“I don’t got no cookies. I don’t know shit, I’m just minding my own business and having a smoke.”
“Hey, relax.” Alessio makes a show of dusting off the Reaper’s stained T-shirt then casually braces his hand against the wall near his head. He uses the other to unbutton his jacket and push one side of it back. I can’t see from this angle, but I’m guessing he’s casually flashing his gun. “We just have a couple of questions. My buddy Xaviaro and I are in a good mood tonight, so there’s a solid chance that this whole thing can stay friendly. Of course, that all depends on you.”
The Reaper gasps at the casual name drop. Every criminal in Wildcliff knows the name Xaviaro—Lorenzo Moretti’s personal trigger man. A chill runs down my spine, and I’m willing to bet that the Reaper is pissing himself right now.
“I’ll try, but it’s not like Savage or any of the higher-ups tell me anything. I go to parties and I run whatever errands he tells me to. That’s it.”
“We don’t give a shit about your meth labs right now,” Alessio says, and Xaviaro grunts in agreement. “We want to know what you know about The Ghost. What rumors have you heard? Has there been any talk about Savage or any of his crew knowing who might be behind it?”
My blood turns to ice in my veins.
Fuck.
“We have a lot of enemies.” The Reaper’s voice is shaky now in a totally different way than it was a minute ago. Is he more afraid of me than of the Morettis?
I smile behind my mask, and I fight the urge to do a little touchdown dance.
“No shit.” Alessio chuckles. “So, no leads at all? No one that’s being looked into?”
The Reaper is quiet for a minute, and when he answers it’s barely above a whisper. “Some guys think… well, they think maybe it’s anactualghost. You know, our parties get pretty wild, and every once in a while, a guy might OD or something.”
Xaviaro barks out a laugh and Alessio chuckles again.
“You bunch of geniuses think that the ghost of a junkie you passed around is floating through this city with a gun, shooting you mooks in the head?”
It sounds ridiculous when Alessio puts it like that, but I’ve gotta hand it to the Reaper. Even a broken clock is right twice a day, after all. He’s close anyway. And I have to admit, I like the idea of all the Sleepless Reapers clutching their teddy bears and rosaries when they go to bed at night, terrified they’re being haunted by a vengeful spirit.
“No?” the Reaper says uncertainly, and Alessio laughs again.
“Seriously, that’s it? You don’t know anything else? He hasn’t left any accidental survivors who’ve caught a glimpse of him? No one’s seen anyone strange lurking around the parties?”
“There was one guy. He wasn’t a member, just a…”
“Pass Around,” Xaviaro supplies in a cold voice for him.
“Yeah.” The Reaper clears his throat. “He was there when one of the guys got shot last week. He didn’t see his face or anything, but he said he smelled sweet, like butterscotch.”
Double fuck.
It’s fine; it’s not like I’m the only guy in Wildcliff who likes butterscotch candy.
“Butterscotch?” Alessio echoes, and I can’t tell if that’s ringing any bells. Has he noticed that I taste like butterscotch?
“That’s all I know,” the Reaper insists.
“Fine, but if you hear anything else, I want you to call me personally.” He reaches into his pocket and hands the man a business card. “I swear on my mother’s life that if I hear about the Sleepless Reapers taking out anyone they think is The Ghost and I haven’t gotten a call from you first, I’ll slice you open and give your entrails to Xaviaro here to play with like a cat toy. You understand?”
“Yeah, I understand.”
“Good.” Alessio steps back and the Reaper takes off, bolting out of the alley as fast as he can, dropping his lit cigarette in the process.
Alessio picks it up and stubs it out against the side of the building. “By the way, smoking kills,” he calls after him, then sighs and turns to Xaviaro. “Well, that was fucking useless. Should we try again?”
“We can, but it doesn’t sound like they know any more than we do.”
“Tell me about it. You think Savage and his crew are sitting around a Ouija board trying to contact the ghosts of two dozen dead junkies to ask for forgiveness?”
They both laugh and wander out of the alley, their voices fading along with their footsteps. I let out the breath I’ve been holding since they appeared and sag against the wall.