CHAPTER 11Carlo stared out the car window, watching the city sleep through the advancing night. Sidewalks were bare. Neon that might have blazed in shop windows sat dormant. Few headlights streaked through the streets. The rain that had raged through the day before was nowhere to be seen.
That seemed wrong. Considering the storm surging through his stomach, he figured the weather should be the same.
Carefully, he swiped away the sweat from his palm with his thumb. The last time he’d made a move of more than a couple of inches, Stout’s man had jerked the gun in his lap up so fast, the barrel was against Carlo’s temple before he could scratch his nose. He hadn’t lowered it until Carlo folded his hands on his lap and agreed to keep still.
This wasn’t like Joe pulling the gun on him. Somewh
