His eyes danced with the memory and she knew he was there now. She watched his knuckles whiten on the grip of the pistol. Slowly, the rest of the hamburger lowered back down as he struggled with the recollection in a place beyond the site of Kira’s eyes.
“The cock-sucker was dying but the powder in his blood and the needle Ivan stuck him with made him think he was in heaven.” He focused on her again. “Have you ever tried to get revenge on someone that liked it? It sort of ruins the concept. Your father went nuts. He started bashing his brains in with the back of his pistol but he had already bled out. I know how to cut a man fast. In and out. Silent if I can. That was the plan but he started yelling right there in the man’s kitchen and bashing his brains in like a monkey with a coconut.” He took a bite of the hamburger, his eyes vacant. “We both heard the shuffle from around the corner and your father put two holes in him before we even knew he was under three feet tall. Sometimes I wonder if he saw his father all mangled and ripped apart before he took his ticket out of there.” He came back to her then, but Kira looked away.
“You fucking liar.” Her stomach rolled over and fought against the meat that filled it.
He ignored her and went on. “The kid laying there brought him back to his senses and he fell to the floor, just sitting in his father’s blood. I never even looked at him. The kid I mean. I just saw the white-footed pajama bottoms sticking out from around the corner but I didn’t need to see him to know. Neither did your father. I told him to get up. Begged him to leave. Stayed till the sirens were so close they rang in my ears but your father, my friend, told me to go. And I did. And your father kept his mouth shut. And I set you up with a caregiver as best I could.”
Kira felt tears well up in her eyes and she silently chided herself for being so weak. “Muro took care of me.”
“Muro took you in because I asked and because it couldn’t be me.” Rafael reached the burger out towards her but she refused to take another bite.
She looked him in the eye, “You killed Muro.”
He didn’t blink. “Things change.”
The assassin broke the staring contest first. He turned around and struck the wires and started the car. Neither of them spoke as the vehicle exited the lot and he turned onto Interstate 290 northbound. She didn’t want to believe him. Perhaps if she had spoken to her father after he went to prison, after her mother died, she might know more about the arrangements that were made. Muro did say a friend asked him to watch over her, she always assumed it was her father. What little she knew of the night her father was arrested she gleaned from old newspaper articles or stories from people in the neighborhood. Everyone knew there was someone else there that night. The cops couldn’t attach a name because no one knew it was Rafael Rontego, or if they did, they weren’t the type to tell cops anything. But Muro had known. Uncle Dick had known. And so she had been able to slowly piece bits of the puzzle together. At least she thought she had. It felt so natural to lay the death of the child at the assassin’s feet. He was a known commodity, a killer with a reputation she could quantify with any number of stories about the Angel of Death.
She looked at his neck, the curve of it that arched downward towards his shoulders. She wished for a knife. Even now she would stick a dagger there if only to silence the truth from him. He still killed Muro. He still looked on as her father torched his own life. It didn’t change a thing.
Or does it?
She watched several cars pass by them in the opposite direction. They passed Buffalo Niagara International Airport, blue and white lights dotting the runway on her left in an otherwise empty space of blackness. Muro would have killed him. It was war. Her father had asked him to come. He went as a friend.
And I’m still alive.
The realization just made her collar heat up. She tried to stretch the left side of her face with a half yawn. It was itchy from the newly forming scabs. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the rearview mirror. Mustard clung to the corner of her mouth and she looked like shit with hair everywhere and makeup wiped off through equal parts of sweat, tears, and blood. She looked again at the side of her silent driver’s face. She longed again for the knife but realized she had nothing left to cut him with.
Except my words.
“Do you destroy the lives of everyone you meet? Or is it just your friends?” She spit the words at him, hoping to see him flinch. She needed to see some indication that it stuck, some indication that it stung, that he could feel.
She was disappointed. He didn’t move his face or glance back at her. He just drove and focused on the road. His grey eyes stabbed into the darkness, searching, always searching.
Kira looked out the window again. “What did you do? When you left me alone in the car?”
“I got you a burger.” He reached towards the stereo dial.
“Not that time. The first time. I heard a gunshot.”
His fingers clutched the dial but he didn’t turn it over. His fingers still sported a layer of dried blood. “I gave them a cop’s address. A cop I wanted to kill a dozen times. He’s not involved in this, but they wanted an address. I found one still outside, waiting.”
“So you went to save a cop?” Kira would have scoffed if she hadn’t nearly choked. “What the hell for?”
“I don’t know. But it worked out. I know where that prick the Black Widow is heading.” She saw him glance over at the pistol on the seat next to him.
“So we’re going there now? Where is he?” Her adrenaline was already kicking through her veins at the thought of seeing that guy again.
“I don’t know where he is now but I know where he’s heading. That’s where we’ll be waiting.” She looked at his knuckles and it struck her as odd that they weren’t white on the wheel.
Why the fuck would he save a cop? Especially one that he said he wanted to kill himself?
She pulled against her bindings again even though she knew it wouldn’t work. Something about this bothered her and she couldn’t put her finger on it. Was he going to use her as bait? Was that it? Is that why he was keeping her alive? Maybe he thought he could use her as a bargaining chip with the Russian or Uncle Dick.
Uncle Dick sold me out. Why would he want to make a trade for me?
And the Russians just wanted her dead. Maybe by tying her to a post like a lamb to slaughter he could wait for the Black Widow to show up and then strike. Her stomach rolled over. She thought of her Baby Browning and wished she had it now. The knife wouldn’t be enough.
She stared at the back of his head. She willed him to turn around or to look in the rearview. She wanted him to see the hatred in her eyes. Her eyeballs burned with the heat of it. Her father. Muro. The baby boy. Untold others.
“So I guess it’s just your friends.”
He finally looked at her through the glass. “What?”
“The lives you destroy.” He looked back at the road. She wanted to kick the back of his chair and make him yank on the wheel. She didn’t care if it threw the car into a fishtailing three-sixty.
Show me some emotion goddamnit!
She closed her eyes. Her heart was leaping left and right in her chest. Kira forced herself to focus on breathing and to calm down.
Then he spoke.
“You’re wrong.”
Kira looked up and caught his grey eyes for an instant in the reflection.
“It’s everyone.”
Chapter 17
Sydney switched the phone to her Bluetooth earpiece the second he said, “Agent Price, this is Randall Smith.” She clicked the phone over as he continued. “I have some details about the Hanssen protocol. I’m sorry we are moving so slow at this point but I can only put a limited resource on this at the moment. Most of our assets are on the bombing.”
She nearly coughed. “Did you say ‘a limited resource’ Director?”
“Yes. I have my deputy on this personally. I wish I could spare more but we have what we have.” She could hear him shuffling papers on the ot
her end of the line and she wondered if he did that just to sound busy or if he really was reading and talking at the same time. “Listen Syd, I’m calling for a reason. Try and not show any emotion and listen to what I have to say. We have one hit on an outgoing call from your field office prior to your move to apprehend Rafael Rontego.”
The phone went silent for a moment.
“Sydney, the call came from Scott Briggs’ work station. The sound quality on the conversation isn’t good. There was definitely a hasty attempt at a frequency scramble but we did make out Rafael’s name in a search for key phrases.”
She kept her face stoic but her knuckles involuntarily clenched down on the steering wheel as they sped through a yellow light. Briggs flashed her a grin of approval but his eyes darted to her whitening knuckles. She forced herself to loosen her grip and gave Briggs a weak smile, hoping to disarm his worry.
“Very good sir. I appreciate the heads up.” She wanted to ask a thousand other questions but that wasn’t a luxury available to her at the moment.
“Be careful, Agent Price.”
“I will, Director.” She turned on to small side street, hoping to have a discrete view of Dick Logalbo’s home before they made any move.
“I say that for two reasons. One, don’t get yourself killed. Two, don’t fuck up this investigation and make me regret elevating you. I have Agent Simmons preparing a welcome committee for the President. This isn’t a party Ms. Price. It’s a headhunt and I will survive this even if I have to make twenty other agents’ heads roll. Understood?” Again the silence followed by a paper shuffle.
“Understood.”
“Excellent.” Click. Dead air.
Whatever happened to long goodbyes?
They pulled over and for the first time Sydney noticed the flashing red and white lights that were becoming all too familiar on the evening. A second after that she saw the smoke.
“Shit. Now I remember.” Briggs looked at her with that sheepish grin that spoke of trouble. “I heard something about this over the emergency channels. A second explosion. That’s why the address sounded familiar.”
Agent Conrad began to hammer the keys to his laptop. Sydney looked at Briggs and couldn’t help it as the line of thoughts shooting through her mind manifested themselves as a tight frown.
“I’m sorry.” Briggs scratched his neck irritated at his lapse.
Or is that what he wants me to think? Just another small delay while we search for these assholes.
Lots of small delays are often the difference between catching your man or having him slip through your fingers. Briggs knew that. He could have been one the one to alert the Russians of the plan to apprehend Rontego.
“It was a homemade bomb.” Agent Conrad announced. “Nothing like what we saw at the mall. But apparently, someone wanted to take Dick LoGalbo out. I’m thinking someone is cutting loose ends.”
“Any bodies?” Agent Briggs asked.
“No.” Conrad glanced up before looking back at his screen.
Was that relief on Briggs’ face? It was. But relief over what?
Agent Conrad was working his keyboard like a musical conductor. Fingertips flew left and right in harmonious rhythm with the tapping of keys. “Not much really to go on. All agencies are reporting real time into the central database. The only write up is that several hours before some kids heard two men speaking a funny language when they came out of the house with the owner.”
“Russian?” Sydney hoped for some verification.
“The indications based on the descriptions and the word “Bella” point towards Italians. But with Dick LoGalbo living there…” He stopped pecking the keyboard long enough to make eye contact.
“…it’s not exactly suspicious,” Sydney finished for him. She looked out the window and behind their van and could see her other agents growing anxious. Agent Timms got out of the car and pulled his FBI jacket around his arms. Sydney leaned back out the window as he came up.
“Just got a call from our contacts on the ground with the Buffalo PD. “He arched his back and sighed. “We have two dead Russian Orthodox priests downtown. Seems they wanted some sort of verification that this might be related before handing it over to FBI jurisdiction.” The bags under Agent Timms’ eyes were so dark she thought she might be able to see her reflection in them.
“What? Did they drink some bad Kool-Aid?” Briggs gave a little snort. “Seems the more dead Russians the better at the moment.”
“Hey, my mother’s family is Russian. Dick.” Timms scowled before turning back to Sydney. “And not unless AK-47 shells are being served to the youth of America. These two were executed. No witnesses. No prints.”
The other agents walked up, forming a semi circle in the alley and Sydney stood up outside of her car door and leaned on it once she slammed it shut.
“Fuck.” A blown out house. Two dead priests. A mall in ruins.
What does it all mean?
“Sydney. When it rains it pours,” Agent Conrad called out from the back seat. “I was running a search on the priests and came across another dead Russian. This time outside of a house in suburbia.” His eyes wiggled back and forth and Sydney knew there was more. “Also, the house he was dead outside of? It’s owned by that cop, Alex Vaughn.”
She tried to hold the shock from registering on her face but she doubted that anyone would notice. Even Conrad’s eyes registered astoundment and he knew before the rest of them.
Briggs recovered first. “He just keeps popping up on the radar, doesn’t he?”
“A vendetta?” Timms asked with the arch of an eyebrow. “First his wife and now his house?”
“It’s a possibility,” Sydney conceded. “Agent Conrad, have a squad car pick him up. He could be at the hospital still.”
“I doubt it. He’s the one who called it in. Says he had to drop his daughter off with his mother-in-law before returning to the hospital.” Conrad leaned in to the screen. “According to his transcript to 9-1-1, he heard a gunshot and hit the deck. By the time he got his gun from inside and walked the premises, there was no one around except the body.” He leaned back and around the window. His voice carried through it anyway. “Want me to still have a squad car bring him here?”
“Not here.” Sydney pulled out a pen and wrote an address on the paper. “Have the car meet us here.” She wanted to keep it secret as long as possible. Which men she could trust she didn’t know. She had a pretty good idea she could rule out Agents Conrad and Moreland since they were both immersed in the tech side of all operations. They would have known recording devices constantly monitored the phone lines and they would have known exactly how to scramble the frequency. Though that would have set off red flags as well. They would never use an office line. “Everyone, load up. Follow us.” She banged on the hood to emphasize the point and pulled the SUV door open. The agents walked back to their own SUV, though Dr. Tolbert lingered an extra second before following suit.
“Conrad, pull up any visuals we have on that property.” She started the engine and was very cognizant of Briggs’ wrinkled eyebrows and narrowed eyes on the side of her face.
“Yes ma’am.” He swiveled in his chair and the screen bolted to the interior of the van flashed blue.
“On your laptop, agent.” They raced along the highway, twin black vehicles darting through traffic on their way uptown.
“Er. Yes ma’am.” The screen went black.
Briggs leaned over the center counsel while still managing to look straight ahead. He was so close she could still smell a hint of cologne on him despite several hours in the field. She closed her eyes.
Damn him for smelling so good.
“We’ve got secrets now?” he murmured.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye before returning to the metallic dance in front of her across a floor of tar and rock. The tires hummed and her blinker clicked a few times as she went around a blue-haired old woman who mistook the hour for Sunday afternoon.
> Briggs returned to the center of his seat, but he stole a look or two on the side of her face, each one throwing a wave of extra heat.
“Of course not. We’re going to Don Ciancetta’s house.” She fixed her gaze on him. She studied his breath in that exact moment. The flex of his jawline. She wanted to see an extra swallow on his Adam’s apple. Nothing.
That wasn’t unexpected though. They both knew the tricks of the trade. Briggs perhaps best of all. Still, he seemed barely fazed. He screwed up his lips and nodded. “I think that’s a good call. Knowing what we know, he might be involved. But what about our men on the ground?”
Briggs and his fucking men on the ground.
“If they come up with something, great. But time isn’t a luxury we have right now.” He nodded again and looked out the window.
Her father always said, “You know a man by his eyes. A fella only says something because it’s what he wants you to hear.” She dated a cop once, when she was in the academy in Quantico and he told her at the time, “I don’t want you doing it Sydney. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
She remembered telling her father about it later that week when he called her to see how she was holding up in Virginia. “Half truthful which is really a lie, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean Daddy?” She knew what he meant about half truths being lies. He told her that every second of her life growing up. What she didn’t get was the lie.
“Yes, I do believe he doesn’t want you doing it. But the part he wants you to hear is that his concern is about you. He is either concerned about losing you which is really concern about him or he isn’t concerned about you at all and doesn’t want you doing it because he washed out all those years ago and became a cop instead.” The line went silent before he continued. “Make it real simple next time you see him. Ask him who he’s concerned about and see what his eyes tell you behind the words.”
She glanced back at Briggs who was looking at her too. His eyes echoed the concerned look she had seen from him half a dozen times when they dated and she told him about days that seemed to kick her into the mud.
Buffalo Soldiers (An Upstate New York Mafia Tale Book 2) Page 19