The voicemail from Benny was the first red flag. His messages were either too short or way too long, and this one fell into the second category. He started mid-thought, dropped Paulie's name twice, and ended with, "Bring your teeth."
I replayed that last bit three times.
When I got to Paulie's house, it was like stepping into a time warp where garden statues went to die. Flamingos. Gnomes. A Virgin Mary wrapped in Christmas lights. Paulie stood on the porch, sipping coffee like a man guarding national secrets.
"You good with cats?" he asked, squinting like I'd stolen something.
"Only the wild kind."
He waved me in.
Inside was worse. The cat in question, a twitchy orange thing missing one eye was perched on the armrest like it ran the place.
"Keeps shitting in the ficus. Indoor ficus. You believe that?"
"Didn't even know ficuses were still a thing."
"They are in my house. And this little psycho's making it personal."
I waited.
"Anyway," Paulie finally said, "I didn't call you about the cat. There's a game in Kearny. High-stakes. Guy named Mook runs it. Real shiny shirt type."
"You want me in?"
"I want you watching. Someone's blowing smoke. Mook's been too happy lately for a guy losing on paper."
The game was in the back of a dry cleaner, through a door with a busted lock and up a flight of stairs that groaned like they'd rather not.
Mook was already into his second drink and third story by the time I sat down. Everything about him was loud, shirt, jewelry, laugh. A walking Times Square. He smiled too much.
"DeSantis," he said, eyes glinting. "You play or just glower?"
"I prefer to observe until the math gets interesting."
He liked that answer. The game rolled. Cards shuffled, chips clacked, small talk filled the gaps. I played tight. Folded often. Took a few pots. Watched Mook's hands, he liked to rub his thumbs when he lied. I clocked three lies in the first hour.
One guy spilled his drink, and the table cracked up, except Mook. He clenched for half a second. A flinch. There it was.
He was scared. Not of us. Of something else. Maybe someone behind him, or higher up. He kept looking at the door when no one was coming.
After the game, he pulled me aside, all charm and grin.
"You're quiet."
"Noise gets in the way."
"You watching me for Paulie?"
"I'm watching the room."
He laughed, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Let me give you advice," he said. "Guys like you, too serious, it eats you. You need to laugh more."
"I'll laugh when I get paid."
That got a real chuckle.
"Fair enough," he said.
I called Sally from the car.
"Mook's hiding something."
"Let him sweat. Anyone else?"
"Two guys who don't belong. One's from Yonkers, other one had a Rolex that ticked."
"Keep eyes on the Yonkers guy. And Ade?"
"Yeah?"
"Good work."
Simple words, but they meant something coming from him.
Adriana pulled me into the studio again said she had a singer she wanted me to hear. Girl named Cassie. Morristown, big lungs, bigger nerves.
She sang like she had rent due and a dream, and the voice didn't match the frame. It was too strong. I gave her clean, simple notes. She smiled the whole time. Not in a flirty way — in a grateful way. That was harder to deal with.
Afterward, in the parking lot, Ade lit a cigarette.
"You ever think about managing?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because the music business is one step above car theft, and car theft at least comes with adrenaline."
She laughed.
"Still. You got the ear."
I didn't respond. I was thinking about Mook. And the fake Rolex. And the way GhostLine had started logging foreign wallet traffic from IPs I hadn't authorized.
By the time I got back to The Boxcar, Dino was icing his knuckles.
"Don't say it," he said. "The kid was fast."
"He punch harder than your bookie?"
"He punch harder than my second divorce."
We locked up and checked the cameras just routine. But I didn't like how one of the angles had a ten-minute gap. The system auto-looped if it lost power. Only problem was, no one reported a blackout.
Someone tested our patience. And our surveillance.
I wasn't going to let that slide.
Snapshot – Week Six
Mob Etiquette: 15
Charisma: 15
Street Smarts: 10
Reputation: 19
Manipulation: 15
Combat Awareness: 7
Traits:
Quiet Credibility
Controlled Aggression
Precision Pressure
Foundation
Earner's Instinct
Early Investor
Community Cred
Soft Power
Ghost Mentor
Tactical Patience
Ventures:
GhostLine (38%)
The Boxcar (22%)
Studio Project (Final track pending)
Garbage Contract (Planning phase)
High-Stakes Game Surveillance — Mook's Table
Studio Referral: Cassie (Artist Class: Potential Asset)