by Landon Beach
“Calm down,” GiGi said. “You’ll still get your cut. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? Retirement pay for helping us get Don Fabian to the top rung.”
“I’m here to stay alive so that I can enjoy that bonus,” Nolan said. “You’re the security, go take care of the problem outside.”
GiGi began reaching inside his linen sport coat.
“Stop,” Fabian said. “Terrance is right. Why don’t you go outside and see what is going on?” He motioned to Nolan and himself. “We’ll finish up with these two, and when you return, it will be time to go.”
GiGi pulled his hand away from his jacket and regained his composure. He took a pair of binoculars from a drawer and headed toward the sunroom—his left hand pinching his nose closed.
Fabian and Nolan moved around in front of Conrad Cranston, whose entire body was shaking now. His eyes were closed, and he was grunting hard through the rag in his mouth.
Fabian looked up at Stansie, who was crying—legs shuddering too. “You two have both lasted a lot longer than I thought you would.” He eyed Nolan. “Right, Terrance?”
Nolan did not pander to the man’s entertainment. “Makes no difference to me,” he said. “Let’s just make it quick.”
“You disappoint me, Terrance. Here are two drug addicts struggling for life, and you want to make it easy on them. The expensive watch around your wrist that I gave you as a present tells me it is time for you to retire, my friend.”
Nolan just shrugged.
“Okay, we’ll end it,” Fabian said. “But not this way.” He walked over to the wall cleat where Stansie’s noose chain was secured to. Carefully, he unwound it and then slowly lowered Stansie to the floor. Conrad’s knees gave out, and his body hung from his arms still held to the wall by their own chains.
Fabian walked over to Stansie and knelt down. He began to stroke her hair. “You should have been my Leo’s wife,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed at him with hate, and she shouted some obscenity, but it was distorted by the rag.
“Ah, your demeanor and speech could never rise to the stateliness of your family name. You still can’t escape the street. But I should tell you now before the end that it was I who ordered Ciro’s death.” He paused, seeing the surprise in her eyes. “Yes, Ciro is dead, and Silvio, and your father, and Giuseppe.” He grabbed her hair and twisted her head so that it was facing the water. “That money out there beneath the waves is mine. Your father became too greedy, as did his consigliere. Now, I will distribute it to the members of The Association who earned it.” He took off her rag.
✽✽✽
Air! She took in deep breaths while she thought. She needed to buy time by playing dumb. Of course, she had known they were dead when her mother had called. She also wanted more information. How to do it? Play along with his game. Your hands are almost free. “You’re lying. My mamma told me on the phone that everything was fine.”
Fabian laughed. “And who do you think was in the room with her when she made that call? Yes, you see it now, don’t you? And when I return to Detroit with The Association’s money, my uncle will carefully take care of your mamma.” He was back to stroking her hair. “She’s been through too much. Better for her to not suffer anymore.” He tied the rag over her mouth again.
Stansie writhed on the ground, yelling into the rag.
Fabian took a step back and observed. “My God, what they said really is true. You do have childish temper tantrums. It is one thing to hear about them but another to see them up close.” He let her roll, struggle, and cry for another minute but apparently decided he had seen enough and held his hand over her nose and mouth until she stopped. “What I can’t figure out, though, is why you took off in the truck and left your boyfriend at the park? I asked my uncle and GiGi, and they said that your mother didn’t give a thing away.” He pulled back his hand, and she struggled to breathe in through her nose. He untied the rag.
“We freaked out,” she finally said. She was crying now—because of what she had endured and because she had to sell it. “We had a taste of freedom and didn’t want to go back. We didn’t think anyone cared about us.”
“No one does,” Fabian said and tied the rag around her mouth once again.
✽✽✽
Conrad had heard it all. If they could get out of this, then they would tell everything. The entire Association had been deceived and deserved the truth. Thank God she was playing along. She had just told him the exact thing he had said when the men had picked him up in the park bathroom. They just wanted to be free and didn’t care about the family anymore. Stick with it, Stansie.
For the first time, he felt real hope.
We’re going to get out of this.
✽✽✽
With Nolan’s help, Fabian picked her up and laid her on the dining room table. “Another fix, my dear?” He began wrapping the rubber band around her arm.
Stansie made a muffled noise again.
“I changed my mind. Get rid of that rag,” he ordered Nolan.
Nolan untied it, and Stansie gasped for air. After a few breaths, she said, “Fabian, no, please. No more. Let Conrad and I go. We will never come after you in vengeance. We just want a quiet life away together. Please?”
Fabian regarded her for a moment. Then, he heard Conrad struggle to break free of the chains. “Hmmm. I’m sorry, my dear, but that cannot happen.” And with that, he picked up the loaded syringes. “Now, here is how it works. One of these syringes has fentanyl in it, and one has heroin in it. One of you will die in a few seconds, and one of you will become a heroin addict. The dead one will be buried. The addict will be dropped off in a small town in Ohio where the overdose rate is skyrocketing, which means the product is available. You’ll be given another dose and one thousand dollars in cash.” He paused. “And we will never see you again. Of course, you’ll be under surveillance until you overdose. Don’t want you trying to carry out some wild idea of retribution while you’re still alive.”
Nolan just looked at the ground.
“And so, Stansie, which syringe will it be? Fentanyl or heroin?”
Caught up in his grand proclamation of punishment, Don Fabian De Luca had not seen Stansie Russo’s hands slipping out of the rope that bound them behind her back, a task she had been working on for three hours now. At last, her fingernail found the right angle, and she was free of the ropes. She remained motionless as if they were still bound.
“Conrad, I love you,” she said.
All he could do was yell into his rag.
“Touching,” Don Fabian said, “but wrong.” His eyes hardened, and he looked directly into hers. “How could you love anything like that?”
Suddenly, her hands whipped out from behind her back, and in one movement, she tore the syringes away from Fabian and then stabbed them into his back and pushed the plungers in.
Fabian turned toward her, his eyes wide open. He went to speak, but his body began to convulse as if a million tiny joysticks were controlling separate movements all at once. Then, his eyes rolled up inside of his head, and he fell straight to the side, the force of his head shearing off the edge of the dining room tabletop as he went down.
Nolan stood back in horror as Stansie got to her feet, holding Fabian’s dagger in one hand and his revolver in the other. Nolan’s Glock was still in the holster by his side.
“Where are the keys to unlock him?” she snarled at Nolan.
He pointed to Fabian’s pants pockets.
“Get them out, unlock Conrad, and take his rag off.”
Nolan did as he was told, and soon Conrad was a crumpled heap in the middle of the floor, breathing heavily.
“I’m going to get you out of here, baby.”
She stood up; her gun was still leveled at Nolan. “Any last words, you scumbag?”
Then, bullets tore through the living room windows, and the two dove for cover.
✽✽✽
GiGi Rizzo opened up on Patrick and Brad as they s
campered for cover behind the back wall of the attached garage.
“Brad, fire a few shots and then get behind me. I’m going to come after him with this,” Patrick said, pointing to the MP5.
The firing stopped, and Brad took a breath.
“Now,” Patrick commanded.
Brad came out from behind the protective wall, fired four shots in rapid succession, and slid back behind Patrick.
Patrick then swung around him and took his best aim at where GiGi had been shooting from and let the MP5 loose. Bullets shattered glass and ripped into the siding of the house. Patrick moved farther out and shredded the entire side of the sunroom’s glass. He heard a loud shout of pain and stopped.
“Brad, let’s move!”
They crept along the wall until they were at the steps that led up to the deck and destroyed sunroom. Patrick held up his weapon and fired into the opening. Then, he listened. No sound.
“Okay, we’re going in. I’ll go first. Cover me.”
And up the stairs they went, a grotesque smell hitting them as they reached the top.
Patrick saw bloody legs laying on the deck about ten feet in front of him. He moved to the man, whose legs were bleeding out and turning the deck into a massive pool of blood. The man was in shock but still held a dagger in his hand. The man’s gun was on the ground, out of his reach. Patrick closed the distance while Brad covered the entrance into the house, both of them gagging at the disgusting odor.
When Patrick arrived at the man, he looked down into the face of his childhood friend, GiGi Rizzo. In addition to the blood spurting out of his legs, there was a wet spot of blood spreading on the portion of his shirt covering his stomach. He had seconds to live.
“I’m sad to see you go this way,” Patrick said.
GiGi looked up at him in disgust. “Fuck you. You’ll never stop us.” His chest stopped moving, his dead eyes fixed on Patrick.
“He’s right,” came a voice from behind him.
Patrick felt sick to his stomach as he turned away from the body.
Terrance Nolan was standing in the doorway that led into the house. He had Brad’s arm twisted behind his back and was aiming his Glock at Brad’s head.
30
Allison Shannon and Maggie Schiff swam side by side with their dive lights and spear guns trained on the water in front of them.
Maggie checked her underwater compass and adjusted course. Allison followed.
She’s a seasoned diver, Allison thought. Smooth and comfortable in the water—just like I used to be. She kept abreast of Schiff—she was still in good shape—but her strokes were choppy, and she could not find a rhythm. It had been so long since she had been scuba diving that she was taking larger breaths than normal, using up more of her air. She tried to relax and guide off Schiff’s even kicks. After a dozen more, she started to relax.
What were the divers from the yacht diving for? None had come up while they were still watching on the surface. Then she remembered her conversation with Brad about Conrad’s voicemail. Bigtime money. Yeah, and about Brad. When she looked at him for the last time before jumping in, she knew that there was something between them. The question now was: Would they survive to find out what it was? She checked her depth gauge. Thirty feet.
Maggie slowed and then abruptly stopped. She grabbed Allison’s arm and motioned for her to turn off her light. They did so simultaneously and were now surrounded on three sides by darkness. She knew the storm was raging on the surface, but it was quiet down here.
Approximately twenty-five yards ahead of them and about ten feet deeper was the entrance to an underwater cave. Two divers were stationed as sentries on either side of the opening, their dive lights clipped to metal rings that had been driven into the rock with pitons. They hadn’t noticed Maggie or Allison because their attention was on the interior of the cave.
Just outside the mouth was a growing stack of dry boxes.
What in the hell was in those? Money?
They watched for a minute, and soon a diver emerged from the cave with another dry box. He placed it on the stack and then headed back inside. Moments later, a second diver came out with a box and placed it on the pile and then returned to the darkness of the cave.
Maggie and Allison each had a dive slate, and so they turned around with their backs to the cave. Allison aimed her smaller light at the sand and held it an inch above the lake floor. She turned it on and quickly wrote on her dive slate:
Watch for a little bit longer? See if something else happens?
Maggie wrote on her slate:
Okay. Keep an eye out for more divers.
Allison turned off her light, and they turned around to watch the cave entrance again.
✽✽✽
“Drop the MP5 and kick it away, Patrick,” Terrance Nolan said.
“Compromised yourself, didn’t you?” Patrick said. He did not let go of his weapon.
Nolan smacked Brad across the back of the head with his Glock. “Drop the MP5 and push it away.”
Patrick set the weapon down and gave it a kick.
Nolan moved further into the ruined sunroom. “Compromised myself? You’ve got a lot of nerve. Why don’t you go look inside the dining room and see who is dead on the floor?”
Patrick took a step.
“No, no. Stop. I’ll save you the walk. It’s Don Fabian De Luca.” He paused, letting the words find their mark. “Yeah, this was a game played today at the highest stakes, Patrick. And you’re showing up with your chips after it’s been played.”
“So, why do you have a gun aimed at an innocent guy’s head right now then? And why have me unarmed? There could be more of these guys around.”
“There won’t be. This was a private trip down here today for me to collect some hard-earned retirement money, which I still intend to do.”
Patrick shook his head. “You’re no better than them.”
“And neither are you!” Nolan exploded. “That’s the part of this job that you don’t understand. And now that you’re here, you know what I’ve got to do.”
Brad looked at Patrick’s eyes. The pupils looked black.
“Where are Conrad Cranston and the woman?” Patrick asked.
“No idea. They took off just before you put the lead to GiGi Rizzo here. Everything cleared up now?” Nolan said, patronizing him. “Well, then it’s time for me to collect my money and head out.” He pushed Brad a few feet away. “Kneel and interlock your fingers on top of your head.”
Brad did so.
“Terrance, let him go. He was just here to get his brother.”
“Oh, that was his brother in there? Strong guy, took a lot of punishment and didn’t give in. But he must have been stupid to put himself in that position in the first place.”
Patrick pleaded. “Just let him go.”
Nolan looked down at the kneeling Brad and then back over at Patrick. “Oh, you thought I was going to shoot him execution-style? You have too much of an imagination, Patrick—probably how you got down here. You’ve got good investigative instincts, and, unfortunately, you would have found out in time that they don’t serve you well in this job. They destroy you. Because you keep finding out how the whole system really works. No, not a healthy thing for you at all. I’m going to do you a favor today by ending your pain prematurely.”
Without another word, Nolan raised his Glock and shot a single round into Patrick’s forehead.
His head exploded, and his body fell backward, eventually landing in a pool lounger.
Nolan watched for a full minute, lost in his thoughts.
Brad weighed his options. The doorway was six feet away. Could he make it? No, Nolan would shoot him by the time he made it there. The stairs going down the deck? They were three feet away. If he dove? It was his best chance. He started to part his hands.
Nolan swiveled the gun at him. There were tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry for you too, sir. But this is the only way—”
Nolan’s speech was interrupte
d by a sound from the roof. Before he could turn, a blur of a huge human being leaped down from above.
It was Conrad.
His hit drove Nolan down with such a force that Nolan’s head broke through a deck board, exposing a pool of water below. Nolan’s gun dropped, and Brad scrambled to pick it up. He reached it and stood, aiming the gun at Nolan. But he paused as he saw his brother put a chain around Nolan’s neck and begin to strangle him. Conrad’s knees dug into Nolan’s back, and Nolan’s neck arched, his eyes now looking at the sky. Then, his face turned blue, and Conrad pulled the chain even tighter.
After the last few twitches of Nolan’s legs, Conrad removed the chain, and Nolan’s head smacked the deck. “Got you,” was all he said.
Before Brad could get out a word, Conrad stood and slammed his foot through three other deck boards. Then, he stuffed Nolan’s body down underneath the deck and watched it float face down on the surface.
Brad threw Nolan’s Glock to Conrad and picked up Patrick’s MP5. Then, he embraced Conrad, who began to sob into his brother’s shoulder.
“Where is she?” Brad asked. “Is she okay?”
Conrad couldn’t speak. He just motioned for Brad to follow him inside.
They reached the door to Nico Colombo’s master bedroom, and Conrad opened it. On the bed was the lifeless body of the woman in the photographs.
Conrad approached her and sat down on the edge of the bed. He then began to gently stroke her silk locks of black hair and regained his composure for a moment. “I had just been freed when the guns went off outside. Nolan had time to get out his gun, and, as Stansie dove to the floor by me, he shot her. We made it in here. She was still alive, but he had hit her in the chest, and she died in my arms. Conrad’s eyes filled again. “She was pregnant.”
“Oh, no,” said Brad. He reached out his hand and put it on his younger brother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Conrad.” He wanted to apologize. If we could have only gotten here quicker. If we hadn’t shot when we did. It was pointless. Nothing could change the past, and nothing was going to bring her back to his brother. “Who was she?” Brad asked.