by Jack Parker
Her sudden exit didn't allow much of an opportunity to see what was happening to Scott. Holding tight to her purse, Tessa stumbled from the sedan onto the concrete parking area, almost taking a tumble. As if anticipating the problem, Cy pulled up his arm and in effect stopped the fall. In response, Tessa tried to reclaim her appendage, yanking hard to try and slip from his strong-hold. With a guttural growl, the dark-haired man with the tattoos dug his fingers purposely into her bicep muscle, instantly draining her arm of any useable energy. She couldn't catch the quick gasp and tiny whimper that emerged from the result of the barbaric but effective technique, and seeing the lopsided sneer that snaked across Cy's thin lips as they pinched his cigarette, it was obvious he was pleased with his success thus far.
On the opposite side of the car, another man reached in and grabbed Scott. The reporter was smart enough not to try and hit his armed escort, or do much more than glare defiantly. Patience was the best weapon, although his palm did flex and he reconsidered his options when he heard Tessa's sounds of protest. Recently referred to as a hero, it bothered him as the 'damsel' was pushed around.
"Inside," Cy commanded. With a shrug and as much dignity as he could muster, Scott complied by walking towards the front door. He didn't need to open the steel entrance. Cy did it for them. Tessa and the last bruiser with the gun followed behind.
The low hum of machinery greeted them. For the time of day, a surprising amount of activity was going on inside the glass factory. Smelters and conveyor belts were operating. Electric lights were on, and the bright flames of the ovens offered additional sources of illumination, so much that Scott lifted a hand to shield his eyes as he glanced about. The other hand found a home in the pocket of his suit and randomly hit a number on the speed dial of his phone.
The big open room they'd been ushered into was loud and hot, adding to the stress of the moment. Tessa rolled her shoulders back, and rose as tall as the high heels and her 5' 2" frame would allow. She stepped past her aggressor, snatching the lit cigarette from between Cy's fingers as she went by.
"You know , these things could kill you," she said confidently, ironically bringing it to her lips and taking a long draw before throwing it to the cement floor and crushing it beneath her shoe. But who can wait that long. The biting remark lay dangerously close to the tip of her tongue but she held it back.
Scott's eyes widened at her act of defiance. He looked pointedly at Cy and asked boldly, "How about a tour?"
Cy hesitated, his hand was raised and clearly intent on dealing with Tessa. Then he seemed to think better of it. He took the few steps necessary to walk over to Scott. The two men glared at each other for a moment before Cy lowered his now empty hand and pulled out a gun for effect. "I don't think so."
"You don't need to do that, Cy, we're not armed," Tessa immediately confessed. Guns were as common as wristwatches in her home while growing up. Seeing the Bren Ten tucked comfortably in Cy's right hand, didn't bother her as much as the fact that it was pointed at Scott.
"You don't need to do that , Cy," the grown man mimicked in a childish voice. "You sound like Rhen, always thinking he knew better." The bitterness hissed through his teeth and the nudging in her gut became more insistent, pushing her to find out the truth about what happened five months ago.
"Indovino lui era sbagliato, almeno una volta" Tessa said sadly, letting her thoughts slip about her brother being wrong, at least once. She was in fact, referring to befriending Cy, but she was certain that wouldn't be how the ego-inflated man would take it.
As should have been predicted, he dropped his aim on Scott and stepped the few feet closer back to the redhead. For a full minute he stared down at her, at one point daring to push a long tress away from her face with the barrel of the firearm. "Damn right he was," Cy finally growled, "I warned him not to go to 'work' that day…I heard the orders," he added, as if that exonerated him from any wrongdoing.
"What exactly were your orders , Cy?"
She waited for him to take pleasure, gloat and admit that he killed her brother. But he didn't. He waved her off with a casual "I'm not the one who picked the short straw, I didn't do the hit. But when family starts offing family, I get the hell out of there."
The factory floor felt like it tilted, and she could feel her body begin to sway, a flush filling her cheeks as her brain computed what she now heard.
He turned to focus on Scott. "Not that it's important, but who do we have with us today?"
"You can call me Allen," Scott supplied, giving his middle name. He could, of course, explain his relationship to Tessa or make up some clever story, but to do so seemed like too much effort.
Instead, Scott largely ignored the gun and walked a few steps into the factory, clearly observing his surroundings. One hand still in his pocket, Scott let his fingers caress the phone keypad, reluctant to press any more buttons to disconnect and try to dial again. He'd have to hope that a line had been opened and that enough time had passed for someone to answer and be listening. "Cy, perhaps you and your co-workers could put your guns away and share with us how you make all this wonderful stained glass here at the factory?"
"Co-workers," Cy snorted, the word a foreign concept.
"Tessa and I won't run away. Put the gun down."
It was Scott's aim to distract Cy from Tessa, but unfortunately, speaking the woman's name had the opposite effect. Rather than doing as asked, Cy waved the weapon as though it was part of his hand. "You're not her type," he grumbled. "You'd be what Dante might shove her way, but not something she'd choose to hang with, so what's your deal?"
Cy looked from one to the other and Scott could almost hear the hamster's strain as the man tried to conjure a cohesive thought. "Cop?"
"Me? Nah, I'm just a friend."
"Your voice sounds familiar."
"Does it?"
"I don't know. You don't look much smarter than the asshole that dissed me over the phone yesterday." As though the thought could not be easily banished, Cy made a quick decision. "Search him," he commanded.
Cy's partner moved forward to do the honors. In the process, he extracted Scott's phone from the pocket of his suit jacket. With a frown, he glanced at the dial. "Who's 917-555-1356?"
"I have no fucking idea," Cy said with a soft chuckle. "Probably his mother." Snatching the phone, he put the device to his ear but only heard silence. "Maybe I should leave this open so she can hear you scream her name when I shoot you," he said, raising the Bren to Scott's head.
Barely a second passed between his last word and the addition of a new voice hollering in their direction from the factory floor, "Two vehicles approaching damn fast up Industrial Drive and they turned into the west entrance."
On the one hand, Scott was comforted that the speed dial to his favorite officer contact on the New York police force must have connected with its intended target. On the other, it was only a matter of time before this bunch figured out who had made the phone call.
"Take them to the storage room," Cy ordered to his underling, at the same time spinning on his heel and heading towards the door they had just come through.
The futile attempt at digging her heels in, only caused Tessa to stumble forward when her assigned brute gave her arm a quick yank to have her follow him. It didn't seem wise to put up any kind of resistance. As long as they weren't being shoved into the furnace or into any of the chemical vats, it was worth a quiet stroll to whatever storage area was deemed their proverbial holding cell. They were escorted to a back room filled with boxes and office supplies. Other than the traditional "get in there," and "keep your traps shut," no other dialogue was offered.
No sooner had the door closed than Scott began looking around for a source of exit. Half distracted, he asked the obvious, "You okay?" before walking the edges of the small hundred cubic foot area taking inventory.
"No," Tessa answered in a little girl voice, her arms wrapped tightly around her slim frame.
Scott heard her answer but knew th
ey didn't have much time to formulate a plan. He pulled a couple of the larger boxes over to one wall and started stacking them with the intended destination of the small rectangular window that was about 15 feet up. While he worked, he asked another question, "Did you notice something—Cy has a big red tattoo on the top of his hand but the kid back at the fire said the guy of interest had one his arm. Any chance…" He looked at Tessa over his shoulder. She stood very still, and was staring up at the window.
"I think you'll fit," he commented as he found another box of paper to add to his stack. The look on her face spoke volumes. Twice Tessa's size, there was no way he would be squeezing through the window.
"I'm not leaving," she offered, heroically and cowardly at the same time.
He kept working. "Of course you are. Someone has to get help."
Scott took her hand, guiding her over to the makeshift tower. It was almost stair-like, but she'd still need help onto the first box. He interlaced his fingers and knelt, prepared to give her a boost up and then over his shoulders. "I know it's high, but..."
"It's not the height I'm worried about." Tessa lowered her gaze to look at Scott; patiently, he waited on bended knee for her to take the first step.
"I don't exactly hear police sirens outside. I wouldn't count on our mysterious visitors being interested in rescue."
"But..."
"Go, Tessa."
Realizing there wasn't another option, she slipped out of her high heels, tossed them out of the way, and readied to take the lift up to the box stairway.
"I'll come back for you."
He smiled, although the humor didn't light his eyes. "I'm banking on it."
Surprisingly the female journalist was at a loss for words but the moment didn't call for anything else to be said. Ice-blue eyes met green, and without forethought, she cupped Scott's face with her petite hand, a thumb slowly brushed across his cheek. Bending slightly, her full lips met his and for a second she let them linger before sliding her hand into his blond hair and pulling him a little closer.
There were some days when Scott simply acknowledged that life was cruel. Coming from a military family, having seen combat himself, he never took life for granted. Moments like this made him marvel at the futility of it all. For the last two days, he'd been in the company of the perfect woman and had convinced himself they had no future. And now, when he was starting to consider that perhaps he needed to rethink that assumption, to put aside his own reservations and grab the brass ring, the option was being taken from him.
Every logical bone in his body concluded that Cy would not let him go. Tessa leaving would cement his fate.
Scott hated goodbyes. Even if they came with a pleasant kiss or hug, nothing could soften that flutter in the stomach that came with the knowledge of finality. Goodbyes did not always lead to more hellos. As Scott knelt on the cold cement floor of the storage room, he wondered why that was, why life refused to balance and the scales were always tipped in the negative.
Someone needs to talk to God about that.
He held his body still as Tessa climbed up the boxes and out the window. Unable to offer any verbal acknowledgement to the kiss, and unable to call her back, he chose not to watch as she made her way out of the building. Typically optimistic, Scott Crawford held his breath until he heard the glass creak open and the soft thump of her small body as it exited onto the fire escape.
Chapter 15
Geometry
Tic, tic, tic
With bare feet, she moved to the end of the metal fire escape, the weight of her steps causing the brackets to chime together. In her haste, she didn't try to muffle the sound by stepping lighter—all she wanted to do was get off the ledge. Tessa climbed down the metal ladder, then took the two-foot jump to the ground. She bit her lip as the pebbles dug into the soles of her feet and ripped the toes of her stockings.
One quick side-step and she became one with the shadows. Sliding along the wall, she planned to round the corner of the brick factory building. Tessa inched to the corner and dared a quick look around the edge. A man in a black suit stood there, and she drew back with a gasp, unsure who it was.
Crouching low, she didn't have long to find out.
"Stand up."
The command startled her, causing the automatic reaction of standing and looking up into the face of the man in black. "Ric?"
"Tess? Aw, jeez, what the hell are you doing out here?" He lowered the handgun he had trained on his cousin's head.
"Looking for help. Scott's still inside."
"Cy carjacked the sedan," Ric explained. "It didn't take much to figure out he'd bring you here."
All thoughts intent on rescue, she wasn't interested in explanations. "I need a gun."
Her eyes coming to rest on the piece he clutched. Another place, another time…another family, the request would have bordered on the ludicrous, and yet there was nothing more than a long moment taken as Ric gauged her sincerity and readiness.
"I don't carry two," Ric said. "And anyways, you don't want to get involved like that." Ric suddenly looked away, apparently listening for something. From the corner of her eye, Tessa could see another car pulling into the parking area, its lights off.
He pointed towards the vehicle. "Run out to..."
"No." Tessa shook her head, her voice low and anxious. She held herself back to not grab at the gun in his hand. "Why are we wasting time? I can tell you the layout. There's a full crew inside, plus Cy. Scott's in the storage room on the opposite side of this wall."
"Is he smart enough to keep his head low?"
"Not sure," she said. "Scott has a tough time keeping his nose out of things. And his head is attached to it. You better follow me."
Staying within the shadows, Tessa crept back to a side door she'd passed only minutes before. She said a quick prayer and jerked the heavy door open. Cy Perelli was on the other side.
Ric still had his gun drawn, and now pointed it at the solo occupant of the hall. The other man blinked; the welcoming smile disappeared.
Cy let his gaze skid to the woman before him. "Tessa," he looked over his shoulder back towards the storage closet, "this is a surprise."
Tessa's heart beat accelerated. She thought she was going to be physically ill. "Back up, and go open the storeroom. Let Scott out."
Even in the face of a gun, Cy appeared unyielding. "I got bigger fish to fry."
"The lady said move." Ric waved the barrel of his weapon, with its extended silencer, like a steel finger.
Cy raised an eyebrow and watched Ric for a long weighted moment. Then he turned, and Tessa let out a sigh of relief, only to have the breath rush back into her lungs as Cy spun back in a quick and fluid motion, pulling his own gun. His target wasn't Ric. The weapon pointed at Tessa—and his aim was steady.
Ric hesitated. Angles being what they were, he had a clear shot, but Cy did as well.
"You don't want to do this, Tess," Cy said, "It won't turn out the way you want it to."
"Won't you feel stupid when it does?" Tessa replied.
"Stupid?" Cy's eyes flickered to Ric, perhaps trying to read the stoic Morgano. "They say everyone has his price."
"What was yours, Cy?" Tessa asked, forcing the tremor from her voice. "It must have been a pretty big piece of the pie for them to get you to kill your best bro." She wished she held a gun of her own, and imagined her fingers tightening on the trigger, every fiber of her being wanting Cy dead at her feet.
The small muscle on his jaw jerked, giving away the ire that hid under the frozen sneer. "Don't go there, Tess," Cy growled, "I ain't in the mood. Now, walk back out of here."
Tessa repositioned her feet, showing that she wasn't going anywhere. "Who did the hit on Rhen?"
Briefly, the man's dark eyes took on a far-away look as if he were remembering a rare moment. His voice took a compassionate tone. "Hard to believe, but I tried to talk some sense into him. Rhen was too loyal, and maybe too damn smart for his own good."
"You're stalling, Christopher," she said.
As though use of his real name shattered a spell, Cy let his arm drop to his side. The Bren played at the end of his long fingers. "Okay baby, but you know there's no going back," he warned, "Once you know…you'll have a little house cleaning to do of your own. Do ya think you're up for that?"
She shook her head in response. What he was hinting at was too absurd to even afford it any consideration…to accuse one of her own blood of having killed Rhen was, in her reasoning, a desperate bid to save his own skin.
A muffled gunshot sent Cy reeling backwards with the force of a bullet in point-blank range. Tessa jumped. Only Ric remained still; a coil of smoke from the Beretta, the single indication that he'd moved at all.
She turned in surprise. "Ric?"
Ric bent and took the key ring from the dead man's belt loop. Tessa took a step forward. She lifted the gun from Cy's limp fingers. Its weight felt heavy in her hand, the metal still warm.
Cy's eyes remained open, staring blankly at the wall. There would be no final death whisper. No mysterious naming of names.
"Why did you shoot him?" her voice devoid of all expression.
Ric didn't answer. He moved down the hallway, testing the first key in the locked storage door.
Suspicion had Tessa lifting the weapon, and aiming it at a new target. "Ric, chi ha ordinato il colpo?" repeating the question about who called the hit back in December.
The other man twisted the doorknob, then turned back to see Tessa. "Give me the gun," he said, one hand still gripped around his weapon, the other stretched out, palm up, while he took a few steps towards her. "We're here for Crawford. After that, we'll go talk to your dad and get you home."