by Dale Nelson
His attacker staggered back, dazed. Then the pistol came up again.
“God damn it, Jack, get down,” Rusty shouted.
Jack dropped to the floor still white knuckling the whiskey bottle, now stained with an ugly smear of blood.
Rusty walk-fired twice. Both shots connected, but the large man stayed on his feet. The man spoke, but it was nothing more than a spiteful growl. He knew where he was going but was intent on taking someone with him. He raised his pistol a few inches so that it was level with Jack, now on the floor.
Then Jack placed the man. Milan Radić, one of the escaped prisoners. The man’s balance became unsure. He staggered backward and stumbled, losing ground on the shards of broken glass on the tile. Radić fell into the darkness outside.
“I know that guy by reputation,” Rusty said after a few seconds. “I’m surprised that’s all it took. Jack, go check for pulse. I want to make sure he’s dead.”
Jack stood and brushed off the bits of broken glass, and then walked over to Radić’s body beyond the sliding glass door. He knelt and felt the Serbian’s neck. Finding nothing, Jack shook his head.
“Okay,” Rusty began. “Plus the one I took out guarding the front door, that makes three.” Satisfied, Rusty de-cocked and then safetied his pistol before removing his silencer and putting the pistol into his shoulder holster. He retrieved his phone and placed a phone call before any of them spoke another word. Rusty issued a couple short instructions in Italian, provided their address, and then he hung up the phone. That would be the cleanup crew. All of the shots fired had been from silenced pistols, so they didn’t have an immediate fear of the police, but they still couldn’t stay here long. This had to disappear—fast.
Rusty went to cupboards and opened several of them until he found the glasses. He gripped three tumblers with his thumb, index and middle finger, pressing them together for stability and then slid his left hand underneath where he guided the glasses to the counter. “I suppose you’ve got some questions,” he said, looking over at Jack.
“You might say.”
“Let’s go outside until my crew gets here. Bring the bottle.”
Jack bent over and grabbed the motorcycle case and followed him. Enzo came last. Once the initial shock of seeing him faded, Jack realized Enzo had his left arm in a sling and could see the mass of bandages beneath his collar. Rusty padded across the grass to the ramada and sat. Jack joined him, choosing a seat to Rusty’s right at the end of the table, followed by Enzo, who sat across from Rusty at Jack’s right. Rusty poured a healthy amount of whiskey into each of the glasses.
“I think this is the part where you say, ‘I thought you were dead’,” Enzo said without mirth and drained the glass. Then he grabbed the bottle and poured another.
Jack looked over to Rusty for some kind of explanation. Rusty immediately picked up the cue.
“I heard about the shooting from my police contacts in Cannes as soon as it was reported. A couple hundred Euro in the right palms, and I learned that Enzo here wasn’t actually dead, just really, really close. The police were keeping the knowledge of his survival a secret because they were thinking that might lure the killers out into the open, and they, rightly, assumed it was connected with the Carlton theft.”
Jack looked over at his friend. Enzo drained the second and poured a third. He was drinking like a man who’d just killed someone. “I was running for my gun when Ozren shot me—upper shoulder blade. Since it was close range, the bullet went right through. Another couple inches and it would’ve been my heart.” Enzo shook his head. “He never even said anything.”
Rusty picked the story back up. “So, I was able to buy my way into the hospital and got to talk to Enzo as soon as he came to. This was this morning. I asked him who shot him, and he told me it was Ozren and two others.”
Jack shook his head slowly, sadly. If Reginald had just fucking listened to him.
“I can help out here,” Jack said. “I don’t know how long you were listening, but Ozren told me that he picked me up at the Carlton thinking I was Gaston. He followed me back to my safe house. They must’ve been in a different car than the van I saw them drive off in, or I would’ve picked them up. Anyway, he figured out it was me and that I was working alone and went to go silence Enzo, Gaston, and Gabrielle.”
“How’d he know it was you?”
“The Mas,” Jack said, frustration and anger evident in his voice.
Rusty nodded knowingly. “I came in right when Ozren was telling you to get on the ground, so I must have missed all of that. Anyway, I figured it was a good bet that Ozren was coming after you, so I snuck Enzo out of the hospital and we hauled ass here. I got a phone call while we were on the road from one of my associates that Stolar was looking for you. I tried calling you, but I couldn’t get much of a signal when we were on the road, and when I could, there was no answer.” Jack’s phone was in the bedroom with the gun and the jewels. “We got here just after they did.”
Jack exhaled hard and leaned back in his chair. Finally, taking a long, slow sip of whiskey, he said, “Thank you,” first to the table. Then, Jack looked up. “Both of you. Enzo, I’m sorry about Gaston and Gabrielle.”
“Where the fuck were you, Jack?” Enzo challenged. Whiskey and Oxycodone were not the ideal cocktail for diplomacy. “Why didn’t you take the job when Reginald offered it? Ozren never would’ve pulled this shit if you were here.“
“Oh, I doubt that very much,” Jack said with the knowing gravity of a rabbi. “Ozren Stolar planned to cross you the minute Reginald told him about the job.” Reading the anguish that was over Enzo’s face, Jack calmly told him, “You’re not responsible for their deaths, and don’t fault yourself for not seeing it. I wouldn’t have either. I never trusted the son of a bitch, and I told Reginald he was too dangerous to work with, but I never figured he’d try to double-cross us.” Jack’s mind immediately went to Paul Sharpe.
Now, it was his turn to drink.
“As to your other question,” he said after a healthy pull. “That’s complicated, and I’m not sure this is the place.”
Enzo poured another rail and knocked back half of it. The Oxy in his system was probably handling the physical pain. Enzo was trying to drown his guilt. This was something Jack knew well.
“Initially, I didn’t think it was a good idea. There was too much money out in the open for it to be that easy to get to, and I didn’t like the setup. Plus,” he added dryly, “I make it a point not to cross Israeli billionaires known to employ ex-Mossad hit men as their security guards.”
Rusty nodded his head softly, acknowledging the logic. But Enzo bit on the line. “You seemed to have an easy enough time with that money in the open.”
Jack let it pass.
He continued, ignoring the interruption. “I also had some things in my personal life, my private life, that demanded my full attention. I decided it wasn’t worth the risk, so I passed. I assumed Reginald wasn’t going to do it without me. I had no idea he was going to try and talk you three...four into it,” sourly recognizing Ozren as part of the team.
Enzo, riding a wave of whiskey and opiates, tore into Jack about the two lives they’d left behind. Jack just let him go because he knew that Enzo needed the exorcism...and because he was right. When Enzo finished, both the tirade and his third scotch, he poured a fourth with a shaky hand and descended into a dark bog of loathing for Jack, the world in general, seemingly everything to have come out of the shattered remains of Yugoslavia, and himself.
“So,” Jack said finally, behind the burn of his whiskey. “Where do we go from here?”
“Wherever that is,” Rusty said evenly and looking at his watch, “we need to be there in less than twenty-five minutes. I don’t want you two within five miles of this place when my cleaning crew gets here. Both of you are a little too well-known in these parts to risk it.”
“What about the money?” Enzo asked, his speech starting to resemble a poorly made cocktail.
“That’s an interesting question, isn’t it,” Rusty asked.
Jack said nothing, did nothing. He didn’t even lift his whiskey. He needed to choose his words very, very carefully.
“I’m prepared to pay you both seven million dollars. You saved my life and,” he looked at Enzo but words failed him. In time he said, “I think I can get you the money in a few weeks at the most.”
“Why can’t we just take our cut out of the stones? Cut out the middle man?”
Jack looked to Rusty for help, but he only shrugged.
“Enzo has a point,” was all he said.
“You won’t be able to move them. I can all but guarantee that no one is dumb enough to take them off your hands, not once they realize what they are. In fact, I think the diamond market is going to dry up for a while until people are sure this lot is off the streets.”
“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t they?”
“Because they will know who the stones belong to and don’t want to fuck with them. Anyone you talk to is going to tell you they don’t know you and then, as quickly as they can, call the rightful owner who will hunt you down and get his property back. And then he will kill you for putting him through the trouble.”
“That didn’t seem to stop you from stealing them.”
Enzo knocked back the remnants of his glass and reached for the bottle, but Jack beat him to it and pulled it out of reach. Charity and understanding only went so far, and Enzo needed a clear enough head if he was going to be able to make a decision.
“But we’re not going to get to that point because I’m not giving you any of the stones. I made a deal to bring back all of them, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
It was the whiskey and the drugs as much as his pain talking, but when Enzo popped off he was clearly angry. “So, I suppose the great Gentleman Jack Burdette can move them when no one else can?” Enzo slurred.
“Who do you think my buyer is?”
“Wait,” Rusty asked in a hesitant voice.
“What are you talking about?” Enzo asked in a foggy voice.
“Ari Hassar,” Jack answered. “He paid me to do it,” Jack said. “Hassar is broke. Not flat, but the kind of broke that only people like him and small nations can get. He hired me to rip off the exhibition, so he can collect the insurance money plus whatever he realizes on the gray market for the stones.”
Rusty shook his head and smiled. “He’s doubling his money.”
“Bingo,” Jack shrugged. “It’s small change compared to what he lost.”
“Enough to retire on,” Rusty said, but Jack shook his head.
“Not guys like him. He’s going to gamble every cent I got him back to get back to where he was. The ethics of this doesn’t even enter his mind. It’s simply a game of numbers and how quickly he can make his money back. From his perspective, he’s just making a shrewd play that his competition wouldn’t have expected.” There was more, but he was cautious about how much he should tell Enzo with his friend in the state he was. Hassar knew someone was organizing a run at his exhibition, so part of Jack’s involvement, perhaps the largest part, was for him to steal the jewels before anyone else had the chance. Enzo could probably take knowing that Jack had simply beat him to the score. Knowing that he never had a chance and that Gaston and Gabrielle died anyway would be too much for him to bear.
“Wait,” Rusty said. “This is a little too clean for me. How is it that Hassar knew to call you to set this little scam up?”
“He didn’t,” Jack said, nonchalantly. “I called him.” Jack paused and let that sink in. “Reginald originally pitched me on the job and I turned him down. I thought stealing from Hassar was risky and stupid in a life-altering kind of way.” Jack leveled a hard gaze at Enzo. “For the record, I still do. So, I called him,” Jack shrugged. “I told him who I was, that I knew a crew was going to come after him at the exhibition. I was actually hoping he was just going to beef up his security and pay me a tip-off fee. The theft was actually his idea.”
“So why are you telling us this?” Enzo asked, suddenly and amazingly lucid.
Rusty shot him a glance but said nothing. He’d obviously figured this out already.
“It’s an insurance policy. The three of us go pretty far back, but if you wanted you could double team me and take the stones. I can’t stop you. But, like I said before, you can’t move them on your own, so I’m telling you this to buy a little trust.”
Jack put just a touch more whiskey in his glass and took a quick sip.
“You can’t sell them, and I’m the only one who knows how to get to Hassar. If anyone but me shows up, Hassar’s men will just kill them and take the diamonds. By telling you about my arrangement, I’m counting on you to let me walk out of here with this,” he patted the case, “so that I can make the exchange with the understanding that I will pay you what I promised as soon as I have my cut.” He leaned back in his chair and took a drink.
Hassar was paying him thirty million, roughly a fifth of the full value of the collection. The Israeli initially offered a much lower sum, but Jack countered by saying this was still an actual theft with an actual risk of jail time if he got caught. If he was going to do this, he wanted to make it worth his while. The subtext was Jack wanted enough to convince him not to steal the collection for real like Reginald asked him to do. He’d never actually do that, but it was an incredibly effective bargaining chip. Hassar appreciated chutzpah.
The fourteen million was a hit, a big one, but not an insurmountable one. It would still leave Jack with sixteen, and that was more than enough to cover what Sharpe stole and make back a bit of his savings.
Rusty’s words had to find their way past a gut-born chuckle. “Jesus Christ, you’ve got a pair on you, Jack. I’m in. Hell, before you offered I’d have done my part for free just to see if you could pull it off.”
A smirk crawled up the side of Jack’s face for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.
“No take backs, asshole.”
They both looked to Enzo, who just shrugged sullenly.
“Seven million dollars,” he said softly, and the others could guess that he was weighing the value.
Enzo held his sour face for a perfect second before he broke into a laugh as well. A full-hearted belly laugh, one that brought tears to his eyes. Jack held his smile for a time after he regained composure. He knew there would be many dark nights ahead, but it was good to see his friend happy, even if it was fleeting for all the hell he’d just seen.
“So,” Jack finally said, “we do have one problem.”
“What’s that?” Rusty said.
“Reginald LeGrande.” Jack said the name like they were an old-world curse, something you possibly didn’t believe in but were still wary to vocalize. “He knows I did the job, he knows I succeeded, and now he’s trying to blackmail me for the full amount.” Jack let that sink in. They all knew how far back his and Reginald’s professional association went back, so there wasn’t a need to tell it again. “But he’s also figured out that I live under an assumed name and that I have an exit plan set up with that life.”
Rusty nodded knowingly. “How’d he puzzle that out?”
Jack shook his head. “He sets me up with a clean phone every few months. I never thought to turn off the GPS tracking. I mean, I knew the phone had a GPS but I didn’t realize someone else could track me with it. I also never considered the fact that Reginald was spying on me.” Jack looked off to the eggplant-colored sky with the bubble of light from Rome coming up from below. “If I don’t confirm that I’m going to pay him by tomorrow, he said he’s going to dime me out to the FBI, give them every job I’ve ever pulled plus this one, and he’ll give up my other identity. That doesn’t just have consequences for me.”
“You can’t pay him, Jack.” Rusty’s eyes flicked to Enzo as he said this. “I don’t say this out of a sense of self-preservation for Enzo and me. Well, not entirely,” he allowed with a slight smile, though t
here was no humor behind it. “But I can tell you from experience that blackmailers don’t stop when they get their payout, even if it is every red cent they asked for. It might last for a while, sure, but they almost always come back to the well. Could be a favor, could be another job. Hell, I had a case once where a guy was blackmailing people into being the business end of a murder for hire ring. The point is, it’s not just the money, it’s the power he has over you based on the strength of the information. He’s banking on the fact that whatever he’s got on you is worth more than the price of what he’s asking in exchange,” Rusty extended his index and middle fingers, tapping the table to punctuate each of the next two words, “in perpetuity.”
Jack drained his whiskey. “Even if I were inclined to pay off the double-dealing fuck, and let’s be clear that I am not, I’d never go back on Ari Hassar. That guy’s enough to scare me into going straight.”
“Let’s not be too hasty, there,” Rusty said.
Jack and Enzo both smiled again. “Don’t worry,” Jack said. “I have no intention of giving Reginald our money. What I don’t know is how can I prevent him from going to the FBI.”
“So, what if he does? You’ll have more than enough money to disappear,” Enzo said.
“It’s not that, my friend. It’s what I’d be giving up.”
“Do you have anything that you can use to leverage Reginald?”
Jack shook a negative. “Not without implicating myself. He’s run other crews, some of whom I know,” he gave a halfhearted wave in Enzo’s direction, “but I couldn’t dime Reginald on that without implicating a lot of people who have nothing to do with this.”
“You could scare him off,” Enzo said. His lucidity was cresting as the whiskey caught up to the pain meds. “Especially if Hassar is as dangerous a character as you say he is.”
“I thought of that. Problem is, one of the conditions of my deal with Hassar was my silence. Now, I broke that with the two of you on a calculated risk that I can trust you, but I can’t use that as a lever with Reginald. Besides, he would be just as likely to use that knowledge to get money out of one of Hassar’s competitors. That comes back on me in a big and very bad way.”