SurvivorZ: Grave Harbor

20

GRAVES

Graves emerged from the darkened room, wiping his hands clean with a handkerchief. Harris was a tough nut, but they all cracked in the end.

Tommy met him in the hall with Clint. Noticing the blood on his hands, the big man turned three shades paler than a snowflake.

"Well?" Tommy prompted.

Graves narrowed his eyes at him. His father would have grabbed a chair and enjoyed every minute of the interrogation first-hand, instead of waiting for news like an anxious family member pacing outside the delivery room.

"Well, what?" Graves replied. "He sang like a fuckin' canary. Practically drew me a map of Manconi's compound."

"You trust him?"

"I trust that he wasn't capable of coming up with a convincing lie by the time I was done with him. That's as much as I believe anybody."

"Was that really necessary?" Clint asked. "I told you guys everything already."

"You told us all you know," Graves retorted. "It's what you don't know that I needed to hear from him."

"They still haven't found Camilla," Tommy declared. "We have to assume she made her way back to Manconi and told him everything. He'll be waiting for us to hit back."

"Better not disappoint him then."

"What about him?" Clint inquired, nodding at the closed door.

"He's coming with me." Graves pocketed his stained kerchief in his coat pocket. "Mr. DiMarco wants to send a message."

Graves marched down the hall for the stairs. The other two fell in next to him.

In the foyer, the don was overseeing preparations for his response to Manconi's attempt on his life. A full complement of foot soldiers stripped and loaded their weapons, adjusted Kevlar chest protection, and mentally prepared themselves to dole out some payback for the family's black eye. Idle chatter was non-existent. This was a war party, not a social gathering. Every face was sober, every action mechanical. Carmine DiMarco's army kept themselves occupied so they wouldn't have to think about possibly meeting their maker tonight.

"Why don't you gear up?" Tommy suggested to Clint. "We're moving out soon."

Clint glanced first at Graves and then at Mr. DiMarco. The guy apparently had enough brains to go along with the rest of his muscles to take the hint. What they needed to discuss with the boss was for their ears only.

Carmine noticed them coming and went out onto the front porch. Tommy closed the door behind him, allowing the three of them to speak privately outside.

"What have you learned?" Mr. DiMarco asked Carl.

"Clint was on the level with us. Manconi's operating out of a bottling facility in the commercial district of Needham Heights," he replied. "Barbed wire fencing, reinforced with every semi, box truck, and shipping container in the yard. He's got security cameras, even guard dogs."

"What about manpower?"

"His forces outnumber ours five to one. There're sentries stationed on rooftops all over town, between the highway and the river. A pigeon can't take a dump for three square blocks without Manconi knowing about it."

"The bridges at Highland and Kendrick are both still up. According to Clint, both roads into Needham are being constantly monitored," Tommy said. "They'll spot us the minute we cross."

"That's the idea," Carmine replied.

"As long as they're watching the roads, they'll never see us coming," Graves added.