Deep Dirty Truth

by Steph Broadribb

  ‘You and JT took out Tommy before it could. Luciano didn’t have the guts to do it alone, without his lieutenant. A few months later, that’s when he started upping the violence and diversifying away from the business the Old Man wanted him to do. It’s also when the money started disappearing.’

  I gesture towards the video on the screen. ‘Did you tell the Old Man about any of this?’

  ‘No. Like I said, it’s been my insurance. I told Luciano about the video instead, showed him a short clip, just so he knew for sure that I was telling the truth.’ North looks rueful. ‘That’s why Luciano’s always hated me. He knew I’d stashed the footage somewhere, and he knew that I had a back-up plan – that there was someone else who knew about it and had access, so that they’d be able to get it to the Old Man if Luciano ever tried to end me.’

  North minimises the video, scrolls down through the videos on the menu, and plays another. In this conversation Luciano and Tommy are agreeing dates for executing the Old Man.

  The video fades to black, but I can’t look away. Can’t get my head round what I’ve just seen, and what it means. ‘This is messed up.’

  ‘Yeah.’ North softens his voice. ‘But it means when you killed Tommy you took out an enemy of the Old Man, not a loyal son, like he’s always thought. You did him a favour and, if he stands true to his eye-for-an-eye approach, you deserve to walk free whatever he chooses should happen to me.’

  I don’t know what to say. North could have told the Old Man this before. It would have stopped JT and Dakota ever being in danger. I think of all the things we’ve been through in the past few months, in the past few years. North could have prevented most of it. It brings me up short like a slap to the face. However well we get on, and however much we need each other to get Luciano off our backs and the Old Man to change his mind, I have to remember a very important fact: North is still a mob guy.

  North takes my hesitation for remorse over Tommy. He puts a hand on my good arm. ‘Don’t regret it. You did what you had to.’

  I nod. ‘But I was wrong to kill him. He should have had a trial. Faced justice. A bullet was too damn good for a man like him.’

  ‘It’s all the same in the end. Fast or slow. Dead is dead.’

  ‘Yup.’ I think of Sal. How she’d just gotten engaged the week Tommy shot her. She had her whole life ahead of her. ‘Ten years ago, a few weeks after the last time I saw you, Tommy killed my best friend, Sal, because she tried to protect me from him and his fists. He shot her in cold blood. Wasn’t even sorry.’ I remember Sal bleeding out on my kitchen floor. How I begged her to stay with me as I tried to stem the blood. ‘That she was with me in my home, in his way, was my fault, and I can’t ever change it. I feel the guilt of what happened every minute of every day. It never gets easier.’

  North looks away.

  The carriage rattles and creaks.

  His voice is low, guilt ridden, as he mutters. ‘I know just how that feels.’

  44

  SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 22nd, 16:47

  JT opens the closet serving as a hideout and finds Dakota wearing her life preserver and curled up among Red’s deck shoes. Her face is pale, her eyes more watery than usual, but there’s a determined expression on her face and her fist is outstretched towards him, the blade of the pocketknife he gave her glinting in the light.

  She drops her hand and folds the blade away when she sees him. ‘Is it over?’

  ‘It is.’ He gives her a reassuring smile and holds out his hand. ‘You can come out now.’

  Dakota slides her hand into his and he helps her to her feet. JT squeezes her fingers and pulls her into a bear hug. ‘Were you scared?’

  ‘No. I knew you and Mr Red would protect me.’

  JT hugs her tighter. He’d rather die than have anything bad happen again to his daughter. ‘I’ll always keep you safe.’

  As they step back out onto the deck JT hears the engine splutter. The boat slows for a moment, then the engine revs and they pick up speed. But a few seconds later the engine misfires.

  Dakota flinches.

  JT looks across at Red. ‘Something wrong?’

  Red’s frowning. He listens to the engine as it splutters again. ‘It don’t sound right. Come take the wheel for me and I’ll have a look.’

  JT does as he asks, hoping it’s nothing serious. Sure, right now the sea is calm and there’s no immediate danger, but getting stranded out here would be bad. The mob are still after them, and when the speedboat doesn’t return chances are they’ll send more heavies to find them.

  As he keeps the wheel steady, he watches Dakota. She’s standing at the back of the boat, looking out towards the wreckage of the mobsters’ boat. He knows she would have heard the explosion and the gunfire, and she’s seen the damage on the deck from bullets that have bitten into the Liberty. Chances are she heard the screams of the men overboard too. He tenses his jaw, angry that he’s allowed that to happen. She’s just a child; she shouldn’t have to experience this.

  ‘JT?’ Red’s voice pulls him from his thoughts.

  ‘Things okay?’

  Red shakes his head. ‘We got ourselves a problem. Most of the damage we took is cosmetic, and the fuel tank seems okay, but the fuel line’s damaged. It’s leaking fuel and not feeding the engine the way it should.’

  ‘Can you fix it?’

  ‘Depends.’

  JT waits for more, but as Red speaks the engine misfires again.

  ‘JT, look!’ Dakota’s voice is higher in pitch than usual.

  Turning, he looks towards her and in the direction she’s pointing. He swallows hard. Three fins are cutting through the foam in the wake of the boat and that tells him one thing; the sharks are still hungry.

  That’s the moment the engine cuts out.

  45

  SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 22nd, 19:46

  I jerk awake, heart racing. For a moment I’m disorientated by my surroundings; the stacks of crates and pallets of machinery are shrouded in gloom. But the creaking, rattling noises of the freight train travelling along the track continue the same, and I remember where I am and why.

  I glance across the carriage. North is sitting leant up against a stack of crates. He hasn’t noticed I’m awake. His focus is on the partly torn photograph he’s holding. From its shape, I recognise it as the one I picked off the floor of the locker room back at Carly’s place; him and Nicole Bendrois, on their wedding day. His cheeks are damp with tears.

  My body aches and my neck’s crooked from lying at an awkward angle on the floor. I straighten up. Rub the back of my neck, trying to ignore the film of sweat and dust that’s formed across my skin. ‘Who was she really?’

  North flinches at the sound of my voice. He wipes his hand across his face then looks towards me but doesn’t speak.

  ‘You made me turn myself into a copy of her for that bank visit. Don’t you think I should know the truth?’

  ‘The truth isn’t always best.’

  I hold his gaze. ‘In my experience secrets are a whole lot more toxic.’

  ‘Not than this truth.’ He looks back at the photo. His eyes are still watery, his expression grim. ‘Her real name was Gabriella Bonchese. The Old Man and his wife, Juliette, had three children: two girls and a boy. Gabriella was his youngest daughter, and she was my wife.’

  Damn. My intuition was right. The heavies back in the foyer of Carly’s building had been shocked by my appearance because I looked like a passable fake of Luciano’s dead sister.

  ‘How did she die?’

  North doesn’t speak for a few minutes. When he starts, there’s a tremble to his voice. ‘We waited a long time before we got married. She always said, if it ain’t broke why fix it, and we’d been together since high school. I was the one who wanted to be married.’ He puts his head in his heads. ‘I should have left things the way they were.’

  I let him be for a little while. Let the movement of the train rock us side to side, and the clacking of the rails distract fr
om the pain of the conversation. Then I ask, ‘Why?’

  North rubs his fingers between his brows as if trying to order his thoughts, then pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘It was a small wedding. Very private. The Old Man didn’t want his rivals to know his attack dog had a wife, a weakness. He didn’t want her to be any more of a target than she was already for being his daughter.’ North hangs his head. ‘He didn’t realise she was more at risk from within the family than from outside.’

  I frown. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Luciano loved his younger sister.’ The anger in North’s tone makes it as hard as granite. ‘He couldn’t stand that we were together.’

  ‘Surely if he loved her, he’d have wanted her happy. I know he didn’t like you much but—’

  ‘You’re not getting my meaning.’ North fixes me with a hard stare. ‘Luciano loved Gabriella. And because he felt that way, he thought she should belong to him … and only him. The jealousy, the possessiveness, it’d been going on for years, since we were all teens.’

  My stomach flips as I get what he’s implying. ‘He wanted to sleep with his own sister?’

  North’s jaw is clenched, his tone venomous. ‘He did more than want it. He forced her once. It was back when we were teenagers. We’d all had a few drinks from a bottle of liquor stolen from the Old Man’s cabinet. Luciano made sure Gabriella had more than the rest of us. Then, when she started feeling ill, carried her up to her room, saying he’d put her to bed. Except he didn’t. He raped her.’

  I stare at North, sickened by what he’s telling me.

  ‘I found her afterwards. She wouldn’t let me tell the Old Man. So I helped her as best I could. Then I went after Luciano and damn near beat him to death.’

  ‘But you stayed with the family?’

  ‘We were thirteen. My Dad had died – the Bonchese family was the only one I had. And, even if I’d wanted to go, I could never have left Gabriella.’

  I keep my voice soft. ‘What happened to her?’

  He pauses. Swallows deeply. ‘She was gunned down in downtown Miami the day after we returned from honeymoon four months ago. It was my fault. I killed her.’

  I shift away from him, not understanding. ‘How? Why?’

  ‘Because I was stupid.’ The tremor in his voice is more obvious now, guilt replacing the anger. ‘I didn’t want there to be any secrets between us, not once we were married. So I showed her the video of Luciano and Tommy.’ He shakes his head. ‘I should have known she’d want to tell the Old Man. She gave Luciano twenty-four hours to leave the family compound but…’

  My jaw goes slack. ‘Luciano killed her?’

  ‘I don’t have any proof he did it. But it was him who gave me these and told me I never deserved her in the first place. Said she should have been his, so he took her away.’ North opens the brown envelope that he’d taken from the safety-deposit box and removes a set of photographs, He hands them to me without looking at them.

  I inhale real sharp. The first picture is of Gabriella Bonchese walking along a crowded sidewalk. The next picture shows the moment the shots hit her; she’s falling backwards, the people around her scrambling for safety. The third shows her lying on the sidewalk in a pool of blood. Her eyes are open but unfocused. Dead.

  I look back at North. ‘How did they—?’

  ‘Witnesses say the shooter was on the back of a motorbike. They pulled up, shot her and then left. The driver took pictures on his cellphone.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ The words seem worthless.

  ‘I went to the Feds. If he was willing to kill his own sister, I realised that footage I had of him and Tommy wasn’t going to stop him coming for me, and then the Old Man. I needed irrefutable proof of what Luciano had done. The Old Man needed to see, and believe, the deep dirty truth about his son.’ Anger blazes in North’s eyes, but there’s uncertainty in his expression too. ‘And I needed an eye for an eye.’

  An eye for an eye. I realise North means to kill Luciano to avenge Gabriella’s death. Right now, with the pictures in my hand, I don’t have the desire to prevent it. ‘You think there’s a chance the Old Man won’t listen to you?’

  North rubs his hand across the stubble on his jaw. ‘He won’t want to hear what I’ve got to tell him. He’s already lost a daughter. It’d be easier for him to pretend it’s not true. How it plays out…? There’s no guarantees.’

  46

  SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 22nd, 21:04

  As the freight train pulls into the siding at Fort Lauderdale we’re all set to get gone. We jump down from the rear door as soon as the train stops and move along the tracks, away from the loading platform. It’s dark, and that helps us move unseen. By the time we reach the road, it feels like I haven’t taken a breath in minutes.

  It’s mainly freight parking and cargo storage around us, so there’s nothing to do but hike. We’ve not eaten in hours, and our water ran out a long while back. I look at North. I can’t remember when he last took his medication, but I know he needs a meal to take it with.

  ‘We should find a diner. Take a quick comfort break before we move on.’

  He nods in agreement, and we keep walking. The streets aren’t real busy at this time, and although we keep a look out for Feds and Luciano’s heavies, we see no sign that we’re being tailed.

  A little ways further towards downtown we find a drugstore and I tell North I’m going inside. He comes with me, following me through the aisles as I locate antiseptic lotion and supplies to dress the wound in my arm. I glance towards the medication dispensary. They’ll have antibiotics back there, but without a physician’s script there’s no way I can get any. So I head towards the counter. I see a display of disposable cellphones. It’s been twenty-four hours since I last spoke to JT. I need to check he and Dakota got out safe, and I figure a burner is the safest way to do that. I pick one up and add it to the items in my basket along with a couple of bottles of water and some candy bars. North raises his eyebrows but says nothing.

  The teenager on the register hardly glances my way as she rings up my purchases. North stays a little ways away, pretending to browse the magazines near the door. I notice the camera fixed high in the wall, focused down on the register, and I hope to hell that our disguises hold.

  ‘That’ll be eighty-seven bucks and sixteen cents.’ The teller looks at me with the glazed stare of someone going through the motions for money.

  Her lack of interest is to my advantage. I pass her ninety bucks and tell her to keep the change, wanting to be out of the store as quick as I can.

  Back on the street, we head further towards downtown. After a couple of minutes walk we spot an Olive Garden restaurant half a block up. North keeps glancing at me, his expression tense.

  The next time he does it, I meet his gaze. ‘You got something eating at you?’

  He gestures to my go bag. ‘The cellphone. You planning on using it?’

  What kind of dumbass question is that? ‘For sure.’

  North exhales loudly. Shakes his head.

  In truth I’m fighting the urge to use the cellphone right away. I’m desperate to make sure my family is safe, but I can’t risk calling until North and me are on our way out of Fort Lauderdale. It’s a stretch to think the Feds could be bugging JT’s cell, but I can’t rule it out entirely. They want North, their prized asset, back, and given his testimony could put away a member of the Bonchese crime family, and Monroe said Special Agent Jackson Peters is an ambitious kind of a guy, it stands to reason they may look to wiretap any phones they think could give them a lead. From the haunted expression on North’s face I can tell he’s thinking the same.

  ‘Look,’ I say, ‘I’m leaving it till we’re on our way out of town, okay? But then I’m calling. I have to know that my family is safe.’

  ‘I get that.’ North’s voice is measured. ‘Just wait until we have our transport sorted out, yeah?’

  ‘Deal.’

  We eat dinner at the Olive Garden. The soup, salad and bre
adsticks filling us up before our main meals have even arrived. We get them boxed to go, then head back into the night. We ask around, looking for somewhere we can get a rental car, but it seems there’s no place open at this time.

  The further we walk, the tenser I feel. The wound in my arm is itchy and uncomfortable. I wonder if it’s my imagination or if I’m feeling hotter than usual. For a moment I worry the fever is returning. Hope the wound isn’t getting re-infected. Then I push the thoughts to the back of my mind. We need to get out of this place. I need to call JT.

  I look across at North striding beside me. ‘We can’t wait until morning, we need to get on the road now.’

  ‘Agreed.’ North looks grim-faced. ‘The Old Man will be in the wild country until tomorrow lunchtime, but we’ll need to find him, and persuade him. He doesn’t change his schedule for anything.’

  ‘So what are you suggesting? That cab driver was the most likely person who alerted Jackson Peters to us in Jacksonville. We can’t risk another long cab ride where someone can watch us.’

  North flicks his glance towards the line of parked-up vehicles alongside a fancy new apartment block, his gaze fixing on a red sedan – an older model than the rest. ‘I was thinking more of borrowing something.’

  North’s speedy with the hot wire.

  As soon as the engine’s running I step on the gas and manoeuvre us away from the apartment block and out onto the street. As I drive, North investigates what’s of use in the car. He finds a plug-in navigator in the glove compartment. Getting it out, North switches it on and searches through for the closest car-rental shops who do out-of-hours opening times. He sticks the navigator onto the dash with the sucker.

  ‘There’s a place near Wynwood. Twenty-three miles,’ he says. ‘We should be there before they close at eleven.’

  ‘Good work.’ I reckon a place near Wynwood, a few miles from Miami Airport, figures it can cash in on picking up vacationers who’d rather travel a ways from the airport to pick up a rental at a cheaper rate.