The winter of Frankie Machine

47

Frank drives across the desert.

He’s always liked the desert at night. Even in winter, it has a soft feel to it.

Speaking of soft, Frank thinks, that’s whatyou’re getting. You should have killed themall, left a bloodbath back there that would make any guy in the business reluctant to take the contract on you.

Especially the crew chief, the one who was the spitting image of old Tony Jacks.

No, notTony Jacks, his younger brother.

What’s his name?

Billy.

Was thatBilly’s kid?

Frank vaguely remembers something about Billy’s kid doing a stint for something. What was it? Extortion, maybe? The kid was precocious, had his own crew…with some stupid tag…

“The Wrecking Crew,” that was it. Worked out of an auto-salvage place and were chopping cars. The kid had a rep, even in the joint.

And now it’s making more sense.

The Combination sent Vince out to clip me. Vince was cautious and used cutouts, getting Teddy Migliore to send John Heaney to Mouse Junior to set me up.

Makes sense, makes sense.

The Migliores answer to the Combination.

They kick up from their sex businesses.

Porn, prostitution, strip clubs.

Okay, fine, but I’ve never had anything to do with any of those.

Be honest, he tells himself.

What about that night at Solana Beach?

And the Strip Club Wars.