The Street Survivors (The Guild Wars Book 12) by Ian Malone (great books of all time TXT) 📕

Genovese shook his head. “I kinda figured you’d do your homework on my background at some point. That’s why I didn’t hide my name from you back at the hospital.”

“I appreciate that,” Taylor said.

“Don’t mention it.” The captain sipped his coffee. “My father is not what you’d call a nice man. To the contrary, he’s ruthless, calculated, and prior to his incarceration, he was vicious as hell with anybody who dared to cross him.”

“Sounds like he was a hard man to grow up with,” Taylor said.

“Oh, he was that and then some,” Genovese said. “In Pop’s defense, viciousness is sort of a prerequisite for survival in his world. To do otherwise not only gets you killed, but, more often than not, everybody you care about.” The captain paused visibly in thought. “A lot of folks don’t buy it when I say this, but I never wanted to be a gangster. I saw what the life did to people I cared about, people I was close to. Truthfully, I think that’s what drew me most to the Torrios. They were so much like me, from their upbringing in Queens to the way their ancestors came to America from Italy. Only they made their way honest, not like our family.” He glanced up. “Paulie had a term for folks like us—street survivors. That’s in part, obviously, for where we come from. Mostly, though, it’s because, when the chips are down and our backs are against the wall, there’s no end to what we’ll do to fight our way outta that corner. We’ll literally go to war for each other if we have to.”

Taylor’s entire family history crashed through his mind like a monsoon of memories, from Terry’s rise and fall as the Eagles’ commander, to the Van Zants’ plunge back into poverty, and eventually Taylor’s own quest to rescue his family legacy from the pit of financial ruin. So much had been thrown their way in Taylor’s 27 years on Earth. And yet there they all were—himself, his siblings, and Billy—standing shoulder-to-shoulder, always ready to scrap for more. “You mentioned Paulie had a son.”

“Yeah, Tony,” Genovese said.

“I’ve never seen him around Jax. Did he stay behind in New York or what?”

Genovese’s gaze plummeted. “You might say that. Tony’s buried in Chestnut Grove Cemetery back home in the Palisades.”

Taylor felt an imaginary fist careen into his stomach. “I’m sorry, man. I shouldn’t’ve asked.”

“Don’t sweat it, Chief. It was a fair question.” Genovese took in a breath, then let it out. “Tony studied business at NYU while the rest of us were off bustin’ skulls and collectin’ payments. He was damn good at it, too—so much so that he landed a job on Wall Street straight out of college. He was on his way home from workin’ late one night when a junkie street thug jumped him for his flyer. Tony fought back, of course, but he didn’t make it.” Genovese glanced up. “That happened one year to the day before the Torrios’ move to North Florida.”

Taylor lowered his head and recalled Genovese’s recounting of the Torrios’ relocation story.

“Paulie needed a change of scenery,” the captain had said.

Now, Taylor knew why.

“Bridge to Chief Van Zant,” Reigns said over the intercom.

“Van Zant here,” Taylor answered. “What’s up, Sergeant?”

“Commander Bowyer is with me on the command deck,” Reigns said. “He’d like a word, since you’re still up.”

“Tell him I’m on my way. Van Zant, out.” Taylor pushed himself up to go.

“No rest for the weary, eh?” Genovese noted.

“Apparently not,” Taylor said. “The others and I have church at 0800 tomorrow. I’d like you to be there.”

Genovese grimaced. “No offense, Chief, but the last person who tried to give me religion was Sister Mary back in grade school. It didn’t stick.”

“Church is slang around here for a command staff briefing,” Taylor said. “I want to go over our plan for Droxis, and as the lone representative of the River Hawk Defense Group aboard, I think it’s only right that you be a part of that.”

“Oh.” Genovese cleared his throat. “Sure, yeah. Count me in.”

Taylor headed toward the galley exit.

“Hey, Chief?” Genovese called out. “Thanks for bringin’ me on this mission. You certainly weren’t obligated to, yet you did. So, thank you.”

Taylor nodded. “Get some rest, Mike. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * * * *

Chapter 12: Frozen

The Ryley Osyrys emerged from hyperspace a week later in the yellow dwarf star system matching the coordinates Scarface had provided at the Siler City starport. The system housed a total of seven planets, beginning with a scorched red planet that was roughly the size of Earth’s moon.

“Please tell me that Hades of a planet I’m lookin’ at ain’t Droxis.” Taylor frowned at the Tri-V from his command chair.

“Negative,” Frank said from the nav station. “According to our latest batch of cartography charts, Droxis is the fourth planet from the star. We should have a visual on it momentarily.”

Taylor exhaled and relaxed in his command chair “Tactical. Any sign of pryin’ eyes?”

“That, too, is a negative, Chief,” Jack said. “Sensors show no sign whatsoever of any advanced satellites or early warnin’ systems. They also don’t register any other ships in the vicinity.” The cowboy looked up. “Best I can tell, we’re completely alone out here.”

“I guess that fits, what with the whole covert slave camp thing and all,” Ruiz said. The Puerto Rican lieutenant had jointed the makeshift bridge team with Stan to fill in at the comm station while the Mississippian took over at science.

“Entering visual range of Droxis…now,” Frank announced.

The main Tri-V image shifted from its previous depiction of the fiery hell planet to one blanketed almost entirely in white.

You’ve gotta be fargin kidding me. Taylor shivered. “I don’t suppose the weather down there is warmer than it looks?”

“Sadly,