“Just a little longer. There’s something in the works. Something big. So big the higher-ups won’t even tell me anything except that if you leave now, all your work, undercover, will be for nothing.”
“Fuck.” Ben balled up the resignation letter he had printed off just before he left home. “Everything’s gone to shit, Jack. Three bosses were hit in one night. It’s a dangerous time. We’ve got capos and underbosses fighting to be boss. We’ve got soldiers wanting to be capos and associates wanting to be soldiers. The Falzone and Toscani families have destabilized and we’re not just looking at civil wars within those families, but wars between the three top Vegas crime families as they grab for power. All our work collecting evidence on the top bosses and the guys who worked with them is useless now. We can’t put dead men in jail.”
Jack shrugged. “I don’t see how that changes things for you. If you just keep your head down and continue to do what you do, you shouldn’t be in any additional danger.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ben slammed his cup on the table, gritting his teeth against the urge to shout. “Every family is gonna open their books, Jack. They’re gonna want to make up as many associates as they can to increase their numbers. I’ve been there ten years—three of those with Nico’s crew. If they come to me and tell me it’s time to get made, I can’t refuse. No one refuses. They’ll give me a contract to whack someone, and then what am I gonna do? It’s been hard enough doing my job without breaking the law. No way am I going to execute someone, even if he is a bad guy. But if I don’t go through with it, they’ll kill me, and I got a little girl who needs her dad more than ever since Ginger’s taken up with her new man, Gabe.”
He had given ten years of his life to bringing down the mob. Ten years, three relationships, and the first six years of his daughter’s life. And until the triple hit on the three bosses, it had been worth it. But now two of those bosses were dead, and most of the evidence about the murders, assaults, arson, extortion, kidnappings, and racketeering he’d collected over the years was worthless. Locking up the bosses would have made the Las Vegas Cosa Nostra crumble from within as everyone turned rat to flee the sinking ships. Nothing could decimate an organization faster than a loss of trust.
“The higher-ups need intel on the new administration that’s gonna take over,” Jack said. “They also want to know who had the balls to pull the trigger. So far we’ve got nothing. The murder weapon was found a couple blocks away. No prints. No registration number. Forensics got nothing in the alley where it was dumped. We’ve got no witnesses to the crime.”
“You think they’re gonna tell me? I’m not a made man.” Ben sipped his now cold coffee, wincing at the bitter taste.
“We have faith in you, Ben. You’ve gone deeper than anyone in the department ever has.” Jack hesitated, the coffee cup near his lips. “Maybe too deep.”
“Fuck that.”
“You got a written report for me?” Jack lifted an eyebrow, and Ben shrugged.
“No time.” He’d given up filing reports a long time ago, unable to commit the betrayal of his crew to writing. Now he just gave Jack brief selective verbal updates that would satisfy his obligations but keep his capo and crew out of the line of fire.
Jack sucked in his lips and let out a long breath. “I’m getting pressure from above. They need to know what’s going on.”
“I’ll get something to you next week.” Fuck. He was so done with this. Living a lie, answering to a different name, struggling to stay on the straight and narrow when he’d spent ten years living in the gray.
“I’ll make sure everyone understands you want out. And they’re not asking for years, here. Just a couple of months, and then you’ll be free.”
Ben leaned back in his seat and sighed. Of course he wouldn’t just walk away. He’d been a policeman since he turned eighteen, fulfilling a dream he’d had for as long as he could remember. His dad had been cop before he’d been killed in the line of duty—a single parent after Ben’s mom died giving birth. With no relatives to look after him, Ben had wound up in foster care, but law enforcement had been his dream—a way of keeping the memory of his father alive. Sticking with the job was the right thing to do. The honorable thing. And if it meant he could also protect his boss, and his closest friends in his crew, well, that would be okay, too. “Okay. But if I hear anything about getting made, I’m walking away.”
“Good man.”
“I got a personal favor to ask, though.” He wrapped his hands around the cup to warm them, although his coffee had long gone cold. “This is just between you and me. If it’s not something you can do personally, then tell me, and I’ll find another way.”