Do Not Go Gentle

by James W. Jorgensen

  Jamie nodded. “Sure. No leader is worth a damn if he doesn’t listen to his experts.”

  “So, are we done yet, Il Duce?” Louie asked.

  Everyone looked at Jamie. “Yes, I think we’re done for today.” He stood, swaying. Eileen reached out and steadied him. “Thank you, love. I’ll update Daphné and Darcelle tonight when they stop by to tell me what they found on their stakeout.”

  The others stood and said goodbye to Eileen, Jamie, and Louie. “The three of us will continue to meet, however,” Lucy said. “There are many things we need to examine and consider before we can advise ye on how to proceed against the witch’s extraordinary powers and defenses.”

  Jamie laughed and shook his head. “Extraordinary, huh? I’m supposed to like that better than supernatural?”

  “Call it whatever ye like, boyo,” the elderly woman scolded, “as long as ye keep an open mind.”

  “I will, I will.” Jamie protested on his way out.

  “If he doesn’t, I’ll sic his sister on him,” Eileen said in a loud stage-whisper. Lucy smiled and nodded as she closed her door against the harsh cold.

  Eileen walked around to the driver’s side of the car and clicked the remote to open the doors. Jamie opened the back door for Louie and gestured for him to enter. “Grazie,” the big man said.

  As Eileen came around the front of the SUV and looked back toward her husband, her eyes grew wide and she shouted, “Jamie! Behind you!”

  Jamie started to turn, raising his walking stick in response to the threat, but before he could finish turning or raising his stick, Jamie felt a long, iron hard arm wrap around him, crushing his arms to his side. Then another arm appeared with a flash of metal and Jamie felt the blade of a knife pressed close to his throat.

  “Unh-uh, you pig-fucking potato head,” came a low raspy voice just above Jamie’s right ear. “Didn’t your mãe teach you better manners? I know my mama did.”

  Jamie could not see who was behind him. All he knew was that the man was big, not only tall, but heavily muscled. Jamie was not a little man, but his assailant dwarfed him.

  “Get into the car slow and easy, vagabunda,” the man ordered Eileen. “And you, Italiano porco, move into the front seat,” he told Louie. Eileen and Louie hesitated for only a second, looking at the knife at Jamie’s throat. As they complied, the man continued, “Bom. Such good people. Now, I’m going to move slowly forward, Griffin, and unless you want me to slip and slit your throat here and now, you’ll move just as carefully.”

  Jamie briefly considered his options. Then, realizing that he could not safely do anything except comply with the man’s orders, Jamie took small steps forward and slowly slid in the car.

  Jamie’s assailant leaned forward, keeping the knife at Jamie’s throat until Jamie sat. Then the man lowered himself into the seat beside Jamie, keeping the knife close to Jamie’s throat as the man sat and closed the door. “Excelente,” he said sarcastically. Then to Eileen, without taking his eyes off Jamie, the man said, “Now start the car, bitch, and drive us back to your house.”

  “You’re going to regret this,” Jamie said grimly. “So will your witchy boss.”

  “Oh, really?” the big man replied harshly. “I don’t think you’re in a position to make any threats, Paddy, and you should never have meddled in my mistress’ affairs.”

  “You’ll be the ones to regret your meddling. You’ve failed every time so far and you’re going to fail this time too.”

  “Brave talk for someone with a knife to his throat,” the big man sneered. He pressed the knife slightly into Jamie’s throat, drawing a trickle of blood. “Now shut up, Mickey Finn. Once we get to your house, I’m going to take out all of you. Your cop friends will find you all butchered like the stupid cows that you are.” No one spoke again as Eileen drove toward home.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “For the last frackin’ time,” Daphné snarled, “I’m not gonna let you play solitaire on this thing.” Daphné clutched her MacBook Air tightly, to prevent a sneak attack. “I’m working here.”

  Darcelle snorted. “Yeah, right. Surfing the ‘Net is so tough.” They had been staking out King Arthur’s since early Friday night. Now, in the wee hours of a dark and cold December Saturday morning, they were freezing their butts off in their car. “Okay,” she said grumpily, “I’ll turn the car back on for a few minutes, just until we get warmed up again.”

  “I still don’t know why we can’t just let the damn car idle.”

  Darcelle sighed loudly and grunted. “For the ten millionth time, it’s bad for the car.”

  “How?”

  “When you’re idling for a long period of time, the engine’s not running at peak levels, which means the fuel doesn’t completely combust, which can build up residue that can damage the engine. Plus, think of all the gas we’d be wasting.”

  “Think of all the medical bills when you take me to the clinic for frostbite,” Daphné retorted.

  “Frostbite my ass, Darcelle replied.

  “No, my fingers and my toes.”

  Further sisterly argument forestalled when they saw Peeper coming out of the club with two men. “About damned time,” Daphné muttered.

  “Yeah, but Louie told Peeper to bring out the guy he’d met before the Mazzimah dude. Who’s the walking mountain?” Darcelle pointed at the massive shape walking beside Peeper.

  “How do you know André the Giant there isn’t the one Peeper met with before?”

  “I think Peeper would have mentioned a brute that size.”

  “A brute? Like the ‘brute squad’?” Darcelle grinned wickedly. “‘I am waiting for you, Vizzini. You told me to go back to the beginning. So I have. This is where I am, and this is where I’ll stay. I will not be moved.’”

  Daphné rolled her eyes as Darcelle quoted from one of her favorite films, The Princess Bride. “Don’t be such a posa,” she replied.

  “Posa?” Darcelle exclaimed. “I’m not a posa. ’You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.’”

  “Oh, yeah? Put a lid on it, Funny Girl.” Daphné favored musicals, which drove her sister crazy.

  Darcelle was silent for a while, then said, “Hey. I think I recognize the Incredible Hulk there.”

  Daphné leaned forward, now intent on the big man walking between Peeper and the third man. “How? It’s too dark to see his face.”

  “True dat, but look at the car he’s walking to,” Darcelle replied.

  Daphné sighed. “Sis, it’s a black car and it’s dark out.”

  Darcelle snickered. “Oh, yeah. ‘It’s a hundred and six miles to Chicago. We gotta full tank of gas, a half a pack of cigarettes, it’s dark, and we’re wearing sunglasses—hit it.’”

  “Enough damned movie quotes,” Daphné hissed. “How can you tell what kind of car that is?”

  “It’s a Mercedes CLS63 AMG, and it’s being driven by Goliath—ring any bells?”

  “Shit,” Daphné replied. “Him again.”

  “You betcha,” Darcelle replied in a chipper voice. “Now let’s watch and see what happens.”

  The hulking shadow stood at the back of the Mercedes, with Peeper on one side and Peeper’s Mazzimah contact on the other. In the dim light, the twins could see the big man gesturing emphatically, first to Peeper, then to the other man, and finally clapping a huge hand on each man’s shoulder. The blow nearly pushed Peeper to the ground. The twins watched in silence. Daphné had powered down her window slightly, but while they could hear the harsh tones of the big man’s voice, they could not make out what he was saying.

  Finally, the big man finished, pushing each man in opposite directions. Peeper stumbled to a knee, but the other man only lurched back a step. The big man waited a second, as if daring either of the other men to reply. Peeper slunk off into the shadows and disappeared. The other man walked to a non-descript car, got in, and drove off. The big man turned and opened the door of the Mercedes.

  “Uh-
oh,” Darcelle said. “Who do we follow?”

  “Jumbo. Peeper can always tell us what they talked about and maybe the identity the Mazzimah guy, but we know the Jolly Green Giant is up to no good. We follow him.”

  Darcelle waited until the Mercedes had turned out of the parking lot, and then followed. “Okay, Sis. Let’s see where this guy leads us.”

  * * * *

  “Unh-uh,” the big man holding the knife to Jamie’s throat ordered. “Not on the street—park in the garage so no one can see us getting out.”

  Eileen, who had been slowing down and angling toward a parking spot on the street, reluctantly proceeded to the short driveway that led to their garage. She clicked the opener, then pulled into the garage, and clicked the remote again.

  Once the door closed, the big man opened his door. “Open your door now, Griffin, nice and easy,” he ordered. A repeat performance now occurred in reverse, and in seconds, the big man stood outside the SUV with the knife still pressed tightly to Jamie’s throat. “Okay, now, just like last time,” the big man ordered in a soft, hoarse voice. “You two get out and head inside, real slow.” He took Jamie to stand near the door entering into the house. “Just in case you get any bright ideas,” the man said pointedly to Eileen, “I’ll slit his throat before you could take me down. If the two of you could even take me down,” he finished with a nasty chuckle.

  “You really think you can get away with this?” Jamie asked. From his police experience, he knew his only hope lay in trying to talk to his captor until he saw a reasonable opportunity to escape.

  If nothing else, I’ll draw my gun and hope to hell I can get off a shot after he slits my throat. Jamie couldn’t believe the man hadn’t frisked him. No way I’m letting this thug kill Eileen and the girls.

  Eileen opened the door to the house and put one foot inside.

  “I know your daughters are home,“ Jamie’s attacker hissed. “One word and I slit his throat.”

  Eileen looked back at Jamie, her eyes filled with fear. Jamie tried to project confidence. She turned and walked into the house.

  “Now you,” the big man ordered Louie.

  Louie hobbled into the house, followed by Jamie and his captor, who quietly closed the door.

  They were in the hallway leading into the kitchen. The darkened laundry room was opposite the door to the garage. Eileen went to stand by the sink, and Louie crossed to stand beside her.

  The big man stepped forward and looked to his left—for anyone in the dining room or kitchen, and then to his right—checking that the door to the back porch was closed. Satisfied, he looked at Eileen and Louie and shook his head.

  “Maldizer,” he said. “You are one lucky cabrao, one lucky fucker, Griffin.”

  “How’s that?” Jamie asked.

  “You and yours have thwarted almost every attempt to harm you.”

  “Who are you? I know you work for Sedecla.”

  The big man grunted softly. “That’s not hard to figure out, asshole. Yes, I am Sedecla’s seneschal. My name is Tomás Eduardo Fortunato da Silva, but my friends call me ‘Lucky.’ Unluckily for you, you aren’t my friends. You avoided my first bombing attempt somehow, and your bitch wife was supposed to die in the second attempt. Then you managed to have the cops on us before we could finish kidnapping your daughter, so I followed you today and waited for an opportunity. Now we’re all going to go into the living room, where I will end this.”

  “What if I just start screaming?” Eileen asked. She knew that they were all dead unless she gave Jamie a chance to fight back.

  da Silva laughed. “Then your husband dies now, and I’ll silence your screams a second later.”

  “I dunno,” Louie said. “We’ve got you three to one.”

  “True, but at least two of you die, and most likely, all three of you die. I will be sad if I can’t kill your entire family, but I can accomplish my goal by killing just him.”

  “Eileen,” Jamie said quietly. “Please do as he says. Louie, you too. Just head into the living room. Please.” Jamie wanted her and Louie on their way into the living room before he made his move. Lord, give me the courage to do this and the strength to make it happen.

  Eileen’s eyes filled with tears, knowing that this was not likely to end well, but she nodded. “I love you, Jamie,” she choked out as she walked toward the dining room.

  “I love you too, babe,” Jamie replied.

  “How touching,” da Silva sneered. “Now you, pasta-bender.”

  “You’d better kill me,” Louie growled. “Otherwise, I’ll make you regret that remark.” He walked past da Silva to follow Eileen.

  “I have no problem with killing all of you,” da Silva rasped. “Move forward, nice and slow,” he ordered, then began moving forward with Jamie into the dining room. He looked away from his victims quickly, taking out a .45 with a silencer, holding Jamie close, with the knife still at his throat.

  Instantly, two shots rang out. Jamie felt da Silva’s body shudder, and then the knife at his throat fell away along with the hand that had been holding it. Blood splattered all over Jamie even though he had instinctively ducked down and whirled, his own gun drawn, to face da Silva.

  The big man bounced off a kitchen cabinet, crumpling to the floor like a gigantic house of cards, two gaping holes in his head—one that had punched out his right eye and the other that had blown out the side of his head.

  “Well, I’ve got a problem with that,” came a female voice from the living room. Snapping his head back toward Eileen, Jamie saw Daphné in a Weaver Stance, lowering her gun to the floor.

  “Me too,” came a female voice from Jamie’s side. Adrenaline pumping, Jamie whipped his gaze and his gun to his right. Darcelle was in an Isosceles Stance, which she had assumed upon stepping out of the laundry room. She was lowering her gun. “Easy Unc, it’s me. You okay?” Darcelle asked, stepping forward and bending down on one knee when she saw the trickle of blood running down Jamie’s neck.

  “I am now, lass,” Jamie replied in a shaky voice, sliding down to sit upon the floor in the doorway between the dining room and kitchen. Eileen and Daphné ran to Jamie, concerned about his wound. “I’m fine—it’s a shallow cut.” Eileen grabbed a towel, and Jamie placed it against the cut.

  Jamie heard footsteps stop at the top of the staircase. “Mom? Dad?” came Brigid’s terrified voice. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  “Yes, love, yes,” Jamie replied. “Come downstairs, all of you, but stay in the dining room. You don’t need to see the mess Daphné and Darcelle made in your mother’s kitchen.”

  “Well, excuse me,” Daphné replied sarcastically.

  “Is that the thanks I get for saving your life?” Darcelle asked, in a teasing tone.

  “No,” Jamie said thickly. Then he reached up and hugged Darcelle. Then he looked back at Daphné and said, “You get over here too, young lady.” Now that the immediate threat was gone, Jamie’s emotions poured out. “Let’s make some calls.”

  For the third time in less than two weeks, Jamie placed a 911 call from his house. He knew the house would soon be swarming with uniforms, detectives, and the medical examiner’s staff. Once he hung up the phone, Jamie said, “Okay, you guys sit in the living room until the police arrive. I’m going to stay in the kitchen with the body, along with Daphné and Darcelle.”

  “Why, Dad?” Riona asked. She had stopped trembling, held by her mother, with her sisters at her side. “Why can’t you come sit with us? Why are they out there with you?”

  “Because this is now a crime scene,” Jamie replied gently. “I’m covered in blood, but I can’t change until the detectives get here. They’ll need to see the scene as it is before they take my clothes as evidence, and the twins need to stay out here since they did the actual shooting.” All three of their guns sat in plain view on the kitchen table. The last thing Jamie wanted was some rookie getting excited and doing something stupid.

  When he heard the sound of a car pulling up o
ut front, Jamie told Eileen to go open the door slowly with her hands in plain sight. She did so and was faced with a uniformed policeman, with his hand on his gun.

  “Easy does it, officer,” Eileen called out, her hands in front of her. “Everything is under control here. I’m Eileen Griffin, and this is my house. Please come in.” She slowly swung the door open, and the uniformed officer stepped inside. “You’ll want to go to the kitchen,” she said, leading him into the living room and then pointing.

  Jamie looked up as the officer approached. “Hey, Thompson,” he said wearily. “I’ve already secured the crime scene, but I know you need to do it officially, log and all.”

  The big officer grunted. “Yeah, I know the drill, Griffin.” Turning back to Eileen, Thompson said, “You’ll want to stand at the door. The parade’s going to be here before too long.” Looking back at Jamie, Thompson shook his head and said, “You’ve got quite a mess on your hands here, Griffin.”

  “Tell me about it.” While Thompson began officially securing the scene, Jamie began relating the evening’s events. Two detectives showed up at the same time as Frank and Nuala Griffin. Paddy and Jeanne arrived shortly after them. Word of the shooting had spread, and Jamie saw their friends and neighbors, the Murphys, bringing up the rear.

  It was late in the evening by the time the time the circus finally died down and Jamie at last sat on the sectional in clean clothes, with his family, Louie, and the twins. While Daphné and Darcelle had put on a tough act while the investigators were interviewing them, the impact of what they had done was now came down on them with a vengeance.

  “You know that you had no choice, right?” Jamie asked. “There’s no way da Silva would have negotiated. If you’d tried, I would’ve wound up with my throat slit and you still would’ve shot him.”

  “I know, uncle,” Daphné replied. “It’s just—” she trailed off, shaking her head.