Deep Dirty Truth

by Steph Broadribb

  I do though, and it sickens me; the drugs and the girls, the clubs, casinos and sweet-sixteen massage parlours. He’s been head of the Bonchese family for more than thirty years, ever since his papa was executed gangland-style outside one of their clubs. Under the Old Man’s direction the Miami Mob’s empire has grown ever bigger, and the business it does has gotten more twisted. No matter what he looks like, he’s a monster. And from the way he’s treating me, it’s clear he enjoys playing with his prey before going for the kill.

  He gestures towards the platter of shrimp on the table. ‘Eat, please.’

  I fake like I’m not hungry, even though my belly rumbles at the sight of the food. I want him to get to the point. ‘Why the dress, don’t you believe women should be allowed to wear pants?’

  Old Man Bonchese takes a shrimp from the stack. He stares at it for a long moment before ripping off its head with a swift, brutal movement. Looks back to me. ‘I’m all for female equality, but I wanted you to feel like a woman for this meal, just in case it’s the last one you have. The dress is a gift. A kindness. From me.’

  ‘I feel like a woman whatever I’m wearing.’ He’s talking crap. The dress robs me of my own clothes, ones far more suited to fighting my way out of this place. He’s using it to try to control me; same with the use of my married name. He wants to delete the person I’ve become and turn me back into the girl Thomas Ford used to beat on. But it won’t work. ‘So what is it you want to say to me?’

  The anger flares in his eyes again. ‘Your Tommy was like a son to me, and like a brother to my eldest boy, Luciano. He was important to the family.’

  I’d seen pictures of what my husband did for the Bonchese family; of the people he beat because they couldn’t pay their gambling debts, and the body of a man he’d killed for them. JT was the bounty hunter sent to find Tommy when he skipped bail before the trial for that murder; that’s how we met and the pictures were what convinced me to help him. But Tommy found out and came back to take revenge for my betrayal.

  ‘Tommy killed my friend, Sal,’ I say. ‘Shot her at point-blank range because she was calling the cops when he started beating on me. She was only seventeen – just a kid – but he didn’t hesitate to pull that trigger.’

  ‘Regrettable, I’m sure, but not really of my concern.’

  I feel rage building in my chest. Clench my fists. I trained as a bounty hunter with JT so that I could find Tommy and take him to jail to serve time for what he did. ‘He had to pay for what he did.’

  ‘So you murdered him in cold blood.’

  I shudder. Remember standing in the back yard of the cabin where we’d tracked Tommy. JT went in through the front but something went wrong. Tommy escaped through the back, and I was blocking his exit. When he saw me, he laughed. Said he didn’t care none that he’d killed Sal. Lunged for me, saying that now it was my time to die.

  ‘It was him or me. I shot him in self-defence.’

  He narrows his eyes. ‘Way I heard it was you emptied your gun into him.’

  I hold the Old Man’s gaze as the memory of Tommy’s bloodied, bullet-riddled body slumping onto the dirt replays in my mind. Clasp my hands together to hide that they’re shaking. ‘I had to be sure.’

  He closes his eyes and exhales hard. ‘And so it’s true what my son tells me: you were the one who killed Tommy. It wasn’t the bounty hunter who claimed to have done it.’

  I nod. JT had taken the rap for me, and had got a price on his head from the Miami Mob as a result, but I hadn’t known that until ten years later. Recently though, the mob had somehow discovered I was the shooter. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then the way I see things, it’s just like the good Lord said – an eye for an eye. And that’s what I want.’

  An eye for an eye; my life in revenge for Tommy’s. I slide my right hand across the tablecloth and clench my fingers around the knife. Think of my baby girl Dakota, waiting for me at home with JT, and know I have to try and get free and clear now, whatever the odds.

  The Old Man sighs. ‘I do hope you’re holding that knife so you can butter your dinner roll.’ He glances up towards the house. ‘Aside from the sentries on the gates, my grandson, Angelo, has his gun trained on your back from the window of his bedroom on the second floor. Tommy was his hero. He took it hard when he disappeared. Angelo believes in an eye for an eye too.’

  I keep hold of the knife. ‘Then why haven’t one of you killed me already?’

  The Old Man sighs. ‘My son, Luciano, sees things differently.’

  I hold his gaze as I ease my feet out of my sandals, figuring it’ll be easier to run barefoot than in these heels. ‘How so?’

  ‘Luciano is perhaps a little less traditional – he takes things less literally.’ He picks up the headless shrimp from his plate, pulls off the tail and dips the fleshy pink body into cocktail sauce. ‘He thinks you can pay your debt another way.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  Old Man Bonchese puts the shrimp into his mouth and chews slowly. I wait, keeping my hand tight around the knife. He seems unbothered.

  Swallowing the food, he dabs his mouth with a napkin before he speaks. ‘Find Carlton North and bring him back to us.’

  I frown. ‘And who’s he?’

  ‘Someone who’s somewhere they shouldn’t be. Find him. Luciano says it should be within your capabilities.’

  I remember the photographs of Tommy beating the gambler to death. If I did what the Old Man’s asking that would most likely be Carlton North’s fate. ‘Find some guy just so you can kill him?’ I shake my head. ‘Honey, that dog just won’t hunt. I want no part in anything like that.’

  The Old Man looks at me as though I’m a backward child. ‘I don’t want North dead – he’s my numbers man, I need him. But the FBI snatched him and have got their mind set on forcing him to take the stand against our cousins in Tallahassee around some unpleasantness with our accountant. The cousins acted badly, but North mustn’t speak against them. It will cause a nasty situation – a split in the family. I can’t have that happen.’

  ‘So you do want him stopped?’

  ‘I want them stopped and North back where he belongs. Here. He’s like my son too.’

  I stare at him, trying to fathom whether he’s feeding me a line or the truth about his motives for wanting to find Carlton North. ‘Seems a lot of people are like your son.’

  ‘We’re a family here, loyal to the death.’ He takes another shrimp, beheading and detailing it before dipping it into the sauce and eating it. He gestures to me as he chews. ‘We stick together, whatever the cost, and that’s something you clearly have no concept of.’ He looks genuine, but looks can be faked for sure.

  ‘So I find him. Then what?’

  ‘Bust him free of FBI custody, and bring him back here. The trial where he’s due to give evidence starts Friday. He needs to be out before then.’

  ‘That doesn’t give me long.’

  ‘Find a way.’

  ‘You know where they’re holding him?’

  ‘If I did I wouldn’t need you.’

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t think…’

  The Old Man reaches behind him into the pocket of his jacket, which is draped over the back of the chair, and pulls out a photo. He places it on the table facing me. I inhale hard. It’s Dakota and JT. They’re walking towards our apartment. Dakota is carrying her school bags, and JT has her planets science project tucked under his good arm.

  I look up at Bonchese. ‘You took this today.’

  ‘This afternoon, yes.’ He taps the photo with his index finger. ‘I don’t enjoy ugliness, but I need you to understand how serious I am. Like I said, Carlton North is like a son to me. You get him free and bring him back, and I’ll consider your debt paid. A son saved for one lost. A twist on an eye for an eye.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘You die.’ He takes another shrimp. Eats it before he speaks again. ‘And your family dies too.’

  8

 
; WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 19th, 18:23

  They say you can’t run from your past, and it’s true, especially when the past is a murdering, unforgiving asshole. I hold the Old Man’s gaze for a long moment. Think on my options – find Carlton North or sign a death warrant for me and my family. Whatever way I look at it, I’m over a barrel on this. So, reluctantly, I nod. ‘Okay.’

  He looks towards the house and raises his hand.

  I hear a screen door open and shut, followed by footsteps approaching. Turning in my chair, I see a figure walking towards us. Tall, with dark, artfully mussed-up hair and wearing a designer suit, this man looks more model than mobster.

  ‘My eldest, Luciano,’ says the Old Man. There’s pride in his voice.

  Luciano nods at me. Stays standing and gets straight to business. ‘We don’t know exactly where the FBI have North but we expect it’s somewhere in the Tallahassee area. He was grabbed six days ago from downtown Fort Lauderdale when he was visiting with some of our associates there. The word is the Feds have been moving him every day since then. We had a sighting at a motel in Ocala two nights ago, but if they were there, they’d cleared out by the time our men arrived next morning.’

  I ignore the hostility in Luciano’s voice. Concentrate on getting the intel I need to get the job done. ‘So tell me about North.’

  ‘Like I said, he’s our numbers man,’ The Old Man says. ‘He’s been with the family since he was a kid, like his daddy before him. Luciano and him grew up together. He’s part of us. When his father passed, just before his tenth birthday, I took him in. He’s been like a son to me ever since, and a brother to Luciano.’

  Was it my imagination or did Luciano look tense when the Old Man talked fondly of North? I look up at him. ‘Any rivalry between you “brothers”?’

  Luciano doesn’t meet my eye. ‘No. Never.’

  From the way he’s acting, I’m not so sure. I raise an eyebrow.

  Luciano ignores it, his expression unchanging. ‘North knows everything about our business, all the financials. We need him.’

  I understand. A man with the full picture of what’s going on in the family business would make for a valuable FBI asset. I can see why Bonchese wants North out of the FBI’s custody. ‘You got a picture?’

  Luciano pulls a folded photo from his pants pocket and hands it to me.

  Unfolding it, I inhale hard. Look up at Luciano then to the Old Man. ‘This is Carlton North?’

  ‘Yep,’ Luciano says. ‘Why, you recognise him?’

  I stare at the black-haired guy in the picture and nod. It was a long while ago, back when I was married to Tommy – when he was hitting both the drink and me hard – but at one time Carlton North oftentimes used to drop round our trailer. I didn’t know his name and Tommy said they had business together, but I never knew what kind of business. I guess now I do.

  One time, maybe just a few months before Tommy killed my friend Sal, North came around when Tommy was out. He found me bleeding; Tommy had lost a big stack of chips gambling all through the night and had gotten home that morning in a bad mood. He’d smashed my head into the kitchen cabinet when I asked him about the game, and then took off. North arrived soon after. He was kind to me. Helped me get cleaned up, and said what Tommy did wasn’t right. He gave me his number and told me to call him if I needed out.

  That was the last time I saw him. I remember he was wearing mirrored shades and a leather jacket – maybe the same one he has on in this picture. I stare at his image. Ten years on, him and the jacket are a little more weathered, but still looking good. I glance back at Luciano. ‘He was a friend of Tommy’s.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Luciano says. His tone’s hard and there’s a muscle pulsing in his jaw. ‘Tommy was a popular guy.’

  I say nothing.

  He shakes his head. Leaning forwards, he scribbles something onto the top of the picture and hands it back to me. ‘When you find North, text me on this number before you go in to get him. If you get dead in the process, I want my people en route to have a second go.’

  I fold the photo over and tuck it into my bra. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. Are we done?’

  The Old Man clears his throat. ‘There’s one more thing. You must do this alone. No JT. No other people flanking you when you break North out. Just you.’

  ‘Why the hell…?’

  ‘Because doing this is like a penance – a test to see if you’re worthy of redemption.’

  Well, shit. ‘I don’t need redemption.’

  ‘Yeah you do,’ Luciano says, his tone heavy with contempt. ‘If you want this family to let you stay alive.’

  Luciano walks me out. We leave the Old Man poolside, working on his shrimp, and head back around the side of the house towards the makeshift parking lot. As we round the corner I see my Jeep parked up beside the van I arrived in as a captive.

  ‘You brought my car?’

  ‘Figured you’d need your wheels,’ says Luciano. ‘If you took the job.’

  ‘You got my purse too?’ I glance down at the dress I’m wearing. ‘And my clothes?’

  ‘On the passenger seat.’

  ‘Good.’ I reach out and open the driver’s side door then turn to Luciano. ‘I’ll do what I can to get North back.’

  He shrugs. There’s venom in his tone as he says, ‘It doesn’t matter to me so much as the Old Man. Way I see it I’ll win either way. You find North for us, I win. If you don’t, I get to kill you.’ He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘So I’m still winning.’

  I’ve got no words. I climb into the Jeep and slam the door behind me. Firing up the engine, I pull out through the heavily guarded gateway and hustle along the dirt drive, keen to put miles between me and the godforsaken Bonchese family. As I turn onto the highway something occurs to me, and despite the heat I feel goose bumps spread across my flesh.

  If Luciano figures he’ll win, whether or not I succeed in bringing back North, then he can hardly give a damn for his so-called brother. If that’s the case, why did he persuade the Old Man to send me to do this job?

  I remember how Luciano looked twitchy when the Old Man said North was like family. There’s something going on – jealousy, rivalry of some kind. Shit. I just want to find North and bring him back here, so I can get back to my family. Whatever’s going on between Luciano and North, I hope to hell I’m not the one that gets caught in the crosshairs.

  9

  WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 19th, 19:11

  I pull over at the first rest stop I see. Grabbing my purse, I head into the store and get two bottles of water and a bag of corn chips. Back in the Jeep I eat as I trawl through my cell messages. Four texts from Dakota and a voicemail – each more worried than the last, asking why I’m not at school to pick her up, am I on my way, that she’s gone back inside – the last saying JT is coming to get her and why aren’t I answering.

  I lose count of the voicemails JT’s left.

  I feel all kinds of awful to have put my baby through stress. I message her, apologising for leaving her hanging, telling her that I was on a job that went on longer than it should and that there was no cell reception. I feel bad for the lie, but I can’t tell her the truth. She’ll be mad at me, I know, but it’s better than the alternative. I don’t want her getting more worried.

  The next message I send is to JT. I’m honest with him, but I don’t want to get into a conversation. I need to tell him about the deal with the Old Man face to face, and right now I just want to be home. So I keep my message brief:

  Snatched from outside D’s school by Miami Mob. Taken to the Old Man’s place. Forced into job. On way home now, will tell all when back xx

  My cell starts ringing less than ten seconds after I press send. I stare at JT’s name flashing on the screen before rejecting the call. I can’t do this now. Not when I’m pretty sure I know how he’s going to react.

  A minute later a message comes through from him: Okay.

  He always is economical with his words, but I can�
��t help but feel irritated that he hasn’t even asked me how I am. After everything I’ve been through today, I could do with a little bit of sympathy.

  Eating the last of my corn chips, I think on my next move. By the time I get home it’ll be late. Realistically I’ll have a maximum of thirty hours to find Carlton North and get him out from under the FBI. Not easy. To make this work I’m going to need help. Sure the Old Man said I had to break North out on my own, but although this might be a solo mission, he didn’t say I couldn’t get others to feed me intel. Right now, there are two people I can think of who might be able to get me a location for North. One of them – Red, the retired private investigator who’s helped me out on a job on more than one occasion – I’d trust with my life; the other – Alex Monroe – I trust a whole lot less than a gator with an empty belly.

  Never trust no one, JT always says. That rule was written because of people like Special Agent Alex Monroe. But he’s FBI and he owes me a favour for an off-the-books assignment I did, so I make the call to him first.

  He answers after the third ring. His Kentucky drawl is as strong as ever. ‘Lori Anderson? This is a surprise.’

  ‘I need some information.’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Monroe. There’s the sound of fingers tapping on keyboards and conversations in the background. ‘And I need your help with that Chicago job I told you about, but I’m not noticing any answer being forthcoming on that.’

  I’d been avoiding Monroe, putting off giving him an answer ever since he’d asked me to go to Chicago and help him with a sting to incriminate the head of the Chicago Mob.