Mickey’s eyes widened as my face lost some of its color. “No fucking way. How the might Ian has fallen.” He started laughing, and I considered knocking his teeth in to make him stop.
“Enough,” I growled.
“Does Frankie know?”
“Know what?” Drew asked from the doorway.
“Where the hell have you been?” I tossed my cards on the table, and shot Mickey a ‘shut the fuck up’ look.
“I stopped at the hospital to check on the kid.” Drew paused. “The mom showed up, so Frankie should be coming back soon. Her phone’s dead—battery or something—she wanted me to let you know.”
“Thanks.” I kicked a chair out for him. “So what did you find out about Roberto?”
Drew sat, swinging his long legs in front of him. “No one’s seen him since this morning. He’s got a couple of places around the city.” He pulled a slip of notebook paper from his pocket. “Here’s a few more addresses.”
I scanned the listings, my brain memorizing each number. “He’s got a place in the Clinton. We should hit it first.”
“So what’s the plan?” Drew picked up his cards from the table.
I thought for a moment. “Nothing fancy. I kick the door, and hope like hell he’s inside.”
Mickey frowned. “That didn’t work out so well the last time. Remember? Big explosion? White lights? The stench of char-broiled Ian?”
“All right.” I held up my hand. “I admit it might need some work.”
Drew tossed a twenty into the pot. “I think it’s best if we want till early morning. He’ll be out cold by five a.m.”
I nodded. “Why don’t you guys crash here, and come first light it’s a go.” They agreed and we settled in to refine Plan A. I should’ve listened to my instincts, and skipped straight to Plan B.
An hour later, I went upstairs to get some sleep. Still no word from Frankie. I tried her phone again. No answer. I stretched out on my bed, inhaling the scent of her on my pillow and thought about our future. Realizing that I loved her didn’t make things any easier. I couldn’t give her what she needed—stability and a house in the ‘burbs. I loved her, sure, but it wasn’t enough. I closed my eyes and the day’s events swirled around my head. As I drift off to sleep the unmistakable sound of breaking glass echoed from the bar below. I grabbed my .38, and ran for the stairs, barefoot, but this time dressed at least.
A bullet dimpled the wall centimeters above my head. I dropped to a crouch and scanned the room. I couldn’t see shit. The green glow of the beer signs reflected off the windows, sending a weak light filtering through the dark room. The only light.
Where were Mickey and Drew? Mickey had claimed the backroom’s lumpy couch and Drew the lounge chair. My thoughts ran south. What if I was too late and they were dead? Rage replaced fear, turning my gut to ice.
Another shot exploded on my left. I spun toward it, tracking the shooter toward the kitchen. I fired into the darkness. No scream of pain or telltale crash of body to concrete. Fuck. I’d missed. I crept down the rest of the stairs, keeping low. Bits of shattered glass dug into my feet, but I ignored the pain.
“Ian?” Mickey called from my right.
“Here.” I took two steps toward him, relief flooding me. “Where’s Drew?” More than one danger lurked in the blackness, and taking a bullet to the head by mistake was one of them.
“He went around back.” Mickey motioned to the kitchen. “To the alley to head him off.”
I nodded, sliding forward, my feet slick with blood. In the alleyway behind the bar, voices rose in anger. Drew. Fuck. I ran through the kitchen and toward the back door. Drew shouted, “…too late.”
A crack of gunfire split the air, followed by an anguished scream.
Chapter 66
“Drew?” I burst from the bar and into the alley, Mickey on my heels. I hit the brick wall, leveling my gun at the man standing at the mouth of the alley, a gun hanging loosely at his side. A body lay in a pile of trash, blood leaking from a wide hole in his chest. Drew stared blankly at me, horror growing in his eyes. “He was going to kill me. Kill all of us.”
Mickey stepped forward, slipping the gun from Drew’s hand. “It was him or you.” I glanced at Roberto’s corpse, feeling nothing. No relief. No sadness. Nothing.
“The cops…I don’t want to go to jail…,” Drew stuttered.
I nodded to Mickey. “I’ll take care of it.” A garbage bag, a shovel, and the trunk of a car came to mind. Maybe the East river.
Mickey sighed with relief. “It’s over. That’s what’s important.”
Drew nodded, his hands shaking. “Fuck, I need a drink.”
“Take Drew inside and get him a shot. I’ll take care of the mess.” I motioned to the body, and the dark, black blood running down the alley toward the street. Mickey put a hand on Drew’s shoulder and led him inside.
I stared at the body for a few seconds and still felt nothing. “Bad luck.” I shoved my hands into his pockets, pulling out a wad of cash. He wouldn’t need it. From his pants pocket, a handwritten note fell onto the concrete. I wiped away a smug of blood and read the slip of paper. A string of numbers, dates, and times. The last entry, tonight at twelve-fifteen, the initials OD next to it. Fuck. Things had just gotten a lot clearer, and much, much worse.
******
Dazed, I made my way to the front bar. It blazed with light, and both Drew and Mickey stood, slamming shot after shot. Jack Daniels for Drew and Jameson for Mickey. Without my asking, Mickey poured a shot of Jameson for me. I threw it back in one quick swallow. The liquid eased some of the coldness in my gut. I reached for the bottle, poured another shot, and repeated the age-old Wilde tradition of drinking away an unpleasantness.
“You okay, Ian?” Mickey glanced at me.
I shook my head and sat down heavily on a barstool. “Not really.” What the fuck could I say? Everything I trusted in crashed down around me.
“But it’s over. Roberto’s dead,” said Drew.
“Is it?” My eyes bore into his.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Did you think you’d get away with it?” My tone went flat, deadly so. “Tell me why?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Drew stood, knocking the bar stool over. It hit the floor with a bang, rolled once, and stopped an inch of two from my barefoot.
Mickey jumped to his feet. “What the fuck’s going on?”
I didn’t move. “Why’d you have to kill Neil?” What bothered me most about Neil’s murder rushed back. He’d let his killer in, and laid down to die. Like you would for a friend.
Chapter 67
“Ian, that can’t be true. Tell him, Drew.” Mickey twisted to face Drew, knocking over his shot glass in the process. The glass hit the floor and shattered, adding to the mess already littering the ground.
Drew lowered his eyes. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Fucking tell me what it was like!” I drew the .38 from my waistband and pointed it at his head. “Speak.”
“I needed the money.” He threw his hands up. “I owed Sal big time. Nick, Roberto, and I had this business deal. It went south, and it was either come up with some capital or die.”
I cocked the gun. “You killed Nick, didn’t you? And Frankie made the perfect scapegoat.”
Drew grinned, a sick, dangerous smile of a psychopath. “She wasn’t the one I planned to take the fall. You wouldn’t let her go to jail. You’re too much of a fucking hero for that. So yeah, I killed Nick. It was easy, and after that, well, it just got easier.”
“Why Neil? He loved you like a brother.”
He shrugged. “Face it. He was already dead. I just pulled the trigger.”
“How much was his life worth? All of our lives. What was the price?” I felt sick, my stomach burning with hate.
“Twelve million.” He laughed. “I needed to pay Sal off, and you showed me the perfect way to do that. Sure it was a bit of a gamble, but what’s life without a little
risk?”
Fucking psycho. In the joint I’d met a few. Cold blooded killers always looking out for number one. How had I not seen it before? My finger flexed on the trigger. Put a bullet in him and be done with it, my mind screamed. I released a small breath, and said, “Looks like you lost, because you’re life ain’t worth shit anymore.”
He laughed again, sounding crazier with each passing minute. “I think you have that wrong.” As he said the words, Mickey stumbled, catching himself on a stool before his eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped to the floor.
“Mickey?” My speech slurred and my brain began to shut down. Fuck. Drugged. I glanced at the bottle of Jameson, trying to focus on Drew and the gun in my hand. My finger twitched on the trigger, but failed to comply with my brain’s command to blow a huge hole in him.
“Goodnight hero.” Drew smashed his fist into my jaw, and everything went black.
Chapter 68
An explosion of pain zipped throughout my head. A burst of colors behind my eyelids warned I was still alive and the rolling in my stomach from the drugs confirm it. GHB. Drew had slipped me a fucking date rape drug. I tried to open my eyes, and after a minute, my body complied. Everything moved in slow motion, and it took a minute for my brain to process what I saw. Mickey sat strapped to a chair across from me, his head lulling to one side. His hands and legs wrapped in duct tape. I glanced down at my own arms taped behind my back. Damn. I pulled at the tape, but to no avail.
“Mickey?” I yelled, trying to kick him with my bound legs. “Come on, man, wake up.”
He blinked, voice weak. “What’s…going on? Where’s Drew?”
“I don’t know.” I tried again to loosen the tape enough to reach the knife in my boot. Fuck, I wasn’t wearing my boots. No boots equaled no knife. No knife meant we were fucked.
“I’m right here, my friends.” Drew stood in the doorway; a metal can in his hands. “Glad you’re awake. I don’t want you to miss this.” He poured what smelled like turpentine over the walls and floor. A pool of it settled around my feet. Bastard.
“Why bother torching the place?” I gave a bitter laugh. “Kill us outright. It doesn’t matter.”
Drew stopped, his eyes and face cold. “Why do you say that?”
“I called Billy when I was ‘taking care’ of Roberto. Told him everything.”
“You’re bluffing.” Drew threw the can at me. It slammed into the side of my head. My head snapped back, blood welling from a six-inch gash in my forehead. Blood dripped steadily down, blinding me.
“Am I?” I paused, blinking the wetness away and laughed. “You wanna risk it? Billy will hunt you down. There will be no place you’ll be safe.”
“Why can’t you ever give up? You always have a fucking plan, and we’re always stupid enough to listen. But not today. I’m giving the orders. I’m walking away the big winner.” He stomped his feet, reminding me of a spoiled child.
“If you wanna win, you’ll cut Mickey loose. He has a wife and a kid on the way.”
“No more grand sacrifice from you. Not to save Mickey or his sweet little sister. After you’re dead, Frankie will be fucking me. Me. What do you think about that?”
“Frankie will never sleep with the likes of you,” Mickey growled, eyes black with hate.
“Who said she’ll be willing? A little of this,” he pulled a small vial of GHB from his pocket, “and you baby sister won’t know who she’s fucking.”
“I’ll kill you.” My voice softened, so much so that Drew had to lean in to hear me.
“Too late, hero. You won’t save her this time.” Drew set the metal container down, and pulled out my .38, pressing it against my temple. The click of the hammer pulling back filled the silent room. “Give the devil my regards.”
Chapter 69
“Why don’t you tell the devil yourself?” Frankie stood behind Drew, my M1911 steady in her small hands. Every muscle in her body ridged as she chambered a round. Drew flinched at the sound.
“Don’t be stupid. Is Ian really worth dying for?” Drew slowly turned to her, the .38 pointed at her chest.
“Yes,” she said, a tear sliding along her cheekbone.
“No!” I yelled at the same time.
“Why Drew? You were like a brother to us. Can money replace that?” Her hand shook on the gun. A sure sign of weakness. I prayed Drew didn’t pick up on it.
But he had. His voice turned soothing and warm, oozing charm like a festering wound. Drew shook his head, sadly and stepped closer to her. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” He took another step, almost within striking distance. “I tried to stop it. To put the blame on Morrissey, but Ian wouldn’t leave it alone. He’s like a fucking dog with a bone.”
Step back, Frankie, I wanted to scream, but any distraction gave him the advantage. If he got her gun we’d all die. Frankie’s hand shook again, and the barrel of the gun dropped a few centimeters. “I want to trust you, and I know how Ian can be.” She cried openly now. “I’m so scared. Can I trust you Drew? Will you let us go?”
“Of course, baby. I don’t want to hurt anyone.” Drew took another step, reaching his hands out for her gun. Gunfire exploded. Boom, boom, boom, boom. Repeatedly, the gun fired until the click of an empty clip echoed in the now silent room.
The force of the first bullet crushed Drew to the wall. A red splatter of blood burst from the center of his chest. A look of grim surprise crossed his features. His mouth formed an O before the second shot took a large chuck out of his ribcage. The third, fourth, and fifth pierced his torso, but he was already dead.
Frankie continued to fire, watching the rhythmic jerk of bullets puncturing his body until the last round left the chamber. Finally, gun spent, she lowered it and wiped a tear away with the back of her hand. “He could never tell when I was bluffing.”
Mickey and I sat in stunned silence.
Her eyes narrowed. “Come on. You knew I was bluffing, right?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, like always, you overplayed your hand.”
“I’ll work on it.” She winked at me.
Chapter 70
A week later I stood at the altar of a small Irish Catholic Church, dressed in a black tuxedo with a tiny hole in the armpit seam. The church reeked of orchids and incense. I considered either passing out or throwing up from the smell. My stomach rolled from too much alcohol the night before. Thanks to a surprise bachelor party Mickey hosted.
Colin stood next to me, his smile locked in place. He wore a matching black Armani tuxedo and an opened collared shirt. The perfect image of rock star at the top of his game. Mickey sat with Beth in the first pew next to Andy, baby Cahan, and Roxanne. One big happy family.
Frankie stepped from the back of the church and into the aisle. My gut tightened. She winked at me, lifting the edge of her dress to show off a pair of pink six-inch. Shoes I remembered fondly from Grand Cayman. I wanted to pull her in my arms. We’d seen little of each other since Drew’s death. Mostly due to our arrest minutes after Frankie freed us. The NYPD had trust issues.
After two days of interrogations and intimidation, Detective Burgess released Mickey and Frankie. A day later he let me go too. That was a week ago, and I’d yet to get Frankie alone. She spent her days at the hospital with Joey-Dean. The doctors expected him to make a full recovery. I wasn’t sure where she spent her nights, but it wasn’t in my bed.
“Dearly beloved…,” the priest began.
Frankie flashed me a wicked grin, and my thoughts turned south. I pictured her naked, long, lean limbs slick with sweat. I tried not to fidget while the priest droned on about the importance of trust and honor. Blah. Blah. Blah.
After what seemed like seven hours the priest finally said the words we’d all been waiting for, “You may now kiss the bride.”
Colin wrapped his arms around Zoë, and kissed her with tenderness, passion, and love. Shouted congratulations echoed around the church, drowning out Colin’s whispered promises, and Zoë’s tinkling laughter. A
perfect moment.
The priest introduced the happy couple to the crowd, and well-wishers rushed forward to congratulate them. One or two guys groped at the bride while a pack of women hung on Colin’s every word. Zoë smiled through it all, her hand pressed firmly into his.
I hung back as the bridal party and guests left the church. Frankie, in a perfectly pink bridesmaid dress, vanished into the crowd as well. But it was all right, I’d find her soon enough.
“Hey stranger.” Frankie stood in the rectory doorway with a bottle of champagne in her right hand and her high heels in her other. “Care to join me for a drink?”
I smiled, reaching for the bottle. I twisted the cork. Pop. Bubbles shot from the top, pouring down the sides and on to the worn carpeting. “Shit,” I said trying to mop the suds with my jacket before it stained the carpet. How many Hail Mary’s was it for spilling champagne on a church floor?
Frankie laughed and took the bottle from my hand. She drank deeply, licking the foam from her lips. That was my undoing. I grabbed her around the waist, and pressed my mouth to hers. Our kiss, anything but sweet, curled my toes. If the priest hadn’t interrupted us, I would have fulfilled the fantasy I had since grade school when I realized Sister Mary France wasn’t wearing panties.
“Sorry Father.” Frankie dipped her head and grabbed my hand. We rushed through the church and out into the warm fall day.
I pulled her to a stop on the church stairs and kissed her. “I missed you.”
“Really?”
“No.” She smacked me in the arm, and I added, “Okay, maybe a little.”
“I’ve missed you too. Everything happened so fast. I still haven’t put it all together. One minute I’m at the hospital—”
“How did you wind up at the bar?”
“Drew messed up. He came to the hospital and Joey-Dean recognized him. Joey caught Drew fucking around with the electrical wiring...,” she cringed, “and when Joey tried to stop him, Drew shot him.”
SHANK (A Wilde Crime Series) Page 23