“Two things,” He was near the foot of the stairwell now. “First, people only call the cops when good people die. This place will be taken care of by the survivors among our generous hosts. They’ll be back as soon as they figure out I didn’t give them the right cop’s information.” He stopped at the bottom and leaned back, cracking his back.
“I thought you said you told them?” She didn’t like not knowing all the details.
“I thought so too, but it doesn’t make sense. These guys wanted a cop. Who would want a retired cop? They’re like a prostitute that became a nun. Both are cocksuckers, just one does it behind closed doors now.” He glanced back at her as she stood a few steps upward.
“I don’t get it?”
“No one asks a nun to fuck, they only ask prostitutes.” He gave her a disapproving wince and turned back around.
Kira felt her cheeks warm but refused to give him the satisfaction of any other hint of her embarrassment. He started walking towards the front door and she cleared the stairs.
It’s time. I don’t need him anymore. The Russian is dead. Four feet.
Kira gripped the kitchen knife in her clammy palm.
Three feet.
She waited for him to grab the doorknob of the front door and then made her move. She picked up her pace, silent.
Two feet.
She could smell his sweat mingling with the hint of iron. He turned the knob.
Kira lunged.
Then just as fast, the assassin spun around and caught her wrist. Impossibly fast. His fingers clamped down so hard that her own fingers lost their strength and the knife clattered to the floor. His other hand grasped her by the neck and suddenly she was swinging around and backwards. Her feet left the ground and a rush of wind blew over her, generating a feeling of free fall; until her back slammed into the wall. Kira felt the plaster give under the force of the blow. She lost her wind again and her lungs exploded into pain as they attempted to draw air from the nothingness left behind in the vacuum.
Tears pushed through her squinted eyes but she blinked repeatedly and forced herself to open them anyway. She saw a dozen Rafael’s bouncing off of the watery fragments and then they came together. He was barely an inch from her face and she could smell his breath washing over her in a wave of stale air. Though he pinned her to the wall, he didn’t squeeze down on her throat and slowly the air returned to her lungs.
“Who the fuck sent you?” Rontego let go of her and pulled the pistol to bear, leveling it at her forehead from inches away. His face was calm but the steel eyes flashed.
Kira laughed. “No one sent me, you stupid fuck.”
He slapped her across the face with the barrel of the pistol. The backhand connected on her jaw and the force flung her head to the side. He sent a new wave of agony coursing through her battered lips.
“I don’t have time for little girl games, Kira.”
He knows my name. He must know my role.
“How? How do you know my name? How did you know?” Kira thought she would be scared, but her hands were as steady as her voice.
“Who do you think placed you with Muro? You think you just happened to be taken in by a cold-hearted killer? When he died, you think you just happened to be taken in by another Sicilian? I fucking know you.” He kept the muzzle on her face.
“They took me in because of debts they owed my father. Go ahead and kill me, it’ll be a mercy.” Kira spit on the assassin’s face, the spittle catching him on the left cheek, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t move to wipe it away.
“You’re not very smart, are you?” He actually smiled and it made Kira want to punch him in his bloody grin. “If you wanted to kill me you would have been well advised to at least seem less capable.”
“What are you talking about?” Kira felt the heat in her cheeks again. She glanced at the knife lying on the floor.
Rafael Rontego laughed. “Let me see. First, that escape stunt downstairs. That was impressive. Perhaps by itself not a big deal. But then it got interesting. You didn’t flinch when I took out our friend on the couch. Oh, and then you yelled my name upstairs. I never fucking told you my name. Third, you stabbed a man in the base of his skull. A normal person just stabs him in the back. Again, you didn’t flinch when I ripped his throat apart.” He shook his head. “Worse, you suggested we get rid of the evidence. That is hardly victim behavior.”
She wanted to take the assassin down a notch, the anger in her belly threatening to devour her insides. “Well, I’m not stupid enough to drink opened and drugged Scotch. You think you’re so smart. You think you know me. You don’t know shit about me.”
She expected to see him angry, she expected to him to hit her again. But instead he stared at her again. Then he cocked the trigger.
“Fine. Then who are you? Quick, now, before you die. Don’t you want me to know the reason you died?”
The tears came back up to her eyes but it wasn’t fear that spurred them forward. It was hatred. Her voice trembled at first as the words came out, but they gained strength as she continued. “I’m a child with no childhood. I’m a student with no teacher. I’m a fatherless daughter. I’m the Whisper in the night. But in all things, Rafael Rontego, I’m your creation, the living testament to your life. And you can rot in hell.”
A strange look passed over Rafael’s face then. It wasn’t shock. It certainly didn’t register as remorse to Kira. It seemed as if he detached from himself. He rocked backward about half a foot and with the hand not holding the pistol to her face, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a battered pack of cigarettes, only they were different than most cigarettes Kira could recall having ever seen. They were in a thin black box with some sort of gold emblem gracing the front side of the packaging. The assassin flipped the box open and pulled out a cigarette. It too was black but had a gold wrapped butt. His eyes never left her as he popped the cigarette into his mouth. The length of it was so smashed up that it bent in two different directions, but the assassin lit it anyway with a metallic lighter that he flicked open with a casual wave of his wrist. He took two quick pulls on it, filling the room with the scent of burning tobacco. With the cancer stick still hanging awkwardly in his mouth he asked, “You know who got me smoking these?” Without waiting for her to reply he answered his own question. “Your father. He swore up and down that these would change my life.” He laughed a bit and though his eyes were settled on her they seemed to be looking past her or through her. Whichever it was she couldn’t decide. “I didn’t even smoke back then. But I wanted to be cool. Keep up with the younger guy sorta thing. I owed your father. Not Muro. Not Dick LoGalbo. Your father. They owed me and so they did as I said.” He puffed out a trail of smoke, letting his words sink in. “Until the war that is.”
Kira didn’t know whether or not to believe him, but she decided she didn’t really care. It changed very little if anything at all. “When you killed Muro?” She asked it as flat as she could, but the tremble in her throat and the ice picks in her eyes gave her away.
Rafael Rontego tilted his head. “Allegedly.”
Even now he won’t admit it.
Kira turned her head and spit on the floor. “Fuck you.”
The assassin twisted his head to the other side and rolled it, causing it to crack. “The only reason your brains aren’t painting that wall behind you is because of the debt I owe your father. Ivan is one of two people I ever considered a friend on this earth. It’s because of him you’re not dead.”
She snorted. “That’s funny. It’s because of him I’m not gonna rest until your guts litter the floor at my fucking feet.”
Rafael’s mouth tightened and he moved in closer, the smoke stinging Kira’s eyes. Through the haze of the Sobranie, the cold muzzle of the pistol found her temple. Her knees felt weak. Her stomach rumbled to remind her she hadn’t eaten in too long.
“In that case…” Rafael Rontego muttered through teeth that clenched the Sobranie butt into a moist patch of gold covered
cotton.
Kira closed her eyes. She refused to let the last sight her green eyes ever saw be the bloodied and broken assassin.
She didn’t have to wait long. She heard a crack, felt a flash of pain, and knew nothing more.
Chapter 13
Sydney watched as the red and white flashing lights of the ambulance took Alex and Charlotte Vaughn to Buffalo General. She felt like the weight of the vehicle decided to park on her shoulders. The tension in her neck nipped at her and she felt it pull on the tendons of her back like a marionette master. She rubbed her neck as Briggs walked up and placed a large calloused hand on her shoulder and kneaded it.
“Long day.” He had calmed a bit since they first arrived on the scene. Finding a lead seemed to have given him some measure of control over the situation. Sydney nodded, feeling his hand work its magic on her stiff neck. His hands were familiar to her and she needed that familiarity at the moment. “Who was that? He seemed pretty broken up. Is his lady friend going to make it?”
Sydney pulled away from Briggs’ hand and took a step away. “That was Alex Vaughn and the lady is his wife, Charlotte. And we don’t know.” She curled her nose, the smell of acrid smoke hung in the night air.
“The cop? Jesus, that guy can’t catch a break.”
Sydney barely heard Briggs. Her mind was on Alex’s face. The guy hadn’t even cried. The pain wrinkled out of his forehead and out of the corners of his eyes, but then it all seemed to disappear behind some self constructed barrier. He had even wanted information as to who was responsible.
As if reading her thoughts, Briggs grabbed her shoulder gently. “Syd, you didn’t give him any information about this did you? The guy has a bad vigilante habit.”
“I’m not a fucking idiot, Briggs. Of course not.” Sydney glanced at her cell phone. She had a dozen calls missed but none were from the Director and that was all she cared about.
“Whoa, I never said you were.” Briggs folded his arms and gave her that disapproving tightening of the lips that always seemed to annoy her more than it should. “Anyway,” Briggs did that too, he always changed the subject, “While you were talking to Vaughn I went ahead and called in to Dr. Tolbert and had her search the area of the video for anything. She found a bag and a cell phone. It matches the bag from the video on the girl taken by our spider-tattooed assholes.”
Sydney ran her hands through her dark hair; it felt oily even though she took a shower hours earlier. She glanced at Briggs, his big dark eyes dancing over her face. She could tell he was concerned. He didn’t deserve the snap she just regurgitated his way. “Good work Briggs. What would I do without you?”
Briggs finally let a small smile crack his face. The first since they were called to the Galleria. “Probably be director, I suppose.”
Sydney smiled back and began to walk towards the vans serving as the field headquarters. Briggs fell in at her side. “I want you to have Agent Conrad pull the phone records for that girl’s cell. I want text messages, pictures, emails accessed, incoming, outgoing, the whole thing Briggs. If she called a distant relative in Alaska I want to know about it.”
Briggs nodded.
Dr. Tolbert walked over to them, causing the duo to stop. She held the girl’s bag in her hands, which were covered with gloves. “Take a look in here.”
“You took that off the scene?” Briggs frowned.
“We photographed and marked it. Relax.” Dr. Tolbert turned to Sydney. “Take a look.” She opened the bag and Briggs and Sydney poured over the contents.
“What the fuck?” Briggs eyebrow furrowed. “Is that a gun?”
It was Dr. Tolbert’s turn to frown. “Of course it’s a gun. It is a Baby Browning Featherweight .25 caliber pistol. Perfect for concealing, perfect for small hands. Also, note the small chess piece, the pawn.”
“So she played a game of chess and took a piece home. I don’t get it.” Briggs flexed his arm in a pseudo stretch. He always did that when he was mentally stumped. Sydney used to stump him just to see him flex.
Dr. Tolbert sighed and it seemed to Sydney that a small piece of her died right there. “Do you even read the briefings? I don’t even know why I contribute to them. It wasn’t that long ago, during the Ciancetta civil war, I wrote about the body of Muro Lucano and the evidence on scene. We found a pawn. A solitary pawn.”
Sydney flashed back to the report and mentally flipped through the pages. It was two sentences on a five hundred-page briefing. “But it said the pawn couldn’t be linked to anything?”
“Seems like a stretch to me, Lauren,” Briggs said.
“Dr. Tolbert.” Dr. Tolbert said. “And it’s only a stretch if you fail to see the whole picture, Briggs.” Dr. Tolbert took out a pad and pencil. “Look,” she started drawing on the pad, “you have Muro Lucano killed by, we presume, Rafael Rontego. We find a pawn.” She drew a miniature timeline. “Then you have Russians show up at Salvatore’s Hotel and take our person of interest. Then those same Russians blow a crater in the Galleria mall, meanwhile kidnapping an unknown girl who happens to be carrying a pistol and a pawn in otherwise unremarkable bag.”
Briggs blinked at her.
“If that is all coincidence, I’ll fucking retire Briggs.” Dr. Tolbert crossed her arms and looked at him for an extra moment and then looked at Sydney.
Sydney had heard enough. “Good job, Doctor. I’ll keep that theory in my pocket, but it doesn’t solve our current dilemma. Try and track down that pistol, where it was purchased and who did the purchasing.”
Todd Simmons appeared out of the bustle and looked in their direction and waved her over. She immediately felt her heart rate jack up. “Briggs, get on that phone lead. Tell Agent Conrad I need that information like yesterday.”
Ambulances wailed in the distance and one pulled into the lot. They were rolling in shifts, trying to bring the stabilized wounded to better facilities. Briggs and Tolbert split up on their individual missions and Sydney was out of excuses to delay checking in with Todd. She walked over to him as he dispatched some of his men as well.
“Agent Price.” He sounded much more formal than earlier. “What leads do your men have, anything since the video?”
“We’re working on a few. Not sure what will present itself as we go along.” Sydney didn’t feel like divulging every lead to him right now. She wanted to make sure they were solid first.
“Okay, let me know the second you find anything.” He looked at her and turned like he was going to leave and then turned back around. “I need you with me on this Sydney. None of your half-baked bullshit or vendettas for what was past.”
Sydney flinched and narrowed her eyes. “I never work half-assed Todd. Never.”
“I’m saying now is not the time. I have the President on Air Force One. He’s coming to make a statement. The microscope up my ass on this one is going to be so big they’re going to see the back of my teeth.” He sighed and looked down. He couldn’t even make eye contact with her. “I know that this person of interest, Rafael Rontego, escaped your grasp moments before you moved in. I’m not aware of the circumstance but I do know that we can’t afford those kinds of mistakes here. Not today.”
“Mistakes?” Sydney nearly choked. “Mistakes? You clearly don’t know shit, Todd. We had a small window of hope to grab that piece of shit. I had to wake up a judge in the middle of the night to get a warrant.” Her eyes narrowed and Todd took a step back. “I missed my father’s death to get that fucking warrant. You can go to hell, Todd.” She spun around and refused to look back.
“I’m sorry, Syd!” Todd yelled after her. She raised her middle finger as she walked away and willed her tears back. She took a steadying breath. She needed to get away from the scene and collect herself, but there was really nowhere to go. She couldn’t leave her men while she skulked. Instead she found the back of a van and sat down.
Todd can be a self-centered asshole.
She pushed thoughts of her father as far away as she could. It didn’t seem very
distant though and she couldn’t really shake the depressing memories trying to find their way into the front of her mind.
What do we know?
We know that tattooed Russians blew a crater in the mall; the same Russians that took Rafael Rontego, a mafia hitman. But why? Why blow up a mall and why kidnap a killer, a connected and wanted killer at that? And then the little girl, what was her role in all of this? Sydney couldn’t fit the pieces together.
No way in hell this is all a coincidence.
At least they had some leads to go on. She mulled it over for another moment before there was a loud series of noises to her right and several flashing bulbs split the night sky. Sydney stood up and looked just in time to see nearly two-dozen reporters and their cameramen walk past her like a stampeding herd of cattle. They swooped down on the scene like a flock of carrion and Sydney felt repulsed by the necessary evil of the media. If it were all about information, she would have understood. But a part of her was confident that the bad news made the headlines because it simply sold more. It was the idea of making money off of the dead, off of personal tragedies of hundreds if not thousands of broken people, which rolled her stomach.
“Fucking vultures.” A man pulled up next to Sydney. He watched the hurrying crowd through a pair of thick glasses with brown plastic rims. He looked like a throwback from several decades before. He pursed his lips together and crossed his arms as he watched them. The lights from the emergency vehicles bounced off his tanned and shaved scalp. She nearly laughed at his checkered green Argyle sweater and tan corduroy pants.
“I was thinking the same thing.” Sydney turned to face him, but he lingered, watching the stampede.
Something about the man made Sydney think she knew him from someplace, but she realized it wasn’t the case when he stuck out a calloused hand and said, “I’m Randal Boone.” As he did so, a press badge swung carelessly around his neck on a plastic cord. The squinty smile nearly made Sydney laugh again.
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