by Nova Rain
“Why did you choose him?” Joe posed the question, a touch of disapproval in his tone. “Okay, he’s dirty, but he’s probably made lots of money on the side by being loyal to Howard. We need someone hungrier than a cop who’s just a couple of years away from retirement.”
“Oh, he’s hungry alright.” Jimmy giggled, hitting keys on the keyboard. Before long, Pope’s picture was replaced by an image of a large apartment building under construction. “Pope bought the land back in 2016. He started building this baby with side money, but rumor has it that Howard pulled the plug on the funding when he found out that the FBI had launched an investigation into him. That was three months ago.”
“Good job, kid,” Joe praised, flashing him a glance of appreciation.
“Pope might be pissed at Howard, I get that,” I interjected. “But what happens if he doesn’t turn on his boss? Did you think about that?”
“I will if he turns down our offer,” he uttered in a calm tone.
“Joe, we’ve got enough C4 here to bring down a fucking high-rise,” I emphasized, raising my voice. “He blew up your mall. Why don’t we give him a taste of his own medicine?”
“Tell me you don’t mean blowing up a casino,” he groaned, pursing his lips.
“No, man, you know I wouldn’t do that. There are people’s lives at stake,” I remarked and then looked down at the boy’s laptop. “I bet Howard owns more than just a casino. Am I right, Jimmy?”
“He does seem to be a major shareholder in ‘Chateau De Triumph,’ a chain of French food restaurants in Nevada, Utah and Arizona.” Jimmy’s answer wasn’t what I needed to hear. We couldn’t hit crowded, public places, because that would mean endangering innocent people’s lives. “Other than that, his business ventures are quite shady. I’m sorry, guys. I would have dug up a lot more on him if I’d had just a little more time.”
“It’s okay, Jimmy,” Joe attempted a mellower tone. “You found out enough.”
“I agree, but we need another candidate in case Pope doesn’t accept our offer,” I pointed out. “And we still haven’t decided what to do with him if he says ‘no.’”
“He dies,” Joe’s response came fast, as if he anticipated the question. “We can’t risk him tipping off his boss, no matter how bad their relationship is. Now, I know what you’re going to say. Killing a cop means war with the local police department. We won’t shoot him in the head. We’ll just…” He paused. “Mess with his car a little.”
“I can do that,” Bryan said, looking down at Joe through his rearview mirror.
“Candidate number two: Eddie Mitchell,” Jimmy announced, the picture of a young man in uniform coming up on the screen. “Twenty-four years old, single. He saw Shane Dallas, a valet at ‘Red Rock Casino,’ buying cocaine from Kenny Scott, a notorious drug dealer known to work for Howard. Mitchell arrested them both, he filed a report, but, two days later, the report was deleted from the system. Dallas and Scott were released, and Mitchell took a ten-day leave to recover from a non-work-related injury.”
“They roughed him up,” I concluded. “Is it me or does this guy sound better than Pope?”
“He does, but he doesn’t sound dirty,” Joe spoke his mind, his gaze on Jimmy. “Why him? You said there were a lot of dirty cops in Vegas.”
“Because it seems that Mitchell has motive to take down Howard,” Jimmy began his explanation, his voice gaining volume and speed. “When he returned to active duty, he was busted down to patrolman. Apparently, Howard pulled some strings in the local police department to get rid of him.”
“That son of a bitch runs pretty much everything over there,” Joe’s conclusion came in an angry tone as he stared into nothingness. “Forget Pope, boys. That’s our guy. He’s perfect.”
“I hate to sound like a broken record here, but what happens if he says ‘no’?” I wondered again, my tone steady.
“He won’t.” The confidence in Joe’s voice should have reassured me. It didn’t. This was typical Joe. He thought something would happen because he believed it would. Although I wasn’t one hundred percent sure about this, I chose to keep my opinion to myself. Why? Because Joe had already proven himself as a leader. He had made the right calls in the past. I just had to have faith in him like I always did, hoping that he had reached the correct decision this time as well.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ava
“You’re in love with him.” On the I-95, far away from the Big Apple, Michelle’s comment made my heart skip a beat. “You wanted to follow him to Vegas, you were on the verge of tears when he told you to leave town… Should I go on?”
“That won’t be necessary,” I assured her, lowering my gaze down to my lap. “I think you made your point.”
“What do you have to say about it?” She asked, her voice rising in intensity.
“What if I am?” I rolled my shoulders. “What’s so wrong about that?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head sideways. “I just don’t understand how it happened. I mean, you guys didn’t like each other. You avoided each other; at least you avoided him. What did he do to change the way you look at him?”
“You seem to have forgotten what I told you back at your place the other day.” I remarked, tightening my tone. “He was there when I needed him. He helped me see he wasn’t a dick. Anyway, you’re not the one to talk, honey. You changed the way you looked at Joe, didn’t you?”
“I sure did,” she admitted, tossing a sideways glance at me. “That was different, though. Joe had been a regular at my bar for over a year. I liked him. I just couldn’t work up the courage to ask him out. When we kissed…” She paused and took a deep breath. “He suddenly became irresistible to me.”
“Looking back, I’d have to say Donny caught my interest when he found me crying my eyes out outside his apartment building, the day you fired me.” I spoke in a soft tone, recalling his gesture. “He could have told me to get the hell out of there. He didn’t owe me anything. Instead, he took me up to his apartment, he offered me a drink and heard me out. I’m not used to guys being nice to me. You know that.”
“I bet paying off your debt helped, too,” Michelle presumed, a big smile gracing her face.
“Yes, it did,” I said with a nod. “Oh, God…” I sighed and leaned my back against the headrest. “Those morons I owed money to were laughing at me and insulting me, until he showed up and scared the living crap out of them. I got so turned on that night…”
“Hey, relax, will you?” She requested, her smile staying on. “I don’t want to have to roll down the window, but I will.”
“Oh, come on!” I groaned, my eyes snapping open. “Are you telling me you didn’t get just a little bit aroused when Joe beat up those dicks who tried to rob you?”
“Aroused?” Michelle snorted in amusement. “Hell no, honey. Disgusted? Yeah. I can’t stand the sight of blood. By the time he was done with them, their blood was all over the counter. And the curb. I was turned on when he finally told me a few things about himself. The minute he mentioned he’d grown up in an orphanage, I said to myself: ‘Pin him up against the nearest vertical surface and go wild with him.’ That’s why I kissed him.”
“Which reminds me, Donny pulled back the first time I kissed him.” I pointed to myself. “He got pretty upset and yelled at me. Why would he do that?”
“I’m sure you’ll find an answer to that if you remember how you used to treat him,” Michelle spoke, her voice going down an octave.
I looked up at the white car ceiling, tapping my index finger on my chin. “I was ironic with him, I gave him nasty innuendos, I took off within minutes, every time he showed up at your place… I’m actually judging him for not calling me names that night.”
“Now, you’re following him across the country with me.” Michelle’s last statement robbed me of the will to speak any further. All of a sudden, I had no desire to go on about my relationship with Donny. If anything, it reminded me of how my life had been turned upside d
own. He was responsible for that. He had gotten me back on my feet, but he was on his way to Las Vegas, ready to gamble the most precious thing he had on this Earth: his very life.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Donny
Forty-two hours on the road.
Forty-two hours of long periods of silence, discomfort, questionable food and an overnight halt at a sleazy motel, fifty miles outside of Chicago.
We discussed stopping at another motel in Nevada before reaching Vegas. We were all exhausted and desperate to catch some shuteye. Still, it was midnight. We needed another hour or so to get to our destination. Furthermore, if we needed to have a word with Mitchell, we couldn’t do it in broad daylight. The cover of darkness was an absolute must. But the most important reason for us to keep going, was Maltese’s ultimatum. We had less than five days left, and a ton of work to do. In that time, we had to pick out targets and come up with plans to hit them.
Was that possible? I had no idea.
It didn’t sound easy; I knew that much. We were short-handed. Big hits required lots of manpower, something we didn’t have. Our determination brought us over two thousand miles away from home, but we needed more than that to prevail in this war. I could find hope in the fact that we were carrying enough firepower and explosives to take out a small army. The back of the van was full of shotguns, rifles, handguns, a special something and more than a hundred pounds of C4. We wouldn’t be outgunned, but then again, this didn’t guarantee anything. Our M4’s wouldn’t be effective against two or three dozen men armed with pistols. We would just take out a handful of them, before the rest of Howard’s crew overwhelmed us.
To my liking, Eddie Mitchell’s address wasn’t anywhere near Las Vegas Boulevard. He lived in Eastern Heights, about eight miles away from the world-famous road.
With Jimmy’s van rolling down Anderson Lane, I realized that this neighborhood didn’t look or sound at all like Sin City. It seemed like a typical neighborhood in Queens or Brooklyn. Either side of the road was almost full of parked cars. I could hear car tires rolling in the distance, along with the occasional dog bark. The narrow road was illuminated by light poles, the one across from Mitchell’s house flickering in the dark.
“Boys, let me do all the talking,” Joe requested, shoving his gun into the waistband of his jeans. “Don’t lay a hand on him. Remember: We need this guy.”
“Whatever you say,” I groaned, casting him an angry glance, while Bryan slid the door open.
I couldn’t believe this. We were just about to visit a cop in the middle of the night and ask for his help? What was next? Setting him up with a date? I swallowed my anger, crossing the curb with Joe and Bryan. We headed for the arched front door, the snarl of a stray cat to the left catching my eye. He pounced on another cat and rolled along the curb, convincing me to shift my focus to what mattered.
Joe slammed his fist against the door three times, his breath getting heavier.
“Are you trying to wake up the whole damn neighborhood?” My question went unanswered. He didn’t even glance at me and preferred to pound on the wood some more. At his second knock, the door was yanked open. Mitchell emerged from his living room, in light-blue pajamas, his brown hair messy and with a drowsy look in his eyes.
“Who the fuck are you people?” He groaned, his gaze on Joe.
“Hi, Mitchell,” He croaked. “My name’s Joe Mancini; I’m from New York. Dennis Howard blew up my mall a few weeks ago. I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I need your help to make him pay for what he did.”
“Right,” Mitchell smiled in irony. “Did the guys at the precinct put you up to this? Because if they did, I’m giving them hell tomorrow. It’s not funny.”
“Well, we’re not laughing, are we?” I interjected, clenching my jaw.
“Get the hell off of my property,” Mitchell commanded, pushing his door shut.
“Damn…” Joe grumbled, thrusting his arm up. He stopped the door just a couple of inches from the doorframe and shoved it back, before stepping inside. With two, long strides, I brushed past him and whipped out my gun. Holding it by the barrel, I thrust it forward. The metal struck Mitchell in the jaw, sending him staggering back across the living room. As he struggled to find his footing, I reached down and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.
“Listen up, asshole!” I growled, lifting him up. “We’ve come a long way and we’re all tired, so don’t fuck with us!”
“What do you want from me?” Mitchell uttered, his voice coming out hesitant as he raised his hands.
“Sit,” I commanded, tossing him to the couch on my left.
“Believe it or not, we can put an end to your beef with Howard,” Joe maintained, sliding away the coffee table.
“How do you know about that?” Mitchell squinted up at him.
“Howard is my enemy, kid,” Joe attempted a deeper tone. “I like to study my enemies. It helps pinpoint their weaknesses. Now, will you play ball or am I just wasting my time here?”
“I will if you tell me what you’ll do to him,” Mitchell said, pressing his wrist to his jaw.
“Let’s just say I’d like to give him a taste of his own medicine for starters,” Joe suggested, his hands on either hip. “How would I do that?”
“About a month ago, my partner and I pulled over a truck,” Mitchell started, propping his elbows on his knees. “We’d received an anonymous tip about that truck carrying drugs. When I got into the back, I realized it was bullshit. It was full of empty boxes. I found six bags of heroin in one. That was it. My partner told me it was all for show. It’s part of the deal Howard’s got with the LVPD. We seize a couple of kilos to keep up appearances. It keeps the feds away. Anyway, the driver of that truck turned out to be a rookie. He’d marked his route on a map. I took that map before forensics arrived on the scene. Its starting point is a warehouse, a couple of miles north of Indian Springs.”
“I’m guessing a decent cop like you went over there to check it out,” Joe continued, his tone calmer this time.
“Yeah, I did.” Mitchell gave a swift nod. “Its location is just perfect. It’s in the hills outside Indian Springs, far enough from the interstate to not draw suspicion. Howard’s people cut his drugs in there.”
“Where’s that map?” I asked him, my voice stiff.
“It’s in my bedroom,” Mitchell replied, pointing back with his thumb. “I can go get it for you.”
“Bryan, you’re up,” Joe spoke, not taking his eyes off the cop as he left the couch.
“Do I need to ask what we’ll do to that warehouse?” I lowered my voice, turning in my friend’s direction.
“Remember what we did to Santone’s meth lab, and you’ll get the picture,” Joe answered, a devilish smile bursting upon his lips.
“Got it,” Bryan announced, joining us back in the living room with the map in his grasp.
“Thanks a lot for this, Mitchell.” Joe nodded in appreciation. “We were never here. You didn’t see us, you don’t know my name, nothing. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” The cop responded. “You forgot to mention what you’ll do next.”
“Keep your mouth shut about our little visit, and you’ll find out soon enough,” Joe assumed his usual, firm tone.
“I’d suggest more locations where you can hit him, but…” Mitchell paused and pressed his lips together. “They’ll be useless if you get to hit that warehouse. Howard will increase security everywhere. It’s going to be impossible for you to get anywhere near them.”
“I know,” Joe claimed, striding back to the front door. “I won’t forget this, Mitchell.”
Neither would I. In our attempt to pay back Howard, we had found an ally in uniform. It boggled my mind. I considered it as one of the things that would never happen. Ever. For us, cops were a nuisance. A bunch of people who loved to harass us, even if we’d done nothing wrong. Either way, I wasn’t going to complain. We had a target. Very soon, Dennis Howard would learn that he’d messed with the wro
ng people.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Donny
The next day, Joe had a crappy surprise in store for me and the others.
He barged into my motel room and swiped the blankets away at the crack of dawn, claiming that we had to get out of there. Had he done this back in New York, we would have ended up at each other’s throats. I wasn’t the morning type; neither was he for that matter. Yet, we were not in our birthplace. We were in a cold motel on the outskirts of Vegas, and we had to get ready for our long-awaited payback.
Back on the road, Jimmy pulled up satellite images of Howard’s warehouse. A single glance at the surrounding area revealed that Mitchell had been honest about its location. It was on a steep, barren hill that overlooked the town of Indian Springs. At first, getting there seemed easy. Once Jimmy zoomed in on it though, we discovered a catch. The road up to it seemed narrow. We couldn’t calculate its exact width, but I doubted it could fit anything wider than our van. Running into another vehicle before or after the operation, would mean going off road, and this was an issue. That hill was in the middle of nowhere. It was bound to be riddled with sharp rocks. A blown tire would invite trouble—trouble we just could not have. Changing a tire near a blown-up building in the dark, would be like screaming “we did it” to everyone passing by.
Still, this was an extreme scenario. We were not going up there until midnight. The town of Indian Springs would be fast asleep. The few people awake at the time of the blast would have to cover eight miles of unpaved, uphill road to reach the warehouse. So, even if we did suffer a blowout on our way down, we’d have plenty of time to change the tire and get out of there.