you’re thinking is right there. No, I’m not going to tell Luca. Or any of his crew. Or my mother. And I’m not gonna blackmail you either. My dealer’s out of town and I’m running low, and then you walked in the door and my radar went beep. This guy’s like me. He’s gotta have something on him because these Sunday dinners are a frickin’ bore.”
“I … uh … I’m dealing now.” He pulled the packet out of his pocket. He’d brought one “just in case,” although at the time he hadn’t thought through what “just in case” might be.
Alex looked at the packet and frowned. “You’re Pink Label? What happened to Crazy T?”
“You know him?”
“I know everyone.”
“He overdosed.” Feeling more confident, Paolo straightened his spine. “I’ve taken over his territory.”
“You?” Alex laughed. “Crazy T has been working that part of the city for years. People know him. He has a reputation, respect. You think you’re just gonna step into his shoes? You think anyone’s gonna trust a skinny kid like you?”
“Ray didn’t have a problem with it.”
Alex’s head jerked up, and his smile faded. “You met Ray?”
“Yeah.” Sensing a tiny bit of respect in Alex’s tone, he straightened even more. “Ray took me to a drug house. We shot the shit while I bought my supply. He’s giving me a good deal. I’ll be able to double my money.”
Alex looked thoughtful. “Crazy T must have vouched for you. Ray is the line to some of the best quality shit in the city. Not many people get to meet him.”
Boastful now. “I have his number. When I run out of product, I just have to call him and he’ll tell me where to go to get some more. I’m going to be rich. He says as soon as I make good money, I get to meet the boss and have a drink with him.”
Paolo had fantasized about meeting the big boss all night long—the Lamborghini he was going to drive, the suits he was going to wear, the nightclubs that he’d walk into as a VIP with Michele Benni on his arm, shooting the shit with the boss as his crew packed his kilos into bags. He had also fantasized about the beautiful rest home his mother would live in and the warm clothes he would buy her that no one would steal. He was going to be someone. He was going to have respect. Only the sick feeling he got when he thought about how he was betraying Mr. Rizzoli tainted his dream.
“Garcia’s never gonna meet with you.” Alex snorted a laugh. “He only meets with big guys. Like really big. We’re talking Dragon Head of the Triad, Pakhan of the Russian Mafia, leaders of street gangs, and Cosa Nostra bosses who are willing to bend the rules about getting involved with drugs, like Nico’s cousin Tony. He wants to meet guys who can spread his product as far as it can go. People with power.”
“Garcia?” Wasn’t Garcia the guy who had killed Little Ricky and sold the lethal dope to Sally G’s soldiers? The same guy who was now allied with Mr. Toscani’s cousin, Tony? Paolo had heard talk about Garcia at the clubhouse. He was the dude Mr. Toscani and Mr. Rizzoli were after. The man no one could find.
Alex shook his head and sighed. “Fuck. You don’t even know who you’re working for? Yeah, Garcia heads up the Fuentes Cartel. They bring cocaine, meth and heroin up from Mexico and distribute their product across the country. With all the visitors that come to Vegas, it’s big business here, and Garcia has been trying to get a foothold in the city for years, but there’s been too much competition. When he became the focus of a police investigation, he had to go underground. His alliance with Tony Toscani fills the gaps. He gets territory and enforcement. Together they’re gonna wipe the competition and dominate the market. Ray is one of his top lieutenants.”
“Fuck.” Paolo sat on Alex’s bed, scrubbed his hands through his hair. He had an in to the guy who killed Little Ricky, but how could he tell Mr. Rizzoli? If he did, he’d have to tell him he’d broken he rules, and Mr. Rizzoli had already warned him that there were no second chances when it came to breaking the rule about drugs.
“You okay, kid?”
“Yeah.” He needed to think, and right now his mind was still buzzing from his last hit. “Do you … and Mr. Rizzoli talk? I mean about business stuff. Like what he’s doing and what you’re doing and who you know that he might know? That kind of stuff?”
Alex shrugged. “All he wants to talk about is me getting clean. Other than that, we have nothing in common. I’m not the perfect son like him. I was never good at sports or at school. I wasn’t interested in joining the family business. I don’t have his talent with the ladies, and I’ve got no interest in marrying a Mafia princess and popping out the usual heir and a spare. My drug habit disgusts him, and he’s never held back sharing his thoughts about that.”
“His wife died because of her drug habit,” Paolo reminded Alex. “Maybe he doesn’t want the same thing to happen to you.”
Alex waved his hand vaguely in the air. “It’s too late for me. And what the fuck else am I going to do with my life that’s gonna measure up? I was supposed to join the family business, but you know what? I can’t stand the sight of blood. The first time my dad took me out on a whack job, I puked all over the road. Humiliated myself. My father wouldn’t talk to me all the way home except to tell me Luca didn’t throw up his first time. Luca got right in there, beating the guy down. Luca made him proud.” He sighed and waggled the package of Pink Label. “How much? I need to get those bad memories out of my head.”
“Twenty bucks.”
Alex dug out his wallet and threw a twenty on the bed. “You sure this is the path you want to take? You want to wind up like Crazy T? Or me? Luca’s said good things about you. He thinks you’ve got a future with his crew once you get your head on straight. He says no one knows locks like you do.”
Nooooo. He didn’t want to hear that Mr. Rizzoli had said good things about him. It made what he was doing seem even more of a betrayal. There was a reason Mr. Rizzoli had joined the only Cosa Nostra faction in Vegas that didn’t deal in drugs, and it wasn’t just because of his close friendship with Mr. Toscani. Drugs had killed Mr. Rizzoli’s wife and Little Ricky, and drugs were killing his brother.
“Yeah.” Paolo grabbed the money and headed for the door.
“Think carefully,” Alex called out. “Everyone who gets involved in his business winds up dead.”