by Vivi Paige
“Will you shut up for a friggin’ second?” I sighed. “Come on, Indro. We’ve saved each other’s lives several times over. You ran up three flights of a parking garage in socked feet in the middle of winter to save me just now. You can’t tell me that’s just because I’m your defense lawyer.”
Indro turned his back on me and walked over to the window. He looked out on the city below, shaking his dark-haired head.
“What do you want me to say, Sophie? I’m not some poetry-spoutin’ college kid. I’m in the Organization. I don’t have time for… for anything other than that.”
“So, you’re just going to fuck me while it’s convenient, and then it’s wham, bam, thank you, ma’am?”
He turned back around, his dark eyes no longer cold.
“No, Sophie, I can’t just… I can’t just walk away from you. Not anymore. After this is all said and done, when the chips fall where they may, well… I was hoping we could keep it going.”
“Keep what going? Running for our lives?”
“No, keep us going.” Indro sighed. “Sophie, I got feelings for you. I was only half kidding about getting hitched, you know? I like being with you.”
My heart skipped a beat. I knew I should say something, but I found myself unable to utter a sound. At length I blurted out a lie.
“I don’t know what I’m feeling, Indro.”
The truth was, I was falling hard. Even if he was one of the so-called bad guys. I could see the hurt in Indro’s eyes, but he nodded and let it drop.
I hated myself for lying to him, but then again, I was a lawyer.
Lying was what I did.
Chapter Forty-Two
Indro
I hit the streets in a bad mood, twin Berettas locked and loaded in my jacket pockets. I dunno what I figured. What, that I would confess my growing affection and Sophie would fall into my arms? Cue the kiss, slow pan to the curtains and happy music?
That’s not the way life works. As much of a shitshow as my own life was, I should never have hoped for something different. A cold blast of wind made me sneeze. I pulled a handkerchief from my inner coat pocket and wiped my nose, hoping I wasn’t going to come down with a cold on top of everything else.
Whenever I’m feeling blue, I usually hit up Sal’s for a chopped beef sammich. For some reason, I didn’t feel like heading to any of my usual haunts. I wasn’t afraid of being attacked by the Loggias. Hell, after they made a play for Sophie I was hoping for a chance to give them a little payback.
I guess I just didn’t want to be around familiar things. I wound up taking a walk along the lake, despite the cold. Or maybe because of it. Maybe I figured I needed to punish myself for getting the feels for Sophie.
I made a game out of staring out over the lake and trying to guess where Sophie and I had almost drowned. No storm stirred up the waters. I made a silent resolution to learn how to swim better.
The wind picked up and I pulled my coat tighter around me. It didn’t do anything to warm my heart.
“She’s not sure,” I mumbled under my breath. “Not sure? How the fuck can she not be sure?”
In my opinion, we were magic in bed, and didn’t drive each other completely crazy. That was at least two up on most couples who were already married. Her wishy-washy response had cut me right to the quick. I think I almost would have preferred a hard rejection. Then I could have tried to change her mind.
Under the circumstances, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to push her in the wrong direction.
I froze as a black sedan rolled by. The Loggias, coming to finish the job they failed to do in that alleyway?
I thrust my hands into my pockets, feeling for the safeties and taking them off. I didn’t draw, though. I hated to ruin a good jacket, but I was willing to shoot through the pockets if I had to.
The car drew nearer. A glare cast across the windshield kept the occupants hidden. It slowed. I aimed the guns and curled my fingers around the triggers—
The window rolled down, and an elderly man stuck his head out. “Is this the way to Wrigley?”
I almost fainted with relief. After a long, relieved laugh—which drew a strange stare from the older guy—I gave him the directions and berated myself for being jumpy.
I mean, just because people are trying to kill me is no reason to be jumpy, right?
The cold got to me and I popped into one of those giant bookstores what sold coffee. I considered getting a present for Sophie, then remembered her last words to me. Well, if she wasn’t sure how she felt, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to get her a present.
I sat down at the counter and dumped four packets of sugar into the steaming black mug. Shit, I hate that pretentious dark roast crap. Dark roast means burnt as far as I’m concerned.
As I swirled a swizzle stick around and added a dab of cream, my cell rang. You might think being a mobster would mean immunity to robocalls. You can think again. I set up my phone so any unknown number has the most annoying ringtone.
The barista kind of glared at me as it went off, continuously, but I didn’t give a fuck. It ended soon enough.
Only to ring again.
“God damn it.” I dug the phone out and stared at the number. Chicago area code, but I didn’t recognize it otherwise. I almost didn’t answer, but some part of me figured maybe it was Sophie, and maybe she was in trouble. I reached to tap the green icon, but the barista reared his man-bunned head once again.
“Excuse me, sir, but we don’t allow phone use here at the café.”
I cocked an eyebrow at him. By ‘café’ he meant the ten-foot section of bar I sat at with a grand total of five stools.
“Is that right?” I said, and pointedly pushed the button to accept the call.
“Hey!” Man Bun put his hands on his skinny-jean-clad hips and I turned my stool around so his indignation wouldn’t distract me.
“Indro here, what you want?”
“Indro Lastra?”
Oh Christ, it IS a sales call.
“Look, buddy, I don’t want your bullshit, just take me off your damn telemarketer list—”
“Don’t hang up, please. It’s me, Marco Loggia.”
I sat up straight. “Quit fucking with me. Who is this really?”
“I’m the guy who spotted you in the alley offing Diego.”
“Bullshit.”
“You used a switchblade with a skull pommel.”
My blood froze in my veins. “The fuck you calling me for?”
“My witsec guards turned on me. They tried to kill me in my sleep.”
“Bullshit. Then why are you still alive?”
“Because I’m a paranoid son of a bitch. I stuffed my pillows in my sheets and slept in the bathtub. Of course, it was you I thought was going to try and off me, but…”
“And now you’re asking me to save you, right? You think I’m dumb enough to fall for this shit?”
“Come on, man. If you help me out, I’ll recant my witness statement. I’ll do whatever you want.”
I figured it was probably a trap. Hell, I was damn near positive. But I couldn’t pass up a chance to clear my name.
“Fine. Where are you at, Loggia? I’ll come pick you up.”
“I’m in the Stuckey’s in Hyde Park.”
“All right,” I said, standing up. “I’m on my way. Stay where people can see you, and for fuck’s sake, don’t leave.”
“Just hurry, please.”
I stuffed my phone in my pocket and turned around to find Man Bun glaring at me.
“You just bought yourself a lifetime ban from this establishment,” he said firmly.
I stared at him with a puzzled frown. “What’s that on your face?”
“What?”
I threw my cup of coffee in his bearded face and left him sputtering. I had bigger fish to fry.
And if it turned out to be a trap, well… I had the Berettas, after all.
Chapter Forty-Three
Indro
Tiny wh
ite flakes pelted my face as I hoofed it to the Hyde Park Stuckey’s. I had a feeling I didn’t want to bring my own car to pick up Marco, AKA Father Gilberti. As usual, I wound up being right.
I spotted the undercover cops from all the way down the block. Picture a clean-shaven, straight-laced public servant, your typical cop. Now throw all that out the window. Undercover boys look like shit. Beard stubble, long, greasy hair, clothes several years out of date. The two men sitting behind the wheel of a black 2017 Nissan certainly fit the bill of undercover cops. Even if they hadn’t been laser focused on the greasy spoon, I’d have known them for what they were.
That alone lent credence to Marco’s story. If the cops wanted to collect him, they’d have used uniformed boys. Undercover meant they didn’t want him to make it to another dawn. That meant they might have been looking for me, too.
Nothing for it but to walk right in the front door. I pushed the metal handle, which groaned with the cold as it snicked into a recess and dragged the latch bolt free. I stood on the floor mat and scraped my feet, not because I’d tracked in snow—so far it had done nothing but flurry—but because I wanted to scope the place out before I committed to entering fully.
A tired-looking middle aged waitress glanced up at me, that mix of interest and disdain typical of service industry employees writ large on her face. Most of the patrons that time of day were older Chicagoans, bitching about the Bears or New Yorkers, or whatever.
Father Gilberti/Marco sat in the booth furthest from the door, next to the kitchen entrance. Smart. He’d set himself up so he could watch the entrance and also had a clear avenue of escape.
He spotted me, and I couldn’t help but glare. That was the asshat who’d spotted me in the alley when I offed Diego, all right. His priest’s frock couldn’t hide the fact he was a predator. It was in his beady dark eyes.
I strolled casually back to his booth and plopped down in front of him.
“Hello, Marco.”
He looked up at me and licked his dry, cracked lips.
“You came.”
“Of course, I came. The fuck else was I gonna do? You’re my ticket to staying out of the slammer.”
He lifted his coffee mug to his lips with trembling hands. “Did you notice those two out front?”
“I did. Your witsec friends?”
Marco nodded. “There’s another car parked out back, two guys I don’t know, but they’re definitely cops.”
I nodded, taking his word for it. Marco had the same instincts I did, honed by years of dealing with, or better yet, avoiding, law enforcement.
“How are you going to get me out of here?”
I glanced out the picture window. “You got a car?”
“That green Ford out there. I filched it from the O’Hare long-term parking lot.”
“Smart. Won’t be reported stolen till the owner gets back.” I stood up and stretched. “Let’s get going.”
“You—you just want to walk out the front door?”
“Marco—or should I say, Father Gilberti?” I snickered. “Technically you’re a free man. You can walk away from witsec any time you want, legally. They’re not going to try and nab you in broad daylight.”
“You underestimate how bad they want to take you down, Indro. This goes way beyond the Loggia family.”
I cocked an eyebrow. Now that was news to me.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I hear shit. I’ll tell you all about it if you can keep me alive long enough to do so.”
“All right. We’re going to walk out to your car, all casual like. Give me your keys.”
Marco stared at me for a long moment. “Ain’t no keys. It’s hot-wired.”
“Oh, right. Let’s do this. I’m driving.”
Marco sucked down the rest of his coffee and we strolled out the front entrance. We got about ten feet from the Ford when our undercover friends revved up the Nissan and burned rubber into the street.
“Screw casual, run!”
I jumped behind the wheel and sparked the wires together, bitching when I got a little jolt. Marco snapped his seat belt on as I tore out into the street, the cops a car length behind.
“They’re not popping their cherry on top,” I said. “At least we won’t have to deal with blue boys.”
“That just means they’re going to kill me.”
“That also means they don’t have back up.”
As if on cue, an older Lincoln Town Car with a primer-colored trunk joined the chase. Must have been the guys watching the rear exit. They hit a pothole and bounced hard, sparks flying up from their undercarriage.
“I told you.”
“Calm down, Marco. It’s the middle of the day, it’s not like they’re going to start shoot—”
A bang followed by the Ford’s side mirror shattering a split second later cut me off.
“Or maybe they will.”
You know the old cliché about shooting out tires? Doesn’t work so well. You’d be surprised how long you can go with one flat tire, even if it’s down to the rim. Well, those bastards shot out my mother fucking tires. We skidded crazily down the lane, shooting up sparks in a shower behind us.
I had no traction. It was like skidding on ice. I spotted a run-down stove factory and aimed for the rusted, cyclonic-fence gate.
The gate smashed apart, a bit of heavy chain smacking into the Ford’s windshield and cracking it into a spiderweb pattern. I couldn’t see shit. I threw the wheel hard to the left and skidded into the truck bay. Marco and I bounced hard. I bit my tongue.
We leaped out and ran like hell for the padlocked door as our friends careened through the chain link gate. I kicked the door, but it didn’t budge.
It was risky as hell, but I drew one of the Berettas and fired at the chain. I missed the first three shots before I finally severed a link. A bit of shrapnel shot up and cut Marco on the cheek.
I kicked the door open at last and I shoved Marco ahead of me. I followed a step behind, and we found ourselves on a wide-open factory floor without a damn strip of cover anywhere. I turned toward Marco.
“You clipped?”
“No.”
“Then stay behind cover. Don’t fucking move. If I go down, find Sophie Vercetti. She’ll know what to do.”
If I were going to die, I wanted to make sure Sophie could at least protect herself. Exposing the conspiracy would do just that.
We got behind rectangular concrete pillars just in the nick of time. Our undercover boys scrambled through the entrance. I fired off a few wild shots and managed to nick one of the undercover cops in the thigh.
There was a chance I could have offed them before they got to us first, but I never got the chance to find out. Marco panicked and ran out from behind his pillar. He went down in a hail of gunfire. As soon as I saw the first geyser of blood fountain from his back, I started running in the opposite direction.
The cops followed, firing away like bullets grew on trees. I don’t know how I made it out of there without getting tagged. I ran out into a crowd waiting to get inside Soldier Field and got in line with the rest of them.
The undercover pigs saw the crowd and swiftly stowed their guns. I waved at them and smiled. If looks could kill, man, I’d have been a goner.
I was alive, but they’d gotten to Marco. With the only eyewitness to Diego’s murder dead, there was no chance he would recant his testimony. Like as not, I failed.
And I was probably going away for a long, long time.
Chapter Forty-Four
Sophie
I knew from the smug expression on DA Miller’s face he had something tricky up his sleeve. I figured it had something to do with the two strangers in the gallery he had been speaking to when I entered.
I checked my phone. Less than ten minutes before court was due to begin. Judge Moreno was such a hard ass that I feared what would happen if Indro weren’t sitting in the gallery or next to me at the defense table by then.
Indro ble
w through the doors less than ten seconds before Moreno made her entrance. His cheeks burned bright red, his hair in disarray as if he’d been running out in the cold. For all I knew, he had been. Indro sat down beside me, and I could tell by the grim set of his jaw something terrible had happened.
We had no time to discuss it, however, as Moreno made her entrance just as he sat down. We all rose as the blade-thin woman cut her way up to the bench. Her eyes narrowed when she saw the two strangers sitting right near the bar separating them from the prosecution’s table. Whatever Miller was up to, she hadn’t been made privy to it. That gave me a sliver of hope.
Miller got right to work. He called Indro to the witness stand. We exchanged glances and Indro shrugged. I wasn’t sure what Miller thought he could accomplish by calling Indro back to the stand.
“Mr. Lastra,” Miller began. “You claim that you were forced to cut Diego Malone’s throat in self-defense.”
“That’s how it went down, yeah,” Indro said. He glanced over at the judge. “Did this guy come down with amnesia or what?”
Moreno’s eyes narrowed. “The bench will now remind the prosecutor that we’ve already heard Mr. Lastra testify.”
“I do have a point, Your Honor,” Miller said smoothly.
“Very well, you may continue, but this trial has gone on long enough as it is.”
“I understand, Your Honor. I’ll be brief.” He turned to Indro. “Mr. Lastra, you claim Diego Malone had you pinned down on the ground, and you cut his throat from that position.”
“Hey, I’m not proud of it, but what was I supposed to do? Let him bludgeon me to death with that chunk of concrete?”
Fortunately, the concrete lump had been found with Diego’s fingerprints and DNA on it. I nodded in approval. Indro was cool as a cucumber up on the stand.
“Thank you, Mr. Lastra. No further questions.”
“You may step down, Mr. Lastra.” Indro nodded at Judge Moreno and sauntered back over to our table.
“If the court will indulge the prosecution, Your Honor, the state would like to set up a demonstration.”