Adventures of Quigley & McFinleyyy
Chapter 3 – Blondes, Bricks & Betrayal
The Ferrari idled by the pier, its engine ticking like a bomb cooling off. Waves slapped against rotting wood, and Miami glowed across the water like a cheap promise.
Quigley leaned against the hood, cigarette dangling, staring into the trunk at the mocking pile of construction bricks. McFinleyyy swayed beside him, whiskey bottle in one hand, disbelief in the other.
“We just outran half the Miami PD for this?” McFinleyyy grumbled.
Quigley flicked ash onto the pier. “Some men chase glory. We chase bricks.”
The blondes lingered a few feet away, heels clicking on the planks. Their perfume cut through the salt air, cloying, insincere. One of them finally broke the silence.
“The Cuban will be… disappointed.”
Quigley shot her a look sharp enough to cut glass. “Disappointed? Darling, if he planned this, then we’re the bricks. Test run. See if we’d sink or swim.”
McFinleyyy swigged his whiskey. “Well, we didn’t sink. We just… delivered the wrong hardware.”
Quigley snorted. “Hardware store hardware.”
That’s when headlights cut across the pier. A black Mercedes rolled up, its chrome teeth grinning in the dark. Doors opened, and men in suits stepped out—too polished, too quiet. Guns tucked under their jackets like whispers.
The blondes straightened, suddenly less casual, more like couriers. One slipped on her lipstick, the other lit a cigarette. Show time.
From the back seat of the Mercedes, a man emerged. Tall, pale, hair slicked back like he’d drowned in pomade. His suit was darker than the ocean. His smile was practiced, like he’d rehearsed it in the mirror until it frightened even him.
“Mr. Quigley. Mr. McFinleyyy,” he said, voice calm, controlled. “The Cuban sends his regards.”
McFinleyyy spat whiskey onto the ground. “You tell him he can keep his bricks.”
The pale man didn’t blink. “They’re not his. They’re yours. A gift.”
Quigley frowned. “A gift?”
The man’s smile widened. “Every empire starts with bricks. The Cuban thinks you boys are builders. He wants to see what you build… or what you burn.”
The blondes shared a look—half fear, half thrill. The game had shifted.
Quigley lit a fresh cigarette. “Builders, huh? Funny. I’ve always been more of a demolition man.”
McFinleyyy cracked his knuckles, grinning through whiskey breath. “Guess we’ll build a body count.”
The pale man only bowed, as if he’d just given them permission to ruin the city.
Somewhere in the distance, police sirens wailed again. The night was far from over.
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