“No, we’re not outnumbered. We have all of Harry’s friends. We help them with the pillows, they help us with the Scorpions. Sounds fair to me. Dennis, run that by Harry and see what he thinks. How’d the pillow deal go over?”

“He didn’t get back to me on that yet. I’m thinking that the longer it takes is a plus for us. Means he’s talking it up and hasn’t yet convinced his guys it’s a good deal.”

“So send our query,” Jack said.

“I did.”

Cyrus bounded through the hall the minute the penthouse elevator came to a stop. Jack looked up at Abner, who seemed to have regained the color in his face. “It’s raining out,” he said inanely.

“Good for the gardens,” Charles said.

“Terrible for traffic, though,” Fergus said. “I’m thinking the casino owners pray for rain so that customers stay in the casinos and gamble.”

Dennis reached for his phone when a zippy little tune filled the room. Everyone turned questioning eyes on him.

Dennis grinned. “It’s Harry.”

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Rap music vied with the thunder that rumbled overhead. Streaks of lightning zipped and danced across the black sky, lighting up the night like a Fourth of July fireworks display. The members of the Scorpions all huddled under a cluster of half-dead trees, watching what they considered a light show and hoping for a stray breeze or a few drops of rain. Anything to drop the temperature even a few degrees. It wasn’t happening, though.

It was one-thirty in the morning, and the temperature was a mega ninety-seven degrees, making sleep impossible for the gang members. The cold beer was all gone, the ice long melted. Now there was nothing to do but listen to rap, watch the lightning, and hope for rain.

With the rap music at full throttle and the thunder booming, Alonzo Zuma Santiago was glad he’d put his cell phone on vibrate; otherwise, he never would have known he had a message coming through. He looked at his phone, saw the time, and felt a tickle of alarm. It was late to be getting a call or a text. He debated a few seconds about clicking it on. Did he really need a problem on this bitching, miserable night? No, he did not, but his thumb clicked on the right button anyway. He stared down at the image he saw on the small screen. His heart took on an extra beat. Salty sweat rolled down from his forehead and into his eyes, burning them. It didn’t matter; he could still see the image he had been shown, which was not going to go away.

Miggy poked Alonzo in the arm and asked what was wrong. Alonzo didn’t bother to respond. He simply showed Miggy the picture on his phone.