“So, I’m a glory grabber,” she said.
“No.”
“Peter, I have to find those men.”
“You mean WE have to find those men.”
“Didn’t I say that? What do you remember from the night at the grain elevator?”
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he said. “The whole night keeps playing in my head, repeating like it’s on a video loop.” Attempting to change the subject, he looked into her eyes. “Angela, what’s your take? You’re the analyst.” He dumped the orange plastic prescription bottle of painkillers into his palm and then carefully put all the pills back except for three, which he swallowed with a sip of coffee. MacJames took the container from his hands and read the instructions: TAKE ONE PILL EVERY SIX HOURS AS NEEDED. DO NOT EXCEEDE SIX PILLS IN 24 HOURS.
“Easy on those pills big guy,” she said. “Have you read the directions?”
“No,” he teased. “Dr. Stazi is coming over tonight to read them to me.”
MacJames leaned over him, her auburn hair falling around his face as she began kissing him. “Watch it buddy, she may be the doctor, but I’m your boss. We should start reading these reports…” Their kisses seemed different; Mitchelli was kissing her back, much stronger than he had before. Surviving the near death encounter at the grain elevator had an effect on him. Mitchelli was also loaded with a triple dose of narcotics pain pills. The reports fell to the floor--first a page at a time, then individual stacks. MacJames quickly pushed all the remaining papers off Mitchelli and started to lie on top of him. She felt his body stiffen from the pain and she began to back off him, but he grabbed her and pulled her across his body.
“I needed a distraction this morning,” he murmured. “You keep me from becoming obsessed with this ridiculous drama.”
“Why did you use the word ‘obsessed’?” She was surprised how open he was being with his feelings. She thought it must be a side effect from the narcotic painkillers. She decided to take advantage of the opportunity, exploring Mitchelli’s feelings.
“Ann said I have an obsessive personality,” he said. “She called it ‘Peter’s Continuum.’ I drove Ann crazy when I wanted to buy a new car; I would take her on endless test drives, asking her for her opinion.” His eyes scanned the pictures of his family in the room. Nervously, he started to pick up the reports from the floor. “What the hell am I talking about? I can’t have any distractions; I have to finish this case before the bastards get my family.”
“Peter, I spoke to Dr. Rubin in the hospital.”
“Why was Dr. Rubin at the Hospital…son of bitch, Philip! What did Rubin tell you?”
“Well, he gave me the impression that you would let nothing stand in your way of resolving an issue when you are obsessing over a problem. He led me to believe you would place your life in jeopardy.”
“Don’t over use the word ‘obsessing.’ I’ll be the first to admit I’m not good at multitasking. So I prioritize tasks in my head. I made the mistake of telling Phillip about that, and when I get upset he tells me to quit my ‘mind job.’ Pauli got wind of it, and changed it to ‘Mind Kill.’” He lowered his voice and spoke like Pauli. “‘Peter, you’re a stupid psycho ass, that Mind Kill will be the end of our business if you don’t get help.’ Maybe he’s right. The sooner we finish, this the better,” he said, gesturing to the reports. He looked away from MacJames and began to read silently.
MacJames held his face between her two hands. “Peter, don’t brush off my question; look me in the eye.” She looked into his brown eyes, peering past his long eyelashes. Mitchelli was quiet; he did not move. Staring back at MacJames, he could not hide his tension. His eyebrows flinched slightly and the tension in his shoulders increased. “Peter, we can take you off this case, you’ve made a huge impact already. Secretary Stuart is impressed with your performance. Answer my question.” She could feel the intensity in his body and see it in his eyes. She had never stopped thinking about Dr. Rubin’s comments. She was in love with Mitchelli and she did not want to lose him.
“The narcotics make me forgetful, what was the question?”
“It’s the duty of every cop to go home safely at the end of his shift. Nothing with this case is more important than your life and going home to your kids. You’ll remember that right?”
“We’ve already discussed this on the boat.”
“That was before you were shot and almost bled to death.”
“Before I bled to death! Angela, how about before I shot four men, killing three of them. Watching Freed shake in his pants as a knife was held to his throat. I can’t forget Buckala’s face, his gun held helplessly at his side while a forty-five was pointed at the back of his head. You’re worried about me, you don’t think I’m worried about the rest of you, including the missing agents and the children they may never see again?”
“Damn it, I should have never showed you those pictures of their kids. We needed you to get Stuart off our back, we never thought…”
“You never thought what? What’s the truth, Angela? You and Bob thought you’d sign me up, give me a little training, and Stuart would forget about me? Stick me in a car watching an ice-cream stand?”
“I never thought you would get hurt, or for that matter that I would get emotionally involved with you. I’m guilty, I conned you,” she said.
“Look little sister, there’s plenty of guilt to go around. If it wasn’t for me insisting on working with Buckala, he would have been safe at home, watching soap operas on paid leave.”
“How did you know he watched soap operas, he told you?”
“Yes.”
“Really!”
Mitchelli’s intensity was building. His eyes squinted and he gritted his teeth as he spoke. “I’m not sure what I am. I killed three men, I confessed my sins and everything’s alright now. I was more concerned about going to confession than I was about the lives of the three men I killed.”
“Peter, your actions were warranted; you did as you were trained.”
“Angela, I’m not concerned that my actions were wrong. I don’t give a damn. I know I did the right thing. I’m bothered because I’m not fazed in the least over the three men I killed. My friends and family think because you own a gun your some kind of redneck or militarist. When my brother Phil heard I smashed a phone in an argument; he and Dr. Rubin wanted to put me in a rubber room.” Mitchelli looked out the window, his tone subdued. “I knew I killed the first three before they hit the ground.” He shook his head and stared at the rain falling on the windowpanes.
“You were in danger--you stopped the threat.”
“Stopped the threat, yeah. I killed them, I would have killed every one of them.” His eyes turned black.
“Why didn’t you kill the fourth?”
“It hit me like a ton of bricks. Man, I didn’t want Freed getting on my back that I killed all his suspects. Stuart would really be disappointed in his boy. So I aimed at mechanical points, the shoulder so he’d drop his gun, and the hip joint so he’d fall.”
“Mechanical, what!”
“I stopped the threat; Freed got his suspect.”
“Stop beating yourself up, you did the right thing. Mores is interrogating him; he’ll talk,” she said.
“If he talks he’s dead. If it were me, I’d let him go and track him like an animal. He’ll go to his bosses or they’ll find him. They’re not going to forget about the drugs, not about eighty million.”
“We think it’s more like three hundred million.”
“Great, now I can sleep tonight.” Mitchelli put his hand on his forehead. “Christ, three hundred million--we’re all dead.”
“Peter, you’re turning into a cop.”
“Bull, don’t antagonize me.” He winced in pain as he sat up.
“You think they can get to you through him?”
“Exactly, I’m worried about my kids. I’ll find them; a good contractor always finishes his job. I’m on this job and I’ll be damned if I’m not go
ing to finish it.” Mitchelli looked MacJames in the eye as he put his hands on her face. “When I’m gone, it’s up to you and Freed to take care of my family. I’ll get my hands dirty, I’ll do what needs to be done. I want you to work with Freed and come up with a plan to get them out of here safely in case the worst happens.”
MacJames knew when to back off. She was not going to win this discussion; Mitchelli was on the case for good. She had seen this side of Mitchelli’s personality when he had insisted on working with Buckala. Mitchelli had verbally ripped Freed apart, unrelenting until Freed had given in. Dr. Rubin was right; he had given her all the information she needed. Mitchelli was going to finish this job, with or without the government’s help. Angela, hang on for the ride of your life. You’re not going to keep this stallion in the corral. You have to calm him down, get him focused on living, not dying.
She kissed his hands. “Peter, we have the best agents working on this case. We’ll keep your family and you safe. I promise I’ll work with Freed on a plan.” She gathered up the reports and handed them to him. “Ok then,” she laughed. “I guess you’d better get reading if we are going to finish this project together!”
Suspect Summary
Orion, Thomas: DOB January 1, 1980. Born and raised in Williamsville, New York. High School Honor Roll Student, Buffalo State College Dean’s List Student. Employer: Orchard Park Central Schools. Job classification: guidance counselor. No wife or children. Brother-in-law owns Handly Container. Orion worked part time as a driver. Jumped Mitchelli, Mitchelli repelled attack, Orion rolled and held knife to Freed’s throat, Knife evidence GE101.
O’Donahue, Patrick: DOB November 15, 1979. Born and raised in Williamsville, New York. Buffalo State College, major education. Employer: Williamsville Central School. No wife or children. Father, Stanly O’Donahue retired and resides in Los Angeles, California. Works part time as a bartender at “Leo’s Lair” on Chippewa Avenue. Held Buffalo PD Detective Buckala at gunpoint with a Colt forty-five caliber, Knocked Buckala unconscious after Mitchelli shot and killed Orion. Fired three shots at Mitchelli, no hits. Mitchelli stopped threat.
Veto, Carmine: DOB March 10, 1978. Born in Chicago Illinois, expelled from High School, never graduated. Marine Corps 1996-1998. Rifleman’s medal, sharpshooter. Dishonorable discharge; carried and sold weapons off base, threatened bartender with pistol. Employer unknown. Last, known residence Chicago Illinois. Shot Mitchelli twice with Sig Sauer nine millimeter Government Issue pistol and ammunition; Gold Dot jacketed hollow point, 145 grain. Mitchelli returned fire 4 times; center mass torso shots, stopped threat, killing perpetrator.
***
MacJames drove Mitchelli downtown for a three o’clock meeting at the FBI building. The details of the case were tumbling in Mitchelli’s mind. He strained to make sense of the nonsensical. Two of the perpetrators were college graduates and worked as guidance councilors in two very good public school systems. They fit no criminal stereotype. Orion had acted like a psychotic killer as he held a knife to Freed’s neck, yelling profanity and threats while pressing the knife’s edge on his throat. Mitchelli struggled to imagine the same man calmly guiding young adults through their high school course curriculum. Two college graduates smuggling millions in heroin with two Chicago thugs; who the hell paired this team?
His Mind Kill worked overtime and he missed his family business. Could his siblings handle his business responsibilities in his absence? Mitchelli Construction had recently been awarded several large contracts that he normally would have managed--from the design stages, to bidding, and contractor selections. I have to call Beth and ask her to follow up on the site work change orders for the credit union; did I finish the paperwork?
His mind jumped to his children. Peter Jakob would be taking his final exam within a month. Mitchelli had to push his son, riding him to study. Ann would be disappointed if her husband was not following their son’s schoolwork. Ann, I’m sorry, I’ll hire a tutor for the summer. Ann was never far from his thoughts. The love he had for her was infinite, and so was his guilt. She would think this entire undercover business was a waste of time; your kids should be your priority. Ann, the money will go towards their college education.
As MacJames drove downtown, Mitchelli’s mind drifted away from MacJames. At first, she thought he was resting, and then she saw his eyelids sag and his face grimace in pain.
MacJames pulled into the secured garage under the FBI building. Mitchelli could not be seen entering the building’s public entrance. They rode up in the elevator and exited into the third floor secured reception area. The elevator doors opened into a waiting room, inlayed in the black terrazzo floor was the FBI logo, five feet in diameter with black letters outlined in gold. Mahogany panels covered the walls. In front of the elevator door were two modern chairs with a small table between them. A two-foot by three-foot picture of the president hung from the wall. Mitchelli moved slowly from the elevator. He did his best to conceal his injuries. He stood upright but could not turn quickly or bend at the waist. As they walked from the elevator, Mitchelli’s Mind Kill was churning. MacJames’s professional game face was on; she was in a hurry. She usually could read Mitchelli’s face when he was stressed, but she had failed to do so at her office. They walked to the end of the room to a steel door with a key-pad beside it. MacJames entered her code and the electric strike buzzed, releasing the door. She held the door open for Mitchelli as he walked through and they were immediately greeted by the floor receptionist.
A young brunette in her late twenties was on the phone. “Oh my God, he’s here,” she said. “I have to go, he is walking in right now.” She quickly placed the phone on the receiver. “Mr. Mitchelli, we’ve been expecting you. I’ll let Agent Freed know you’ve arrived.”
She completely ignored MacJames. The legend of Peter Mitchelli had spread at FBI headquarters, even though his involvement was restricted to personnel on a need-to-know basis. The reason behind the cut on Freed’s neck and the reports that had followed had spread through the office like wild fire. Coarseni had helped to fan the flames with his interoffice stories of Mitchelli, the Marauder, who had saved the Buffalo FBI Office Commander and Buffalo PD’s number-one Narcotics cop. Rarely did a police officer draw his weapon in the line of duty, let alone kill three men and shoot a fourth. The stories of Mitchelli’s flawless performance at the grain elevator had been preceded by his destructive training video that had circulated in the office a week before.
The journey to the conference room took them through a forest of office cubicles. The special agents working in the cubicles had been anticipating Mitchelli’s arrival and their heads began to peer out from behind the cubicles, staring quizzically at his as he passed. He heard pieces of the agents’ comments whispered to each other as he struggled to hide his pain. “He’s here, I can’t believe he’s walking.” “Where was he shot, three times in the chest?” “He was on his deathbed four days ago.” “I hear they’re dating.” “He’s the one they call the Marauder, his boat’s the Time Raider like the show, Raider,” “He’s the Italian contractor, the Marauder.” “I heard he’s a mafia double agent, Mitchelli the Marauder.” “He is Mafia, Raider, Contractor, Italian, Bandit, Marauder!” Mitchelli fought through his pain, and tried to focus on walking, yet the comments from the agents echoed in his head. He stopped for a moment, MacJames continued walking. I have to make it to the conference room, damn it slow down Angela! “Peter Mitchelli is the Marauder!” MacJames was twenty feet away in full professional office stride, keeping with her ice woman taskmaster façade when she realized Mitchelli was not behind her. Annoyed, she turned and walked back towards him. Then she noticed the perspiration on his forehead, his sagging eyelids, and his hunched shoulders.
“You look like you’re going to drop,” she whispered. “ We can meet with Bob tomorrow?” He surprised her by reaching for her hand and grasping it and holding it tightly, as though his life depended on it. Feeling dizzy, he looked at MacJames as the office area
began to spin. The cubicle gossip filled his mind. His call sign is Marauder, their having an affair, Raider, Marauder, He beat up the instructors, He’s a killer, a hit-man, the Marauder! The pain in his hip intensified; his hip joint had swollen from the proximity of the bullet wound, the sharp pain emanating from the front of the hip joint to his back. The clues of the case tumbled in his brain, intensified by the stress of worrying about his family business. He always worried when he was away from the office. His stomach ached, churning from the painkillers and anti-inflammatory pills he had taken before he left his house. His legs were weakening and he almost fell. He jerked his knees straight, flexing his thighs to stand erect. MacJames put her body beside his; her height perfect, she propped him up and placed her cheek next to his. Suddenly the comments from the agents in the cubicles stopped.
Mitchelli said what MacJames hoped but never expected to hear from her quiet tentative love: “Angela, don’t leave me.” He was breaking; the physical injuries, the gunshot wounds, the painkillers, the case, and the Mitchelli Mind Kill that tortured him had pushed him to his limits. He held onto MacJames’s body, wrapping his free hand around her waist, and they stood there hugging, their lips pressing against each other’s ears.
Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder Page 23