His words wreaked havoc in my mind, and I attempted to fire off more questions, mainly to keep him occupied talking instead of shooting me.
“But why Mansfield? Why Richland Metro?”
“We started to draw some heat in Cleveland. People started paying attention and asking questions about me. None of it was documented at the time, just people being suspicious, ya know? How come no one ever saw my wife and kids, my parents, this and that?…questions you all would have eventually started to ask. I needed to leave before anything was put on paper to prevent me from transferring to another department. Pop thought it was best that we move the operation to Mansfield, where my cousin was assigned. You know him, don’t you, CeeCee?”
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t think so. Do I?”
He laughed again. “Of course you do! Dr. Donovan Esposito! Everything was put on hold until I made detective. It took five years to do it, but I did it, and it was all to keep an eye on you.” His smile faded again. “I guess I didn’t do a good enough job now, did I? If I had, you wouldn’t have tried to kill my father and brother tonight, right?” He became angry and slapped me across the face, causing my head to bounce off the passenger side window. “Now you’re going to pay for it.”
The realization of what Justin had done hit me like an oncoming train.
“You killed them, didn’t you? All those people! You killed them and took them to Esposito to remove the organs. After you dumped the bodies, you transported the organs to Cleveland, didn’t you!”
“Covered my tracks pretty damn good, didn’t I? Of course, I was trained by the best of the best—CeeCee Gallagher. She took her time going over every detail of the case and was stupid enough to turn the entire thing over to me.” He looked in his rearview mirror and then at his watch. “We need to go. They’re expecting us.”
“This can’t be happening,” I muttered while I closed my eyes and hung my head forward. “Michael…why Michael?”
Justin pulled back onto the highway. “Michael? That faggot-ass husband of yours almost fucked up years worth of work and millions of dollars in cash, that’s why! If he hadn’t gotten Niccolo to turn on us, he’d still be alive.” Justin reached over and tousled my hair. “You know I tried my best to console the grieving widow. That was part of the plan. I figured I’d fuck you for a while so I could watch you every minute. Since you blew me off, maybe I’ll make up for it tonight.”
He reached across the seat, violently shoving his hand inside my shirt and grabbing my left breast, hard. Instinctively, I grabbed his wrist with my right hand and struck him in the side of the face with my left, causing him to slam on his brakes. He struck back, punching me square in the nose.
“You stupid bitch! All right! That’s the way you want to play, we can do it your way.” He started driving again. “You’re going to suffer. You’re going to suffer like you never have before.”
My nose poured blood as I tried to pinch it shut. “Yeah? Tell me something I haven’t heard a dozen times before.”
We were headed toward Mansfield. I’d learned from past experiences to do everything humanly possible to help myself, and that was exactly what I did. Disregarding my bloody nose, I dove across the seat toward Justin. Grabbing the steering wheel, I jerked it aggressively toward me, causing the truck to lose control.
Justin quickly grabbed the wheel, pulling it back toward him, but he pulled too hard. We crossed the median, driving into oncoming traffic. Justin attempted to point his gun at me again, but I held it up toward the roof and away from my face with my free hand. He was stronger, and he pushed the gun back down and pulled the trigger. The shot missed me but blew out the passenger side window, along with my eardrums. With my last ounce of strength, I threw all of my body weight on top of him while I began to claw at his face and eyes with my fingernails. With one hand on the wheel and one fighting me, Justin managed to cross the median again and spin us around in the middle of the southbound lane, then brought the truck to a stop. While we were spinning, he’d managed to hit me in the back of the head with the gun, hard enough that my grip on him loosened.
A large knot began to rise where I had been hit, and I started to get dizzy.
“Okay!” Justin was breathing hard and sweating. “I can see you aren’t gonna make this easy.”
He reached behind him and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, while I bent over and held my head. Forcing both of my arms behind my back, he handcuffed my hands together and looped the nylon seat belt through them.
“Buckle up for safety!” he chuckled.
He took a few deep breaths and wiped his forehead as he continued to call me every obscenity in the English language. He turned the inside dome light on and looked in the rearview mirror to inspect the damage I had done to his face. Not much, just large scratches and red marks.
“Fuckin’ cunt,” he whispered, as he lightly touched a swelling scratch.
While I struggled and attempted to jerk my hands free, Justin began to drive again. We were moving for less than five minutes when I felt myself overcome with exhaustion or the effects of a concussion, or both. Whatever ailed me at that point caused my eyes to close as I drifted into pure darkness, sobbing along the way.
“They’re on their way to Mansfield!” he said into the phone.
“How do you know?” Alan asked.
“We’ve been monitoring all of the police channels in case the cops found her first. A report came over the radio for the highway patrol to check I-71 for a reckless vehicle south of the city in the southbound lane. We didn’t give it much thought, until they read back the license plate and who the vehicle was registered to.”
“Who?”
“We found the mole, Alan. The truck returned to none other than Justin Brown.”
“The new detective at Richland Metro? How?”
“We’re still digging, but apparently several other drivers called in the complaint. They said it looked like a domestic situation, a male and female fighting inside the truck. It crossed the median and went into oncoming traffic. Last report had the vehicle still headed south, toward Mansfield.”
“It has to be her,” Alan thought. “She probably called him for help. Do you have any idea where they might be headed?”
“I have a good idea, and if I’m right, we don’t have much time.”
Justin let me know we had reached our destination by slapping the side of my head.
“Sit up! I said, sit up, CeeCee!”
Raising my head slightly, I tried to focus my blurred vision on the glove compartment in front of me. My head throbbed horribly, and I felt nauseous and groggy. I needed water terribly. So terribly, it was difficult to swallow.
“Justin,” my voice croaked as I begged. “I need water. Can I please get some water?”
“Not to worry.” He grabbed my hair and sat me upright. “Water will be the last thing on your mind in a few minutes.”
Now that I was sitting up straight, our final destination came into view. Blinking my eyes rapidly, and finally able to focus, I was horror-struck to see that we were sitting in the parking lot of the Quinn-Herstin Funeral Home.
“Here we are, CeeCee, home sweet home.” He began to undo my handcuffs. “This will be the last place you ever see on earth. Kinda depressing, isn’t it?” He giggled. “Now move.”
Once my handcuffs were off, I didn’t move, fearing what waited for me inside the home. Again, I frantically looked around for an escape.
“I said, move!” he ordered, placing the barrel of his gun against my temple.
“Go ahead, Justin,” I said weakly, calling his bluff. “Shoot me here, right now. You won’t do it, will you? Your father has plans for me, doesn’t he? Shooting me here in the parking lot will fuck up his glory, and the satisfaction of seeing me die. Won’t be happy with you, will he?”
Justin smiled. “You’re right, CeeCee. I’m not going to shoot you here, but you’re going with me just the same, and there’s no way out of it.”
&n
bsp; A large figure stepped into the light to Justin’s left. It was Antonio Iaccona.
“You’ve met my big brother, right, CeeCee? I don’t think formally, though. Here, let me introduce you: CeeCee Gallagher, Antonio Iaccona.” He nodded his head toward Antonio.
Antonio, evidently having missed any and all etiquette lessons, failed to shake my hand. Instead, he reached into the truck and grabbed my hair in a death grip. With no amount of exertion on his part, he pulled me with one hand out of the truck and onto the ground. Knowing it was late, I found what little voice I had left and screamed loudly. Hearing a female screaming in the early hours of morning would surely bring a patrol car or two. Where the hell was everybody?
“Shut the fuck up.” Antonio lifted me up and placed his hand over my mouth.
He was too large and strong for me to fight, though I did give it a hell of a try. He basically jogged to the door of the funeral home while holding me in his grip, his hand still over my mouth. Justin strode in arrogantly behind us. Antonio allowed my feet to touch the ground, but he still held me tight, although he did uncover my mouth. His hand was so large it had partially covered my swollen, bloody nose, making it hard for me to breathe. I began gulping large amounts of air, my chest heaving in and out. Swallowing the bile that began to rise in my throat, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.
Standing there in the foyer of the Quinn-Herstin Funeral Home, I realized a blatant fact: I had failed. I had failed my children, I had failed Michael, I had failed Joseph, I had failed everybody—and I had failed myself. Being this close to death was nothing new to me. Nevertheless, I recognized that on each one of those occasions something had been different than it was here. There had always been an out, a saving grace. Each incident carried with it a hope that I would be rescued, the potential of being saved. Not tonight. Tonight there was no hope. No one knew where I was. I had done a superb job of covering my tracks. Since I was no longer a law-enforcement officer, I couldn’t count on the brilliant minds of my peers to come to my aid. I was in Florida, basking in the sun, trying to get my mind and body together after the untimely demise of my husband. Or so everyone thought.
But here I stood, ready to face the epitome of evil, the highest crime figures imaginable, who would relish the screams of my pain and suffering, and there was no possibility of being liberated. My last hope was lying in front of a nightclub in Cleveland with a fatal bullet hole in his chest—Joseph.
“Bring her down here, Paulie,” a voice beckoned from a stairwell to our right.
The voice, I recognized immediately, was that of Salvatore Iaccona. Even before he stepped out of the stairwell and into the light, I knew it was him. It was an unmistakable voice. He walked toward me and stopped less than two inches from my face. All the while, Antonio still held me.
“I promised you less than twenty-four hours ago that you would suffer. I always keep my promises. Especially to reeking bitches like you who try to kill me in my own home.” He slapped me across the face.
Remaining stoic, I looked back up at him with a sneer of contempt. If I had had the ability to kill him right then and there, I would have. The opportunity had presented itself when I sat face-to-face with him at his house, but regrettably, I’d waited too long.
“I was going to kill you anyway,” he continued. “But when you stupidly told me everything you had done to fuck up my business, all you did was make your own death that much worse.” His voice rose as he drew closer, his nose almost touching mine. “You think your husband suffered when he burned to death? That’s nothing, compared to what you’re going to go through tonight, lady!”
With no other recourse, I spit in Salvatore Iaccona’s face. He wiped the wetness from his cheek before backhanding me, striking my already throbbing nose, which caused it to bleed again. As a last resort, I used the only leverage I had been desperately holding on to.
“You can’t kill me! Don’t you get it, Sal? I have videotapes and audiotapes that have each one of you talking about everything from Michael’s murder to Niccolo’s to Frank Trapini’s. It’s in the mail, on its way to the FBI. You see, they’ll know it was you that killed me! You’re already done!” I laughed. “If you’re smart, you’ll let me go, and leave the country. I estimate that you have less than twelve hours before the FBI gets the files. You’ll get the death penalty! Let me go.”
Sal stood quietly for a few seconds before a grin spread slowly across his face. Justin and Antonio smiled as well.
“What difference does it make? If what you’re saying is true, then the FBI will already know we’ve killed before, including that greasy piece of shit Joey Filaci—your lover—so what’s one more?” He paused. “And not that you’ll care, because you’ll be dead by then, but after we take care of you, we are leaving the country.”
I was about to declare that I was a law enforcement officer. But I quickly realized they were already facing the death of a federal agent, and I silently reminded myself that I was no longer a cop. With nothing left to say, no more pleas to make, no more attempts to get them to rethink their actions, I stayed silent. Salvatore, on the other hand, began to sing. He began snapping his fingers and humming, before belting out the words to a tune that sounded vaguely familiar.
“In the mornin’, in the evenin’, ain’t we got fun!” he sang.
So much for leverage. Struggling and screaming again, I fought hard as they dragged me to the stairwell from which Singin’ Sal had emerged, and down the steps. He was whistling while Justin and Antonio threw me through the double doors that led to the preparation room. As I began to stand, Antonio grabbed me again and dragged me over to one of the steel tables that occupied the room, a table that had a cooler full of ice and Donovan Esposito next to it. Steven Snyder stood horrified against the farthest wall. I played to his expression of weakness and fear.
“Steven!” I screamed as Antonio lifted me onto the table. “Steven! Help me! You don’t know what you’re doing! You could get the death penalty for this! Do you want to die, Steven?” I pleaded to no avail.
Steven Snyder evaded my stares and turned a deaf ear to my screams. Petey Iaccona, William Petrosini, and two other men I didn’t recognize entered the room just then.
“You sniveling, wormy little shit!” I shouted at Steven Snyder. “Take a good look around you, Steven! You’ll be here soon after me when you die by lethal injection!” Steven, no longer able to take my screams and threats, straightened his jacket and started to walk out of the room. I prayed he had come to his senses and was going to call the police.
“Get the fuck back here!” Justin grabbed Steven and slammed him against a wall. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
Steven stuttered. “I—I just…I don’t think…I don’t think this is a good idea, Paulie. We—we’re gonna get caught!”
“You stay right here. If you move, you’re getting buried with her.”
I began to sob. “They didn’t tell you, did they, Steven? They didn’t tell you they were leaving the country! They’re gonna leave you behind, aren’t they?”
Steven Snyder looked like he was near a breakdown, but he didn’t move.
“Don’t listen to her!” Sal barked at Steven. “Get her tied down, Tony! We don’t have all fuckin’ night, for Christ’s sake! Put some tape over her mouth, too. The only thing I want to hear out of her are bona fide screams of pain.”
Antonio walked over to a large table to find tape, while Justin and the other two men fastened the restraints on my arms and legs. Watching Donovan Esposito put on rubber gloves gave me a brief opportunity to rattle him also.
“Doctor! Did you hear me? Do you want to die, too? Oh, by the way,” I began to laugh, my voice sounding on the verge of insanity. “Not only are the files of your murders on the way to the FBI, but the pictures of you and the blonde coming out of the hotel room are also on the way to your wife!”
He started at me, a look of pure abhorrence on his face.
“You fucking whore…” h
e began.
“Not now, Donnie!” Sal ordered. “We don’t have time for this shit right now! You said you couldn’t stand the bitch anyway, so what difference does it make? Get yourself prepped and ready to go. Let’s do this!”
“With pleasure,” Donovan said, turning back to his table.
When he was finished doing whatever it was he needed to do, he walked toward me, pulling a mobile cart that had several steel instruments on top of it—instruments that gravely concerned me. All of the men surrounded the table as I lay strapped down, with no mobility at all. Antonio held my head straight, so I was unable to turn it side to side, only able to look above at the fluorescent lights.
My heart raced at such a speed I thought I might die of a heart attack. Luck didn’t appear to be on my side. I was still coherent when Donovan Esposito picked up an instrument that resembled scissors, but instead of being straight, the blades were curved. They almost resembled wire cutters, but on a much larger scale. The space in the middle of the blades wasn’t very large—too large for a wire but just right for something else, something the size of a finger.
When Petey Iaccona grabbed my left hand and pulled it forward, separating my fingers, I began to scream, while the men laughed. Struggling again, I found that the last of my strength had been expended. With images of my children flashing before my eyes, I looked at the lights and succumbed to my fate.
Only then did I begin to pray. I prayed for a swift and painless death, a death that was unlikely. I prayed that soon Michael would come and take me to spend eternity with him. I prayed that my children would know I died fighting and protecting them. I prayed they would grow up not feeling the void of their dead mother, but knowing they would see me again. I prayed for Sean and I prayed for my parents. My endless prayers were interrupted by Sal’s booming voice.
The Body Mafia Page 19