Deep Dirty Truth

by Steph Broadribb

  I feel the rage building inside me. He doesn’t give a damn about what he’s done. ‘She was a sweet kid who didn’t—’

  Tommy steps towards me. ‘Shit, woman. You saying I’m a liar?’

  I glance again towards the lodge; still no sign of JT. I feel the panic rising in my chest. I don’t have long; if Tommy reaches me I’ll be in real trouble, unless I can get him cuffed. I have to think fast, plan my next move as I’m talking. ‘Yes, I am.’

  He looks deflated, suddenly less threatening. ‘Well, shit. I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s true.’ His tone is softer, sadder. ‘You’re the one helping that goddamn bounty hunter?’

  ‘Yes I am.’ There’s too much pride in my voice, and you know what folks say about that. I reach back to unclip my cuffs from my rig. Lower my gun a fraction. ‘And now I’m taking you to—’

  ‘Dumb fucking bitch.’ He reaches behind him, pulls a gun from the waistband of his pants, swings it towards me. ‘You’re going to—’

  I don’t think, just pure react. Dropping the cuffs, I raise my gun and pull the trigger. Keep pulling it until every bullet is spent.

  Tommy drops to the ground, his body jerking as each bullet hits. I know he’s dead, he has to be, but I still expect him to put a hand out to break his fall. He doesn’t. Just lies there, blood seeping onto the dirt.

  I keep the gun pointed right at him, shaking.

  Until I hear JT say, ‘Put the gun down, Lori.’

  I stamp on the brake. Jerk the wheel to the left. The Jetta skids to a halt, half-cocked on the side of the highway. Letting go of the steering wheel, I throw myself across the central console at North. My fist connects with his jaw and I hear a crack. Don’t know if it came from him or my knuckles, and don’t care either. ‘You fucking asshole! You knew how it happened all along. You could have told the truth, shown Old Man Bonchese that it was self-defence, and had the hit taken off JT and me at any time in the past ten years.’

  ‘Lori, I—’

  ‘You selfish fucking fuck. You pretended to be my friend back then, but really you were screwing me over.’ I punch him again. ‘JT nearly died because of you.’

  North’s lip splits. He coughs and blood sprays down his chin. Only then does he put his arms up to protect himself. ‘Stop, I couldn’t. If I’d shared this I’d have had to share everything.’

  I glare at him. ‘Maybe you should have done. What good has hiding the truth done you? It got your wife killed, and made you a fugitive. You should have told the truth back when you found out. You’ve—’

  ‘Enough!’ The Old Man’s voice is a bellow.

  I stop, and turn to look at him. North does, too.

  ‘This isn’t useful.’ He looks from me to North.

  ‘Fuck useful.’

  The Old Man shakes his head. ‘Don’t be so hasty. You’re a smart woman and I have a proposition that will work in all our favour.’

  ‘Why should I help you? After everything you’ve done…’ I turn and glare at North. ‘After everything you’ve both done.’

  ‘Because all the men loyal to me still think you and your family are a target, and Luciano framing you and North here for my murder isn’t going to help that none.’

  I tilt my chin up in defiance. ‘So nothing’s changed.’

  The Old Man shakes his head. ‘No. The game’s all changed now. You get me home, and you’re free.’

  I narrow my eyes. Stare at him, disbelieving. ‘You’ll take the price off our heads?’

  He nods as best he can with the wound in his shoulder, wincing from the movement. ‘You and your family, the price on you will be gone.’

  I say nothing, remembering what North said when we first met – about how I was working for the mob … and how strongly I denied it. Back then I hadn’t been, not in the way that he meant it. But the lines have gotten blurred, and now, just a few days later, his words feel like they’ve come true. I look from North to the Old Man and nod my agreement. ‘Okay. How are we going to get this done?’

  60

  SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 23rd, 13:59

  The Old Man’s compound isn’t in downtown Miami but a ways further along the coast, on a small peninsular, sitting pretty on a huge parcel of land that butts up against Biscayne National Park. Screened from the public by a high wall and dense tree cover, the place could have been picked as a site for a medieval fortress. In fact, with what the Old Man has told us about his sentries and firepower, it kind of sounds like a modern-day one.

  We pull off the highway a little ways past Fontainebleau at the Mall of the Americas, finding a corner of the parking lot near Home Depot to park up. We’ve got the radio tuned to the news channel, but so far, although there’s been mention of fire-fighters battling to put out a blaze alongside Highway 41 caused by a burning vehicle, there’s been no mention of the car’s owner or a dead body.

  Turning in my seat, I meet the Old Man’s gaze. ‘Time to put the plan into action?’

  Grim-faced, he nods.

  North takes the cellphone he took from Klate’s body before torching the Lincoln. He works out the password from the finger smears on the screen and taps out a message. He shows it to me and the Old Man:

  Old Man done. Car BBQ.

  Then he selects Luciano’s cell number and presses send. We wait. In less than a minute the cellphone beeps and North shows us Luciano’s reply:

  Good. Now get back here.

  As he reads his son’s callous reply, the Old Man swallows hard but gives no other external sign of the impact it has on him.

  He looks from me to North. ‘Now we need the lay of the land. I can’t call my people, in case Luciano has turned them.’ He takes a wheezing breath, and gestures at North. ‘You can’t call because they think you’re an enemy. But we need to know exactly what the Feds are doing.’

  They both look at me. Shit. Against my better judgement I say, ‘I have someone I could call.’

  North frowns, no doubt guessing what I’m going to say.

  The Old Man raises an eyebrow. ‘Who?’

  ‘A Fed, but one that’s on my side rather than Special Agent Jackson Peters.’

  ‘The one that warned us about Peters in Jacksonville station?’ North says.

  ‘Yeah.’

  The Old Man holds my gaze. ‘And you trust him?’

  I sure as hell don’t. He’s not a good man, or an honourable one, but he’ll give me the intel I need if doing so means he can force me to work his Chicago sting. ‘On this, yes,’ I say.

  The Old Man thinks on it a moment, then nods. ‘Do it.’

  So I call Monroe. His cellphone rings twice, then he picks up, but doesn’t speak.

  I wait a beat, then say, ‘I need your help.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be calling me.’

  ‘I need to get onto Key Biscayne.’

  ‘Well, shit.’ His Kentucky drawl seems more pronounced. ‘That ain’t wise. Jeez, I need you alive, Lori, not going on some damn suicide mission.’

  I keep my tone firm. ‘If I’m going to stay living so I can help you, I have to do this.’

  He doesn’t speak.

  ‘Monroe?’

  ‘Look, there’s only one way into Key Biscayne – Highway 913. And Peters has a perimeter road block set up there, and another set right outside the entrance gate to the Bonchese place. There’s no way you’ll get near. It’d be madness to try.’

  I glance at the Old Man. Suddenly he’s looking real shaky. I know unless I get him back, and he tells his men the hit is off, my family will never be safe. ‘I got no choice.’

  Monroe cusses under his breath. ‘Peters has given the order. If you and North resist arrest, his agents are authorised to shoot to kill.’

  ‘But his team won’t enter the compound?’

  ‘They searched the place first thing this morning. As long as Peters has no cause to believe you’ve gotten inside since then, they’ll stay back at the road blocks.’

  If we can get inside unseen we have a chance
of getting the Old Man to lift the price on our heads, and for him and North to take Luciano out of the game.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, and end the call.

  I look at North. ‘He says there’s no way of getting onto Key Biscayne by road. There’s a blockade on the only road in and another outside the compound. The agents are on a shoot-to-kill if we resist arrest.’

  North rubs his hand across his face. ‘We’ll have to go in by water.’ He glances at the Old Man. ‘But we can’t very well swim.’

  The Old Man’s shivering despite the heat. Every few moments his eyes lose focus and his head rocks back against the headrest. I look back at North and see that he’s worried too. ‘He needs fluids and medical attention.’

  North nods. ‘Westchester General isn’t far. We can—’

  ‘No.’ The Old Man snaps his eyes open and sits up. ‘I’ve got my own physician; she can patch me up when I’m back at the compound. What I need to do first is show my son who the head of this family is, and you’re going to help me.’

  I can tell I’d be wasting my breath to argue, so I don’t say anything more. The Old Man’s as stubborn as is he proud, and it’s going to be the damnedest thing trying to keep him alive.

  The sweat is running down my back. My neck is damp under the fall of my hair. It’s baking hot in here without the engine and air conditioning on, and if it’s affecting me then it sure isn’t helping the Old Man. Opening the Jetta’s door I slide out of the driver’s seat. ‘We’re all out of water. I’ll go get some.’

  At the grocery store on the corner I grab a couple of six-packs of water, a bunch of sandwiches and a few packs of the highest-strength painkillers they have. I use the last of my cash to pay and head back to the car. In the back, the Old Man is leaning against the headrest, his eyes closed. North’s watching him, his expression grim.

  The only way this will work out is if we all make it to the compound alive. North’s right when he says getting there by water is the only real option we’ve got left, and for that we need a boat. But anything belonging to the Old Man will either be at the compound already, or guarded by Miami Mob guys, who aren’t likely to react well to our plan. With the Old Man injured the way he is, from a distance they’re likely to assume me and North are the ones that hurt him, and will attack.

  Getting back into the Jetta, I pass some sandwiches and water to North. The Old Man opens his eyes and blinks, taking a while to focus. His skin has taken on a greyish hue now, and his breathing has gotten more raggedy. I past him a bottle of water and a pack of painkillers. ‘Take these, they’ll help.’

  Given our situation, there’s only one viable way I can think of to get us all across. My stomach flips at the thought, but the Old Man’s going downhill fast, and as far as I see it we’re all out of other options.

  I meet North’s eye. ‘I know a way to get us a boat.’

  61

  SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 23rd, 14:19

  My mouth goes dry as I tap his number into my drugstore cellphone. Pressing call, I hold my breath, hoping to hell that he picks up this time. For the first time in days it doesn’t go straight to voicemail. It rings; twice, four times, all the way to nine and I fear it’s some glitch and it’ll go to voicemail again.

  Then he answers.

  ‘It’s Tate.’

  ‘JT?’ My voice is breathier, more urgent than usual. ‘Are you okay, is Dakota safe?’

  ‘We’re fine.’ He doesn’t sound happy though.

  I frown. ‘Where are you? I’ve been trying to call—’

  ‘Mob guys found us at the marina. We had to leave the mooring and head out into the ocean. We made our way around the coastline. Figured Bonchese’s men wouldn’t be looking for us their side of state.’

  My breath catches in my throat. ‘But you’re all okay?’

  ‘For now, yes. We’ve just arrived at a marina near Pompano Beach. We’re planning to lie low for a little while.’

  Relief floods through me. He seems distant … and kind of mad at me. But he’s safe. They all are.

  I swallow hard, knowing he won’t like what I’m about to say. ‘We need to get to the Bonchese compound and there’s a roadblock stopping us getting through. I was hoping Red might help.’

  JT cusses. His tone’s stone hard and full of anger. ‘You’d endanger Dakota in that way?’

  ‘No,’ I say hastily. ‘Because you can stay with her, in someplace safe around where you are.’

  He says nothing. In the background I can hear the gentle splash of water against the side of the boat and the call of seabirds.

  ‘If we can get back to the compound, the Old Man will remove the price on our heads. We’ll be free of it, JT, isn’t that worth a bit of—?’

  ‘Who’s we?’

  I take a breath. ‘Me, North and Giovanni Bonchese.’

  JT cusses again, longer and louder.

  In a rush I explain what’s happened since we last spoke, days back after the shit storm in Missingdon. JT stays quiet as I talk. When I’m done, I can hear him breathing, but still he says nothing.

  ‘JT? Talk to me. You get why I have to do this, don’t you?’

  He’s silent a long moment. Then he says, ‘I’ll put you on with Red.’

  I grip the cellphone tighter. Don’t understand why he can’t see that I have to do this; how it’s the only way to get free of the Miami Mob. ‘JT, don’t I—?’

  But it’s too late. I hear rustling on the line. Muffled words that I can’t make out.

  The next voice I hear is Red’s. ‘Hello, Miss Lori.’

  I smile when I hear his voice, and breathe a little easier, the tension in my chest loosening off a touch. ‘Red, I could really use your help.’

  ‘I sure figured as much.’ Unlike with JT I can hear a smile in his voice.

  So I tell him what I need him to do.

  We rendezvous at the Miami Beach Marina. It’s a busy spot for vacationers and weekenders taking out their boats, and we’re not dressed for sailing, so I get as close to the visiting-boat moorings as I can before I park up. Like he does everywhere, Red seems to have friends here. Still, I doubt they’d want to know the folks he’s taking onto his boat are a couple of fugitives and the head of the most influential crime family in Florida.

  I see Red’s houseboat approaching, its green-and-gold livery glinting in the sunlight as he manoeuvres it alongside. Turning to North, I glance towards the Old Man. ‘We’re going to need to move him.’

  The Old Man’s condition has worsened in the short time since I spoke with JT and Red. Moving him doesn’t seem wise, but given his wishes, we don’t have any alternative. Climbing out of the car, I put down my go bag and open the back door. Between us, North and me help the Old Man into position, ready to get out. His breathing is erratic.

  As Red’s boat draws alongside us, I see him at the wheel and wave. His silver-streaked hair is a little longer than when I last saw him, his deep tan looking darker against his white tee and lime-green surf shorts. He raises his hand and cuts the engine. Reaching over, I grab one of the ropes and fasten the boat to the mooring. As I finish, I peer through the windows of the boat for any sign of Dakota and JT but see none.

  Red comes around to meet me.

  ‘Thanks for doing this.’

  He gives me a hint of his boyish smile. ‘That’s alright, Miss Lori. The way I see it, you need this finished. If going to that compound is the only way, I best help you get it done.’

  ‘And JT?’

  The frown lines between his eyes deepen. ‘Best he keeps your little girl safe. They’re back at the marina we just came from. Nice place – family friendly. They’ve taken a room at the motel opposite while I’m gone.’

  I nod. Busy myself redoing the knot in the mooring rope. Red’s right, of course – Dakota is best as far away from the mob as we can get her. And it was me who told JT to keep her away and look after her. But that doesn’t mean I’m not hurting a little that JT left things the way he did.

  Red
puts a hand on my arm and gives me a kindly smile. ‘He needs a bit of time is all.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I turn away. Don’t want to discuss JT right now. Need to stay focused on what comes next. Catching North’s eye I say, ‘You ready?’

  ‘I’ll need your help.’

  I move over to North and help him ease the Old Man out of the Jetta. With my right arm around his waist, and North’s left around this shoulders, we support him as he walks to the boat.

  As we approach, Red bristles. I don’t blame him. Only a matter of weeks ago a couple of Miami Mob heavies beat him real bad – and threatened to do a lot more to him if I didn’t play ball. Can’t be easy coming face to face with the man who ordered it done. Still, he acts the gentleman, opening the gate and offering his arm to the Old Man to help him over the gap between land and boat, and the step up onto the deck.

  The Old Man groans as he sinks down onto the bench seat that runs around the side of the deck. His breathing is worse and there’s sweat trickling down the side of his face.

  As North turns away his expression is grim. ‘We should set the bait.’

  I take out my cellphone. ‘I’ll make the call.’

  Leaving North and Red on the boat with the Old Man, I walk away from the mooring until I’m sure the sound of the ocean lapping at the dock won’t be audible down the line. Then I dial Luciano’s number.

  He answers on the second ring. ‘Who is this?’

  I wait a beat, listening to the noise of men talking in the background, then take a deep breath and let my words come out in rush. ‘I’m stuck outside Key Biscayne, but there’s no way in. If you want North you’re going to have to come and get him.’

  Luciano laughs. ‘I don’t think so. Like I told you before, I want you to kill him.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen, so I guess I may as well hand him over to the Feds. It’ll be easy for sure, with the road block and all. I’m sure they’ll be keen to hear what I’ve got to say about y’all too.’