High Deceit

by C. E. Waterman

  His father sighed. “We don’t handle distribution. We bring it in and sell it to someone else. Like the company we buy coffee from for the restaurant. The coffee company sells it to a distributor who sells it to us, and we make it for our customers. We’re the distributor, and we don’t sell to kids. We can’t help it if kids buy it.”

  “Is that what you told yourself when the kid died last year?”

  “It wasn’t our fault. We don’t know what he got or how he got it. We didn’t give it to him.”

  Tony wasn’t hearing this. He balled his hands into fists. They weren’t taking responsibility at all. But then looking back, he realized his dad never took responsibility for things when they went wrong. It was always someone else’s fault.

  “What happened with Mark? I know him, Dad. He teaches Sunday school, and he’s a great guy.”

  “Listen, Tony, we can’t tell you everything. It’s better for you if you don’t know.”

  “Don’t you think it’s kinda late for that?”

  “Stay out of it!” Jimmy jumped to his feet and shook a finger at him. “I told Dad I didn’t think you should be involved. You’ve always been a little squealer. You tell anybody about this, and I’ll wring your scrawny little neck.”

  “Now, Jimmy, calm down. Your brother’s worried about us,” Dad said. Then looking at Tony, he added, “You don’t understand, son. I want you to forget all about this. You need to let us handle it.”

  “Forget it? Let you handle it? Is that what you mean when you tell Mom to let you handle the business side of things? You need to get out of this now before someone else gets hurt. Just quit.”

  His dad shook his head. “It’s not so simple. We’re not the only ones involved, and there are reasons we can’t quit. But we’ll be more careful. You don’t have to worry. No one will get in trouble.”

  Tony uncurled his fingers. “Is it the money? I’ll bet if Mom knew what you were doing, she’d tell you the money isn’t worth it. I’m going to tell her; she’ll make you stop.” He ran out of the room and down the stairs expecting to hear his brother pounding after him. He didn’t hear anything. His mother wasn’t in the dining room, so he went into the kitchen.

  She stood, leaning against the counter, giving instructions to the new pastry chef.

  Tony paced, waiting for her to finish. Finally, the pastry chef walked away, and Tony sprang forward. “Mom, I need to talk to you.”

  She gazed into his face and moved to the rear of the kitchen where it was currently quiet. “Tony, what’s the matter? You look upset.”

  “I am upset.” He tried to whisper. “I found out Dad and Jimmy are dealing drugs.” He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it sure wasn’t the calm way she stared at him.

  “You know about this?” his voice squeaked.

  She nodded without speaking.

  “Why don’t you make them stop? Someone tried to kill a cop, and I think Dad may know something about it.” Somewhere he’d stopped whispering.

  “Shhh! Keep your voice down. There are things about this you don’t understand. You’ll have to trust me for now, and I’ll talk to you about it later, all right?”

  He didn’t have much choice. The kitchen was filling with people scurrying to prep for the dinner rush. He’d go home and wait for someone there. Whoever got home first would have some explaining to do.

  At almost eleven, the garage door rattled open. Jimmy entered the family room, turned off the TV, and headed for the kitchen.

  Tony followed.

  “Did Dad send you to talk to me?” Tony flung himself into a chair.

  “No, I volunteered.” Jimmy’s voice was quiet. “I wanted you to understand why we can’t stop, and why you have to keep it a secret.” His face was stiff, and his hands clenched on the top of the chair he stood behind. He turned it around and straddled it, leaning his forearms against the back and trying to relax.

  Whatever it was, it must be bad. Although how could it be worse than drugs? “It’s Carlo, isn’t it? It’s something about Carlo?”

  Jimmy jerked, and his eyes widened. “Yeah, he’s part of it.”

  “Are you and Dad afraid of him?”

  Even though Tony hadn’t meant it as a put down, Jimmy puffed up his chest and scowled. “You don’t know him, Tony. If you did, you’d be afraid, too. He’s a…a killer.”

  The hair on Tony’s arms stood up. “I already am afraid of him. Do you know for sure?”

  “Yes.”

  So much conviction laced the one word.

  “It started when we were in that tiny little place in Louisville, remember? We were contacted and offered money to store some stuff. Dad and Mom were having trouble with the mortgage then, and it looked like the perfect solution. I don’t think they planned on doing it forever, just long enough to pay everything off. They raked in a lot of money for no work. Sure, some risk was involved, but the way they handled it, not even that much.”

  “Where was it hidden? Why didn’t I know about it?”

  Jimmy’s lips curled slightly. “Where was the one place we were never allowed to go?”

  A minute passed before it dawned on him. “The wine cellar? You hid it in the wine cellar?”

  “Well, I didn’t hide it there. I was a kid then, and I didn’t know about it either. But yeah, at first, they hid it in crates with a row of bottles on top. You know the area where the expensive wines were locked up?” He hesitated, and Tony nodded. “It probably housed more cocaine than wine. A special mark on the label identified them. I don’t know because Carlo handled it. Then we built this place and branched into bottled spaghetti sauce. Once we had a warehouse, bigger shipments became easier to receive and distribute.”

  Tony stared at him. “You mean we don’t sell Mom’s sauce?”

  “Yes, of course, we sell her sauce. But we distribute other stuff, too.”

  Tony pictured a jar full of cocaine. “So why can’t we turn Carlo in?”

  “Because if he didn’t kill us, we’d all go to jail.” Jimmy’s face blanched the color of chalk. “Because I’d go to jail for murder.”

  Tony’s heart skipped a beat. “Y-you killed someone?”

  “No, but I was there, and Carlo made it look like I did.” A look crossed his face like he was seeing it all in front of him. He shook his head. “Dad wanted out, and he tried to get Carlo caught when I wasn’t around. But Carlo got suspicious and took me with him. I didn’t know about Dad, or I wouldn’t have gone. I didn’t even know what we were supposed to be doing. I went to help with a delivery. Next thing I know there’s a bunch of screaming, and a cop’s pointing a gun at me telling me to put my hands on the wall. I turned around, and someone shot him. But I don’t know who did it. They stuck some money in his pocket to make him look guilty and left. He didn’t die in the hospital like they thought he would, so they’re still trying to kill him. He saw me there, and Carlo. We heard sirens so we hightailed it.” Jimmy got up for some water and gulped it. “I found out later about a woman in the warehouse—although I didn’t know it at the time. Carlo asked me to pick up this gun. When I handed it to him, I saw he had gloves on, but I didn’t think anything of it. The woman’s dead, and my fingerprints are on the gun. A gun Carlo has. And he told Dad he’d turn it in if we don’t do what he wants.”

  Jimmy paused as if waiting for Tony to respond. He didn’t know what to say, so he nodded and Jimmy went on. “He doesn’t trust either of us, although I don’t think he knows for sure that Dad tried to get him arrested. He thinks if he gets you involved, Dad won’t sacrifice both sons. Mom’s so angry with him for getting you involved, she’s not speaking to him. Years ago, she made him promise not to let you know about this part of the business. She was already mad, see, when I started.”

  “What do you mean getting me involved? Do you mean the briefcase?”

  “Yeah. She was suspicious, and Dad had to tell her all about it.”

  “What was in it?”

  “Money from the score where
the cop was shot. Dad went ahead because he was afraid Carlo would get one of us killed.” Jimmy hit the top of the chair with his fist. “It was so stupid to get involved with these people. They never let you out, and you can’t trust what they say.”

  “Can’t we just tell someone? Maybe Mark’s wife? I know her. She might help us.”

  Jimmy’s face nearly turned purple. “Haven’t you been listening? Carlo has friends everywhere, even in the police force.” He swallowed hard and lowered his voice. “He has a contact there who feeds him information about what they’re doing. That’s how we’re able to keep this up.”

  He rubbed his face with both hands then dropped them to his sides. “I don’t want to do this anymore, but I don’t know what else to do.” He stood as if to leave. “Look at me.”

  Tony fixed his eyes on his brother’s. The irises were so dark they melded with the pupils.

  “You have to keep what I’ve told you a secret. Dad and I don’t even talk about it. We do what we’re told. You have to promise you won’t do anything about this, and you can’t tell anyone either. Promise me.”

  32

  Robin spent the night praying God would bring Mark home safely and help them catch Cindy’s murderer. She’d prayed practically nothing else for a week. She was almost sick of saying it, and she was sure God was sick of hearing it.

  She lay there thinking about approaching Greg and pulling Maggie into the stupid stunt. What an idiotic thing to do. What if she’d gotten one or both of them hurt? Maggie regretted suspecting Greg, but Robin didn’t. Her husband was suspected of treachery and murder, why not Greg? But after their interview, she believed him. He was too alive when he recounted his experiences. He’d made an impression on Maggie, too. Her face had changed while he talked, as though all kinds of thoughts were going through her head. After this was over, she’d invite them both to dinner. They’d make a cute couple. Who knows, maybe Greg could get through Maggie’s tough shell and let her know God loved her.

  She threw the covers off and shuffled in to wash her face. Dark circles ringed the eyes staring back at her in the mirror. She wouldn’t be winning any beauty contests today. Wonder where Mark woke this morning? Was he in a nice hotel having room service or one of those fleabag motels with roaches the size of a small car? Or a safe house, whatever that was. She tried to picture him in different surroundings but could only see the hospital room. If only she’d been able to talk to him before he’d left. It wasn’t safe, and she didn’t want him to risk it, but waiting, wondering if he was alive was agony. How long would he have to stay in hiding? Wherever he was, she prayed God would protect him.

  She passed the guestroom door and heard her in-laws stirring. Downstairs she poured a cup of coffee, and the day stretched out in front of her. Normally, work would focus her thoughts, but today, concentration wouldn’t come easily. Knowing Mark couldn’t call, she checked her phone anyway. Nothing except the saved message from Dr. Tracy’s office. If there was an opening, she’d try to get in this morning. She certainly wasn’t getting anything done here.

  Thankfully, Dr. Tracy had a cancellation and fit her in. What were the odds? Maybe things were looking up.

  Then she dialed Libby, who picked up on the first ring. “Have you heard anything?”

  “No. You?” Robin asked.

  “No.”

  What had she expected?

  “Do you want me to come over?” Libby’s voice held compassion.

  “No, I have a doctor appointment this morning, but thanks.”

  “What about lunch? Why don’t you come over here after your appointment, and I’ll fix us something to eat.”

  She wondered if she should stay with her in-laws. On second thought, they might want some time alone. “OK, we can talk about your kids or something, anything to keep my mind occupied. I’ll be there by noon, twelve thirty at the latest.”

  She felt better as she headed to the doctor’s office across from the hospital. She almost turned into the hospital entrance from habit. She’d been thinking about Mark, as usual. Staying in hiding probably wasn’t doing much for his recovery. But then again, being in the hospital almost got him killed. It would be better if he rested, but knowing Mark, he wouldn’t. She prayed again for his safety as she walked into the waiting room.

  She signed in, wondering what they needed. If Dr. Tracy was putting her on thyroid medication, why didn’t she just phone in a prescription? The nurse called her in and took her weight and blood pressure.

  “What is this about?” Robin asked. “Do you need more blood?”

  The nurse flipped her chart. “No, but let me put you in a room. Dr. Tracy will be right with you. She wanted to talk to you herself.”

  Uh oh, what could that mean? Why were they making her wait like this? Why didn’t they tell her on the phone? Lord, please don’t let me be sick. I can’t take any more. Please, Lord.

  Dr. Tracy tapped on the door and slipped in. “Did the nurse tell you why you’re here?”

  “No. Is something wrong?” Robin twisted her wedding ring around her finger.

  Dr. Tracy beamed. “Nothing that about nine months won’t cure. Although with you, I think it will be shorter. Based on what you told the nurse last time, I think it’s closer to five or six.”

  “What?” Robin wasn’t tracking. “What about five months?”

  Dr. Tracy smiled into her eyes. “You’re pregnant, honey.”

  “Pregnant?” Joy flooded her mind, her fingers tingled, and tears burned her eyes. “Are…Are you sure?” After all this time could it be? Or was it a gigantic mistake? No, it couldn’t be a mistake. That’s why she’d been feeling sick. It wasn’t nerves. It was a baby. She covered her face with her hands and began to cry in earnest.

  The doctor wrapped her arms around her and patted her back. “I’m sure you’re pregnant, and I think you’re fairly far along. I want to do an exam and an ultrasound and see what’s going on in there.”

  Robin left the office a couple of hours later with a picture of a baby. Their baby. The words sounded foreign in her mind. Three and a half months. She was three and a half months along already! She wanted to sing, to dance, to skip. She’d never gone beyond eight weeks. The doctor said her baby looked healthy, and she saw no reason Robin wouldn’t go to term with this one.

  She floated to her car. What could she do next? She didn’t want to go home. It would be impossible not to tell Silvia, and she wanted Mark to be the first to know. She checked her watch. Still too early to go to Libby’s. She tried Mark’s cell, but no one picked up. Of course, it would be off. What was she thinking? She quickly hung up. Janice. She could visit Janice. After all, she was right next to the hospital. Perfect timing.

  Before she knew what she was doing, she found herself on Mark’s floor simply out of habit. She might as well check out his room to see if he left anything behind. The room was clean, the bed made, and nothing under it or on the nightstand. His personal items were gone, even the flowers. Although she had expected as much, she still felt let down. She ambled down the familiar hallway, wondering what floor Janice was on.

  “Nurse? Nurse! Come in here. I need you,” a petulant male voice called behind her.

  She looked around for the nurse he was talking to and then realized he must have meant her.

  “Can I help you?” She stuck her head in his door. “I’m not the nurse, but I can find her if you want.”

  “Oh, it’s you. You’re the policeman’s wife, aren’t you? The one who got shot at the other night?”

  “Yes, I am. Do you know about that?”

  “Only what I heard. It doesn’t surprise me it happened to him in here though. The nurses ignore you.”

  “What do you mean, aren’t they helping you?”

  “When they decide to answer me, they do. But the night before last, I called and called to the blonde nurse going by. I even stood up to make sure she heard me, but she was too busy flirting with the guard outside your husband’s door. She was givin
g him coffee instead of paying attention to the sick people she’s supposed to take care of. And now I need something, and no one’s paying any attention to me. Maybe I’m not good looking enough.”

  Robin tried to get a better description of the nurse who gave coffee to the guard, but he clammed up. Promising to fetch the real nurse, she headed in the direction she’d last seen one.

  33

  Peter looked up from the papers he and Mark had been studying. “I think we’ve got her.”

  “My memory isn’t enough. We need to get proof.” Mark leaned back, looking exhausted. “Do you think you can convince Donovan to get warrants?” He grabbed the chair arm and tried to hoist himself up one-handed. He grimaced. “Maybe I should go.”

  “Absolutely not. You’re in no condition, and you’ll just slow me down.” Peter gently pushed his friend back into the chair. “I want you to go to bed immediately. This is no big deal. I’ll just meet the chief for lunch and lay it all out. If he needs corroboration, we can give you a call. But seriously, he won’t. There’s enough here for search warrants, and then we’ll have what we need.”

  Peter grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “I’ll call you before the fun stuff begins. I promise. He reached the porch and leaned back inside. “Get some rest so you can join us for the arrests.”

  He let the door slam without waiting for an answer. Excitement thrummed through his veins. Finally. They still had to clarify a few things, like who actually shot Cindy, but once they rounded everyone up, someone would talk. He’d seen it a million times.

  The bright sun caused him to put on his sunglasses as he unclipped his cell phone from his belt.

  Donovan answered on the first ring. “Peter! What have you got for me?”

  Peter wanted to blurt it out, but he’d learned not to ignore the fact that someone could be listening. “Why don’t we meet for lunch and we can discuss it?”

  “Is it important?” Donovan’s voice crackled through static.

  “I have something I want you to see.”