by Jacqui Rose
‘You can’t make the call inside? I thought we were all friends here? Family. What’s so goddamn secret you need to hide out here?’
The cold stare Salvatore turned on him made Cabhan feel uneasy. Since he’d told the brothers he’d wanted to leave, suspicion and paranoia had set in, especially with Salvatore, who ran the main branch of the family business along the East Coast.
Cabhan’s soft Irish lilt coated his words as he tried to sound calm.
‘No, not at all, I didn’t want to be rude. I thought I’d just check in with Franny and Alfie, see how they are. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to them. The time difference doesn’t help. Apologies if I was out of line.’
Salvatore, his steroid-pumped muscular frame blocking out the light from the lodge doorway, continued to stare. ‘Give me your phone.’
‘What?’
‘I said, give it me.’
Hesitantly, Cabhan – his face strained, his black velvet skin paling slightly – walked across to Salvatore and placed the phone in his outstretched hand.
He spoke evenly. ‘Like I say, Sal, I was just calling home. See for yourself.’
Salvatore, holding eye contact before breaking it to scroll through Cabhan’s call log, pressed last number redial. Staying silent, he put the phone to his ear, listening as the voicemail clicked in.
‘This is Alfie, I can’t answer right …’
Salvatore’s laugh startled an old man standing by the door. Loud and menacing. He grabbed hold of Cabhan’s shoulders, shaking him hard, pressing his flushed face into Cabhan’s. His breath sweet and sickly, stinking of cigars. ‘See what you’ve done to me, Cabhan, you’ve made me a bag of nerves. All this talk of you wanting to leave makes me edgy. Can’t understand what the problem is. Why the big change? Maybe I should start looking over my shoulder.’
Cabhan, feeling the hard bone of Salvatore’s forehead pushing on the bridge of his nose, knew better than to try to pull away. He also knew better than to show any weakness – showing any sign of fear to the Russos was just an invitation for them to go in with full force. The other thing he knew was that somehow he had to play this perfectly.
Nervously but hoping, praying that it didn’t show, Cabhan kept his voice as light as possible. ‘It’s not personal, Salvatore. You know that. I just miss home. No big deal.’
Salvatore stepped back, looking up into the night sky. ‘Not personal?’
‘That’s right, Sal. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Giving me a job and welcoming me as part of the family, but that’s the point, I miss my family. Franny. Alfie. Like I say, it’s not personal.’
Salvatore nodded, closing his eyes before whipping out a pistol from his pocket, smashing it and pressing it hard into Cabhan’s face. ‘And neither is this.’
Cabhan’s hands shot up in the air as he stumbled back, fear gripping him. ‘Sal, please.’
‘Get on your knees … I said, get on your fucking knees, unless you want me to put a hole in you now.’
‘Sal, please, Jesus Christ, you and me, we go back a long way. Ti rispetto, ti voglio bene, Salvatore, tu e la tua famiglia.’
Another burst of laughter came from Salvatore. ‘You say you respect me? You love me and my family?’
Working hard to push down his panic, Cabhan nodded. ‘I do.’
Salvatore flicked off the safety catch of the gun. ‘Yet you want to leave and go back home. To me that doesn’t sound like a man who loves and has loyalty to his friends. And a man who doesn’t have loyalty is a dangerous enemy.’
Bobby Russo, his temper as violent and volatile as his brother’s, had the ability to recognise discretion was sometimes needed. He spoke up as he watched more and more of their guests, curious about the commotion, come outside.
‘Sal, why don’t we sort this out tomorrow? We’re celebrating. We’ve all had a good year. We’ve got the rest of the family to think of. They don’t need this. Put the gun away. Cabhan was only calling Franny and Alfie. That’s all. Nessun danno fatto. No harm done … Good? Bene?’ Bobby kissed his brother on both cheeks. ‘Bene?’
Salvatore stared at Bobby, slowly nodding, his face showing a thousand thoughts. He answered slowly. ‘Sì. Bene.’
A grin spread across Bobby’s pockmarked face, the handsome Russo genes not having passed down to him. ‘That’s right, Sal. All good. No harm! Nessun problema. No problem!’ Bobby broke his hold, grinning at the guests. ‘Nothing to see here, ladies and gentlemen! Please, continue to enjoy, we’ve talked business too long. Now we celebrate.’
Helping Cabhan to his feet, Salvatore slapped him hard on the back then pulled out a gold cigarette case from his pocket. He snapped it open, revealing several grams of finely cut cocaine along with an engraved toot. ‘Have a line with me, Cabhan.’
‘No, I’m fine.’
The ice ran back into Salvatore’s words. ‘I said, have one.’
Cabhan, realising he had no other choice, took the toot, bending over the cigarette case as Salvatore watched him snort a line.
‘Again … Have another.’
Cabhan hesitated slightly, but it was enough for Salvatore to step forward, his face pulled into a frown. ‘Problem?’
‘No, of course not, I—’
‘Cabhan!’ Alexandra Russo, Salvatore’s spoilt sixteen-year-old niece, shouted loudly, breaking up Cabhan and Salvatore’s conversation as she swayed her curvaceous body down the stairs.
‘Cabhan, I want a lift home, now! I’m tired!’
Salvatore raised his eyebrows, chuckling nastily as he headed back towards the other guests with Bobby.
‘You better do as she says, Cabhan. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and that includes not giving her a lift home … We’ll talk tomorrow.’
Staring angrily at Cabhan, Alexandra drawled in the same New Jersey twang as her uncles.
‘In fact, give me the fucking keys, Cabhan. I’ll drive, and you can keep me company.’
Looking back at Alexandra, Cabhan hid his disdain whilst attempting to sound courteous.
‘Ally, I’m happy to take you home, you know I am, but it’s probably best if I drive.’
Ally licked her lips seductively before her face screwed up in annoyance. She poked Cabhan hard in his chest. ‘Don’t ever try to fucking tell me what’s best, especially in public, or I might have to go and get my uncle Sal to teach you about respect. Capito?’
Evenly, Cabhan answered, remembering the last occasion Salvatore, on Alexandra’s orders, had paid him a visit to remind him of the Russos’ definition of respect. That particular visit had landed him two weeks in the Lower Manhattan hospital. ‘Oh, I understand, Ally. You’ve made your point very clear … as you always do.’
A large smile spread across Ally’s face. ‘Then what are we waiting for, let’s go.’
As Salvatore Russo watched them drive away, he smiled to himself, because although he’d been outvoted by the rest of the Russo family on permanently disposing of Cabhan, he was sure once he’d spoken to Nico that might change. After all, Cabhan had been privy to the family business and there was no guarantee he wouldn’t start shooting his mouth off once he’d left. And the one certainty about dead men was that they couldn’t talk.
2
Ally Russo gripped the wheel of her bright red McLaren GT – a sweet sixteen gift from her beloved uncle Sal. The wheels of the performance car gripped and burnt up the road as she took the corners of Highway 34 – Trail Ridge Road – at speed, winding up the Rockies as heavy mist began to obscure the surroundings, making it impossible to see the vast expanse of craggy mountains and aspen forests.
‘Ally, for God’s sake slow the hell down!’
Enjoying hearing the panic in Cabhan’s voice, Ally shouted back, laughing as she did so, her Jersey twang emphasising the mockery in her voice. ‘Are you scared, Cab? You a mama’s boy who can’t handle the speed? Why don’t you try and grow a pair already?’
Cabhan, keeping his eyes on what was left of the road
as the visibility worsened, shook his head, the high-purity cocaine he’d snorted earlier making him edgier than normal. ‘No, I just value my life, and yours, come to think of it.’
Accelerating as she took the hairpin corner of Fairview Curve, Ally glanced across at Cabhan arrogantly as the deep roar of the supreme engine purred effortlessly into a higher gear. The force thrust the powerful car forward, causing Ally to lose grip on the steering wheel.
‘Ally!’ Cabhan yelled as he leant over, grabbing hold of the cream leather wheel, helping to regain control of the McLaren as it snaked dangerously into the sea of mist.
A slight look of fear passed over Ally’s face before she took hold of the wheel again with a laugh. Relief mixed with adrenalin pumped out of her as she exhaled. ‘That was a close one. What do they say, driving a fast car is better than sex …’ She paused before glancing across again at Cabhan, purring, ‘But I guess that all depends on who you’re having sex with. You never did accept that blow job I offered you. What do you say, Cab? How about tonight …?’
Not interested in girls the same age as his daughter, especially a spoilt brat like Ally Russo, Cabhan’s tone was hostile. ‘Just pull the fuck over, you’ll get us killed.’
Ignoring Cabhan, Ally continued to drive as the weather conditions worsened, the switchbacks on the road getting tighter with the five-hundred-foot drop, without guard rails, inches away from the screeching car’s tyres. Below the road the mountain verge dropped away quickly into nothing but air.
‘I said, pull over!’
‘Fine, spoil my fun!’
Reluctantly, Ally slowed down, when suddenly a massive impact from behind shunted the car forward, causing the McLaren to swerve, running it up onto the stony edge of the road, smashing the car’s axle along the rock-scattered terrain.
Panicking as the rear wheels began to lock, Ally screamed whilst Cabhan quickly glanced in the passenger mirror, but in the thick of the mist he couldn’t see anything.
‘Ally, you—’ He suddenly stopped, feeling the first prickle of panic as blinding giant beams of light cut through the fog and a gigantic juggernaut appeared behind them.
Another huge bang propelled the car closer to the edge. Still screaming, Ally began to cry hysterically. ‘Why aren’t they stopping, Cabhan?’
Panic swirling through him, Cabhan spoke urgently. ‘They can’t see us and won’t be able to feel the impact of the car in that massive truck. Ally, quick, you’ve got to blast the horn … Blast it!’
But as Ally sounded the horn, the juggernaut caught the back end of the car again, this time ploughing it forward, skidding the McLaren out of control. Ally fought frantically to keep hold of the steering wheel, which violently whirled through her hands as she choked on her tears.
As the McLaren bumped through the rocky terrain at the edge of the mountain, the low front spoiler ripped off as the car began to slide.
‘Ally!’ Cabhan screamed as his neck snapped forward, the front wheels hitting the edge of the precipice at well over a hundred miles an hour. The car hung suspended in the air for a moment before it crashed back down, smashing against the side of the mountain with bone-shattering force.
Further and further down the side of the mountain face the car fell, rolling and twisting, tumbling and flipping, bouncing and turning with Cabhan and Ally’s screams echoing through the darkness until finally they came to a sudden stop. The impact sounding like roaring thunder.
The inside of the car seemed to be dripping with blood. Cabhan found himself jammed up against the door. Attempting to pull himself out of the wrecked vehicle, he crawled forward, and an excruciating pain exploded within him. He cried out as a torn piece of metal was embedded deeper in his calf, tearing open his flesh.
Knowing he had to try to get help, Cabhan, with sweat and blood covering his face, used all his strength, yelling out at the pain but refusing to let it stop him as he scrambled out of the car.
Panting with exhaustion, he looked around. They were under the mist now, allowing him to see clearly. The car had landed on a wide rocky shelf, three hundred feet down from the road they’d been driving along, with the drop below them another two hundred.
Stumbling round the car with his leg oozing, Cabhan bent down to where Ally lay, her face almost obscured by cuts and blood. He whispered her name. ‘Ally, Ally, wake up! Come on, honey, wake up. It’s okay, I’ll get help. I’ll get you out of there.’
Noticing part of the car’s seat was pressing down on her chest, Cabhan took hold of Ally’s shoulders, attempting to pull her into a better position, when suddenly her head, severed by the crash, rolled towards him. He recoiled, retching and scrabbling backwards towards the edge of the sheer drop. ‘Oh shit, oh God. Please, no! Ally! Oh Christ!’
His hand shook as he quickly dragged his mobile out of his pocket and tried to focus on the numbers. He dialled 911, holding his side to halt the flow of blood, but he abruptly cut off the call before it connected. His gaze rested on the boot of the McLaren, which had torn open. Within the panels of the car, Cabhan could see several large packages of cocaine. His gaze crossed along the ground to more packages that had been scattered around. Urgently, he began to press another number. Salvatore. But another glance at Ally stopped him. There was no way he could speak to Salvatore now.
Cold, his body beginning to go into shock, Cabhan shook as he scrolled through his phone, then holding his bloodied hand against his ear he waited for his call to be answered.
‘Franny! Franny! It’s me. I need your help! I’m in trouble!’
3
‘Cabhan, hey! How are you doing?’
‘Franny, Franny, you’ve got to listen to me!’
Smiling, Franny twirled round as she tried to get a better signal in the heat of the Spanish sun. ‘Cab, I can’t hear what you’re saying. Hold on a minute, let me go somewhere else.’
Eager to speak to Cabhan, Franny Doyle walked away from the busy market street in central Marbella looking for a quiet spot to take the call. It’d been a couple of weeks since they’d spoken – which was unusual for them – so she certainly didn’t want to have to ask him to call back later. ‘One minute.’
‘Franny, just stop, Franny!’
Oblivious, Franny continued to walk around the corner to a quiet spot, which was drenched in the morning sun, her chestnut hair blowing in the warm sea breeze. ‘That’s better. I can hear you—’
Cabhan cut into Franny’s words. ‘There’s been an accident.’
Panic rushed over Franny, but she quickly pulled herself together. ‘What? Are you all right? What happened?’
‘I’m okay, well, kind of, but … but Ally’s not.’
‘What do you mean?’
There was a pause before Cabhan said, ‘She’s dead, Fran.’
‘Oh my God! How? Where are you?’
‘Franny, my battery’s going flat but I’m in a mess.’
Sitting down on a bench along the promenade with the sun beginning to get hotter, Franny was filled with worry, something she always fought so hard not to show or even to feel.
‘Cab, what’s going on?’
‘Ally was driving and we came off the road. The car’s totally trashed and, well, I managed to get out …’
Not understanding the timeline of events, Franny shook her head. ‘Why didn’t you call me before? When did this happen? Did they check you over in the hospital?’
‘No, Fran, just listen to me, for God’s sake. It’s only just happened.’
Stunned, Franny asked, ‘Are the emergency services there?’
‘No.’
‘But you’ve called them, right?’
‘No.’
Puzzled and hating to feel out of control, Franny raised her voice. ‘Then you’ve got to! Cab, what are you doing? How do you know Ally’s dead? She might still have a pulse. Jesus Christ!’
On the other end of the line, Cabhan held his emotions together. He spoke matter-of-factly. ‘No, Franny, she’s dead all right.’
‘I don’t get it. Why aren’t you calling anyone? What are you playing at?’
‘If you’d fucking listen, maybe you’d understand.’
Franny, upset for Cabhan, knowing that he’d never normally speak to her like that, said, ‘I’m sorry, Cab, go ahead.’
‘No, I’m sorry, Fran, I just don’t know what to do. The car’s panels have come off and inside them there must be at least ten … twenty kilos of cocaine. I’ve also taken a few lines of coke myself and if they decide to do a blood test, well …’ He trailed off before adding, ‘So you see, I can’t call the police.’
Closing her eyes for a moment as she took in the enormity of the situation, Franny breathed deeply, calming herself, knowing that Cabhan needed her to be strong. She could hear her father’s voice in her head, telling her that it wasn’t emotions that won a war, it was action. It wasn’t weakness, it was strength. It was having a heart of stone, no matter what. It was never allowing yourself to feel anything at all.
And with her father’s teaching in mind, Franny pushed down any sort of dread and began to take control.
‘First, Ally was driving, not you, they’re not going to do any checks, so the only thing we’ve got to deal with are the drugs. But that’s okay too. All you’ve got to do is hide them somewhere, then once you have, call 911. Get help. It’s an accident, Cab, the police won’t start searching the area, will they? It’ll be all right. I promise.’
Franny could hear the panic in Cabhan as he answered. ‘Fran, you don’t understand, there is nowhere to hide them. We landed on a ledge when we came off Trail Ridge Road.’
Knowing the road well and how precarious it was, Franny’s stomach went into knots, but again she rose above it. After all, she was a Doyle and, as her father, Patrick, always drummed into her, it wouldn’t help anybody to break down and cry. ‘You’re lucky to be alive, Cab.’
‘Fran, look, my battery’s beeping, I’m going to cut out any minute.’
‘Then you’ve got to listen to me, you’ve just got to get rid of the coke. You hear me? Break open the bags and throw it away.’