“TIME TO SEE THE priest,” Gina said as she cooked breakfast. “I can’t believe it’s that close. Can you?”
I put the paper down and laughed. “Never did like going to see a priest, but this time, it’s okay. Confession is going to be hell, though.”
Gina flipped the eggs over and splashed them with a little grease from the bacon. “You might still be saying penance on our honeymoon.”
I got up, walked over and rubbed her shoulders. “It’ll be worth it, no matter how much penance he gives me.” I leaned down and kissed her neck.
“Don’t start that now.”
“When we get back then.”
“Hmm. That just might do.”
We ate breakfast between talk of hotels, honeymoons, and houses, and then I looked at my watch and grabbed the briefcase. “Time we got going.”
Gina went to the restroom, checked her make-up, then headed out the front door. In a minute, we were on the way to the church.
I PARKED IN FRONT of the fire hydrant so no one could slip in behind me, checked both side mirrors, the rearview, then got out, stepping onto a light dusting of snow. For Cleveland, a dusting was good. Could have just as easily been a blizzard. My shoes left prints as I made my way to the sidewalk, eyes darting left and right, seeking anything out of place. I learned long ago to be aware of my surroundings. I reached my hand out as Gina climbed out of the car.
“Ready, sinner?”
Gina smiled. “Sinner? It’s a good thing I’m going first. That way I’ll be done if Father Amelio dies when you tell him your sins.”
We walked into the church together, said our prayers, then met Father Amelio, who had agreed to meet us early and hear our confessions before reviewing plans for the wedding. I smiled at him, then said to Gina, “I’ll wait outside.”
Gina looked at me suspiciously. “You’re not chickening out, are you?”
“I feel like it, but I won’t. Come get me when you’re done.”
I walked out the door and paced the sidewalk, kicking up a few tufts of snow now and then, and wishing more than anything that I had a cigarette. I pulled my collar up to buffer the wind, then blew on my hands to keep them warm. Life sure had changed. And all for the better. I was going to confession, and soon to be married properly.
Thanks, God. You’re as good as Sister Thomas said you were.
A few minutes later the doors opened and Gina came out. She went by Mary now, but I would always think of her as Gina. A warm smile replaced my wary look. I rushed to greet her. She looked precious, standing there twirling that damn necklace of hers, even in this cold weather. One of these days I was going to hide that thing. As I moved toward her a sudden and wonderful smile popped onto my face. I felt it. I realized that this was the first time I had thought of that necklace without thinking of Angela.
“Feel better?” I hugged her and buried my head in her hair. “Get all those sins absolved?”
She laughed along with me and Father Amelio, who had come out to join us, then she leaned in close and whispered. “Now that I’m all clean of sin, maybe we should do something nasty to taint our souls.” She tapped me on the arm. “We could make a habit of this.”
“In order for that to work, I still have to confess, so…here I go.” I grabbed her hand and headed toward the church.
“Not so fast,” Gina said, pulling her hand away. “I’m staying out here to smoke. I have a feeling you’ll be a while.”
I rolled my eyes. “Come on, Father. Let’s get this over with.”
The few steps to the big wooden doors seemed like a walk down death row. A thousand thoughts ran through my head. What the hell would this guy think when I told him what I’d done? The least of my worries was the penance, which would be a lot more than a few prayers. He’d probably make me hold up the world for a month like Atlas. I wondered then if Atlas had been a shooter. I shook my head to clear it. Now I was mixing up mythology and religion, not something a priest would appreciate.
Father Amelio held the door for me. We walked through the inner doors. I touched my fingers to the holy water, half expecting it to feel like acid. I hesitated, then blessed myself, wondering if God minded such a foul sinner tainting his bowl.
I followed the priest past one confessional then he entered the door of the one closest to the front. The red curtain of death awaited me. If that walk into the church felt like the walk to death row, this was putting the noose around my neck.
Help me out, God. I parted the curtain and stepped into the darkness, kneeling on the padded cushion. Father Amelio sat on the other side of the screened window, his image looming like a shadow of a dark angel. I made the sign of the cross and repeated the words I dreaded for a long time.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been…fourteen years since my last confession.”
GINA LIT HER SECOND cigarette, drawing lightly on the filter and blowing out the smoke in a long thin stream. Her head was tilted back, enjoying the crisp cold air. She wondered how long it would take them. It made her feel bad for Nicky. She could tell how worried he was on the way over. Big, tough Nicky, afraid to tell his sins to a priest. She realized that it wasn’t so much that he was afraid to tell them to a priest, as it was he was afraid to admit them to himself.
This would be the final hurdle for them, the one thing she’d been waiting for to put their relationship into that perfect state. Not that they wouldn’t fight—there’d always be some of that, but make-up sex could take care of the little stuff. It was even good for it. This would let Nicky finally be himself. She saw how he suffered, and though she had doubts when they first met, she knew he was a good man. A caring man who loved her.
A car door opened, then closed, drawing her attention to the street. Two men in overcoats walked toward the church. One of them wore a white scarf. The other was a tall gentleman sporting a hat like her father used to wear. She nodded, smiling. The tall one nodded in return, his smile warm.
“Good morning,” he said, and tipped his hat.
They walked past her, slow and purposeful. She wondered if they were going to rid themselves of sin as well.
Might have a long wait, she wanted to tell them, then realized that regular confession wouldn’t start for hours. What are they doing here? She turned to look at them, but the sound of another car door closing alerted her. Something stirred in her stomach—fear. She’d lived with the feeling for so long, she’d almost forgotten how intense real fear could be. It came back like a sharp jab with a needle.
Two more men approached from the street: overcoats, gloves, and the same purposeful stride. Gina glanced back toward the church. The two men who passed her were now facing her, hands reaching into their pockets.
I’m going to die! She knew then that she would die, and her body would be found on the sidewalk outside a church in Cleveland, shot full of holes. She threw her purse at the man closest to her then ran to the left, hoping to distract them. The snow made her slip, but she quickly got her footing, running fast toward a row of houses with trees in the front yards.
If she could make it into the trees—
The first bullet struck her just above the right kidney. Pain tore through her body. Her head reared back. She reached a hand toward the wound, stumbling as the pain increased. She kept running, not as fast now, but she still held hope. More rounds of gunfire sounded from behind her and, as she prayed, thinking they missed, she felt searing pain in her left leg, not far from her knee. She collapsed and rolled on the ground, staring up at the gray sky.
Thank you, God, for letting me finish confession. With that thought came images of Nicky. If he hears shots, he’ll come out after them. She hoped he got away, but if not, she prayed he finished confession before they got him.
They were standing above her now, all pointing their guns. The first bullet shattered her skull, then…
I WAS IN THE middle of telling Father Amelio about a drug dealer I’d killed when I heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire. I knew that sound too well,
and it roared in my ears like cannon shot. I tore the curtain aside and ran. Father Amelio was ahead of me, racing for the front door. He must have taught track or something, because as fast as I was, he beat me to the vestibule. Fear dug a deep trench inside of me. My stomach felt as if it had ruptured. Images raced through my head, and in each one, Gina lay on the ground—dead. I had my gun in hand by the time I got to the doors. Father Amelio guarded the exit, arms spread wide as if he were Christ on the cross.
“Get out of the way, Father.”
He refused to move.
I pointed the gun at him. Priest or not, I had to get to Gina. “Get out of the way, or I swear I’ll kill you.”
“And they will kill you if you go out there.”
I shoved him aside, pushed open the door and went out, low to the ground. Gina lay on the ground, blood staining the purity of the snow. Bullets flew into the door above me, some hitting the stone entrance. I rolled to the side, got off a few rounds before taking cover in an alcove. After waiting a few seconds, I knelt, peeked out and fired again, three shots. They were already heading for their cars. Two guys jumped into the farthest one up the street and sped away. The other two got into the car nearest me. The guy in the passenger seat had a distinct red birth mark on the right side of his face—Renzo Ciccarelli.
I’ll see you soon.
I emptied the gun, trying to score a lucky hit, but they were gone. I raced to Gina, praying for a miracle. When I reached her, I knew it was hopeless. Her head was covered in blood and she’d been shot either in the heart or next to it many times. I knelt next to her, took her hand in mine. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not for her. Not for me. Everybody I loved died.
I brushed her hair from her face. Cleaned the blood off using snow. I wanted to pick her up and take her home. Fix her. Make her new. But Gina’s beautiful brown eyes had no spark in them. I knew then she was gone forever.
I leaned down and kissed her lips—they were cold. Maybe from the weather, I didn’t know. All I knew was those lips were not Gina’s. I wasn’t bringing her back.
A hand touched my shoulder. Startled at first, I looked up to see Father Amelio, his head shaking. “The cops will be here any minute. I’ll have to say something.”
I kissed Gina on the lips again, whispered, “I love you,” then wiped my tears away and stood. “Tell them whatever you like.”
I got in the car and headed for home. With luck I could get everything cleaned out and make a break before they came looking for me. As I drove home, images of Gina kept popping into my head. With each one came an image of Renzo. Every breath I took whispered his name. I needed to get to him. If nothing else, to find out who ordered the job and who helped him.
Be seeing you soon, Renzo. Real soon.
CHAPTER 60
SAY GOODBYE TO CLEVELAND
8 Months Ago
I raced home taking corners at speeds I shouldn’t have, cutting people off, even running traffic lights. Instinct told me I shouldn’t be doing this, but I had lost control. Between fits of crying and vows of vengeance, I found the will to slow down so the cops didn’t pick me up. All I could think of was Gina, on the verge of getting what she wanted, and it was taken away from her in the most brutal fashion. I prayed she was with God now. She should be.
When I wasn’t feeling sorry for Gina, I managed to drown in my own pity. After finally escaping the life my father lived, the one that ruined his own life, I found happiness. But they took that away when they killed Gina. Now they were going to pay. I always hated the looks in the eyes of the people I killed, that horrible realization just before they died, but there were several sets of eyes I was looking forward to seeing.
I parked the car, went into the house, and packed the few clothes I had. It took me longer than I wanted to gather Gina’s things, as I found myself staring at them and reminiscing. Pictures, notes she wrote. Suddenly even a scribble on a piece of torn paper behind a refrigerator magnet was a masterpiece. And it was; it was hers. As I was packing I came across a necklace I bought her. It was her favorite—St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost items and travelers. I smiled. We were a little of both. I closed my eyes, pictured her twirling that damn thing around her mouth, whisking little St. Anthony back and forth across the bottom of her chin. It was what stopped me that day I saw Gina through the gun sites. It was what saved me. How many times since then had I watched her twirling? Whenever she was nervous, excited, happy, sad—it didn’t matter; there seemed to be a special twirl for each emotion.
I tried smiling, but tears came instead. I brought the necklace up to my lips and kissed it. “They will pay, Gina. Trust me, they will pay.”
I walked about the house, reconfirming memories, then got out before my emotions took hold. By eleven on Monday morning I had been to the banks and got our cash from the safe deposits. Then I got the gun she had as evidence on Tito. I drove the car to long-term parking, took the shuttle to the airport and caught a cab to the bus station. Kansas City was on my list. I had to go see a guy named Minnow, one of the many connections I’d made in prison. He could get me whatever I wanted.
Five days later, I left KC with everything I needed: another new identity, new car, and a new gun. Several new guns. I drove the speed limit all the way. No sense risking being picked up for speeding with guns in the car. New York was a two-day drive, but that was fine. It would take me that long to figure out what I was going to do to Renzo when I found him. There was no way he was getting a quick death. And once I got Renzo, I’d find out who else was involved.
Who knew I was in Cleveland? Who could have known? I had no contact with anyone.
That’s when it hit me. Bugs. I called Bugs about the gun. He must have tracked the call to Cleveland.
Not only had they killed Gina, but Bugs broke the oath. I pounded the steering wheel, wanting to break it. After all I did for Bugs, and he does this!
As I drove over the Pennsylvania line, I realized the old Nicky Fusco was dead. There was just Nicky the Rat now. And as I thought about the things I was going to do to Bugs, I realized that I had no funny feeling in my gut. Sister Thomas might have a hard time explaining that one.
CHAPTER 61
CALL FROM CLEVELAND
Current Day
Frankie woke in the middle of the night, thinking about Nicky, once again wondering what this was all about. What the hell had happened? The missing package bothered him too. Why would Nicky call, say he’s sending something, then not do it?
He wouldn’t.
So that meant something happened to Nicky. Cleveland never turned up anything regarding the material witness request. So where was he? Had Tito killed him?
Where are you, Nicky? Anxiety kept Frankie up for another hour or so, but he finally went to sleep, catching a few hours before the alarm went off. After an invigorating shower, he made coffee, grabbed a bagel, and headed out the door.
It took him longer than usual to get to the station, and that put him in a foul humor. He got a good parking spot and rushed into the station, taking the steps two-at-a-time to the second floor. “Hey, Carol, anything on that report yet?”
“I already called and put pressure on them. They said I’ll have it this morning.”
“Bring it in as soon as you get it.”
Carol walked in before his coffee even got cold. “Here you go, Detective. Six possibilities.”
Frankie grabbed the report from her hand. “Thanks. I owe you.”
“You keep saying that, but I never see anything.”
He sat back down, eying the papers instead of her. “Yeah, well…”
Carol walked out, smiling. “You’re welcome, Detective.”
“Oh, yeah, thanks,” Frankie said, but he was already deep into the report.
Six murders fit the description. There had been thirteen shootings, but seven had already been solved. He scanned through the remaining six, but nothing jumped out at him. Muggings, jealousy, domestic violence…none of them fit. He threw th
e papers down on the desk and walked back out to see Carol. “I need you to go back further. Maybe a year. And I only want unsolved cases.”
This time didn’t take as long. She returned within half an hour with new reports. There were four.
The first one was from Utah, and it looked like a family feud of some type. Some guy from an off-shoot Mormon sect shot one of his wives for having sex with another man. “What the hell?” Frankie said aloud. Didn’t seem right that this guy could have multiple wives, but she couldn’t have some fun on the quiet. Oh well…
This case definitely wasn’t what he was looking for.
Next one was from Portland, Oregon. Young woman, maybe early thirties, shot in the back of the head and the chest. Boyfriend was missing. He scrambled through the papers. Boyfriend was reported to be about average height and weight. Brown or black hair.
Could be Nicky, he thought, but then he couldn’t picture Nicky in Portland. Still…so far things fit. He laid that aside to check up on later. Too early to call the west coast.
The third one was from Cleveland. Frankie came to full alert. He never got to case number four. He looked at the case closer. Young woman killed at a church. Victim shot in the head with multiple chest wounds. He popped his head out the door.
“Carol, get me a number for Cleveland homicide.” Carol loved it when cases were breaking. She thrived on the challenge and the excitement that ran through the office when a detective was closing in on something. Damn good, Carol was. Within minutes, she came in with the number.
After three calls, Frankie got hold of the right guy in homicide, Eddy Pollard, Detective First Class.
“Pollard.”
“Detective Pollard? This is Frankie Donovan, Detective with Brooklyn homicide.”
“What’s up in the Big Apple?”
“A lot of goddamn killing. How about you?” He didn’t know if Cleveland had a nickname, but if it did, he felt certain they weren’t proud of it.
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