The Gun Runner (Mafia Made) by Scott Hildreth Page B

customer,” I said. “It’s my job to keep you happy.”
    The passenger handed me a small leather satchel. Out of respect, I didn’t look inside. A simple nod on my part was affirmation enough of receiving payment in full. I opened the passenger door and tossed the satchel toward Cap.
    Svetli motioned toward the rear of the truck. “You mind if look inside?”
    I reached in my pocket and removed the key to the padlock. “Let’s have a look.”
    Svetli and his passenger followed me to the rear of the van. After unlocking the padlock and handing him the key, I opened the rear door. Twenty handcrafted wooden crates filled the storage area completely.
    I pointed at the crate closest to the door. “The top isn’t nailed down on this one. I thought you may want to have a look.”
    The passenger jumped inside, removed the top of the crate, and nodded in approval upon seeing the contents.
    Svetli turned to face me. “We’re good for go.”
    I love it when a plan comes together.
    My buzzing phone caused a tingling to run the length of my spine.
    I removed my Bluetooth headset from my jacket pocket, unfolded it, and placed it over my ear. The two odd glances I received in return were the least of my worries. I knew if Lucky was calling in the middle of the transaction, there must be a serious potential threat.
    Lucky’s statement was concise. “Black SUV. Stealth mode. Your nine o’clock. Headlights off.”
    Fuck.
    I pulled the pistol from my holster. “We’ve got company.”
    Svetli’s face contorted and his eyes narrowed. “What for you mean company?”
    In our remote location, the distant sound of the SUV rapidly accelerating was in complete contrast to the silence. I had no time to explain matters further. My military training took over.
    I glanced over my left shoulder. “Cap, we’ve got tangos. Your nine o’ clock,” I shouted.
    “Got ‘em.”
    Lucky’s voice came over the earpiece. “Tangos are coming in hot. ROE?”
    “Stand down,” I said. “Only on my command.”
    “Roger on your command,” he responded.
    I turned toward Svetli and tilted my head at the sound of the approaching SUV. “There’s an SUV coming this direction.”
    Svetli pulled a pistol from his waistband and barked something to his comrade in Bulgarian. Immediately following, they both disappeared around the side of the van.
    “I’ve got a sniper with eyes on them,” I shouted. “Let me handle this.”
    Lucky was armed with a sniper rifle, and was capable of providing us with protection from his remote location in the adjoining parking lot. I was well aware that we weren’t filming an action movie, and I wasn’t at war. Regardless of my chosen profession, I fully realized living in the civilian world limited my ability to react with deadly force.
    If the level of threat was deadly, I would have Lucky react appropriately. If it wasn’t, I would respond with a lesser force—more than likely my fists and feet.
    The black SUV came into the lot at a high rate of speed, screeched to a stop at the front of the van, and three men jumped out.
    Fucking amateurs.
    “You got a clear shot?” I asked.
    “Roger that.”
    Svetli and his partner stood on the right-hand side of the van, both armed with pistols. Their driver, who was still seated in the Mercedes, glared at the new arrivals through the windshield. I was standing at the right rear corner of the van, intending to use the vehicle as a shield if necessary.
    “Get out of the fuckin’ truck!” a voice called out. The mixture of Philadelphia and Italian accents made hiding Agrioli’s involvement in the little fiasco nothing short of impossible.
    While Svetli and his Bulgarian partner whispered, I stepped to the side of the van with my pistol pointed at the man on my left. “I’ve got bad news, fellas,” I said flatly, studying each of them. “This cargo isn’t going anywhere.”
    One of the three men was armed with a shotgun and the other two with pistols. All three were