Hard Targets by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2013-09-27T04:00:00+00:00

North Forest Acres, Buffalo

VINNIE GALLO WASN’T normally the nervous type, but since he’d been taking hits from Buffalo to Niagara Falls and back again, he felt an edginess that couldn’t be denied. It was bad luck, the Mexicans arriving in the midst of all his other trouble—bad luck and bad planning, if he told the absolute unvarnished truth—but there was nothing he could do about it.

Now, on top of all the rest, their inconvenient guests were late.

Not late arriving at the airport, mind you. He’d received Joe Borgio’s call announcing their arrival, right on time. In fact, the limos had been rolling when he spoke to Joe, an easy run from the airport in Cheektowaga, Buffalo’s second-largest suburb, to Borgio’s doorstep, if they didn’t dick around.

So where in hell were they?

He looked around his office, scowling. The windows were boarded over, waiting for the glazier to arrive with special armored glass, but at the moment Gallo liked the plywood better. No one could see through it, putting crosshairs on his forehead. When he met the Mexicans, they wouldn’t be in here, would never guess some prick had come along and shot the hell out of his private office, in his own damned house.

The phone rang, nearly making him jump and spill his sixteen-year-old Bushmills single malt. He covered that by firing off a string of curses, finishing before he answered, midway through the second ring.

“Hullo?”

“Hey, Vinnie. How’s it hanging?”

And he would have known that damned voice anywhere. “Listen, you piece of—”

“No, you listen, Vinnie.”

Then the voice was gone, another coming on the line. “Hey, Vin? I’m sorry, man.”

Joe Borgio.

“Joe? What the hell is this? Where are you? What happened to the—”

“Visitors from Juárez?” Now the first guy was back, taunting him. “They won’t be coming, Vinnie.”

“What the hell do you mean, they won’t be coming?” But he knew already, guessed that he would hear about it on his TV in a little while, maybe a special bulletin to interrupt whatever crappy show was rotting brains today.

But just in case he didn’t get it, Mr. Smartass spelled it out. “They’re dead, Vin. Gone to cartel purgatory.”

“What’s the deal with Joe?” Gallo asked, feeling just a little dead himself, inside.

“Depends. You want him back?”

“What do you think?”

“I’m asking you.”

“Hell, yes. I want him back, goddamn it!”

“Then,” the caller said, “I guess it’s time we made a deal.”

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