“What kind?” Replacement asked.
“What kind of what?” Jack shrugged.
“What kind of restaurant?” Replacement held onto the ceiling handle.
“Italian.” Jack scanned the oncoming car.
An older truck with a young couple. Nope.
“Italian. They have to eat.” Replacement’s hands went out.
Jack frowned, and Kiku rolled her eyes. Jack let the wheel spin as he straightened out on the last turn.
“There.” Kiku pointed to a car in the parking lot with both doors open.
Jack could see Paolo lying on the ground and Ilario kneeling beside him. Whoever was in the driver’s seat was slumped over the wheel.
“You two stay in the car.”
Replacement went to jump out, and he saw Kiku grab her arm.
Gun in hand, he sped out of the car and raced over to Paolo. Ilario had his hands pressed against Paolo’s thigh.
“Get him out of here.” Paolo growled and gestured in Ilario’s direction.
“No.” Ilario shook his head.
“Go, boy. I’m dead.”
Jack looked him over and counted at least five bullet wounds. His face was ashen, and blood ran out of his mouth.
“Ilario. An ambulance is on the way. Go.”
Paolo pressed his huge gun into Ilario’s hand. He grabbed Ilario by the back of his neck. “You’re a good man. Become a great one.” Paolo pushed him away and coughed.
“Go to my car now,” Jack ordered and Ilario ran and got in the Impala.
Replacement jumped in the driver’s seat and Jack waved for her to take off. He could hear the sirens getting closer. Replacement cast a worried frown his way and took off.
Jack knelt down next to Paolo. “Who did it?”
Paolo glared at Jack. “You’ll never learn.”
“Screw your code. You won’t go to the cops even if they kill you, I get it. Do you get that they’ll kill Angelica? They’ll kill her, Paolo.”
Paolo started to gag, and blood sprayed upward. His head rolled to the side.
Sirens filled the air.
“Paolo, damn it. Tell me. Who?”
Paolo’s mouth opened and closed.
“Hands on your head,” someone behind Jack ordered.
“Who?” Jack pleaded.
“Hands on your head,” he commanded again.
Paolo looked at him and mumbled, “Traditore,” and closed his eyes.
“GUN,” the voice behind Jack screamed.
I have my gun in my hand—
Jack convulsed as the Taser’s charge coursed through his body. He fell sideways onto the bloody pavement and writhed in pain.
They’re doing their jobs. I’d have just shot me.
He couldn’t see who’d Tasered him, but he felt at least three policemen swarm him and work to put the cuffs on. Everything began to spin, and he knew he was blacking out.
That’s a first. Normally it just hurts like hell.
Everything went dark.
What you do best
Jack sat at the metal interrogation table and didn’t look up at the two-way mirror.
“Sheriff, can you come in so I can explain?” he called out.
From the sound of the muffled thud behind the wall, he was sure Collins had heard him.
“Can you at least send in Rivers or Prescott?”
A minute later, the door swung open, and both of them walked through.
Prescott had a snarl on his face, and his rock-crushing voice was even lower than usual. “Way to go, smartass. Now we have two dead Mancinis. Why don’t we start on what you were doing at Handle’s?”
“I heard it on the scanner, so I went—”
The soft thud against the wall caused all three to turn and look at the two-way mirror.
Jennifer leaned forward and whispered, “You have no idea how mad he is.”
“Okay. So the cowboy runs out on his own again when he hears a 911 call? Boy, you must have been real close. What was the response time of the officers on the scene, Rivers?”
Jennifer looked down at her clipboard. “Seven minutes.”
“I heard you were fast, Stratton, but that’s just a little too much of a coincidence for me.”
Jack leaned back in his chair and did his best to imitate Walter’s gravelly voice. “How far away is my apartment, Rivers?”
Walter slammed his hands on the table. “You caused all this, and it’s a joke to you.”
Jack cracked his neck. “First off, the whole slamming the table and getting in my face won’t help this. Secondly, you know I didn’t start this. Marisa is missing. The Mancinis got a call.”
“I know they got a call. We have their phones tapped. Did you forget that part, Jack? Did you forget you’re one of us? Did you forget about being a cop?”
“Since I’m the one looking in the right direction, ask yourself that question, Walter.” Jack sat up.
“We’re supposed to be working together, and what do you do? You break into Marisa’s apartment. You contact not only the Mancinis but Takeo Ishikawa too. Now you’re running around with a known Yakuza enforcer. You talked with Shawn Miller, and now he’s in intensive care with a broken jaw and ruptured spleen. Arber de Lorme is also in the ICU, and we have a witness placing a blue big boat of a car on his road.”
A loud thump on the back wall made the whole mirror shake.
Prescott’s face turned beet red, and he stormed out of the room. Jennifer looked down at Jack and shrugged.
“This is my damn town.” He heard Collins yell from the hallway.
“Don’t even try to pull jurisdiction on me, Collins.” Prescott was even louder. “Stay the hell out of that room. Put someone else in there to witness if you can’t keep it on an even keel.”
Walter walked back into the interrogation room and slammed the door.
Keep it calm and get him talking.
“I need you to work with us, Jack.” Jennifer held up a hand when Walter opened his mouth. “Save it, Walter.”
Jack smirked.
“You too, Jack.” She glared at him. “I’m not doing the whole good cop, bad cop thing. We know the Mancinis got a phone call. One word: Darrington. Man’s voice.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Is that all you have?”
Walter slammed his hands on the table again. “No. We know you talked to the tattoo kid but you’re not the one who bashed his teeth in. That was Paolo. We know you went to de Lorme’s house.”
Let that go. Don’t even comment.
“Now de Lorme’s in ICU, but I’m not particularly sympathetic there. We found his tapes. We know what he was accused of in France, too. I know you didn’t neuter him. That appears to be the handiwork of the Mancinis too.”
Jack stared at Prescott but tried to read Jennifer’s expression.
She didn’t mention the other phone call to Takeo, and neither did Prescott.
“What about Marisa?” Jack tried to put his hand calmly on the table, but the metal still rang when his fist hit it. “Have you found anything on her?”
“No phone calls on any of her lines. No bank activity of any kind. Nothing.”
Jack exhaled and looked at the ceiling.
Walter kicked the chair. “Screw you, Stratton.”
“I thought you were going to help us?” Jennifer pressed her hands together.
“Help us?” Walter ridiculed. “He’s about as helpful as high wind in a prairie fire. Just ask his flunkies about how helpful he is.” Walter’s finger jabbed the air.
“What’re you talking about?” Jack asked.
“They didn’t tell you? Wow, they’re either real upset or real loyal. Collins suspended Donald Pugh and Kendra Darcey for not reporting their run-in with you in the cemetery.”
Damn it.
Jack sat back.
“Like you give a damn, Stratton. You’re a wrecking ball that doesn’t care. What’s the count on careers flushed down the toilet because of you, including your own
?”
Jennifer stepped forward. “What did Paolo say, Jack?”
“He’s not gonna tell you anything,” Prescott scoffed. “Sure, he’ll go back and tell it to his new bang. How’s that working for you, Jack? What’s it, a nightly three-way?”
Shake your head and close your mouth. Let him talk.
Jennifer leaned closer. “Maybe we can talk to Collins. Tell him you’re cooperating. You help us, we help you.”
“Are you falling for his bull? Seriously?” Walter glared at Jennifer. “He ain’t that good-looking.” He turned back to Jack. “I don’t think you want to find her.”
Do what you do best—make him crazy.
Jack stretched his legs out and crossed his arms. “Me? I’m the guy who’s looking. What have you been doing, Wally?”
Prescott marched over to a side table and picked up a folder. He walked back over and dropped it on the table in front of Jack.
“Read it. Why don’t you find out all about the girl you know nothing about?”
Jack flipped open the folder and looked at the mug shot of a teenage girl with deep circles under her eyes. It took him a few minutes to recognize Marisa.
Walter jabbed the photo. “That’s her. Hard to believe, huh? That’s how I met her, and I helped her. She was sixteen and scared as hell. Did she tell you why she came into the program? Did she, Jack, or did you not care to ask because you just wanted to get laid?”
“Walter—”
He glared at Jennifer and continued, “She came to us about a boy. What was his name?” He flipped the file open to an autopsy picture of a dead teenager. “Anthony Marinetti. Marisa said they went to school together. He was sixteen, too. Do you know what he did to Severino? His big sin was he liked a mobster’s daughter. Look at him.” He poked the photo. “Kinda screws up a little girl’s head when her father puts a bullet in her boyfriend because he snuck a kiss.”
Jack looked down at the photo and knew he’d seen the boy’s face before. Marisa had drawn him. He’d seen the sketch in her apartment. The emotion behind the drawing had haunted him, and now he knew why.
“I never thought that scared little girl was gonna straighten out, but I got her set up in this small town and I thought, yeah, here, she might have a chance. But along comes Jack Stratton, and everything I tried to do for her goes out the window.”
“Yeah. You did a great job keeping her safe,” Jack snarled.
“You’re an idiot, Stratton. You don’t know how many times over the years I thought about checking in to see how she was doing, but we can’t. No contact. It’s what keeps their secret safe. This is on your head, Stratton, not mine.”
Jennifer stepped forward. “If you two will stop this pissing match, we may still be able to find her. Jack, did Paolo say anything about who shot him?”
Jack looked up at her, but his internal debate lasted only a second; there was no way he was telling either of them. He shook his head.
“He was dead.”
Jennifer sighed. “Was anyone else there?”
Damn. Anyone who saw Ilario will say yes, but I can’t put him there.
He shook his head again.
“That’s bull, Jack.” Prescott kicked the chair over, and it skittered across the floor. “Total bull. We have a witness who put another Italian at the scene. Do you know what I think?”
“You think?”
“Screw you, Stratton. You know what I really think? I think it is you. From what I’ve been reading in your evaluations, you’re a nutcase who never should’ve been a cop. Son of a murdered kid and a hooker. Abandoned by a whore, you spend a few years in the system. That screws with your head. You go into the Army and, not surprisingly, you get out with checkered results. One of your commanding officers said you had a…” Walter looked up at the ceiling and stuck his tongue in his cheek, “a death wish. I think he said not only are you not afraid of death, but you court it. And now all this latest crap. You’re as out there as the crazy guy you dragged in here, who started all this.”
Jack sat stoically.
“You know what I think? I think this is some lover’s quarrel, and you’re using all this as camouflage. You killed her and dumped the body. But to cover your tracks you create this missing person case and spin the tale.” Jennifer tried to walk in front of Walter, and he pushed by her. “You were ticked off at Marisa, and now she’s missing. Pretty good cover, Stratton. How much is she worth, huh? Or are you playing both sides of the fence now? You’re banging a Yakuza and meeting the Mancinis in a parking lot? I think Marisa was stupid and naive enough to fall hard for your bad boy crap and get your badge tattooed on her back, but you? You either killed her or sold her out. Tell me I’m wrong. Go ahead and—”
“SHUT UP. Just shut up, Walter,” Jennifer screamed and slammed her hands down on the table. She turned around, and rubbed her palms. “Jack, we have witnesses who placed another person next to Paolo. They also said you talked to him.”
You can’t tell them about Ilario.
Jack looked right at her. “I didn’t see anyone else.”
“So if I run a check on all the credit cards from that Italian restaurant nobody else’s number is gonna come up?”
Walter spun around and walked toward the corner of the room.
Shut up now, Jack, and end it. Give them something so they think you’re going along, and get out of here.
Jack lifted his hands. “You’re right. Paolo did say something. I asked who shot him, but he was bleeding out. He could barely talk and it didn’t make sense.”
“Did he say who? Did he describe them?” Jennifer asked.
Jack shook his head. “It was hard to understand him. He just said Orsacchiotto.”
Jennifer looked to Prescott, who shrugged.
“It’s Italian,” Jack continued. “I have no idea what it means.”
“Did he have a gun?”
Tilt your head. Look down. Open your mouth like you’re going to say something. Shake your head.
“No. I didn’t see one.”
“He didn’t see anyone else either. Come on, Jennifer, he’s a lying bastard,” Walter spat as he marched across the room.
“Then you’re done with me, right?” Jack stood up.
“Sit your ass down, Stratton.”
“Make me,” Jack smirked as he held his hands out.
Prescott shook his head. “I can make you. You ever want to wear a badge again?” Now he smiled a snide grin. “Sit down and keep talking.”
“Charge me or call a lawyer. I’m done.”
Jennifer’s mouth fell open.
Prescott stared at him. “Seriously? You lawyer up, and your career’s over.”
“As you said, it already is. Right now Marisa is out there, and I’m the only one looking for her.”
“You’re an idiot, Stratton.” Prescott rolled his eyes. “You’d rather throw your career away along with any hope of finding Marisa?”
“I’m going to find her but not by sitting here and talking to you about it. Are you going to charge me?”
Prescott looked at the two-way mirror, and then back at Jack.
“I didn’t think so.”
Jack walked out the door.
Like a baby?
Jack sat outside the processing office for fifteen minutes. Finally, the door opened and he marched over to the desk and looked down at a thin middle-aged woman with shoulder-length brown hair. He glanced at her name tag: Shelia Hardy.
He knew Shelia but not her last name. She always gave him a friendly wave in the hallway.
“Officer Stratton.” She didn’t look up as she pushed a small package of papers toward him. “Please sign.”
As Jack looked down, he had to force himself to keep from hanging his head. He signed the papers, set down the pen, and looked up.
Shelia’s shoulders slumped and she mumbled, “Thank you.”
Jack spun on his heel. He left the door open and marched out of the office. He could feel everyone’s eyes on h
im as he stormed down the corridor.
He headed straight to Evidence to get his belongings. His nostrils flared and his lips pressed into a thin line. Stopping in front of a counter with a glass slider, he rang the bell.
Bill walked over with a manila envelope. “I went and checked on your gun, but they took it to ballistics.”
Jack stood and stared at Bill Robertson. Jack knew Bill. Jack had given him tips at the shooting range. He had helped fix Bill’s car. Jack had even helped him move. But right now, Jack glared at his friend.
“It’s my gun, Bill.”
Bill’s hands went up and out. “Jack, it’s not here. They took it to ballistics.”
Don’t. It’s not Bill’s fault.
Jack took the manila envelope and looked inside. “Where’s my phone?”
“Information Services. They have to review it.”
Jack grabbed his wallet and put the empty envelope down on the counter.
Bill gulped. “Sorry.”
“Not your fault, Bill.”
Jack headed back to the first floor and the entrance. The big double doors swooshed open and the cold air slapped him in the face.
He inhaled deeply.
“Jack. Jack.”
He heard Jennifer calling his name as he stormed out of the police station, but he didn’t turn around.
“Jackass,” she growled as she ran up next to him.
Jack glared down at her.
“I’m not your enemy. Can I remind you I tried to help out?”
“What do you want?”
“How about we start with, do you need a ride home?” She smiled.
Jack took a deep breath. “I’d have called for a ride if you hadn’t taken my phone.”
Jennifer shook her head. “You should be glad Collins let you go, Jack. Your phone’s at IT and your gun’s at Ballistics.”
Jack cracked his neck.
Glad I left the burner in the Impala.
“I don’t need a ride, and I don’t need the good cop/bad cop routine.”
“Jack, I’m not playing you or doing that. Listen, I think Walter can help. Really.”
Jack stopped and raised an eyebrow. “You do?”
JACKS ARE WILD Page 22