Tony gambino's Arc

Chapter 3 of 4

Tony folded the sketch into his pocket and stood very still. The paper was thin, but the ink was patient. Whoever drew it had taken time. Time meant a plan. He needed to see the watcher before the watcher saw him again. He walked the back lot and found the boy's tire tracks in the dust. They led past a leaning sign post with sun-bleached arrow boards, out toward the open flats. Tony followed on foot. The tracks bent around a small guard shack with tinted glass, its reinforced door shut tight. From inside, a man could see the warehouse dock without ever being seen. Tony understood at once. He took it. He sent one of his men back for a rifle and a chair. He sat in the tinted dark and watched the road. By midday, a black car rolled in slow and stopped near the burnt frame of an old coach off the trail. A short, heavy man stepped out. White hair. Hands like bricks. He did not hide. He waited. Tony recognized him from talk alone. Salvatore Capone. The old operator had come himself. That told Tony everything about the weight of the sketch. The boy had not been a threat. The boy had been an invitation. Tony left the shack and walked out to meet him. Salvatore held up a second folded paper, sealed with a chip of pale wax. He did not offer it yet. "You built a floor," Salvatore said. "Floors hold weight. I came to see if yours holds mine." He pressed the letter into Tony's hand. "Read it tonight. Answer me tomorrow." The car pulled away. Tony stood with the wax seal cool against his palm. The watcher had reached him first, just not to kill him. The sketch problem was closed. A heavier one had taken its place. Tony was not a ghost in the Badlands anymore. He was a tenant, and the rent was about to be named.