SHANK (A Wilde Crime Series)

by kazimer, j. a.

  I gave an fake wince, rubbing my muscle. “Be nice, or no Thai food for you.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I paid the delivery guy, and we sat down to eat. A silence encircled us, not uncomfortable, but still there. After dinner, I cleared the table while Frankie washed and dried what little dishes we had. The domestic scene should have scared the shit out of me. Not only did it go against the grain, but I stood side by side with a woman I’d thought of as a sister for most of my life.

  “Are you still mad at me?” Frankie leaned against the counter looking so beautiful it took me a minute respond.

  “I wasn’t mad. Not at you.” Time to bite the bullet. “I’m sorry about what I said. It was unfair.”

  “It’s all right. I couldn’t blame you if you were pissed. Mickey must be livid.”

  I shrugged. “He’ll get over it.”

  “It’s funny,” she said. “But I don’t care about the photos. I told Nick that. He could show them to whomever he wanted to. It didn’t matter to me. Doesn’t matter.”

  “Why?”

  “There are only two people in the world that I care about. Mickey’s one.”

  My smile faltered. “Don’t say it.”

  “Why? You don’t think you’re worthy?”

  “Fuck no.” I stepped toward her. “You’re standing there all serious and all I can think is: I wonder if she’s wearing a bra.”

  She laughed, tugging at her tank top. “The answer is no.”

  “You’re killing me here.”

  “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” Suddenly her face grew serious.

  “Probably not.”

  “I want us to stay friends.”

  “I do too.”

  Thunder roared in the distance. “So we can’t be more.” Her tone was half question, half demand.

  I shook my head. “No, we can’t be more.”

  “Goodnight.” She threw me a smirk and sashayed from the kitchen. My eyes, glued to the curve of her jeans, blinked rapidly when she disappeared around the corner. I’m a fucking idiot.

  ******

  A storm came later that night. Lightening crashed and the wind battered the windows, howling like a mad dog. I sat on the couch sipping a cup of coffee. The lights flickered and went dark. I shifted the .38 in my hands, and thought about my next move. Picking up the phone, I dialed.

  “DeMarco,” Sal answered. His voice, raspy from cigars and expensive whiskey sounded almost friendly, like a salesman, but I knew better. Sal owed the streets south of 45th Street, and invested heavily in cement shoes.

  “I think we should meet,” I said in way of greeting.

  “Wilde? Is that you? Where are you?”

  “Tomorrow. Seven o’clock at Grand Central.”

  “Are you crazy, boy?” Sal laughed, a hollow sound. “I get it. You’re protecting the girlie.”

  “She stays out of this. You want Nick’s killer or not?”

  “You killed my boy. You and that bitch you’re protecting.”

  “Wasn’t me or Frankie. If you want to know who did kill him, you’ll meet me.”

  “You’re bluffing, boy.” He chuckled. “I can hear it in your voice. What’s this, some sort of game?”

  “I’m not fucking around. You want me, come get me.” I hung up. Tomorrow, one way or another, it would be over. I leaned against the couch, closing my eyes.

  “Are you crazy?” Frankie stood in the doorway, a candle in her hand. The light bathed her face in a warm glow, shadowing the tiny lines of concern around her mouth.

  “Not that I’m aware of, but who knows. I’ve always wondered if people who are insane know it…” Leaning against the cushions I looked her over. In the darkened room, I could just about make out the outline of her long, lean legs. Bare, naked, and trim and toned legs. I wanted them wrapped around me, wanted to feel her muscles quiver with lust.

  “Sal will kill you.” She moved closer, dropping next to me on the couch. “He’s not going to listen to you. As soon as you step foot in Grand Central you’ll be a dead man.”

  I touched the side of her face. “Have some faith. I’m a hard guy to kill, remember?”

  “Don’t do this. Please.”

  I hated the plea in her voice and the fact it was there because of me. Wrapping my arms around her, I held tight. “I have to. I can’t walk away this time. Too much is at stake.”

  “You don’t have to be the hero.” She held my face in her trembling hands.

  I kissed her forehead, fingers stroking the worry lines from her brow. “I’m far from a hero. I have to do this. Billy’s right. It’s time to clean up my mess. Way past time.”

  “At least let me back you up.”

  “No way in hell.” I pulled away from her. “I’m trying to save your life, not get you killed.”

  “You did save me. Now let me help you.”

  I waggled my eyebrows and gave her a leer. “There is something you can do.”

  She shook her head. “I’m serious, Ian. I can help.”

  “No.”

  “Sometimes you can be a real asshole.”

  “But you love me anyway.”

  Her eyes snapped to mine. Shit. I hadn’t meant it like that. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have with her. I could have with her.

  “I do, you know,” she whispered.

  “I know.”

  “Good.” She stood, pulling me from the couch. Her lips brushed mine, soft and sweet, but they didn’t stay that way. Soon my wish came true. Frankie, naked, wrapped her endless legs around me, and I lost myself to the pleasure of her flesh.

  We’d could go back to being just friends tomorrow.

  Chapter 42

  Early the next morning the front door of the safe house creaked open. My eyes popped wide open. Frankie lay draped across me, our bodies molded together during sleep. I dug under the pillow for my .38. Fuck, I’d left it on the table. Caught with his pants down and no weapon, my tombstone would read. “Frankie, wake up!” I shook her while at the same time I reached for my jeans. I started to pull them on when the bedroom door opened. Shielding Frankie, I turned to face the threat.

  Mickey stood in the doorway. “What the hell is going on?”

  Hearing his voice, Frankie gave a squeak, and pulled a thin cotton sheet over her naked body. “It isn’t what it looks like…,” I started. At his look of disbelief, I added, “Okay, it’s exactly what it looks like, but let me explain.”

  “You asshole.” He glared at me, fists clenched. “I trusted you.”

  “Mickey, that’s not fair. This isn’t about Ian.” Frankie poked her head out from beneath the sheet. Her bed hair, kiss-swollen lips, and the trail of beard burn along the side of her neck and down her chest didn’t help my case one bit.

  Mickey’s lips curled in disgust as he walked from the bedroom.

  I buttoned my jeans and ran after him. “Mickey, wait.”

  “Fuck you, Ian. I trusted you, man. You took advantage.”

  “No…” I paused. Time to face the truth. “Okay, you’re right, I did. But you gotta understand…” Understand what? I was scum, and Mickey and I both knew it.

  His face lost some of its rage, replaced with something far worse, sadness. “She loves you. She’s always loved you.”

  “I care about her too, “I said. “You know that.”

  “But do you love her?” He waved a hand toward the bedroom. “Are you going to settle down and marry her?”

  I said nothing.

  Mickey gave a bitter laugh. “I didn’t think so. What is she, huh? Another convenient fuck.”

  “I don’t know.” As much as it hurt to admit it, I couldn’t lie to him anymore.

  Pain ripped across his face. “I could almost hate you.”

  “Hit me.” I motioned to my face. “I deserve it. I fucked up.”

  “Hitting you won’t make me feel better.” Even as he said the words, his fist flew at my jaw. I saw it coming and did nothing to stop it. I staggered back, b
ut stayed on my feet. Mickey added, “Guess I was wrong.” He threw another punch, this one aimed at my gut. I doubled over, considered puking, but after a few shallow breaths decided against it. Yet I still made no move to stop him. I deserved every punch. Sleeping with Frankie was a betrayal above and beyond. Hell, I wanted to slug myself for good measure.

  “Mickey, stop,” Frankie said, her body covered in my t-shirt, which barely reached just below her thighs and probably didn’t help the situation.

  Mickey spun to face her. “Jesus, Frankie. You know better. Ian’s not right for you. He’s not in it for the long haul. Can’t you see that?” I winced, angered by Mickey’s opinion even though every word he said was true.

  I expected Frankie to breakdown, but she glared at Mickey instead. “What makes you think I want that?”

  “You love him. Don’t deny it.”

  “I’m not going to discuss how I feel about Ian with you, Mickey. This is between us.” She gestured to me. “If I want to fuck everyone from C thru S in the Manhattan phonebook I will, and you’ll keep out of it. This is my life. Right or wrong, I make my own decisions.” Frankie shoved him, and he fell back a step.

  Mickey’s face grew a shade of red rarely seen outside a vegetable garden. “Like the decision to sleep with Nick? That one worked out well for you. Who else have you slept with? Drew? Andy? How many of my friends are you going to fuck to prove you’re not a kid anymore?”

  “Hey.” I straightened. “That’s out of line.”

  “Stay out of this,” they yelled in unison.

  Fine. I dropped down on the couch and watched as brother and sister go head-to-head. I wasn’t sure who I was rooting for. Mickey had righteous anger on his side while Frankie used an arsenal of brotherly guilt.

  “I’m not out to prove anything.” She stomped her foot. “What Ian and I have might be a mistake, but it’s mine to make. I’m not who you think I am. I don’t want the same things as you. I don’t want to get married…at least I don’t want to marry Ian.”

  What the hell did that mean?

  “Don’t want to marry him? Come on, Frankie. For years, you’ve carried a torch, and now you don’t want anything but a cheap fuck?” Mickey ran a hand through his hair. “That’s bullshit.”

  “Believe whatever you want.” She shrugged as if bored by the whole argument. “Ian’s your best friend and we’re sleeping together. Get over it.” She slammed back to the bedroom.

  Mickey stood there for a full minute, just staring at the closed bedroom door. Finally he shook his head and sat on the couch next to me. “How’s the jaw?”

  I rubbed it, grinning. “You hit like a girl.”

  Chapter 43

  “Are you insane?” Mickey asked with a shake of his head.

  I was getting tired of that question. “For the record, no, I’m not crazy. This is a solid plan.” We sat at the kitchen table discussing my meet with Sal. Frankie, still locked inside the bedroom, muttered curses through the door. I smiled at a rather vicious bout.

  Mickey glanced at the bedroom door. “He’s going to kill you.”

  “He’ll try.” I took a sip of coffee. “More importantly whoever is behind Nick’s death will try to take me out first.”

  “For the record, this is one of stupidest plans I’ve ever heard. You’re a fucking idiot.”

  I laughed. It would take time for him to accept Frankie and my…relationship…or whatever we it was between us. But eventually, after a decade or so, he’d forgive me. “But it will work.” I grabbed a pencil off the table and began laying out my strategy. Pencil scratched against the paper, mixing with Frankie’s muffled rants.

  When I finished the diagram, Mickey shook his head. “You can’t go alone.”

  “It’s the only way it will work.”

  He picked up the paper and threw it in the trash. “No. There has to be a better way.” He picked up the pencil and started a diagram of his own. We argued over the pros and cons of each, deciding on a mixture of both.

  “Give me your phone,” Mickey ordered. I handed it over without question. He dialed a number from memory. “Drew, we need your help. Grab Andy and meet us at Grand Central in an hour.”

  *****

  “This is never going to work.” Andy shook his head.

  “It will.” I watched the nine-to-fivers rush from the station to train platform, never once glancing up from their five-dollar coffees. It would work. I hit redial on my phone and Drew’s rang in response. He stood a hundred yards away at the main entrance. “How’s it look?” I asked.

  “Like you’re gonna get shot.”

  I flipped him off. “If you were the guy, where would you take the shot?”

  “Second floor, balcony to your right,” he replied through the crackle of cell phone static.

  I glanced up. “I agree.” I turned to Andy. “I want you to cover that balcony. The idea is to get an i.d. and if possible keep him from putting a bullet in my head.”

  “Fine, but let me reiterate—this is a BAD IDEA.” Andy moved toward the staircase. His long legs skipping every odd step.

  “Andy’s in position. What about Mickey?” I asked Drew.

  Static crackled before he replied, “He’s covering the west end. That leaves two exits uncovered. We need help, Ian. Too many things can go wrong.”

  “Fine,” I agreed. This had been an ongoing argument. Drew had offered to call some friends, i.e., drug dealers for assistance. Until right now, I’d refused. I didn’t want this to turn into a bloodbath. But Drew was right. The only way to cover our asses was to bring in extra lookouts. I hung up the phone and glanced at my watch. Three hours to go.

  I dialed Billy’s number. “I need your help.”

  “What do you need?”

  “I have a meet with Sal tonight.”

  “Are you stupid, boy?”

  I ran a hand along my jaw. “No. I have a plan, but I need you to spread the word. I want every lowlife in the city to know it.”

  “You’re going to get yourself killed.” Surprise, surprise, Billy actually sounded like he’d care.

  “If I do save some money and keep my real name off the headstone.”

  “What do you have against it? It’s a good name.”

  “Cahan is not a good name. It reminds me of a horse.” I shook my head. “You and mom are the only ones who ever call me that, and I think you do it out of spite.”

  “It means warrior, son. I can’t think of a more appropriate name…well, maybe idiot.”

  “Thanks. Will you help me or not?”

  Silence. Finally he agreed. “I’ll spread the word, but if you die your mom will skin me alive.”

  “It’s a chance I’m willing to take.” I paused. “Billy, thanks, I mean it.”

  “Watch your back, boy.” He hung up.

  Chapter 44

  One hour till game time. I knocked bedroom door of the safe house. I didn’t wait for her to answer, but barged in. “It’s time?” She glanced at the clock, her face tight, expression grim.

  “Yeah.” I headed for the dresser, pulling out the heavy firepower—a M1911 Special Forces pistol. This gun was a work of art. It packed a punch, weighing thirty-eight ounces, and held nine rounds. If it weren’t for its bulky nature I’d carry it all the time. It was what a weapon should be.

  “You’ll be careful?”

  “I’ll be careful. You’ll stay here?”

  “Yes.” She turned away.

  I grabbed her chin and forced her to look into my eyes. “I mean it. I have to know you’re safe. Promise me.”

  She wrapped her arms around my neck. “Promise me you won’t get killed.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Fine. I’ll stay here. But if you’re not back in three hours, I’m coming to find you, so don’t get sidetracked.” She kissed me then, a sweet, complicated kiss. “Make it back in two hours, and in one piece, I’ll make it worth your while.” She smiled, kissing me again.

  “Deal.” My lips grazed her
forehead as I stuck the pistol in the holster at the small of my back. “I’ll be back in less than two hour.”

  An hour later, in the middle of Grand Central station, Sal approached me. He wasn’t alone, not that I’d expected him to be. I leaned against the station wall and waited for him. Timing was everything.

  “You’re either the stupid or crazy. Which one is it?” Sal paused five feet from me.

  “Stupid, I suspect.” I peeled myself from the wall, looking him over. Sal seemed old, much older than Billy, but they were roughly the same age. His eyes burned with bitterness and hate. Losing a son could do that to you, and Sal had lost two.

  “So where’s the hitter who killed Nick? Or was that a lie to get me here?”

  “I’m sure he’s close. Don’t worry. I have no designs to end the DeMarco gene pool. That is, unless you fuck with my family again. The Hurley’s are out of this. In two days Mickey will pay off his debt. Once that’s done, you’ll leave them alone. Billy too.”

  “I give the orders.” His face grew red. “I don’t take them from some punk.”

  “Fair enough. But in any case, take my advice.”

  “What’s stopping me from killing you right now?” The two goons flanking him drew their weapons, one I recognized as Gap-tooth. He’d be my first target. Payback for the sucker punch at the bar.

  “Nothing. But you’d better make the first shot count.” I pulled my own weapon, keeping it low to my side. Suddenly the quiet pop of a silencer sounded to my right. The heat of a bullet flying inches from my head trailed soon after, smashing into the wall next to me. Bits of concrete and plaster showered me.

  Sal’s goons sandwiched him as they drew down on me. I returned the favor, slipping around the concrete column for cover. I pointed the M1911 at Sal’s forehead. A standoff. Two more bullets hit the concrete wall. A woman screamed. All hell broke loose. People ran for cover, stampeding for the exits.

  “I’m going to kill you slow. Make you suffer for your sins. I’ll kill everyone you care about,” Sal screamed over the commotion, spittle dripping from his lips. At his words, my finger tensed on the trigger. His bodyguards, sensing the danger, quickly pulled him away and out of the building.