by Vivi Paige
“It was Don Maloik’s idea,” he replied with a casual shrug which belied his inner anxiety.
“Was Don Maloik hoping you’d be killed?”
Indro shook his head. “I don’t think so. Don’t get me wrong, he’d probably welcome the chance to go to war with the Loggias. Their operation is tidy and profitable. Maloik would love to get his hands on it. But would he sacrifice me for that opportunity? I don’t think so. He’s got more honor than that.”
“Are you sure?” I was surprised by my growing concern for his well-being. This man had blackmailed me, humiliated me, and moved into my life pretty as you please. Yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the ways his plan could go wrong. “I mean, we’re talking about a man responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people.”
“Oh, babe,” Indro snickered. “Don Maloik’s responsible for thousands of deaths, I’m sure. That’s not even counting what happened before he crossed the pond from Sicily, if you catch my drift.”
I shuddered. “But you trust him not to betray you?”
Indro shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “I don’t trust anybody, Sophie. It’s why I’m still alive despite the concerted efforts of so many people.”
“So you’re just going to put yourself out there like a Judas goat?”
“Sure, why not? It’s a solid plan. Besides, I’m not going to be unarmed.”
“But you are going alone?”
“I work best alone.” He moved toward the door and snatched his coat off the hook. “My last partnership didn’t end so well. See you real soon, babe. When I get back, we’re going to celebrate… if you catch my drift. Wear something sexy for me.”
He vanished out the door. I only hesitated for a moment before getting my own coat and trailing after him. I may not have been thinking clearly, but I couldn’t help but feel Indro was about to walk into a heap of trouble.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Indro
I headed out of Sophie’s office, trying to focus on the next time I could dive into her sweet muff instead of the fact I was literally putting my life on the line.
Despite my bravado, I wasn’t entirely sure Don Maloik wasn’t looking to sacrifice me to force the Loggia family into showing their hand. After all, if they rubbed me out, then he’d be killing two birds with one stone. No more worries about my squealing to keep my pretty ass out of prison, and he’d have an excuse to take on the Loggias at last.
Back when the six families worked up their deal to divide Chicago into neat little pieces, the Loggias wound up with the lion’s share of the Uptown district. Maloik was none too pleased about that development, but he had to throw the other families some bones, if you catch my drift.
Maloik’s trepidations about losing Uptown to the Loggias had nothing to do with his being a Cubs fan. Uptown is prime real estate, and the number one legit and money laundering enterprise the Sicilian mafia relies on for income is construction. They’re always tearing something down or putting something up in the Uptown district.
I thanked the heavens it wasn’t as blistering cold that day, because I expected to be walking for hours. In fact, my leather trench got kind of warm after a while, especially when I stepped out of the shadows thrown by the concrete towers.
Four trips around Loggia turf and all I had to show for it were sweaty pits and sore feet. Maybe I shouldn’t have worn my Bruno Maglis for extensive legwork. I couldn’t help wanting to look good for what may have been my last day on Earth, though, right?
The sun flirted with its zenith and plunged back toward the west by the time I had an inkling that I’d gotten on the Loggia’s radar. I passed by a bakery and saw two mooks in the reflection of its big picture window. I didn’t recognize them, but they were definitely tailing me.
I stopped to adjust my tie and smooth my hair in the reflection, all so I could get a closer look at them. They weren’t the most subtle bunch. The two mooks stared blatantly in my direction while they thought I was distracted.
My heart jumped into my throat. They were onto me, and a hit attempt could soon follow. Or, it could not. I tried to calm myself by thinking that just because they were keeping an eye on me didn’t mean the Loggias were going to take a shot then and there.
I even relaxed a little, figuring they’d decided I was laying a trap for them. I stopped into the bakery for a little nosh in the form of bagels and a steaming black brew. I put a little swagger in my step as I went, just in case it pissed them off and forced their hand.
Man, it must have, because I came around a corner and passed by an old foundry to discover my tail had gotten much, much closer. They were less than fifty feet away, following on the opposite side of the street. Now they didn’t seem to care if I saw them looking at me.
I guess my trepidation got the best of me, because I was overwhelmed by the desire to lose my tail. I ducked into an alley I knew let out on the opposite block and stuck my hands in my pockets, feeling the twin Beretta GXLs inside. If those mooks wanted a fight, I’d damn sure give them one.
And if I was going to go down, then, by God, I was going to go down swinging. For the fences, just like Sammy Sosa, baby.
I got about halfway down the alley, skirting around a stream of scummy water from the roof melt-off, when I heard the scuff of a shoe behind me.
I chanced a glance over my shoulder and saw the two mooks had entered the alley. They were definitely going to pull something.
That didn’t mean they were going to try and off me, though. It could have been that the Loggias just wanted to rough me up a little, or warn me about being on their turf. So I didn’t turn around and start blasting. I just kept walking on, natural-like.
A black shape loomed suddenly in the mouth of the alley before me. It turned out to be a van, gunning its engine as it surged through the stream of water.
I didn’t think, I just acted. Now, Chicago’s got a nasty history with fire, so each and every one of the older buildings has a fire escape. For security reasons, they keep the ladders on a spring-loaded system. They hover about nine feet in the air until weight gets put on them. That way, you can get down, but you can’t get up, see?
Fortunately, I’m a pretty damn good athlete, if I do say so myself. I sprang up onto a stack of pallets and leaped onto the edge of a dumpster, knocking the stack over in the process. I reached up and grabbed the edge of the fire escape landing rather than the ladder, on account of I didn’t want to sink back to the alley I had just so prodigiously escaped.
I hauled myself over the rail and lay flat as the first shots rang out. My glee at having triggered the ambush was somewhat tempered by the whole imminent death thing.
I drew my guns and fired back as the van screeched to a halt in front of the crashed pallets. The two mooks dove for cover, crouching behind a heat pump with just their fat heads and gun-bearing hands exposed. I ain’t no trick shot, so I didn’t hit nothing but metal. I did make them duck out of sight and stop trying to kill me for a minute, though.
Unfortunately, they had backup. The van doors opened and three more mooks piled out. I knew these guys, street soldiers on the Loggia payroll. One of them had a friggin’ Uzi, which sent a profusion of sparks all around me as he squeezed off a long burst.
I fired back when I could, but I was getting low on ammo. The fire escape only provided so much cover, and I cringed when I saw the two guys who’d originally been on my tail running around the front of the building.
They were going to try and work their way inside to the fire escape, and pinch me between themselves and their Loggia buddies. I remember thinking I was probably on my way out. I couldn’t get up and flee on account of the three guys blasting at me from the alley.
Another shot rang out, and I heard the sound of broken glass. I risked a peek at the alley and saw the Loggia goons ducking behind their van, which now had a spiderweb crack in its windshield.
Someone was backing me up. And they were a lousy, lousy shot. Another shot rang off the fire escape, and
a third flattened the van’s tire.
But you know what they say about never underestimating the value of a well-timed distraction. I took aim and popped a shot at Mr. Uzi. He fell over, with a nice new third eye bleeding out of his forehead. His fellows tried to get a shot at me, but it was too late. I stood up and gunned them both down.
The smoke hadn’t finished curling from my barrels when I peered down the alley and spotted my savior.
I about shit myself when I saw who it was.
Sophie.
What the hell is she doing, trying to get herself killed?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Indro
I thrust my pistols into my pockets and stared out toward the end of the alley, my face contorted with rage.
“Sophie!”
She looked up at me, her eyes growing wide. The gun in her hands drifted down until the barrel pointed at the pavement.
“Indro, are you all right?”
“All right? No, I’m not all right! Have you been following me?”
My anger at Sophie for putting herself in danger overwhelmed any gratitude I should have felt. I remember being surprised at how angry I really was. I mean, if she was just another skirt, albeit one hell of a lay, why was I so upset?
Sophie made as if to walk into the alley. I shook my head.
“No, stay put. Don’t you fucking move. I’m coming down.”
Sophie froze as I swung my legs over the rail and stepped onto the spring-loaded ladder. It trundled down with a rattle to deposit me in the alley. I turned around and stalked toward her.
“Indro…” she said when I was about twenty feet away. I’ll never know what she was going to say next, because a ratty-looking white van screeched to a halt behind her.
Sophie spun around as the two mooks who’d disappeared earlier burst out of the rear of the van. She managed to squeeze off a round before they nabbed her, but it went wide and shattered the cover of a streetlight. The pieces clattered to the ground as I tore toward the van at a dead run.
I hauled out one of the Berettas, but I didn’t dare fire for fear of hitting Sophie. They dragged her into the back and slid the door shut. I ran into the street as they laid down some rubber.
“Damn it,” I snarled. “Fuck!”
What could I do? There was an empty van with the engine running back down the alley, but it had a flat tire. By the time I reached it, the thugs would be long gone with Sophie anyway.
Fortune smiled on my good-looking ass. Some guy overcompensating for something—probably a tiny dick—rumbled his green and white crotch rocket to a halt across the street. I pulled my scarf up over the lower half of my face and trotted toward him. He hadn’t even turned the engine off when I ran up and jammed my gun in his face.
The guy may or may not have had a small dick, but at least he wasn’t stupid. He gave me no trouble, getting off the bike and putting his hands in the air. I leaped onto the back, hoping it functioned similar to a Harley, which I’d ridden before.
To my delight, the throttle setup was almost identical, though the shifter was on the handlebars. Good enough, I could manage.
“Thanks for the wheels,” I snapped before opening up the throttle. The van disappeared around a corner as I shot off like a bat out of hell.
I underestimated the power of the Japanese bike. I laid the damn thing down when I took the corner and slid along the pavement to slam into a parked car. I cursed up a storm as I righted the bike, ignoring the road raspberry on my shin as I did so.
I shot off after the van, grimacing as it raced through an intersection just as the light changed from yellow to red. I had no choice but to follow. The crotch rocket propelled me into the intersection as a massive truck bore down on me. I watched my reflection grow larger in its grill but just made it past without being pulped.
My heart hammered in my chest. Sophie, they had Sophie. I had to get her back, no matter what. I wasn’t even thinking about what would happen to my murder trial without her. I was solely focused on getting her back.
I saw the rear window of the van shatter. A pistol thrust out from the newly open window and jumped, spitting fire and smoke. A sharp crack, and I lost my sideview mirror. It fell to the pavement and shattered into a million pieces.
Seven years of bad luck, mother fucker. But don’t worry, I’ll off you before it becomes a problem.
The gun jumped and spit fire again. A bullet ricocheted off the street to my left. I poured on the speed, cursing that I couldn’t shoot back for fear of hitting Sophie.
I had the edge in acceleration and speed, and they figured out pretty quick they couldn’t outrun me. So they slowed enough that I caught up, giving their gunman a better shot.
I veered to the left hard, hearing a bullet whizz through the air near my ear. It had been far too close for comfort. Whoever was in the back was a way better shot than I was.
Thinking fast, I let go of the throttle and slowed. I made a show of pounding my fist against the gas tank, as if I were having engine trouble. Sure enough, the gunman stopped firing as the van raced through an intersection and into heavier traffic.
I motored around to a side street and engaged in a much safer parallel pursuit. The crotch rocket was noisy as fuck, so I couldn’t get any closer than that.
Fortunately for me, the chase didn't last much longer. The van pulled into the parking lot of a rusty warehouse a stone’s throw from the Jardin purification plant. I cut the engine and coasted along the strip behind them, careful to keep out of sight.
They disappeared around the corner of the warehouse, and I felt a surge of panic. I fought it down and tried to keep my cool. Getting all hot-headed and charging in would only get myself and Sophie killed.
I ditched the bike in a narrow space between two condemned buildings and crept around on the opposite block until I came into sight of the warehouse. The van sat there, all right, but no one was in evidence. As I watched, one of the mooks came out, alone, and got behind the wheel.
I wrestled with myself, wondering if I should keep after the van. Not likely Sophie was still in there, though I supposed she might have been. I made the agonizing decision to let it go and investigate the warehouse.
As the van’s tail lights faded in the distance, I hoped I’d made the right decision. Because if I hadn’t, then Sophie was as good as dead.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sophie
The towering goons dragged me out of the van by the arms, leaving one of my shoes in their wake. I kicked and screamed, but one of them slapped a meaty palm over my mouth.
I couldn’t believe my luck. Thrown into a van by masked goons twice in one week. I think it may even have been the exact same van which had taken me to the junkyard.
One of the men held me tightly as his fellow threw up a corrugated metal bay door. It rattled into the ceiling, only to be stopped by his hand. They ushered me through and quickly closed the door behind us.
The resounding slam had a note of finality as I found myself in a cavernous warehouse stacked almost to the ceiling with columns of dark gray, filthy wooden pallets. The smell of wood and musk made me want to retch.
“Quit struggling, bitch,” muttered one of the men, tossing me into an archaic metal office chair. The legs had been bolted to the floor, so it didn’t budge even when they threw me into it with enough force to sting my back. I tried not to think about the brownish-red stains on the floor underneath.
I stared around the warehouse, my chest heaving. I tried to identify exits, but the only possible avenues of escape were the big metal bay doors, and the windows high on the wall near the roof.
The latter were out of reach nearly thirty feet off the concrete floor, while the former remained behind a solid wall of masked men. I counted six in all, including a smaller man who wore gloves in addition to his mask.
He looked at me, his lips twisting into a smile through his ski mask.
“You fucked up big time, Sophie. You should have listened the firs
t time we told you to butt out.”
I fought down a wave of panic. They hadn’t killed me yet, and I was hoping to keep it that way. I calmed myself and spoke directly to the gloved man.
“Do we know each other?” I added a chuckle I didn’t feel at all.
The other men looked at him like he was a piece of shit.
“You fucking idiot,” one of the larger ones said, slapping him in the back of the head. I realized then that they had not determined whether or not to kill me. Yet. My only hope was Indro. That grated on me to the core, but you know what they say. Any hope is better than none.
I knew Indro had been pursuing us, at least for a time. Otherwise they wouldn’t have knocked out the rear window to shoot. I had to hope he would find me before it was too late.
One of the men, the one who had slapped the gloved one on the head, walked over to loom over me. He was a big bastard, with legs like tree trunks and obvious muscle bulging under his sweatshirt.
“You want to know why you’re back here?”
I licked my lips nervously and struggled to keep my voice calm.
“I don’t know, is it because I didn’t recuse myself from the Indro Lastra case? Or because I found out that Glen Gilberti and Marco Loggia are the same man?”
He stiffened up, his eyes dancing with confusion and maybe even a little fear.
“How did you come across that amusing little tidbit?” His voice rumbled with menace. “And don’t fucking lie to me, bitch. Hurting pretty girls doesn’t bother me. In fact, it kind of turns me on.”
“Oh, stop with the Hostel act,” I sneered. If I were going to die, it wouldn’t be whimpering for mercy. “Besides, you should know the answer to that question already.”
I pointedly looked over at the gloved man and smiled.
“Isn’t that right, Enzio?”
The other men all turned to glare at the gloved one. He shook his head vehemently.