“That’s Ms. MacJamerson. I thought she was the boss of the police.”
Peter called out, “Mr. Hoss, come quick! The police are arresting my Dad!”
Hoss quickly left his monitor in the basement and ran up the stairs. The buttons on his white shirt pulled from his massive muscles. Hoss looked at the TV as the station kept replaying the arrest footage. Hoss’s eyes widened. He could never forget the madman who had bested him in the conference room brawl, the maniac who had thrown a knife at him and kicked him through a window. His jaw dropped as he saw the boss of bosses, Angela MacJames, being handcuffed over the hood of the car, yelling at Mitchelli. Smoke from the burning car briefly obstructed the camera footage.
Kaitlin grabbed Hoss’s hand. “Hoss, is my Dad really under arrest? Is he?”
The children had befriended the young fighter and they stood in front of him waiting for an answer. Hoss looked in Lillian’s worried eyes and then back at Peter Jakob and Kaitlin. He was charged with protecting them at any cost. Hoss, a single bachelor with no children, nieces, or nephews kneeled and wrapped his arms around the children. “Your father can take care of himself. Believe me, he can.”
Kaitlin said. “I miss my Dad. I’m worried we’ll never see him if he goes to jail.”
Hoss asked the children, “Do you think your father is a bad man?” The children shook their heads from side to side. “Well, neither do I. And I know Ms. MacJames is not a bad woman. She’s my boss’s boss, and man, you don’t want to make her mad. There is only one boss between her and the President of the United States. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. I’ll make a couple calls downtown and see what’s going on.” He stood, lifting Kaitlin off her feet. “Hey, I’m going to send one of the guys for ice cream. What do you want? It’s on me. You too, Grandma?”
***
In a small neighborhood bar, the blue-collar crowd of twenty cozied up to their drinks. The bar patrons were unwinding after a long day at work. The dark bar was long and narrow. Before the smoking prohibition, there would have been a cloud of smoke that filled the small establishment. The bar’s usual patrons gathered for drinks, flirting with the barmaid. The screen on the TV went black and then the words ‘News Alert’ flashed on the screen.
Someone yelled, “Quiet! News is on, it’s an emergency.”
A large red haired man in his early sixties standing behind the bar grabbed a TV remote and turned up the volume. “Shut up already, shut your yaps!” While the news story unfolded on the TV screen, Stephan Zachovich placed a beer mug under the beer tap while staring at the TV. Mesmerized, the beer began to overflow from the glass. Jesus Christ, I don’t believe it. “SHUT UP OR I’LL KICK YOUS OUT!” The crowd quieted down, but the beer continued to overflow from the mug. A thirsty patron sat at the bar trying to get Zachovich’s attention.
“Stephan! Stephen, get your head out of your ass, I want the beer in my mouth, not on the floor.” Zachovich handed the patron the overflowing mug.
Zachovich intensely watched the screen as he spoke to himself. “No, it can’t be.”
The patron who demanded his beer watched Zachovich and asked, “Stephan do you know this guy, or did yous see a ghost?”
“Mick, I think I done seen both. I need a drink.” Zachovich poured himself a bourbon, keeping his eyes glued to the TV. When the helicopter panned to a wide-angle shot revealing the numerous police cars and then zoomed to the car burning in the field, Zachovich dropped his glass. It shattered on the floor. “Oh shit, I have to call downtown.”
***
Secretary Stuart sat at in the head of a large conference room table with his assistant Molly. He had viewed the TV broadcast several times. It had been relayed to office via the FBI’s Buffalo office. There was a keyboard in front of Molly. He motioned to his assistant to play it again.
“Molly, Mac has got to be onto something. She would have never been caught in a revealing situation like this.”
“Mr. Secretary, there are rumors that she’s--”
“Molly, you know better,” Stuart quickly interjected. “Molly, that boy is just what I wanted. Mitchelli is unorthodox, untrained, and primitive--but highly effective. I want you to change his status to covert top secret, effective immediately. Make sure were making those payments to his accounts. I don’t want us losing our star because some bureaucrat paper-pushing pinhead won’t process a check over some petty bullcrap. No Molly, we have to keep this boy on our team.”
“Sir, what about their arrest, you know the cover?”
“Molly you get the head of the New York State Police on the phone right now. I want him to handle this personally. We can’t afford to blow Mitchelli’s cover. My God, they’re coming from across the country to get Mitchelli.” The secretary looked at his beautiful brunette assistant. “Molly, Freed’s protecting that family. You keep track of him daily, correct? I don’t want anything happening to those children. Mac would never let me hear the end of it. For all that Italian contractor has done for this dead-end case, we owe it to him to protect his family.”
Molly smiled. “Yes, Sir. I’m an expert at keeping men on assignment.”
“Good, they’re getting close and I don’t want those Mitchellis hurt. If those rumors are true I don’t want Mac’s coming after me. She’ll never forgive me. I can’t have that happen again.”
***
“Who the hell ordered the hit on Mitchelli?” Leo demanded.
“I don’t know.” O’connor stayed calm.
“Did you tell them everything had to go through me? Goddamn it, did you?”
O’Connor held the phone away from her ear then moved it closer to talk. “Leo, I told them. He felt you were too inexperienced to handle the situation but he told me everything would be directed locally. Jesus, Leo, Mitchelli’s a killing machine.”
“Christ, he shot their frickin’ heads off…Do you know what this means, do you?”
“I can’t believe it; I don’t want to believe it.”
“We’re in trouble Katherine, holy shit. We could lose everything to Downstate. They never trusted us, those grease balls. I have to think, we have to come up with a solution. We’ve worked too hard, Katherine. We’ve made them too much money.”
“Leo, don’t forget we have the insurance remember?”
“Don’t forget little girl, it was my idea. Shit my dad always told me to have insurance especially when partners are involved. I want you to get on the phone with our associates and find out who was involved. When are the reinforcements hitting town?”
“Soon, maybe tomorrow, Leo.” O’Connor paused, “What if it’s not Downstate, or our competition in Toronto, Boston, South Philadelphia, or the Middle East supplier?”
“Call Chicago, I want to know where the reinforcements are. Repeat everything is to be directed locally, understood?” Handly’s hand began to shake. He had to pull the phone away from his face. His eyes looked straight ahead. He knew the odds in maintaining his drug import racket was short lived. History had proven the end of an operation would be violent, a deadly massacre among thieves. “Catherine, do you understand?” His voice was somber, fearing the unknown. He wanted Mitchelli. His fortune had turned with Mitchelli. The deaths of his men, his brother-in-law, and the mental anguish inflicted on his wife were caused by Mitchelli. Mitchelli had to suffer; he must die.
“Understood,” O’Connor sarcastically answered.
“Katherine, I can trust you right? I need you to watch my back.”
“Leo, I’m solid. Both our necks could be cut. Just cut the bullshit with me. I’ve made you millions, don’t push me over the edge.”
“Ok darling. I’ll stay cool, for now. I want Mitchelli myself. Find out who went after him and I’ll make the necessary corrections.”
***
Mitchelli’s hands were cuffed behind his back. The officers pushed his head down, just missing the roof of the car as they stuffed him into the first responding State Trooper’s car. The men were firm but respectful; Stat
e Trooper Captain Dunn had discretely spread the word. Mitchelli was a key, highly important suspect and MacJames a Federal Officers and they were to be respected as such. The Troopers carefully placed MacJames into the back seat, next to Mitchelli. They looked away from each other. The young Trooper got behind the wheel and Coarseni jumped in the front passenger seat. As the car pulled away from the scene, Mitchelli watched as Buckala made sure his Mercedes coupe was not scratched while it was loaded onto the car carrier.
“Kid, you know what you’re doing right?” Coarseni asked. “Don’t screw up and keep your mouth shut, capisce?” The Trooper nodded his head.
“You should have kept driving,” MacJames said. “Bullheaded amateur.” She stared out her window at the farm fields.
“They would have continued the chase,” Mitchelli replied. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, get off it!”
“I would have contacted Bob, he would have made contact with the pursuit cars. The chase would have dispersed, no one harmed. You’re got a head like a rock, stubborn ass.”
Coarseni whistled. “Wow, Angela. Take it easy on him. You said back at the house, if I may repeat, he’s…”
“Shut your face, Dom and stay the hell out of this. Our cover could’ve been compromised,” MacJames ordered.
Mitchelli turned to MacJames. “Our cover? I compromised our cover? Tell me, Deputy Director, how three trucks happened to surround us on the expressway. You don’t have a cover. I’m the one they want dead, as Kazz, oh forgot they tortured and killed him to get to me.”
Coarseni nodded. “He’s got a point there, Angela. Good point, kid has a point you have to admit it. What about you Troop? You think he has a point?”
Unprofessionally, MacJames blew up. “Shut up, Dom! He doesn’t need your help.”
Mitchelli scoffed at her. “I don’t?”
MacJames turned to look at him and they faced each other. Her hair had fallen around her face. They both looked disheveled. She studied Mitchelli and determined his mind was clear for the moment, though his arms were twitching. She had to keep him focused on the positive. She leaned towards him. “Nice driving partner.”
Coarseni answered, “I wouldn’t know; I couldn’t see anything from the back seat. I was busy on the phone making contact.” He shook his head sarcastically. “Contact, pursuit dispersed, that’s a bunch of shit, kid...I mean Deputy Director.”
Mitchelli ignored Coarseni and studied MacJames’s face. “Nice shooting Deputy Director.” He struggled to lean towards her.
“Stop talking and kiss me,” she said. Handcuffed, in the back seat of the police car, their lips embraced in a passionate kiss.
The Trooper began to watch in his rearview mirror and Coarseni yelled at him, “Hey kid, keep your eyes on the road! They do this shit all the time.”
The Trooper asked, “What, fight?”
“No.”
“Partake in a felony high-pursuit car chase with shots fired?”
Coarseni looked at the Trooper. “No kid, suck face in front of other cops. I think it’s how they get turned on. What can I tell you it’s their thing?”
“COOL,” the young Trooper responded.
CHAPTER 24
Father Oreille sat on the couch in the rectory living quarters. His bible was on his lap, and his rosary beads were in his left hand. His right hand grasped a crystal glass filled with bourbon on the end table beside him; he had just finished his fourth glass. Drinking bourbon was a habit he had acquired while attending seminary school. He had seen Mitchelli’s arrest on the news and was very disturbed by it. Peter Mitchelli occupied Father Oreille’s mind and he prayed for Mitchelli and his two children.
“Lord God almighty, merciful master of the universe, watch over Peter Mitchelli while he serves you. Strengthen his state of grace. Guide him with your wisdom on his crusade that you have placed upon his shoulders. He must be victorious in your name; Oh merciful Father, your will is his task. Let Peter Mitchelli and his family go in peace.” He placed his hands over his face. He touched the rosary beads to his lips. Dear God, has my faith forsaken me? I’m faltering as I pray, thou my faith cannot be weak. Was I fooled? Is Mitchelli a crusader or a killer? Who have I anointed with your holiest of water? Dear God, am I fool?
After leaving the hospital, Mitchelli had met with Father Oreille to repent the killing of three men at the waterfront. MacJames had led Oreille to believe Mitchelli was working for the government. Father Oreille convinced Mitchelli the Pope had a vision a holy crusader would come to Oreille, needing guidance. The priest had convinced Peter Mitchelli he was on a mission for God. Oreille had wanted to believe God had placed Mitchelli in a state of grace.
Father Oreille had known the Mitchelli family for over twenty years. He knew the strength of the family lay in their belief in God. Although Peter Mitchelli was the black sheep of the family, Pasquale Mitchelli had driven these virtues into his son Peter, the rock. As Peter Mitchelli walks through the valley of darkness, filled with the Holy Spirit he will fear no …
The phone rang. He answered, “St. Paul’s, Father Oreille speaking.”
“Father Pat, it’s Beth, Beth Mitchelli. I need to speak with you. I’m sorry to call so late but my family is worried about our brother Peter.” Beth, the most confident of the Mitchellis, could not hide her emotional concern. “Father, have you seen the news? He’s involved in something bad, very bad. My family is devastated. Did you see him get arrested on TV? A Mitchelli arrested! We need your help with an intervention. He must tell us the truth about what he’s involved with before he ends up…” Beth Mitchelli’s voice cracked as she trailed off. “Father, we don’t want his children to end up as orphans. It was so hard when they lost their mother.” She began to cry.
Father Oreille took a sip of bourbon. “Beth, you know Peter came to confession when he was released from the hospital nearly a week ago. His faith is strong. Do you really believe your brother could do the work of the devil?”
“No Father, he’s ill, he’s irrational. His doctors think he’s bipolar and could be manic. He’s hasn’t been well since Ann’s death.” Beth took a deep breath. “Father, he took a turn for the worst when he started dating this woman, Angela.”
“Beautiful woman.”
“You have met her?”
“She drove your brother from the hospital to the church to repent his sins. Nice lady, I…”
“Father, what were his sins, did he kill anyone?”
“Beth, I cannot tell you his confession, you know that.”
“Father, have you heard about his truck? It was shot up, destroyed by men chasing him. My brother thinks Peter shot six men, shot and killed by my brother. That woman handcuffed Peter and escorted him away from the dead men and burning trucks while he was surrounded by men, FBI agents.”
“Yes, I may have heard rumors, but just idle gossip.” He attempted to downplay the incident.
“Patrick it saw it for himself, they’re not rumors!”
“Beth, things are not always as they appear.” He placed his hand on his forehead.
“His house is surrounded by strange men twenty-four hours a day. His children have bodyguards that accompany them to and from school. The news reported Peter Mitchelli is involved in a Mafia war. Father, a Mafia War!”
“Beth, calm down. I do not think your brother is involved in any funny business.”
Beth began to sob. “He’s fooled you, Father. He’s a master at hiding his illness. Phillip thinks he’s moving shipments of cigarettes and illegal aliens from the Indian Reservations to Canada on his boat. Phillip told me Peter’s boat is large enough to smuggle six people into our country from Canada hiding under the floor. Father, you tell me to calm down. I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m a nervous wreck. My parents would be so upset.”
“Beth, you must have faith. Your entire family must have faith in God and your brother Peter.” Father Oreille squeezed his rosary beads and they shook as he spoke. “My dear Beth, the Mitchellis are a family o
f faith.” Oreille looked at his glass of bourbon, questioning his own faith.
“Our faith is weak, shattered. What have we done wrong? Why is God punishing us? I don’t know what to do. I’m trying to hold my family together.” Beth’s mind began to wander under her mental anguish. “Father, I’ve lost my faith. I’m weak.”
“Beth, you are filled with faith. You are a parishioner of St. Paul’s church. Your father was faithful, a man who believed in God, the almighty. You believe the news over your brother and God. Don’t underestimate your faith in God and that of your brother.”
“The rumors are overwhelming,” she said.
“Rumors, blasphemy. Faith in God is overwhelming! Your brother is in a state of grace!” Oreille raised his voice as he spoke and he pounded his fist on the end table spilling his bourbon. “Aw, Shit!”
Mind Kill- Rise of the Marauder Page 49