Do Not Go Gentle

by James W. Jorgensen

  “Are you crazy?” Miller shouted. “You can’t outrun them in this thing.”

  “No,” da Silva shouted back, “but I can lose them. Get ready to open the side door on my signal.”

  “What?” Sylvia Turned cried. “We’ll fall out.”

  “No we won’t,” said Miller with a grim smile, understanding Lucky’s plan. “You’d better hope this works.”

  Lucky glanced back briefly in the rear view mirror at the smaller man. “So should you, porco. Just be ready when I tell you.”

  * * * *

  “Shit.” Liam’s curse sounded loud over the cell phone’s speaker.

  “What?” Jamie asked.

  “The trailing unit says the van just jumped the light at Causeway and Staniford and is running.”

  “Crap. They made us. What are they doing?” Jamie wondered. “They can’t get away, can they?”

  Liam paused for a moment, and then replied. “No, but the unit was two cars back and is now pursuing down Staniford. The unit we sent ahead is on Hull Street, too far away. So’s the unit coming in from Newbury Street—he’s turning onto Storrow, but traffic is heavy. He’s going lights and siren and will try to intercept.”

  “Where are they going?” Jamie said.

  “I dunno.”

  “Daddy,” Caitlin shouted. “I’m too far back to keep up. “

  “Don’t worry about it, Cait.” Jamie replied. “Just come home.”

  “No,” Caitlin insisted. “I’m going to follow as best I can.”

  Jamie and Eileen looked at each other. They couldn’t get mad—they would have done the same.

  “The trailing unit is now on Staniford and still has the van in sight. He’s heading at a high rate of speed toward Cambridge Street.” Liam’s voice was tight and his words terse. After a moment’s silence, he came back on, this time shouting. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  “What?” Jamie and Eileen cried together.

  “I need an ambulance to the intersection of Staniford and Cambridge,” Liam shouted. Jamie felt an iron fist clench his heart, and then Liam came back, rushing his words trying to reassure Jamie and Eileen. “Okay, Jamie—the van opened its side door as it turned onto Cambridge, and they tossed Riona into the intersection as they sped off.”

  “Sweet Jaysus,” Jamie replied.

  “I think she’s okay,” Liam said. “The trailing unit swerved around her and blocked her from oncoming traffic.” After another interminable pause, Liam continued. “He’s examining her now and he says she’s alive, but unconscious and hurt.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Eileen exclaimed.

  “Amen,” Jamie agreed. “What about the van?”

  “We’ve lost them, Jamie.”

  Jamie sighed. “That’s okay—the important thing is getting Riona to the hospital. I know the assholes who did this.”

  * * * *

  “Fucking maniac,” Miller screamed as he slammed the van door shut. da Silva had taken the corner so fast that the van had started to tip. When it came back down, Miller almost fell from the van with the Griffin girl.

  da Silva said nothing as he rocketed the van down Cambridge Street and clipped another car as he sped onto Charles Street. Moments later, the van raced into the 93 tunnel off Charles. Then he slowed down to avoid attracting any further notice. da Silva turned around in his seat briefly and stabbed a finger back at Miller. “You shut the fuck up, little man.” He did not raise his voice, which made him more threatening than if he had yelled. da Silva turned back to drive and snarled over his shoulder, We got away, idiota. But I told you to slit her throat!”

  “Fuck you! I ain’t gonna kill a kid like that!” Miller knew he was in deep trouble for disobeying, but he didn’t care; enough was enough. He hadn’t signed up to be a child killer.

  “What do we do now?” Sylvia Turner asked.

  Lucky da Silva seethed with anger—anger at his gutless companions, at the brat getting away alive, and at failing his mistress yet again. “Stop your yapping and leave it to me. The two of you aren’t going to like the price of failure.” da Silva calmed himself for several seconds, then continued. “Now we drive to the next exit, nice and easy, and then loop back around the long way back. By the time we get there, the cops will be gone.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  da Silva grunted. “They’ll be too busy taking care of the girl and looking for us.”

  It was an hour later when they drove up Commercial Street along the harbor. After Commercial finished curving around the north end of the harbor, da Silva turned onto Hull Street.

  “What if they’re still there?” Miller asked.

  “Then we’ll see them and I’ll turn down Snow Hill and we’ll drive around some more. This ain’t the only white van in Boston.”

  “Yeah, but if they got our plate number, we’re screwed.”

  “Leave that to me,” da Silva said softly.

  As they approached the intersection of Hull Street and Snow Hill, all three intently looked down the narrow street for any sign of the police. Seeing none, they all released their unconsciously held breaths. Miller punched the remote control as da Silva slowly proceeded down the street. The garage door, which looked like a window front from the outside, swung up, and da Silva pulled the van in just far enough to close the doors behind him. Then he turned to Miller. “Okay, pateta,” he said in his soft, silky but menacing voice. “Here’s where you earn your keep.” Miller started to protest, but changed his mind as he locked gazes with da Silva. “You will drive this van north over the 93 to the Mystic River area in Somerville, you know where I mean?” Miller nodded slowly.

  “Turner,” da Silva said, turning his gaze on the woman. “You will follow in one of the sedans. Take the van to the Assembly Square Mall. Behind this shopping center is an open field with a dirt track leading back to some trees down near a marina. Miller, you drive the van into the field. Go as far north as you can—hide the van as best you can in the trees and trash it. Take anything valuable. Turner will meet you at the north end of the field on a small access road that leads out of the marina. You will then drive slowly and carefully back here. Any questions?”

  “Why are we doing this?” Turner asked.

  “Because we’re going to report the van stolen,” Miller said to her snidely.

  “Exactly.” da Silva opened the door and got out. “I’ll let the Qedesh know what has happened.”

  Miller and Turner watched the big man head through the security door into the Qedesh’s ground floor office. “Better him than me,” Turner muttered as she retrieved the keys for one of the sedans.

  Miller grunted. “We’re not off the hook, lady,” he said darkly. “Let’s just get this done and get back here.”

  * * * *

  “What do you mean you had to ditch the girl?” Sedecla had leapt out of her office chair and stalked around to stand before her seneschal.

  “Unfortunately, just what I said, Mistress.” da Silva kept his voice low and deferential and his eyes downcast. He knew all too well what could happen if he incurred her full wrath. “It was either that or lead the police here.” He quickly related the events without offering excuses and waited for Sedecla’s reaction.

  Instead of an explosion, Sedecla pulled into herself, her anger drawing everything into a black hole of rage. She closed her eyes, then whipped away from da Silva like a deadly snake and threw her arms out in front of her. Sedecla let out a cry of rage, and then black and blood-red brown light burst out from her hands. To da Silva, it felt like a wave of pressure that threatened to implode everything in the room. The mirrors, glass ornaments, and other fragile objects exploded, sending shards around the room. da Silva ducked his head. When he looked up, he felt blood streaming not only from a scalp wound, but from his nose and ears—the pressure had ruptured small blood vessels in his head. He stood motionless. Moving before he was given permission, even to tend to his wounds, could make him the target of her wrath instead of collateral damage. When
the blood from the scalp wound covered his eyes, da Silva finally moved, wiping away the blood.

  Sedecla stalked around the table, and his motion caught her attention. da Silva held his breath and remained silent. Finally, Sedecla waved a hand.

  “Go clean yourself up,” she said, her voice still tight with rage. “And get someone in here to clean up this mess.” She strode to the spiral staircase in the far corner of the room. “When you are finished, attend me in my study.”

  As she left, da Silva bowed, sending blood spatter to the floor like some abstract art painting. He sighed at having escaped the brunt of Sedecla’s wrath. He stood and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the blood from his face and then pressed it to his scalp wound, which was still bleeding freely. In his fifteen years as Sedecla’s seneschal, he could not recall having failed his mistress as spectacularly as these past two days. The fact that bad luck had played a large part in these failures was irrelevant, both to da Silva and, he knew, to his mistress. She had given him tasks to perform and he had failed. Partial success was the same as failure in Sedecla’s world. Slowly walking over broken glass, heedlessly crunching it beneath his thick-soled shoes, da Silva felt a fury that he had not felt since he was a teenager, scrabbling to find a way out of the poverty that had gripped his life like an iron vise.

  He pressed the button on his phone and ordered staff to the room to tend to his wounds and clean up the mess. da Silva stood impassively, like a boulder in a stream, immobile and uncaring at the rush of activity that surrounded him. He refused to sit to have his wounds tended—blood already stained the expensive rug upon which he stood. He would not stain any of the expensive furniture in the room. da Silva knelt and let the healer tend to his wounds. He felt the woman’s cleaning and stitching of his scalp wound as one might notice the buzzing of a fly in a corner of a large room. Lucky da Silva seethed inwardly with rage.

  Griffin and his family have brought desonrar upon me—I have dishonored my mistress and my duties by failing to bring these sacana to submission. The healer became worried at the thunderous expression that darkened da Silva’s face—she knew she did not want to get on the bad side of the giant who ran Sedecla’s household.

  If my mistress grants me another chance, I will crush this man and his family. They have now made this personal.

  Then he smiled grimly, which worried the healer even more; she had no way of knowing that the smile did indeed portend danger-not for her, but for Dale Miller and Sylvia Turner, who would pay for their disobedience with their lives upon their return.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The day after Christmas is often one of the busiest days of the year—returning gifts that do not fit or aren’t just right is usually the order of the day for the Griffin women. This year, however, there were no plans for a day-long shopping expedition. It was mid-morning and Eileen and Jamie were the only ones up, besides the dog.

  Most days, Riona would come bouncing down the stairs, singing a song or otherwise finding ways to torment her older sisters with her sunny morning disposition. Today, Riona hadn’t yet come downstairs—none of the girls were up. Jamie and Eileen had said thankful prayers that she had not been seriously injured when she was thrown from the van. She suffered a number of nasty scrapes, sported several spectacular bruises, and had suffered a concussion.

  Jamie had called his family after Riona was thrown from the van, and Jamie’s sister Jeanne had picked up Jamie and Eileen and driven them to the hospital. They had met a tearful Caitlin in the ER lobby and she had taken them back to Riona, who was being treated by a nurse and a physician. Riona was conscious but groggy and in considerable pain. The doctor told them that Riona had avoided serious injuries by having been knocked unconscious—she couldn’t tense her body before it hit the pavement.

  The balance of that day was a blur of phone calls, family members visiting, and after several hours, driving everyone home. Brigid had joined them not long after they had called her, driven to the hospital by Mrs. O’Neill. It was late evening before the Griffins had been able to go home, and once Riona was past the initial period where she was not allowed to sleep, everyone had gone to bed and slept in the next day.

  They had been able to enjoy a relatively normal, if subdued, Christmas. Everyone had been very grateful that Riona was rescued with only minor injuries, but after the explosion at Eileen’s store and Riona’s kidnapping, there was an unspoken worry—what was next? Jamie felt even more inadequate.

  Eileen looked up from her coffee and croissant. “It wasn’t your fault, love,” she said.

  Jamie shook his head. “Maybe not, but I feel responsible. If I’d just backed off like Da, Paddy, and Sully had ordered, then maybe your store would still be in one piece, and maybe our daughter would not have been kidnapped and nearly killed.”

  Eileen sighed. “You could no more turn your back on that than you could turn your back on someone in need. These people killed Cal. I wouldn’t want you to not pursue this. In fact,” Eileen added, her gaze hardening, “what’s next?”

  “What’s next?” Jamie asked. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I know you aren’t going to back down now. So what’s our next step?”

  Jamie rubbed his face and shrugged. “I’m not sure, love. After all the activity these past few days, I feel like a wet dishrag that someone has dragged through the mud.”

  Eileen rubbed her husband’s neck. “What have you heard from Louie and the twins?”

  “Not much.” Jamie nodded. “Maybe it’s time I got together with them again. Between the holidays and all of our excitement, I’ve kinda let things slide.” Jamie stood unsteadily, then plopped clumsily back down onto the chair.

  “Whoa.” Eileen said, grabbing Jamie’s arm. “Your balance is very bad today.”

  Jamie grimaced. “Yeah, I know and my headache is threatening to blow my head to smithereens as well.”

  “So have them come here,” Eileen suggested. “If they can all get to the Cedar Grove T station, I’ll pick them up and bring them here. They can just call me on their cell phones when they arrive.”

  “Okay,” Jamie said. “Let me see if they’re available today.” It took about a half an hour on the telephone, but Jamie was able to set up a time for them to come to see him. The twins had no problem with it. Louie grumbled, but he agreed to it as long as he got a ride to and from the T station at Cedar Grove.

  With that done, Jamie and Eileen went into the living room. Jamie lay down in his usual spot on the sectional, and Finn MacCool curled up on Jamie’s feet. Jamie dozed while Eileen sat beside him and read. He woke up when he heard one of the girls coming down the stairs. Eileen looked over and saw that it was Riona. While she hadn’t come bounding down the stairs in her usual exuberant style, she was still the first one up. Her sisters made sleeping late over school breaks into an art.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Eileen called out. She patted the cushion on the couch beside her, and Riona slowly walked over and curled up into her mother’s embrace.

  “How are you feeling, little one?” Jamie asked. He could still see the bruises and cleaned up cuts on Riona’s face and arms.

  Riona shrugged. “Not too bad, I guess. My head still hurts, and I’m sore all over. Not to mention that stuff they knocked me out with has left my stomach feeling all oogly-moogly.”

  Eileen gently stroked Riona’s long red hair, which was tangled after yesterday’s adventures. “The doctor said you’d need a few days to recover, child.”

  “I know,” Riona replied grumpily, “but it’s not fair feeling bad on break.”

  Jamie laughed. “Well, if you can complain about something not being fair, you must be feeling a little better.”

  They talked for a while, and then heard more footsteps. Both Brigid and Caitlin came downstairs. “Somebody alert the media,” Jamie said in feigned shock. “It’s not even noon yet.”

  Brigid and Caitlin made faces at their father, but did not reply—they just went to
join their mother and sister. “We heard the runt here get up,” Brigid said. “I was worried about her.”

  “Brigid does not get up quietly,” Caitlin grumbled.

  After several minutes of quiet family time, Brigid pulled away from her mother and sisters, and her face became solemn. “Mom, Dad,” she said seriously. “I want to talk about school.”

  “Why?” Jamie asked. “Did you flunk out?” He grinned wickedly—Brigid had been Dean’s List every semester so far.

  “No, Da, and I’m serious—I think I should take a leave of absence from the university for a while.”

  Jamie and Eileen looked at each other, thunderstruck. Then Jamie started, “No way—”

  “Brigid, that’s not—” Eileen began.

  “Hear me out,” Brigid said firmly, cutting them both off. “I’ve already checked into it. The university allows students to take a leave of absence for up to two semesters in a row due to personal or medical reasons. This certainly qualifies.”

  “Why, Bridee?” Eileen asked, using the family nickname for her oldest child. “Why interrupt your studies?”

  “Why do you think, Mom?” Brigid demanded, anger clouding her face. “I’m not going to waltz back to school and act like everything’s fine here.”

  Jamie sighed deeply. “That’s enough of that talk, young lady,” he said sternly. “I know we’re in trouble financially, but we have enough to pay for each of your next semesters.”

  “What about after that?” Brigid asked.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Jamie replied.

  “If I stay home, I can get a job and help out,” Brigid insisted.

  “Yeah,” Caitlin added. “Riona and I can get jobs too.”

  “Your jobs are to study hard and get good grades,” Eileen said.

  “Mom, you guys have told us over and over again—families help each other out,” Caitlin replied. “We’re going to help out.” The three girls looked determined.