Dirty Deeds (Get Dirty 3)

Maggie jerks when I mention her lies, but she doesn’t back down. “FBI?”

I’m a pro, so I know there’s no reaction on my face, but that lack of response must be what solidifies it for her. She narrows her eyes, nodding almost to herself. “So that’s a yes to the FBI then.”

It’s quiet in the truck, the gravity of the situation sinking in like a fog of heaviness. It’s hard, and I feel my facade of sternness crumbling under her soft but unrelenting eyes. “Maggie.”

She lifts a finger at me, silencing me like I did to her earlier. “So, to recap, I’m an undercover reporter for what is mostly a two-bit gossip rag. You’re an undercover FBI agent working in a mob-controlled strip club. I’m guessing you’re there to investigate Dominick. And now a hitman is chasing us because I’m the only witness to a hit. And we’re in a stolen truck with a guy named Chucky as our only backup. That about right? Anything I missed?”

I nod. “Yeah, close enough. My name really is Shane, but my last name isn’t Nelson. It’s Guthrie. Special Agent Shane Guthrie, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

I hold my hand out, offering her a shake even though we’re way beyond that now. Still, it’s the only thing that seems appropriate, and she returns the shake, smirking a little. “Maggie Postland. Journalist with The Daily Spot.”

We eye each other, so much unsaid between us but neither of us knowing where to start with this tangled web that’s quickly unraveling. Finally, she clears her throat and looks at me expectantly.

Maggie hums. “So now what?”

“Now,” I reply, “we call Chucky back to see what else he knows. By the way, that’s not his real name, but he always says his work is child’s play, and he can be an evil son of a bitch when he wants to be . . . so the nickname was pretty natural.”

She nods, and I reach for my phone once again. The line connects quickly, silence on Chucky’s end.

“Hey, Chucky. So, we’re transparent on all fronts on this end.”

Chucky’s voice is hesitant through the speaker. He’s not used to this type of communication. “Just how clear are we talking?”

“Crystal, man. Say hi, Maggie.”

Maggie grins and puts on her ‘club voice.’ “Hi, Maggie.”

Chucky doesn’t find it funny though. “Fuck, Shane. You can’t do shit like that. She’s a fucking civilian.”

Chucky keeps babbling, but I don’t have time for his shit. “It’s already done, Chucky. Just be glad she doesn’t know your real name. Now what’s going on back there?”

Chucky sighs, still wanting to speak his piece about Maggie knowing I’m FBI, but we need to move on, figure out the next step. “Okay, so it’s looking like Sal sent Carlos into Petals. Told him it was a power play or some shit, just to go in and see how things were looking, not make waves if he got recognized but to lie low, observe, and report back. Later on, he would use the fact that his son was able to penetrate Dom’s HQ as leverage.”

What a crock of shit. I know too much about Sal Rivaldi to buy that. “It was a setup then. But Carlos was his own son. That’s pretty fucked up, even for Sal Rivaldi.”

Chucky’s hum tells me he’s thinking the same thing. “Yeah, apparently, Carlos was sowing some dissension among the lower lieutenants and Sal decided he needed to clean house. On the down low. He contracted the hitman himself, but he’s selling that Dominick killed Carlos for being in his club. Sal’s wanted to declare war on the Angeline’s for a while, and this way, he’s getting a two-for-one . . . rid of his asshole son and riding into battle like some sort of avenging father.”

“We can’t let that war happen,” I growl. “Those two kick off, and the streets are going to turn to rivers of blood.”

“No shit,” Chucky replies. “You’re the one working with the guy. What’s he like?”

I shrug, looking over at Maggie. “He’s careful, methodical, and strategic. More businessman than loose cannon, even if he is a crime lord. He’s scary, but it’s like a controlled burn with him. If we let the Rivaldi’s get even a small foothold on more power, Sal will destroy the city and everyone in it with his crazy power plays. He’s more like a wildfire . . . it’ll be chaos.”

“That’s what I’m seeing too. You want to call it in?”

“Not yet, that’s a lot of bureaucratic red tape I’m not ready to jump into,” I reply.

Chucky understands and laughs softly. “I gotcha. I’ve looked at this from every angle to see what the best move is and to be honest, I’m not sure, man. It’s your call.”

I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, doing the same analysis Chucky says he’s done and coming up with the same results.