desperate.”
“I’m sure it keeps you up at night,” Riley said, and Farrelli laughed.
“Yes. That was a bit of bullshit. But Rollins? He’s got financial trouble beyond owing SAS. He’s been butting heads with the Quad.”
“I’ve heard of them, but who are they, exactly?” Riley said.
“You’ve probably seen all of ‘em,” Farrelli said, “either on the golf course out there, or drinking in the Shack. Citadel grads. Sort of like the Outfit, except they act fancier because they all went to the same school there in Charleston. They run most of South Carolina, especially Charleston. A lot of old families.
“Except the Quad carved up Savannah, leaving Charleston to their classmates with better pedigrees South of Broad. Pecking orders to everything.” Farrelli shook his head, obviously honestly befuddled. “I mean, it ain’t like we boast about who got off on Ellis Island first up in Jersey. But these snoots down here, act like their ancestors got rowed over by God, especially in Charleston. It’s a pretty town, but the snobbishness, is that a word?” He paused for confirmation from Riley.
“I think it is in Charleston.”
Farrelli continued. “It’s overwhelming. Like we shouldn’t even be able to breathe their air. Savannah ain’t as bad, but Karralkov is muscling in down there. While their business interests seem different, they tangentially—is that a word?”
“Yes, sir,” Riley said.
“Their businesses tangentially intersect,” Farrelli said. “Thus, there is bound to be more and more friction as time goes by.”
“Between the Quad and Karralkov,” Riley said. “How does Rollins play into this?”
“He overreached before the economy went south. Ended up holding the bag on a lot of property that’s worth a lot less than what he paid. The Quad is trying to buy him out of a number of places, at a big loss for him. I wouldn’t be surprised if Karralkov is doing the same, except using front companies. Rollins is caught in the middle.”
“You know Savannah was founded using convicts?” Riley asked, processing that information.
“I suppose that’s why they ain’t as snooty,” Farrelli agreed.
“Any other thoughts on who might be going after SAS and kidnapped the kid?”
Farrelli stared at Riley. “I believe it is dishonorable to attack someone’s family. There must be some rules.”
“So the kid,” Riley pressed. “Anything?”
“No.” Farrelli slid off his stool, indicating the meeting was over. “But given it was a child, I’ll ask around. Shouldn’t mess with people’s families.”
Riley stuck his hand out. “I appreciate the conversation.”
Farrelli stared at the hand like it was a snake for a moment, then took it. His grip was firm and warm. “How’d you know to find me in here?”
Riley nodded his head to the door. “New York Pizza? How much cash do you clean through there every night in-season?”
“Uh-huh,” was Farrelli’s only response to that.
“And why not New Jersey Pizza?”
“No one eats New Jersey pizza,” Farrelli said.
“That’s true.” Riley went to the door. He paused before leaving, then looked over his shoulder. “Thanks.”
“For?”
“Looking into it,” Riley said. “But also for letting my Uncle alone. He died in pain, but not threatened.”
* * * * *
Horace Chase had his sweater on, with a windbreaker on top, as the wind whistled through his Jeep. Chase could put the top up, but he preferred the chill wind on his face, a futile attempt to cool off his anger. He was on South Okatie Highway, heading south toward Savannah, skirting the tidal flats that extended miles in from the Atlantic.
Chase was not fond of Russians. He’d battled them in Afghanistan, and he’d almost been killed by one in Boulder, Colorado during his last assignment working for the government. If they were the ones who’d grabbed Cody, this was going to be an uphill battle to get the boy back.
History books said the Soviet
“I’m sure it keeps you up at night,” Riley said, and Farrelli laughed.
“Yes. That was a bit of bullshit. But Rollins? He’s got financial trouble beyond owing SAS. He’s been butting heads with the Quad.”
“I’ve heard of them, but who are they, exactly?” Riley said.
“You’ve probably seen all of ‘em,” Farrelli said, “either on the golf course out there, or drinking in the Shack. Citadel grads. Sort of like the Outfit, except they act fancier because they all went to the same school there in Charleston. They run most of South Carolina, especially Charleston. A lot of old families.
“Except the Quad carved up Savannah, leaving Charleston to their classmates with better pedigrees South of Broad. Pecking orders to everything.” Farrelli shook his head, obviously honestly befuddled. “I mean, it ain’t like we boast about who got off on Ellis Island first up in Jersey. But these snoots down here, act like their ancestors got rowed over by God, especially in Charleston. It’s a pretty town, but the snobbishness, is that a word?” He paused for confirmation from Riley.
“I think it is in Charleston.”
Farrelli continued. “It’s overwhelming. Like we shouldn’t even be able to breathe their air. Savannah ain’t as bad, but Karralkov is muscling in down there. While their business interests seem different, they tangentially—is that a word?”
“Yes, sir,” Riley said.
“Their businesses tangentially intersect,” Farrelli said. “Thus, there is bound to be more and more friction as time goes by.”
“Between the Quad and Karralkov,” Riley said. “How does Rollins play into this?”
“He overreached before the economy went south. Ended up holding the bag on a lot of property that’s worth a lot less than what he paid. The Quad is trying to buy him out of a number of places, at a big loss for him. I wouldn’t be surprised if Karralkov is doing the same, except using front companies. Rollins is caught in the middle.”
“You know Savannah was founded using convicts?” Riley asked, processing that information.
“I suppose that’s why they ain’t as snooty,” Farrelli agreed.
“Any other thoughts on who might be going after SAS and kidnapped the kid?”
Farrelli stared at Riley. “I believe it is dishonorable to attack someone’s family. There must be some rules.”
“So the kid,” Riley pressed. “Anything?”
“No.” Farrelli slid off his stool, indicating the meeting was over. “But given it was a child, I’ll ask around. Shouldn’t mess with people’s families.”
Riley stuck his hand out. “I appreciate the conversation.”
Farrelli stared at the hand like it was a snake for a moment, then took it. His grip was firm and warm. “How’d you know to find me in here?”
Riley nodded his head to the door. “New York Pizza? How much cash do you clean through there every night in-season?”
“Uh-huh,” was Farrelli’s only response to that.
“And why not New Jersey Pizza?”
“No one eats New Jersey pizza,” Farrelli said.
“That’s true.” Riley went to the door. He paused before leaving, then looked over his shoulder. “Thanks.”
“For?”
“Looking into it,” Riley said. “But also for letting my Uncle alone. He died in pain, but not threatened.”
* * * * *
Horace Chase had his sweater on, with a windbreaker on top, as the wind whistled through his Jeep. Chase could put the top up, but he preferred the chill wind on his face, a futile attempt to cool off his anger. He was on South Okatie Highway, heading south toward Savannah, skirting the tidal flats that extended miles in from the Atlantic.
Chase was not fond of Russians. He’d battled them in Afghanistan, and he’d almost been killed by one in Boulder, Colorado during his last assignment working for the government. If they were the ones who’d grabbed Cody, this was going to be an uphill battle to get the boy back.
History books said the Soviet
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