Distilled Duplicity

by Louise Furley

  “But then,” she filled in, “that could be the devious person’s plan so they aren’t perceived.”

  “Devious like Zhilov, my da.”

  “Do you think it’s him?”

  He considered the question. “It could be. Maybe he fled to make us think he was scared, so he could stay on the sidelines and pull the strings.”

  “For what conceivable reason? He almost killed two of your brothers, is he that cold-blooded?”

  Naithon grunted a sarcastic laugh. “Ja. He’d take out anyone even his own mother to get all the power in the world.”

  The car parked in the back to attract as little attention as possible. Naithon suited Kiri up in the vest and hat again. He tapped the bill of the helmet and ordered, “This stays on this time. The entire time we are here. This time you do not leave my side, my sight. You do not want to anger me, lamb. I am already tense as shit just bringing you out of the house.”

  He had his own vest on under his black leather jacket. Dressed in black; jacket, jeans and heavy boots, the helmet made him look like he belonged on a Harley with his wallet chained to his back pocket.

  Aware Naithon’s men were in just as much danger, he had snipers scattered around the area protecting everyone present. Before the driver opened the door for them to exit the limo, the vehicle was swarmed by Naithon’s men. They cocooned the pair until they were safely inside.

  As they moved into the one-story sprawling establishment, more of Naithon’s soldiers surrounded them. Others were tasked to patrol the perimeter and all roads leading into the property.

  Like a hospital, it had a waiting area and an emergency entrance. They passed the lobby, the reception desk was empty. Naithon’s crew stood at attention around the room. As they walked down the tiled corridor, Kiri felt like she had a dozen shadows keeping in step with her.

  Naithon held her hand, no one said a word. It was then she noticed they didn’t pass another person except for Naithon’s men. No doctors, nurses, no patients, no anxious families waiting.

  “Naithon?” She tipped her head up.

  They kept moving, Naithon didn’t look at her, he relentlessly scanned the hallways and doorways just like his soldiers did. He bowed his head to her. “What, baby?”

  “There aren’t any people…I mean like civilians here. Are there any patients?”

  Giving her hand a little squeeze, keeping his head forward, he smiled. “You are my observant little lamb aren’t you? Ja, you are correct. Before we brought Janero in we cleared everyone out except for staff we vetted. Ignacio is here as well.”

  Her head snapped to him. “My father is here? Is he worse?”

  “I will explain everything when we get to Janero’s room, no he is not worse. Also, so you don’t worry, Ignacio had Melonie taken to a safe house.”

  They moved down a corridor that had doors every ten feet or so, the patients’ rooms, Kiri supposed. Naithon’s men stepped into one then waved Naithon in.

  They spread out in the room. Blinds closed most of the light from the window, as well as the view of possible non-friendly snipers.

  A few cupboards, small door in the back likely the restroom. There was only one occupied bed. As in a hospital, there were machines making quiet beeps and whirs. A figure lay on the bed. Her heart in her throat, Kiri tugged her hand from Naithon’s and hurried over.

  “Oh, my gosh,” her anguished cry a choked whisper.

  Janero was one big bandage. There wasn’t a speck of skin not covered. Including his face. Tubes attached to his hand, more in his nose, and one in his mouth. Kiri could see angry, red blistered skin around the tubes.

  She went to touch his arm but a man said, “Best not touch him, miss, it could harm him.” She jerked her hand back. Looked at the man who appeared to be a doctor. Her head lowered to her brother, a tear splatted on his chest.

  “Oh, Janero,” her wail soft, filled with pain for her so seriously injured brother. Blinking back the tears, she said a prayer for him, then asked the doctor, “Is he going to…”

  Above average height, the fortyish doctor fit in with Naithon’s big men. Handsome with neat, wavy brown hair and blue eyes that smiled in warm sympathy at her. He filled out the white lab court with wide shoulders. He moved closer to Kiri, a wry smile tipped the side of his mouth up when Naithon moved between them.

  He introduced himself, “I am Doctor Douglas Whitten.” He had a sexy smile which he endowed on Kiri, he said, “Call me Doug,” and reached to shake her hand. His brows lifted and a smirk tugged his mouth when Naithon blocked his arm.

  “Ah,” he murmured, glanced at Naithon then turned his attention back to Kiri. “I spoke with Mr. Adranokov earlier. Your brother is in critical condition. Parts of his body were burned. Right now he is in an induced coma so his body can heal itself without having to deal with the pain.”

  “But- but is he going to be all right?” Clutching her fingers together, Kiri held them up by her chest and took a step towards him, and felt Naithon’s heavy hand come down on her shoulder holding her in place. He trusted no one, not even doctors. Especially handsome gregarious doctors.

  Tucking his hands in his big lab pockets, the doctor had a charismatic smile that made most women swoon and he directed it straight at Kiri. Naithon’s hand tightened on her shoulder.

  Spreading his legs to plant his brown oxfords on the white tile, Whitten inclined his head to her. “He looks worse than he is. He was luckier than the others. Fortunately there were people nearby when the explosion happened and pushed him to the ground to put out the flames.”

  “Flames?” She gulped with a quiver of horror.

  Naithon set his other hand on her shoulder to anchor her. He told her quietly, “Janero and some of his soldiers were going into a small tavern they frequent. When one of them opened the door, the bomb went off. The men in front of Janero, ah, didn’t make it. Normally your brother is first in, this time he stopped to speak to a woman strolling down the street. Apparently she had a very short skirt and very enticing sashaying ass. That ass saved his life. If he hadn’t been trying to hit on her he would…” he trailed off. Kiri was distraught enough.

  “Okay, well,” the doctor held his arms out directing them, he said, “you have been here long enough, none of you really should be in here at all. The man doesn’t need your germs in his fragile condition. So, everyone, out.”

  The soldiers poured out to the hallway. Whitten shifted to stand at the foot of Janero’s bed. A nurse they hadn’t seen behind the crowd of men moved to the other side of the bed to adjust the drip thing. Kiri bent over her brother and gently smoothed the hair on his forehead. Naithon waited, letting her have her moment.

  Wiping at the tears that were falling, sniffing, she snuffled out, “Thanks doctor, please keep in touch with me.” She didn’t see the doctor look over her head to exchange a glance with Naithon. He would be calling Naithon, and Naithon would pass on any messages.

  “Okay, lamb, let’s go, we have things to talk about. As soon as there’s any changes the doc will call.” Naithon put his hand on her lower back.

  They reached the door and the nurse called out, “Oh, wait,” she trod over to them and held out a plastic bag to Kiri. “We had to remove his jewelry.”

  Kiri looked at the clear bag and saw the thick gold chain Janero always wore, his Rolex, and his ring. The one that all the Delducci men wore and she felt a horrible pang in her chest recalling the ring was the only thing left of Duce. She clutched the bag to her chest with a nod of thanks, and Naithon ushered her out.

  Kiri thought they were going to see her father next but Naithon led her into another room. A waiting room, some of his men stood, others were sitting. Naithon brought her to a chair and nudged her to sit.

  Confused, she asked, “Naithon, what’s going on? Aren’t we going to see my dad?”

  Maz, Vlad and Teo waited outside the room.

  Naithon moved a chair to face her and sat down. “Not right now. Right now I want to tell you wha
t we’re going to do about them.”

  Holding the bag in her lap, Kiri took out the ring and fiddled with it. Her face lifted to his in question. “I don’t understand.”

  “Ja, baby. What we want to do is let the report go out that both your da and Janero passed. Your da is better but we let it out that he’s failing.” He held a hand up at the startled gasp she made.

  “Listen to me. If it is known they are still alive, the killer will come after them again and maybe succeed the next time. That’s why we brought them here instead of the hospital where you were fucking ambushed.” Enraged red flared up his face at the image of that bastard shoving her into the van.

  Kiri set a hand on his thigh and said, “I’m okay, Naithon, please calm down.” It stymied her that he was so obsessed with her. In the beginning she thought it was faked, that what he really wanted was to get at her father, humiliate him.

  But in all this time Naithon had never shown anything but his unrelenting desire for her and he really did do everything in his power to try to make her happy. His despair whenever she was in danger certainly wasn’t feigned.

  Naithon sat back and raked his hand from the top of his head and down the back with frustration. His lungs expelled a torrent of exasperated air, he patted her hand. “Ja, sorry. The thing is, we need to convince the assassin that they are…dead. Then we need a strategy to flush this fucker out somehow-”

  “Naithon,” she cut him off, a strange look crossed her face. Naithon saw it.

  “What is it, lamb?”

  She was studying the ring, turning it this way and that, then, cocking her head to the side with a wrinkled brow, she said, “There is something…wrong, here.”

  He waited, she stared hard at the ring. Shaking her head, then, “I don’t think that ring they found at the wood chipper is Duce’s.”

  A confused beat passed before he said, “Huh? How can that be?”

  Fingering the bag thoughtfully, she explained, “All of their rings had the family crest on top, but they also had their initials on the side. I saw photos of Duce’s ring they found, there were no initials, it wasn’t his ring. It was a Delducci ring, but it wasn’t his.”

  “Who else has that kind of ring? Other male relatives?”

  “No. Only my father and brothers.”

  Naithon stared at her as if she was being hopefully delusional. “Maybe you only saw the side of the ring that didn’t have the initials.”

  “No, Naithon, there were several shots of it. I’m 1000% positive it wasn’t Duce’s ring.”

  They stared blankly at each other. Mazonn came up to them. “Nait, I don’t think you guys should linger.”

  Naithon nodded, deep in thought. He said, “On the way home, we need to stop at the Delduccis’ house and check something out.”

  Inside Ignacio’s office they found where Ignacio had put Duce’s ring when the CSI’s were done with it. Kiri held it in the center of her palm, eyes crossed on it. “This is not his ring.”

  Maz pronounced with bewilderment, “How can it not be? What the hell does that mean?”

  Eyes bedeviled with confusion as she studied the ring, Kiri replied, “I don’t know, this was Duce’s pride and joy. Dad gave them to the boys when they graduated high school. Duce never took it off, never. He got a kick out of getting in fights and joked how the crest left imprints on their faces.”

  Naithon blinked, rubbed the back of his neck. “Ja, the beating he gave me when I was a young teen, took a week for the fucking imprints to go away.”

  Mazonn commented as if thinking out loud, “If he would never take it off, why wasn’t his ring found at the scene? Why the fake one?”

  Naithon stood up. He paced several steps pondering his question. Then he stopped, his eyes narrowed in contemplation, he said, “There was a shitload of shredded clothes, chips of teeth and bone fragments that layered inches on the ground like sawdust from all the men killed there. Everything was saturated in blood.” Everyone looked mildly nauseous as they pictured the grisly scene at the wood chipper.

  “The forensics tested some of the dust for DNA and matched one other body but couldn’t make a determination of any others, everything was too mixed together like soup. Once they concluded the blood smear was Duce’s, as well as Ignacio identifying the ring, the authorities reported him as one of the deceased and the others as ‘unknown’. They had to identify the other victims by the witness who claimed he saw them there when they had arrived.” Naithon paused and his face grit as thoughts raced through his mind.

  Then, he took a harsh breath, exhaled hard with his words, he announced his theory, “Your sonofabitch brother faked his own death.”

  The men frowned as they considered his words. Kiri’s face scrunched trying to comprehend the truth of what he was implying. Her voice small and uncertain, she asked, “But, why? Why on earth would he make us believe he was dead? Why make a phony ring?”

  Naithon believed Duce was fully capable of such a wretched plot, but Duce’s bereaved sister would be harder to convince. He told her, “Because he needed to leave concrete evidence of his death. But, he couldn’t bear to lose his ring, so he had one fabricated, and left a smear of blood as evidence that he died in that chipper. Apparently he was either not paying complete attention to the details, or the jeweler forgot to add the initials. As far as why he faked his death…”

  His gaze connected with Kiri’s stunned eyes. “Maz,” he said, “go find the fucker that said he saw Duce being put into the chipper. I want him in the basement. Call me when you have him.”

  Kiri opened her mouth, but Naithon grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet. He ushered her quickly out of the building and to the waiting car.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  A day later, Naithon had to forcefully stuff Kiri in their suite and lock the door in her face. Maz had called to tell him they found the witness to the wood chipper murders and he was currently under suspension in the basement.

  Unfortunately, Kiri overheard them talking, he thought she was still on the balcony finishing her coffee, but the little sneak snuck in and eavesdropped.

  Being the stubborn young woman that she was, she insisted on going with him while he interrogated the man. Like he would ever let her observe the torture, and assured death of the guy. Especially at his hands. She would never let him touch her again if she saw how brutal and ruthless he really could be, he didn’t need her to literally see the blood of the witness on his hands.

  When Naithon hit the first floor, Maz came up beside him looking grim.

  Naithon said, “Tell me what’s happened so far. Who is the poor bastard?” They fell in step on the way to the cellar.

  Maz told him, “His name is Patrick O’Malley, they call him Patty. He’s a fucking uniform, Nait.”

  “The wit’s a cop?” They reached the door to the basement. Two soldiers stood on either side of it, they both lifted their chins to him, “Boss.” Naithon and Maz headed down the cement steps.

  “Ja, that was unexpected. He’s as dirty as a mud wrestler. Corrupt as hell, been stealing drugs from dealers he busts and resells the dope, he keeps the dough he takes off offenders he arrests, and he runs some girls,” Maz made a face.

  He went on speaking through twisted lips, “Real young ones, some not even into puberty yet. The word I got was, he snatches them from parents that are going for long prison terms and forces the children to work in a couple of seedy brothels. He posts videos of the children on the dark web porn sites, people view them for a fee. We were told the little girls are chained and needled with drugs to keep them…cooperative.” His voice lowered, “Nait, find out where he stashes ‘em, we need to get them out.”

  Already straining to control his rage at the man’s involvement with Duce Delducci’s duplicity, he had to be in on the fake murder, the info Maz was feeding him only tossed more deadly fuel on the fire. “What’s his condition?”

  Maz slipped him a side grin. “We tenderized him for you. Once we heard ab
out the children, well,” he shrugged, “it was tough holding some of the men back. I had to kick everyone out except Vlad, Yash and Teo or there wouldn’t have been enough left of him for you to question.” Shaking his head with a humorless grin, he said gravely, “We all wanted to shred the fucker into pieces tinier than his little victims’ pinkies.”

  At the end of the stairs, the two friends paused at the bottom. The cellar was used for interrogations, and things along that line. A typical basement, it was dank and musty and cold, there were chains bolted to the concrete walls. A few small dusty windows let in only a blur of light, making the whole place appear macabre, like a torture chamber. Which it was.

  A series of plain light bulbs laced the ceiling casting ugly shadows, adding to the frightening creepiness, along with the dried blood on the old, more grey than white walls and floor.

  A wooden table held a variety of cutting tools: knives, scalpels, an ax. Also, electrodes and Tasers, whips, pliers for pulling teeth, vice grips, burning implements, and more. The floor slanted slightly to a drain so the place could be hosed down.

  There was a steel gurney and several chairs bolted to the floor. In one of them in the center of the room sat a bloody mess of a male.

  Wearing only a pair of blue plaid boxers, a black hood covered his head, his arms were strapped down, his forearms tied immovable on the chair arms. A strap crossed his ribs, his ankles were bound to the chair legs.

  Naithon’s boots tromped across the gritty cement. He halted a few feet in front of the man.

  Next to him, Maz said with pretend rebuke, “You wore white, Nait? You’ll never get his blood and brain matter out of it, even with bleach.” Patty O’Malley’s body revved up into high shaking gear at his words.

  Naithon cocked his head with reproach at his friend’s humor. He jutted his jaw at Vlad who was standing on one side of the chair, Teo the other. Yash stood behind the prisoner. The man couldn’t see them, but their movements and terse comments apprised him of their continued presence, and threat.