Something else that they’d have to give up.
Shit.
Frank hadn’t processed any of this yet. There’d been no time to think since Ryan burst in on him at breakfast. Told him McGinty was a lying son of abitch who intended to send Frank to jail to cover his own ass.
Before Frank had time to even break into a cold sweat of panic, Ryan told him that he’d fixed it. That he’d gone to the Fedsand offered to turn evidence against McGinty, and everyone else. That the Mullaney brothers would get a free ride and fullprotection as long as he lived up to the bargain and they played it straight.
Right after they socked away their “insurance” money.
Because neither of them fully trusted the Feds to keep them safe.
Yeah, that flop sweat was sure popping out now. It made the cheap polyester of his costume itch. Frank wasn’t ready to giveup his job, his clothes, his apartment, his fights, his life.
On the other hand, jail didn’t sound much better.
His breath rasped out in little clouds. He realized how cold the marble was under his hands. Cold as death.
Jail—or a new life in the middle of nowhere—was definitely a step up from being cold in the ground. Which was undoubtedlyMcGinty’s plan B if the Mullaneys pushed back at his making Frank the fall guy.
After the tour group went down the slope to the lake, Ryan asked, “You got a date for tonight?”
“No.” He tugged at the cartoonishly wide lapel of his bright green jacket. “No chance I’ll get one dressed like this, either.”
“You should get one. Go to a bar. Hook up. Live it up.”
Was he serious? Their lives were in the literal eye of a shitstorm right now. Frank could flirt half-asleep, half-drunk, onlyhalf-interested, and still score a girl. But tonight? His head wasn’t in the game. Let alone his dick. “Not really in a pound-all-the-shots kind of mood,bro.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Ryan stabbed a finger out toward the glow over the treetops indicating the bright lights of downtown. “Youneed to be visible. Hit the usual spots. Make sure at least a half dozen of our guys see you having the time of your life.It’ll keep them from being suspicious after the raid goes down. Can you fake it?”
That was a funny question. That’s all Frank did every day of his life.
He faked being okay with not being in on all the action. He faked being okay with not getting to choose his own damn college major, not being able togo to grad school. He’d convinced McGinty and the whole crew that he was fine with the choices made for him, the life they’dmade and shoehorned him into.
Now he got to start over—and yet again, Frank still didn’t get a say in it.
“Yeah. I can throw back some whiskey tonight, no problem.” Probably the truest thing he’d said all day. The more he thoughtabout it? The more getting shit-faced sounded like the only way to deal with all of this. No way he’d inflict himself andhis weird-ass mood on a woman, though. “Want to grab one last deep-dish pepperoni at Lou Malnati’s? Before we make the roundsof the clubs?”
“You bet.”
Frank looked at his watch. The watch McGinty gave him the day he was promoted to vice president of the construction company.Damn. That promotion had been a way to keep Frank under his thumb all along. A way to keep a convenient patsy close by.
Turned out the job he’d worked his ass off for was basically the mob’s version of a bench to be warmed. Just a placeholderin case McGinty needed someone who looked important enough—on paper, anyway—to take all the blame.
He planned to put this watch under the front tire of whatever government SUV drove them out of town. Crushing it, crushingthe taint of its memory, would be his last official act in Chicago.
“We’ll only make it if we wrap this up fast enough. Are we close, Ryan? Where are we stashing all this cash, anyway?”
“See that pyramid over there?”
Gray stone rose into a triangle of blocks, with a sphinx on one side of the doorway, an angel on the other. Talk about a weirdcombination. It was cool and creepy and Frank had no idea how they were supposed to get inside of it. “The one with the giantblack padlock on the door?”
“It’s modeled after an Egyptian tomb.” Ryan stood, slinging the red velvet sack back over his shoulder. “You remember thething about all those ancient pyramids?”
“There was always a secret way out.” Okay, maybe tonight would be a little bit fun, after all. Sure, a slice of ‘za from Malnati’salways scored in the top ten ways to end a night in Chicago. But a crazy-ass adventure with his big brother sounded like aneven better way to spend their last hours in their hometown. A story they’d tell over and over and over again through theyears.
Crap.
They’d only tell it to each other. Since this all had to stay a secret. From everyone.
For the rest of their lives.
Luckily, Ryan seemed oblivious to how often Frank’s thoughts spiraled into near-panic. Gesturing for him to follow, his brotherstalked in between the columns and zigzagged around a perimeter of six-foot-tall bushes. “Or, in our case, a way in. Afterthis Schoenhofen guy died, his son-in-law took over the business. And he owed the mob a shit-ton of money. He ran the biggestbrewery in Chicago back in the day. Thought he’d gotten so big that he could skip paying protection money.”
That was just stupid, no matter what decade he was from. At least that stupidity erased the tiny bit of guilt Frank had beenharboring about breaking into a tomb. “Let me guess. They took him out?”
“Drowned him in one of his own copper beer kettles.” Ryan shot him a grin.
Frank couldn’t help but smile back. It was kind of perfect. The Irish mob excelled at making their point in . . . creativeways. “Karma’s a bitch.”
“Whoever took over the business next wised up. He paid up. Fast. As a show of
