Dirty Power

by Ashley Bartlett

  The rest of the morning was dedicated to Alexis DiGiovanni. Apparently, she was a big deal or something.

  I told them about the night I’d been stabbed. They found that very, very interesting. But they were pretty pissed that I couldn’t pinpoint which of Alexis’s men had actually killed someone. But having a witness inside a massacre was gold.

  Beyond that, I only had one thing to contribute. “Alexis is a fucking sociopath.”

  Florence shot Ogilvy a pointed look.

  “Yes, we’ve considered that,” Ogilvy said diplomatically.

  “No, really. Psychotic motherfucker,” I said.

  “Total cunt too,” Reese said.

  “For real. Major asshole. And she’s crazy as fuck,” Ryan said.

  “She also has a very shrewd business sense,” Ogilvy said. “Florence is our Alexis expert. So I’ll let him give you the background that we know. Hopefully, you can fill in a few details.”

  “Thank you.” Florence nodded to Ogilvy. “As you know, Alexis comes from a long line of—”

  “Dude, are you really going to give us our family history?” Ryan asked. He was bored. Time to pick a fight.

  “Sorry, I was going to say that Alexis has deviated quite a bit from the way her predecessors conducted business,” Florence said.

  “Hmm.” Reese cocked her head to the side.

  “What?” I asked her.

  “He’s right. She broke all the rules.”

  “Whoa. Yeah.” Ryan nodded. “Tricky bitch.”

  “What do you guys mean?” I asked.

  “Our family runs drugs. Our great-grandfather got his start during prohibition. When prohibition ended, he used the contacts he had to expand into the drug business. The DiGiovannis were small time then, but by the sixties, my grandfather had made a name for himself. But it was always in drugs.” Reese shook her head.

  I stared at Reese. Damn, the girl could write a history book on her family.

  “But now we run guns, girls, and who knows what the fuck else,” Ryan said. “Douche bag fucking cunt.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” I said.

  “I know. That’s the problem. Alexis has moved into territory that doesn’t belong to us,” Reese said.

  “No. Douche bag fucking cunt. Is she a cunt who’s also a douche bag? Or is she a douche bag who fucks cunts? Wait. Maybe that would make sense.”

  “Coop.” Ryan.

  “Seriously, Cooper.” Reese.

  “Let’s focus.” Ogilvy.

  “Please.” Florence.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Alexis has moved into new territory, as you say.” Agent Florence tried to get the conversation back on track.

  “But she managed to do it without incurring the wrath of those who own the territory,” Goldberg said.

  “How?” Reese asked.

  “Planning,” Florence said.

  “No shit,” I said.

  “I mean, since she was a teenager, at least in her early twenties.”

  “How do you know?” Reese asked.

  “In college she took Russian and Ukrainian. She also appears to have a working knowledge of a handful of other Eastern European languages. About ten years ago, in her early twenties, she made friends with the Russians. She gained their trust, did very civil business with them.”

  “But she barely works with the Russians now. I mean, I went to a lot of meetings with her where they spoke Russian, but I always got the sense that they were working for her,” I said.

  Agent Florence wrote that down. Must have been interesting. “We thought as much.”

  Eudora spoke up. “There was an incident about six years ago. We never got all of the details, but the head of the local Russian mob and all of his lieutenants were at a private party. The food was poisoned. Eight men dead. As well as a dog. We never got any leads.”

  “How do you not get any leads when eight dudes are killed?” I asked.

  Eudora got even angrier looking than before. “Very few witnesses. All of whom either disappeared or turned up dead. And the little evidence we did have all pointed to a different, much smaller crime family. Most of them are still serving time for the killings. Those who aren’t in prison are dead as well.”

  “Alexis took out the competition in one fell swoop. Well, we believe it was Alexis. She was vacationing in the Caribbean at the time,” Florence said.

  “Your cousin is fucking crazy,” I told the twins.

  “Let’s pretend we’re not related to that bitch,” Reese said.

  “Totally,” Ryan said.

  I was really not looking forward to going back to face Alexis DiGiovanni again.

  *

  We broke for lunch. Goldberg actually asked what we wanted this time. It was the first real meal I’d had in two days. It was the best meal of my life.

  The rest of the afternoon was a detailed look at the guys from the morning. That evening was dedicated to Alexis. Again. I was so tired of that chick. What the Feds really wanted was some sort of confession. They had circumstantial evidence to tie her to a handful of crimes. If we could manage a little more evidence on any of those crimes, it would be enough to put her away.

  Lawrence DiGiovanni was only afforded an hour. I was pretty sure the Feds knew they would never take the don down. So they weren’t even trying. Besides, it sounded like he wasn’t running the show much anymore. His lieutenants handled the business. Actually, Alexis handled the business. The don was just there for ring kissing. Someone had to wear it.

  I knew it was going to be a long-ass night when I said something that made all the agents tense up and made Reese and Ryan look at me funny.

  “When are we going to be done here? This isn’t getting your investigation anywhere so I know you’re sending my ass to Chicago. I’m tired of waiting.” That was when the room went still.

  “Chicago?” Reese asked.

  “Uhh, yeah. We haven’t given them any earth shattering information. And that was the agreement.” I realized as I was saying it that Ogilvy hadn’t shared the entire agreement with Reese and Ryan. This was going to be bad.

  “The agreement was information for immunity,” Reese said. She looked at me, then Ogilvy, then back to me.

  “You didn’t tell them about the deal you offered me?” I asked Ogilvy.

  “Why would I?” she asked.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Ryan asked.

  “The deal Ogilvy offered me was contingent on enough information to arrest the don’s lieutenants. Alexis and Vito would be ideal, but Acconci would work also.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Reese.

  “Stupid bitch.” Ryan. It was directed at Ogilvy, not me. “You’re going to get Coop killed.”

  “She is not going to Chicago. They’ll kill her.” Reese.

  Ogilvy used the same line on them that she used on me. “Are you aware that the don put out a contract on Ryan?”

  Ryan laughed. “I’m not surprised.”

  “What the fuck?” Reese screamed. “We were fine. We were far away from those assholes and you dragged us back here. What happens when they realize we are in the country? They will kill Ryan and probably Coop for good measure.”

  “Reese.” I put my hand on the back of her neck. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s fucking not.” She shrugged my hand off.

  “I didn’t have much of a choice. If they arrest me, I’ll get killed in prison. It won’t take Vito long. This way I at least have a chance.”

  “What fucking chance? Please don’t kill me, let’s be friends. Oh, and can I please have some incriminating evidence?” She had a point.

  “Yeah,” Ryan said.

  “We aren’t going to send her in with nothing,” Ogilvy said.

  “Oh, yeah. Put a wire on her too. That will help.” Reese crossed her arms and turned away.

  “We’re going to release reports that Ryan has been killed. Cooper will go to the don and demand payment. It will build trust and d
emonstrate loyalty,” Ogilvy said.

  The room went silent for an entire minute.

  “Well, fuck me,” Ryan said.

  “If she dies, I’ll fucking bury all of you,” Reese said.

  She was implying their credibility and jobs. But I was pretty sure that if I died she would actually bury all of them. Like six feet under.

  “Noted.” Ogilvy.

  *

  “How could you not tell me?” Reese asked.

  We were in a hotel suite. It was a huge improvement from the jail they’d been holding us in. Even if there was an FBI agent stationed in the main room.

  “Seriously, Coop,” Ryan said.

  “I swear, I thought you knew.” I sat on the bed. Ryan sat next to me and crossed his legs. Reese stayed standing.

  “Why the hell would we agree to that?” Reese asked.

  “I don’t know. It’s the best option.”

  “Not if they kill you.” Somehow, Reese managed to scream under her breath. Wouldn’t want the nice Fed to come in here.

  “They know I killed Tommy and that other guy in Vegas,” I whispered. “They’ll send my ass to prison. Even if Vito doesn’t have me killed in there, I’m not going to last long.”

  “Fuck this. Let’s get out of here.” Reese marched to the window. It was sealed. “Damn it.”

  “Babe, we’re on like the twentieth floor,” I said.

  “I’ll make it work.” Reese tried to open the window that didn’t open.

  Ryan started laughing. “Reese, chill.”

  “Don’t tell me to fucking chill.” She put her shoulder to the window and pushed.

  “Peanut butter, it’s not happening.” I walked over and pulled her away from the window. “Besides, where would we go? We don’t have passports or money. Or clothes, even.”

  “So what? We stay here and wait until they ship you off for your death sentence? Fuck that.”

  “Vito isn’t going to kill me,” I lied. I didn’t know if he was going to kill me. It was about sixty-forty at this point. But forty percent chance of not dying was looking pretty good.

  “She’s right,” Ryan said.

  “How the hell would you know?” Reese asked.

  “You didn’t see him in that warehouse. When Coop started to cut me loose, Vito looked like he’d lost his favorite puppy.”

  “So?” Reese asked.

  “So he likes Coop. A lot. He was really upset that she chose me over him. This way he’ll think she finally chose him.”

  “So we’re pretty much banking on Vito’s sentimentality. I’m so reassured. Thanks.”

  “Seriously. Alexis told me once that Vito considered me his kid or something. I mean, he’s obviously deranged, but I think he will want to believe that I chose him,” I said.

  “I’m still not sold on this shit.” Reese.

  “For real.” Ryan.

  “But we agree it’s the only viable option, right?” I asked.

  “Whatever.” Ryan.

  “Yeah.” Reese.

  “Any chance we can go to sleep now? I really want to sleep in a real bed.”

  Reese nodded and kicked off her shoes. “Are you sleeping in here or your own room?” she asked Ryan.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Go to your own room.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m about to strip.”

  “Whoa. Going. Chill.” Ryan put one hand over his eyes and held the other out in front of himself. “Night, kids. No loud sex. It’s creepy and I don’t like the look of that Fed.”

  Reese and I grinned but managed to keep from laughing out loud. Ryan was a freak.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The story broke when I was in the air. When I got off the plane at O’Hare, it seemed like my face was plastered on half the TVs. Thankfully, Americans don’t give a shit about the news, so no one was paying attention. Also, the Feds had released my blond, green-eyed passport photo. No one noticed me with my boring brown hair.

  I caught a cab and had the guy drop me about a mile from Vito’s house. It was early evening. Still hot as fuck. The Feds had wired up a leather jacket. It had video through one of the buttons on the collar. A different button was a mic. All the wires were sewn to the seams inside the lining. I’d tried to find them, but I couldn’t. Neither could Reese and Ryan. Good enough for me. The problem was, it was way too fucking hot to wear a leather jacket.

  I also had a disposable cell phone. The kind that someone on the run would buy for twenty bucks in a drug store. The kind I’d been carrying for two years. It was wired too. Just audio. And GPS. I knew there were about five Feds and twenty local cops glued to my ass monitoring the wires, but I couldn’t see them. Hopefully, Vito wouldn’t be able to either.

  I wanted to linger outside of Vito’s house. Take a moment to breathe before walking into a death trap. But I was playing the part of nervous fugitive so I went up and knocked on the door.

  Madge opened it. She made an angry face. And her face was already ugly as fuck so it wasn’t a good look.

  “Hey.”

  “Get in here, now.” To facilitate my entry, Madge grabbed the strap of my backpack and hauled me inside.

  “I…I didn’t know where else to go.”

  Madge didn’t say anything. And she didn’t let go of my backpack either. She dragged me upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms and made me sit on the bed.

  “Stay.”

  I stayed. “I’m sorry. I know you guys don’t want me around, but—”

  “Be quiet.” Madge pulled out her cell phone and dialed Vito. Or I assumed she was calling Vito. “Your bastard son just showed up here.”

  A code. This one didn’t require an answer key.

  Madge ended the call. “Strip.”

  “Huh?”

  “I can search you, or Vito can. You can decide.”

  I glared at her, but it didn’t seem like she was going to let this one go. So I threw my backpack at her feet. The jacket tumbled out of the straps. Then I yanked off my shoes and tossed those to her. My T-shirt was sweaty. I hoped it grossed her out. Same with my socks. I emptied the pockets of my jeans onto the bed before dropping my pants and kicking those to her.

  “Happy?” I asked.

  “Underwear too,” was her response.

  I scowled and took off my boxer briefs. I threw them at her. She caught them, held them up for inspection, then dropped them on the floor. She could have given them back, but no. I had to stand there buck-ass naked while she very thoroughly searched my clothing, felt the seams of my jeans and jacket, took the lining and laces out of my new Chucks, upended my backpack and combed the contents, took the battery out of my cheap phone, and finally made me spin in a circle to make sure there wasn’t a wire taped anywhere on my body.

  It was humiliating. Which was exactly what she wanted it to be.

  “You broke his heart when you left,” she said.

  “That’s dumb. I’ve already got a father.”

  “Get dressed. I can’t look at you anymore.”

  Gee, and I was so enjoying standing here naked. I pulled on my clothes, put my wallet and cell back in my pocket, and sat on the bed.

  “So what now?” I asked.

  “Are you hungry?” She sounded like she was being nice, but the face was still angry.

  “Starving.”

  “Come on.”

  I followed Madge back downstairs. She pointed at the kitchen table. I sat down. Then she brought me a beer—they kept them in the fridge for company—and pulled out the makings of a sandwich. I remembered why I liked Madge.

  A year and a half had gone by since I’d been in this house. But Madge remembered that I liked turkey and Swiss. No tomato. Avocado, onion, and lettuce. Pepper, but no salt. She used the good mustard, the kind reserved for Vito, and not offered to anyone else. That meant she still liked me. She even found a stockpile of Cheetos. I also warranted a scoop of her homemade potato salad. Maybe this undercover thing wouldn’t
be so bad.

  A door slammed somewhere.

  “Where the hell is she?” Vito shouted.

  “If you’re gonna kill me, can I finish this sandwich first?” I shouted back.

  Vito stomped into the kitchen. Madge set a second sandwich on the table. Then gave Vito a look that made him sit down. He ate the first half of his sandwich without breaking the death stare he was giving me. For the second half he looked everywhere except at me.

  When we were done eating, Vito stood and grabbed the collar of my shirt. I snagged my beer and let him drag me to my feet.

  “Wait,” Madge said.

  “Not now.” Vito twisted my shirt so it was choking me a little.

  “You need to know—”

  “Not now!” Vito hauled me into the study. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Where the hell else am I going to go?”

  “I don’t care where you go.”

  “I got nothing, Vito.”

  “That is not my problem.”

  “Just help me out a little, okay? I need somewhere to hide. I need some way across the border. Help me, please,” I was begging. I was giving him the power. He liked power.

  “No. You made your choice. The DiGiovannis will not help you. Now get out of my house.” Vito pointed toward the door.

  “Fine. Pay me and I’ll go.” I didn’t stand. I just took a drink of my beer.

  “Pay you? Pay you what?”

  “Don’t play dumb. It was a stupid fucking accident, but I still deserve to get paid. You owe me that at least.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  For a moment, I thought he was just covering his ass. It’s not a good idea to admit that your associates put a contract on someone. But then I realized that he actually didn’t know.

  “Oh my God.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t know.”

  “I don’t know what?”

  And that was when his phone rang. He grunted some monosyllabic words, glared at me, grunted some more, then hung up.

  “Stay here.”

  I waited all of sixty seconds before following him to the TV.

  “…crime of passion. The agents in charge of the investigation report only that the murder was brutal, the victim stabbed half a dozen times, before the suspect fled the scene. The suspect, Vivian Cooper, aka Cooper Wells, is thought to be armed and should be considered dangerous. Reese DiGiovanni, the victim’s sister, is also sought for questioning; however, the police maintain that she is not a suspect in this case.”