by Tim Kehoe
Como turned his body and took a half step into the freezer, and I turned around, scouring the shelves behind me. I found a large heavy butcher knife on the top shelf. I gripped it by the tip and spun back around. Como was still standing half in the freezer. His voice was muffled.
“Man, that guy was twisted.”
I bent down on one knee and extended my right arm behind me. The knife was heavy.
Concentrate. You’ve got one chance, I thought.
“Wow,” Como continued. “You see? This is why he is—or was—a professional.” His voice was becoming louder and clearer as he backed out of the freezer. “That’s how professional assassins work. It never looks like murder when done right.”
I snapped my arm forward with all my might as Como turned back toward me. I watched the knife flip end over end through the air. It took an eternity to reach his throat. And then Como let out a small scream as the handle of the knife hit him square in the throat and fell to the floor. I guess I didn’t have Carson Kidd’s, or my mom’s, killing talents.
“You little jerk!” He switched the gun back to his right hand and pointed it directly at me. “Do you know who I am? Do you?” he demanded. “Turn around and get on your knees.”
He waved the gun back and forth, motioning for me to turn around. “Turn around and get down on your knees!”
This was it. What was I thinking, throwing a butcher knife like I was some sort of fictional hero? I was no hero.
“On your knees now, Furious!”
I turned around and got on my knees. It was going to end—just like this? No fight? No avenging my mom, my dad, or grandpa? Just me living a pathetic life and then kneeling down to die? In the end, my dad tried to avenge my mom’s death. But not me. I was just going to kneel down and die.
I could hear his shoes click against the floor as he walked slowly toward me.
“I’ll show you how we used to do things.” His voice was high now. He was excited.
Several more clicks and I knew he was standing directly behind me. I had to do something. Fight, Furious! Be strong! Be brave! Like your mom and dad!
I tightened my stomach and prepared to swing and kick and punch and . . . whatever. I prepared to do something. But as I began to move, I heard a crunch. Had the gun misfired? I tucked down and spun around. I punched with all of my might. I figured I’d punch him like I had punched Douglas. But Como had already fallen, and I hit him in the face. It hurt badly. My hand was bleeding. Como was on his knees with a knife blade sticking out the front of his neck.
Trish pulled the knife out of his throat, and he dropped to the floor.
“Oh my god, Finbar, are you okay?”
I looked down at my hand. There was blood everywhere. “Furious,” I said. “My name is Furious.”
“Furious.”
“I’m okay, are you?” I asked.
“I’ve been worse,” she said.
Mike got up and limped to the freezer.
He let out a loud cry and disappeared into it.
“What is it? Is it mom?” Trish cried. I helped Trish to her feet, and we walked to the open door. Their mom was buried under an avalanche of food. She was unconscious and her skin was snow white. But she was still alive. She was taking shallow breaths.
“Accident,” I said out loud.
“Accident? This is no accident.” Trish turned toward me.
“No. He made it look like an accident. Just like the others.”
I pulled out my phone and dialed 911.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
* * *
I stood outside and waited for help. Three ambulances arrived several minutes later. And then the entire Galena Fire Department and police department followed with all their sirens blaring. And then I saw Emma. She was walking down the Main Street sidewalk toward me.
I ran to her.
“You’re okay?” she asked as she wrapped her arms around me.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m okay.” I leaned back and looked her in the eyes. “Thank you. For everything.”
“I’m just glad you’re all—” She stopped when she saw my hand. “Your hand!”
I looked down. My hand was still bleeding from the knuckles. There was a lot of blood.
“I’m okay. Really.”
“So, Betty’s nephew, do you care to tell me what in holy heaven is going on here?” I turned to see Sheriff Daniels standing behind me.
“It’s kind of complicated, sir,” I said.
“Why don’t you two follow me,” the sheriff said, turning toward Cannova’s.
We followed Sheriff Daniels toward Cannova’s front door. Trish was being wheeled out on a stretcher. She looked upset. I’m sure she would’ve rather walked. Mike’s mom was on the next stretcher. And Mike was being wheeled out behind her.
“Gosh, Furious. What happened?” Emma asked.
I was about to reply when Daniels turned around and said, “Yeah, Finbar. Or is it Furious? I’m curious too.”
“It’s Furious, sir. Furious Jones.”
“Well, maybe you can show me what happened in there, Mr. Jones.” The sheriff motioned inside.
“Okay,” I said. But I didn’t need to go inside. The entire sick scene was etched into my brain. The holes in Douglas’s jacket. The look on Como’s face and the giant gash in his neck. All of it. Every detail perfectly preserved in my messed-up mind.
We stepped into the restaurant and I started to tell the sheriff about my dad and his book. I told him about the assassin after Trish and her mom. I told him the assassin was dead on Cannova’s kitchen floor. And I was just about to mention Attorney General Como’s involvement when two EMTs rolled Douglas out on a stretcher. He was conscious but looked real bad. The stretcher left a trail of blood as it rolled across the restaurant floor.
“Who shot the CIA guy?” Daniels asked as we walked into the kitchen.
Anton and Como were lying on the floor in the middle of a growing pool of blood. Emma gasped.
“He did.” I pointed to Como. “He shot Director Douglas.”
Daniels crouched down next to Como. “Don’t I know this guy?”
“You’ve probably seen him on TV. He’s running for president,” I said. “That’s—”
“Attorney General Como,” Daniels finished my sentence.
“Como?” Emma repeated. “Furious, how was the attorney general involved in all of this?”
“And who stuck that knife in his throat?” Daniels pointed to the butcher knife a few feet away.
“Trish did.”
“Yeah,” Daniels said. “That I can believe.”
He looked back at me. “Let’s take a ride over to Dubuque and get your hand fixed up. You can tell me all about—” He stopped talking as he looked around the room. “All about whatever the hell this is.”
The sheriff wrapped my hand in a bar towel, and we walked out onto Main Street.
“Hang on, I’ve got to grab something.” Emma and Daniels watched as I walked over to Douglas’s sedan and grabbed the photo album from the backseat.
I patted the cover of the album and said, “It’s proof.”
“Whatever.” Daniels climbed into the truck.
Emma and I climbed into the backseat. I could see the flashing lights of an ambulance a few miles ahead of us. I hoped Trish’s mom would be okay. Trish had been through enough.
“So, start from the beginning one more time,” the sheriff said as he drove.
“Okay,” I said. “The Chicago organized crime division has been cutting deals with members of the Salvatore crime syndicate for the last year. They offered a new life to anyone who would rat out fellow mob members. Dozens of bad guys and their families took them up on the offer, and the state ended up sending most of them to Galena.”
“What?” Daniels asked. “Why wouldn’t I have been told?”
“It sounds like no one was told. Maybe the state was worried about leaks, but somehow the FBI got wind of it. And apparently the Salvatore syndicate had
a mole in the FBI who tipped off the Salvatores. So they sent their top assassin to Galena to kill the witnesses.”
“Top assassin?” Daniels asked. “How do you know all of this?”
“Hang on, we’ll get to that,” I said.
“This is unbelievable, Furious,” Emma said.
“Well, the FBI was unsure of whom they could trust, so they called in an agent from the CIA to help.”
“I think I met the woman they sent,” Daniels said.
“No, you met my mom. The guy they sent is now dead in one of those ambulances in front of us. The CIA sent a guy named Amado Anton, and his family, here to blend in and take the Salvatore assassins out. He had a unique talent for killing. He was perfect for this job. But, it turns out, Anton was working for the Salvatores.”
“What kind of unique talent?” Emma asked.
“He made all the deaths look like accidents. Creative, bizarre accidents.”
“Oh, dear god.” The sheriff suddenly realized what had been going on in his town.
“The CIA sent my mom here after Anton was unable to stop the Salvatores.”
“Right,” Daniels agreed, “but Anton killed your mom.”
“Yes.”
“I met that CIA guy that you beat up after your mom was killed,” the sheriff said. “He seemed like a good enough guy.”
“You beat up a CIA agent?” Emma asked.
“Kind of,” I said. “His name is Director Douglas and he is, or was, the head of organized crime for the CIA.”
“And you beat him up?” Emma asked again.
“Yes,” I said. “Until tonight, I didn’t know who to trust.”
“So, tell me again,” Daniels said. “How do you know all of this?”
“My dad,” I said. “My dad is Robert Jones the author. My mom reached out to him for help before she died. He came to Galena to figure out who killed her. He was looking for justice. Or revenge. He put the truth about my mom’s murder in his new book.” I didn’t mention the fact that all his previous books had also been about my mom’s experiences. There was no need to tarnish his reputation now.
“I knew your dad,” Daniels said. “I met him several times. He said he was here researching a book.”
“He was,” I said.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
* * *
I spent more than two hours having my hand stitched up. I needed thirty-two stitches in all. Then a nurse escorted me to a waiting room on the second floor. Sheriff Daniels and Emma were sitting in overstuffed chairs by a window. Emma saw me and stood up.
“How bad was it?”
“Not bad,” I lied.
“Twenty stitches?” Daniels guessed.
“Thirty-two,” I said.
“Yeah, that was a nasty cut,” Daniels said.
“Thirty-two stitches! My god, Furious!” Emma said.
“I’m fine. Any word on the others?”
“Yeah, the doctors were just out here a little bit ago,” Emma said. “Trish is doing fine. Just a bunch of stitches too. But Mike has some damage to his foot. They’re operating now.”
“Trish had fewer stitches than you, Furious,” Daniels said. “You should try getting shot next time.”
“No, thanks. How about Trish’s mom?”
Emma sighed. “No word yet. They said it looks like she’s in a drug-induced coma, but there are no signs of drugs in her system.”
“I guess that’s why Anton was one of the best,” I said. “Any word on Douglas?”
Emma perked up. “Yes. It sounds like he’s doing fine. I mean, fine for having been shot several times. Apparently he was wearing a bulletproof vest.”
“Yeah,” Daniels interjected. “Believe me, being shot up close like that is still no picnic. He’ll probably have some broken ribs, and depending on the ammo, the bullet may have still gone through the vest.”
“But he’ll be okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, he’ll be okay,” Emma repeated. “They’re actually moving him into a room now. They said he could have visitors soon.”
I sat down and we made small talk while I flipped through several magazines. A nurse came in twenty minutes later and said it was okay to go see Douglas. Sheriff Daniels stood up.
“I’d like to see him too,” I said.
“Sure. I don’t have any problem with that.” He looked at Emma. “You can come on in too, darling.”
The nurse led us down the hall to Douglas’s room. They had removed the bandages from his face and replaced them with smaller ones. Most of his face was black and blue. It must have taken a lot of restraint for him not to shoot me in that front yard.
“Hey there,” Daniels said as we walked in. “Thank god for Kevlar, eh, Douglas?”
“Zylon,” Douglas said. “The vests are made of Zylon these days, Daniels. If it was Kevlar, I’d be dead.”
“So I should throw out my old Kevlar vest?”
Douglas just shrugged.
“I called your superior,” Daniels said. “What’s his name, Hannahan?”
“Callahan,” Douglas replied.
“Yeah, Callahan. He’s sending someone out first thing in the morning.”
“Did you tell him I was all right?”
“I said I thought you’d be all right.”
“What about Como?” Douglas asked.
“Dead.”
Douglas turned toward me. “How did you stop Como? Did you break his nose too?”
“No. I’m sorry about that.” I motioned to his nose. “I wasn’t sure what was going on. Didn’t know who to trust.”
“That makes two of us, kid.”
“The girl, Trish—she knifed the attorney general,” Daniels said.
Douglas murmured something.
“Are you up for giving a statement now?” Daniels asked.
“Can we do it tomorrow? Been kind of a long day.”
“No sweat.” Daniels stood up and looked at Emma and me. “Well, I guess I’ll give you two a ride back to Galena.”
“I’d like a minute with the kid,” Douglas said, motioning to me.
“Okay. I’ll be in the waiting room.” Daniels walked out, but Emma and I didn’t move.
“Who’s your friend?” Douglas asked.
“A journalism friend of mine from Chicago. She came to help me,” I said. “To tell the story of my dad’s book and everything.”
“Is that okay?” Emma asked.
“You’re kind of young to be a reporter,” Douglas said, wincing in pain.
“I’m a student journalist,” Emma said, “but I’m good.”
“Just do me a favor and leave Furious out of the story,” Douglas said.
“Why?” I asked.
“ ’Cause the world thinks you’re dead,” Douglas said, “and that’s probably for the best.”
“But what about me? How does a dead guy live?”
Douglas didn’t answer. He just stared at me.
“Witness protection?” I asked. “In my experience, witness protection doesn’t offer so much protection.”
Douglas looked at Emma and said, “Will you please excuse us? I need to talk to Furious alone.”
Emma looked at me, and I nodded that it was okay.
Emma left the room and Douglas said, “I was very fond of your mother, Furious. She was a wonderful woman and a wonderful agent.”
I said nothing.
Douglas continued, “And you remind me a lot of her. A lot. Except you were able to do something that neither your mom nor your dad could do.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“You stopped Anton.”
“Actually, Como stopped Anton,” I said.
“But you put the pieces together and came to Galena to get justice,” Douglas said. “Against all odds.”
“I had nothing left to lose. My entire family is gone.”
Douglas quietly nodded his head.
“I know I’m a stranger to you, Furious. But I’ve known you your entire life. I cared ab
out your mom, and I care about you.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Here was a complete stranger who was saying he cared. “Thank you,” I said.
“Join us, Furious.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “I’m only twelve.”
“That doesn’t matter. Join us and I’ll train you. I’ll take care of you. Believe it or not, we sometimes recruit agents as young as you. They all do it. The Russians. The Brits. There are special projects that require certain attributes and skills.”
“Are you serious?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Me, a spy for the CIA? “I have no skills.”
“You have more skills than you realize, and I can teach you the rest. I’m forming a new team, and you would be perfect on it.”
“Who else is on this team?” I asked, but Douglas just stared at me. “Ah, top secret, right?”
Douglas gave a little nod and winced in pain again.
“Will you be going after the Salvatores? The people that destroyed my family?”
“Yes,” Douglas said. “And I hope to get them. But we could use your help.”
A nurse walked in and asked Douglas how he felt.
“Like I went through a meat grinder,” he said.
“Don’t say ‘meat grinder.’ ” I laughed.
“Look, kid, I’m going to get a little rest. Let’s continue this conversation in a little bit.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
* * *
Emma got a ride from Sheriff Daniels and headed back to Chicago to write the story, and I fell asleep in the waiting room and slept until almost eight o’clock. There were several families in the room when I woke up.
I walked out into the hall and asked a nurse if I could see Mike and Trish.
“I think that would be okay. But let me check.” She disappeared into a room down the hall and reappeared several minutes later. “Sure, sweetie. Go on in.”
I pushed the door open. Trish’s mom was in the bed. The room was dark. I waved to Trish who was sitting in a chair next to her mom. Mike was on a small couch with his foot elevated in a cast.
“Hey, man,” he whispered. “How are you feeling?”