It was one of the few remaining old high-rise buildings in the area. It had recently been converted into a senior living facility. On the way over, Vincent explained to Byrne that one of DeRon Wilson’s dodges was to use the place as a stash house. He said Wilson’s grandmother had passed away in 2009, but Wilson kept the place.At nine o’clock Carter Wilson left the building, and headed down Fourth Street to his car. He rounded the corner and was just about to open the door when two men walked up behind him. Instinctively Carter’s hand went to the 9mm pistol in his belt.Vincent Balzano stopped him.Where DeRon Wilson was small and wiry, Carter Wilson was of average height, but flabby. Too much junk food, too much sampling of the product. Vincent easily pushed the man to the top of the dead-end alley.‘You know who I am?’ Vincent asked.Nothing. Just Carter Wilson’s version of a jailhouse stare.‘Coulda swore I asked you a question,’ Vincent added.‘I know who you are.’‘Good,’ Vincent said.
