Red, White & Dead

by Laura Caldwell

  “Maurizio Traviata,” Dez said to make sure he had it right.

  McNeil nodded. “There. You got what you wanted.” He looked up at Dez, directly in his eyes. “Now keep up your end of the bargain.”

  “By letting you go? Along with the family you ran away from?”

  McNeil said nothing.

  “Are you sure it’s Maurizio?” Dez said.

  A pause, then, “No.”

  Dez studied him. Believed him. McNeil didn’t know for sure. Fuck, that was disappointing. The whole story about Maurizio Traviata was good, sure, but it wasn’t solid. He couldn’t use it to his advantage if he didn’t know for sure. He felt disappointment flood his body. And yet, he reminded himself, this was still a coup. And now, Dez would walk out and get Ransom; they would go into the basement and activate the gas leak, and they would leave. The duke and whoever was at the top-unless it was the recently deceased Maurizio Traviata-would sit up and take note of Dez’s feat. He would kill McNeil, the traitor of all traitors, symbolically taking out his family at the same time and making an example of the Mexicans, who hadn’t been living up to what they’d promised him.

  “It’s too bad you didn’t have the right answer.” Dez closed the blade, put it in his pocket and looked down at Christopher McNeil. Sad how the guy had slipped. He would die here, alone in this room, which was what he deserved.

  71

  I explained quickly to my mom and Charlie what had happened, my eyes veering to the door every few seconds. Where was my dad? Where were Dez and Ransom? What in the hell was happening?

  My mom and Charlie both looked shell-shocked, not surprisingly, and so when I came to the end of my tale, I ran through it again, as much for them as for me. My skin and my body were jumpy. I told them how I’d been doing some moonlighting for a private detective after Sam disappeared, that I still worked with him occasionally and he’d asked me to chat up Dez Romano at Gibsons in order to get some dirt on someone he wanted to put back in jail. Dad saw me with him, and when the situation spun out of control, he stepped in and saved me.

  I told them about Italy and Elena and Maurizio. I just kept talking until it looked as if the information was settling in. My mom was leaning with one side of her body against a wall, her arms crossed. Her face was composed now.

  “It’s so bizarre we’re having this conversation,” I said. I looked around the room-so plain, so simple compared to what was going on inside.

  “It’s bizarre and cool,” Charlie said, leaning against a wall.

  My mother sent him a look I recognized, one she gave Charlie a lot, which said, I love my son, profoundly, but where did he come from?

  My mother stepped forward and knelt to look at Charlie’s face, turning it this way and that and examining him. It was really just a split lip and some general swelling on the right side more than anything. Some blood dropped from Charlie’s lip onto my mother’s white shirt, but she didn’t seem to notice or care.

  “Nothing seems broken,” she said.

  “What’s he like?” Charlie asked, looking over her shoulder at me.

  I thought about that. “He seems like someone who’s been through a lot. Too much, probably. Seems like a lot of his life has been bled out of him, so he’s hard to really get a read on. But he still knows how to laugh.”

  At that, my mother nodded slowly, as if she understood what I meant.

  Just then the door banged open, and we jumped.

  Ransom. He grinned like, How do you like that entrance? He waved a gun at my mother and Charlie. “Over there,” he gargled through his thick lips. After they’d complied, he looked at me, smiled sickeningly and walked toward me.

  72

  Christopher stared up at Dez Romano, blinking rapidly under his glasses. He’d intentionally let his head fall toward his shoulder, letting the glasses slide farther down his face. He made himself shrink even more, into an almost fetal position. Romano was buying the cowering routine and liked it, Christopher could tell, which was good. The guy would have his defenses down. But Christopher needed to bring them down further.

  Dez Romano took a few steps toward him, looking down over his nose with arrogant sympathy, as if he were coming upon a beggar on the street. “It’s too bad you didn’t have the right answer. I really wanted this to work out for all of us.” He shook his head back and forth in a grand show of discontent.

  Dez didn’t deliver any cliché parting words, even though Christopher could tell he was thinking about it. He simply gave an audible exhale, then started to turn toward the door.

  “I know about UND, LLC.”

  Romano froze and cocked his head toward him.

  “Paul Crane is the lawyer who set it up and is your registered agent.”

  Romano turned now.

  “And I know Belle Joseph is the principal officer,” Christopher said. “I know everything.”

  Romano sniffed deeply. “What else do you think you know?”

  Which meant there was something else to know. Which meant Dez Romano must be running some of his money through UND, LLC, just as they’d thought. Good work, Izzy.

  “Why should I tell you?” he scoffed at Romano. “You’re going to leave me here anyway, right? You’re going to kill my daughter, my son, my wife. And then come back and kill me.” He acted as if saying those words didn’t cause succinct blows of pain to his stomach.

  “Yeah, that’s right. That’s exactly what’s going to happen. And if you don’t tell me what else you know, I’ll bring your family in here and make you watch it. I’ll bring your daughter in here, and-”

  Christopher forced himself to interrupt Romano. He couldn’t bear to hear what the man was about to say. “Do it,” he said loudly. “If anything happens to me today, my associates will take that information and have it to the Feds within hours. DeSanto won’t take the fall this time.”

  Dez Romano did nothing, but Christopher could tell he’d hit a chord. Dez had thought no one knew about UND, LLC. He believed that he and Michael had covered their tracks.

  “I know how you’re working it with DeSanto,” Christopher said. “You’re going to act all sympathetic, right? Tell DeSanto to do his time and you’ll have a place for him when he gets out, yeah? And then you’ll fuck him. He gets out and he’s persona non grata. He’ll have a record, which will make it tough to get a job, and so he’ll be forced to take whatever dregs you leave him. He’ll-”

  “Shut up!” It was Romano who interrupted him now, taking a step forward as he did.

  Which was exactly what Christopher was waiting for.

  In one second, Christopher filled himself up with the power of his breath and let his body unfurl out of the cower. His leg shot out. His right foot hooked Romano’s, and not expecting it, he went down fast. Christopher summoned up every bit of strength in his body, and with a roar, he heaved himself toward Romano, pulling the desk with him. He managed to get to a crouch and and then launched himself right toward Romano, falling atop him. As he’d anticipated, Romano reacted quickly, using his strength to throw Christopher off him, tearing Christopher’s shirt in the process. And Christopher used the extra momentum to lift the desk off the ground, just for a second, to slip the cuff out from under the leg.

  His hands free now, he wrapped one around Romano’s neck and yanked his head to the side. He raised the hand still cuffed and brought it down with a blasting punch against Romano’s temple. Romano crumpled, temporarily knocked out. Christopher knelt over him, felt under him until he found the gun and the blade and shoved them away. He wanted to blow Romano’s skull to pieces, knew that legally, he was in the right to do so-self-defense. But he didn’t want to explain himself, or his Italian passport, to the Chicago police or anyone else. And he thought then of what Izzy had said about not hurting people even if they’d hurt you. Just as he’d told her, he didn’t agree. Not at all. But he wanted his daughter to respect him. If that was possible.

  He rolled Romano onto his back. In his dark suit and dotted tie, Dez
looked like a well-dressed corpse waiting for his casket. Christopher wished that were so.

  He crouched at his head. He didn’t have much time until Romano came to. Five minutes, maybe. But that was all he needed.

  Counting off the seconds, he manipulated Romano’s head, neck and body in a series of maneuvers, holding certain positions. He cocked Romano’s head forward at the neck, tugging back at the base of the skull; he pushed Romano into a seated position then cocked the head slightly left; he twisted Romano’s head one way, then another, moved his torso to the left, then slightly right, counting out the seconds.

  When he was done, he laid Romano’s head back. When he regained consciousness, he would sit, and the room would tilt and spin. With the swirling of his surroundings he would have a very hard time getting to his feet or executing even simple bodily tasks, all due to BPPV-Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo. BPPV was usually brought on by natural calcium debris in the inner ear that sent false signals to the brain, severely affecting balance, but it could be induced manually, as well. Christopher had utilized it before, often using weak electrical currents to excite neurons in the brain, but if he had to he could also do it positionally, the old-fashioned way.

  He raised his hands off Romano and took a step back. Romano was still out. Perfect. When he came to, the BPPV wouldn’t last forever, but it would buy them a fair amount of time.

  Christopher spun and opened the door. He shut it behind him, then took off in a sprint down the hallway, barely noticing the handcuffs on one hand banging into his thigh.

  73

  Ransom leered, one side of his mouth curling up, then he licked his lips, making a loud smacking sound.

  Even though he was across the room, I instinctively took a step back. He laughed a gurgling laugh and moved slowly toward me.

  “Get away from her,” Charlie said. “Or I will fucking kill you.”

  He sounded fairly tough, and I appreciated the effort. But Charlie didn’t know how to fight. Oh, God, what should I do?

  Ransom took another step, a low growl emanating from his throat.

  I glanced at my mom. She wore an expression of terror. That expression, coupled with the trauma I knew she’d suffered over the last twenty-four hours, made me violently angry. In that instant, I thought of what she’d been through-hearing that her son was abducted, getting lured and being abducted herself, finding out that her first husband and the father of her kids had been alive all this time.

  Thinking of all that, seeing her, made me put my hand on my hip and look at Ransom with a resigned expression. “Let’s do this somewhere else.”

  That stopped Ransom in his tracks. He frowned a little with confusion.

  “Let’s go in another room.” I made my voice sound like someone defeated.

  Ransom’s face brightened, but the dude wasn’t stupid. He shook his head and kept moving toward me.

  “I’m not kidding,” I said, my face growing more stern. “You want at me, I’ll let you, but only if we go in another room. So let’s go.” I took a step toward him. “Let’s just go.”

  His eyes dodged to Charlie and then my mom to see if he could read their expressions, and I took that moment to do something, thinking, Please don’t let this be the most stupid thing I’ve ever done. Instead of walking slowly toward Ransom, I shot forward and dove at him. He must have been caught off guard, because he stumbled and fell backward, the two of us crumpling to the ground.

  But then he was on top of me, easily pinning my arms. I could smell him-a stale, sweet sort of smell, as if something had rotted deep inside him. I struggled against him, but it was impossible. He raised his fist, and I knew he was going to hit me. Hard. I glued my eyes shut, but before I felt the punch I heard a crack of a gunshot.

  Ransom jumped off me and spun around. He hadn’t been hit.

  But my mother-my mother!-was holding his gun. And then Charlie, maybe motivated by his female family members, charged at Ransom, and the two of them dropped to the ground.

  The door banged open and my father rushed inside. His gray hair pushed every which way, his shirt was un-tucked and ripped, his eyes wild.

  He paused for a minute, as if struck dumb by the sight of his son and Ransom tussling on the floor. Ransom was on his knees first, and he drew his fist back, ready to pound my brother, but before I knew it, my dad was at Ransom’s side, throwing him off. Ransom managed to jump to his feet. He spun around, launching his arm in a swift arc toward my father, who dodged the punch so that it landed on his shoulder.

  I grabbed Charlie’s arm and pulled him away as my dad stepped back toward Ransom, hitting the big guy with the base of his hand, ramming that hand up into Ransom’s nose. Ransom reacted momentarily with one hand to his face, and my father took the moment to hit him in the eye with a left, then into his ribs with a right. Something snapped. It sounded like a tree splitting. Ransom grabbed at his ribs. My father jacked him in the side of the head and Ransom went limp, crumpling to the floor, his head lolling.

  My father leaned over him, panting like an animal and snarling for more.

  “Christopher,” my mother said, her voice sharp.

  He turned and saw my mother standing there with a gun. And with that the fight drained out of him, as if another presence had inhabited him for a moment and was now quickly leaving.

  He looked down at Ransom. “Charlie,” he said. “Hold him down.”

  Charlie tentatively walked toward my father and Ransom’s bulky, unmoving form.

  “It’s okay,” my dad said in a voice you might use when coaxing a child to pet a horse. “Here you go.” He took Charlie’s hands and guided him into a kneel. “Put your forearm here.” He positioned Charlie’s forearm over Ransom’s throat. “Now kneel on his chest in case he starts to move.”

  Charlie followed his instructions.

  “Good, good.” My father slowly reached into Ransom’s front jeans pocket and withdrew a pair of tiny keys, using them to unlock the cuff on his one hand. “Okay,” he said, letting the cuff fall to the floor, as if he’d barely noticed.

  “ Victoria,” he said, standing. “Do you want me to take that?” He pointed toward the gun.

  She looked down at it, unsure. Then she looked at me as if to say, Can we trust him? It was so sad, that look.

  I nodded. “It’s okay, Mom. But here, let me take it.”

  She glanced again at the gun in her hands and held it out to me, but before I could reach it, I heard the sound of the door opening behind me and a voice saying my name.

  Ee-sabel, it sounded like.

  I turned. Had I heard that right?

  “Elena?” my mom said.

  74

  She looked so different than she had on the plane. My aunt Elena now wore dark blue jeans, a black T-shirt and a fitted black jacket, her dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She held herself differently, too-like a snake coiled but ready. The only familiar thing was those sunglasses with the silver braided arms, pushed onto the top of her head.

  Elena held a small gun that was silver on the top, black on the bottom. That gun looked as if it belonged in her hands, as if she had carried it all her life.

  She pointed the gun at Ransom. “Is he out?”

  “Elena, what are you…?”

  “Is he out?” she demanded.

  “For now,” my father said, “but what…?” He peered at her.

  “Christopher,” Elena said simply. “Nothing else.”

  My father inhaled sharply. “My God, you’re the top,” my dad said, looking at Elena. “You are the top of the System, not Maurizio.”

  “Really?” I said, and I couldn’t help the surprise in my voice.

  My aunt glanced at me with no expression, then looked back at my father.

  His mouth opened, as if he were about to say something, but he paused and I could see him working through something in his head. “You’re the reason why we could never take down the Camorra.”

  My aunt gave him a chagrined smile. �
��No, Christopher, you’re the reason. Everything you’ve told me allowed me to keep my clans just in front of your men for years.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  Aunt Elena gave the grand Italian shrug. “You chose to fight them. I chose another way.”

  “To join them?” my father said incredulously.

  She nodded. “And to rule them, to feed off them, to have the life I wanted because of them.”

  “Was it worth it?”

  “Was your choice worth it?” Her gun still out, now pointed at my dad, she took in all of us with her eyes. “Was it worth it to give them up?”

  Neither my father nor aunt said anything for a moment. Then my father dropped his head. “No,” he said a moment later. “No.”

  Another moment of silence before my dad raised his head. He appeared weary from his admission. “And now?” he said, gesturing at us. “Now you’re going to kill your niece, your nephew, your brother, his only love?”

  I glanced at my mom when he said that and saw her eyes open wider, staring at my dad.

  “No,” Elena said. “I’m going to save you.”

  She raised her gun then, pointed it at Ransom and fired a shot into his head.

  “Aunt Elena!” I said.

  She fired another shot, this time into his groin, and blood spurted into the air, a few drops splashing onto my shirt.

  “Jesus!” Charlie yelled.

  “Oh, Lord,” my mother whispered.

  Elena lowered her gun. Her eyes darted to me. “He would have killed you. And worse.” There was little emotion in her voice, just someone delivering the facts.

  My hand over my mouth, I glanced down at Ransom. A different smell rose from him now-that blood smell. The blood pooled, dark and thick.

  “Now you know who is at the top of the System,” Elena said to my dad. “But you will not turn in your sister. I know that. I know you well, Christopher, and now that Izzy has found you, you are done living this life of secrecy.”