A Touch of Torment, page 13
part #7 of Nick Bracco Series
“Ask if they need any assistance with their car,” Zelman said. “See how they react.”
Before Ropa could leave, the passenger side door opened and an oversized beast of a man came out and pulled open the back door where Mancini appeared, tugging on his wool coat and flicking the remnants of a cigar onto the asphalt.
“Get down there,” Zelman ordered. “Have them brought up here right away. Be pleasant. Act like we’ve been expecting them.”
Ropa seemed confused, but didn’t have the nerve to ask any questions.
Zelman sat down at his desk and logged out of Jerry’s music file. He’d suddenly lost his appetite for bright, bouncy beats. He tried to figure out what Mancini was doing there. The guy wasn’t involved with the Perrino massacre. He even turned down the offer to make the make the play himself but must’ve gained some benefit from the incident. Maybe he was there to form an alliance?
A few minutes later, Ropa escorted the three men into the office. Zelman remained behind his desk with his right ankle resting over his left knee and his hands clasped together in his lap.
“Gentlemen,” Zelman said agreeably. “What can I do for you?”
The two larger guys stood behind Al Mancini, who stood in front of Zelman’s desk and looked around the office with admiration.
“You got a nice place here,” Mancini said.
Mancini strolled around the room as if he were looking to buy the place. When he reached the back wall directly across from Zelman’s desk, he stopped and examined the large portrait hanging on the wall.
“You serious with this?” Mancini asked.
It was an image of a superhero wearing a tight leather suit, blue with a white star on his chest. The guy was looking down at his gloved hands which held a silver saucer with green, white, and red circles. At the bottom of the portrait were the words: Captain Chechnya.
Mancini looked at his two cohorts and chuckled. “You believe it? They turned Captain America into a foreigner.”
The two burly men grinned while Mancini played with the frame, adjusting it so it was level.
“There,” Mancini said, backing away from the painting. “Now it’s straight.”
He turned to face Zelman, who said nothing, forcing the guy to speak first.
Mancini seemed to sense that and he remained quiet for a solid minute, just staring at Zelman, sizing him up. Finally, Mancini said, “There’s been a merger of sorts.”
“Okay?”
“The Lucia family business has been consolidated into the Mancini family business,” Mancini said, his entire body perfectly still. Abnormally so. Like someone who didn’t blink.
“And what does this have to do with me?”
The room was so quiet Zelman could hear the fabric stretch as Mancini crossed his legs.
“It seems that Mr. Lucia has twenty million into a business venture with you, and we are here to receive the payment for that investment.”
“Well, that’s an interesting way to put things. However, Mr. Lucia should have notified you that the turnaround time was two weeks. And those two weeks aren’t up for a couple of days.”
Mancini was nodding before Zelman had even finished. “Yeah, yeah, he told me all about it. See the thing is, we have different terms than Mr. Lucia. We work on a tighter schedule.”
Zelman cocked his head. “That is not the agreement I made with Mr. Lucia. Maybe if he were here, he could vouch for me.”
“Yeah, well there’s not a lot of vouching going on in our line of work. When do you think you could get us the thirty million? That is the agreement, correct? He gave you twenty, in return for thirty?”
Zelman had required a total of forty million to pay for the transport of fentanyl from a foreign country. He didn’t even know which one. He just knew that he was twenty million short and didn’t have a whole lot of options when it came to a short-term loan. The net gain would be ten million for him and ten for his silent partner, Dom Lucia. They each had invested twenty million in order to received thirty back.
“That is precisely the arrangement,” Zelman said. “I can make a call tonight and possibly move up the return investment by a day.”
Mancini uncrossed his legs and leaned back in his chair, tapping the arms with his fingertips. “Let me ask you something. What did you think was going to happen when you had the Perrino family whacked?”
Zelman felt like that was a loaded question. He stared back at the older guy. “The Perrinos are a small group of has-beens. Sal Perrino was way past his prime and there was no one there to take his place. I did my research before I acted.”
“Did you?” Mancini said. “So you knew that Nick Bracco practically grew up with the Perrinos back in Baltimore? And that he only lives ninety minutes away from here?”
“I know all about Agent Bracco, and I am aware of precisely where he lives,” saying it with attitude, knowing he already had a guy up there taking care of the Bracco family.
Mancini edged forward like he was about to get up, then said, “You know when you miss payroll, it upsets people.”
Zelman sneered now. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
Zelman jumped up from his chair and leaned across his desk, while the two heavyset men moved closer to their boss. “I decide whether . . . Who told you I missed payroll?”
Mancini gave him a half-shrug. “Loose lips sink ships.”
Zelman scrunched up his face. “I do not know what that means.”
“Ah, it’s an old Navy phrase. Being from Chechnya, you wouldn’t understand.” Mancini got to his feet. “Let’s just say, people aren’t as loyal as you think once they miss a paycheck.”
Zelman stared, wondering where the crack was in his organization.
Mancini stared back at him. “The Mancini family is not a small group of has-beens. And more importantly, we have formed an alliance that will overwhelm your ability to protect yourself. There isn’t a condo in the world where you can hide, Mr. Zelman. Not even in Barcelona.”
Zelman watched the guy stroll toward the door while his security team glared at Zelman.
“Make that phone call,” Mancini said over his shoulder. “I want the money tomorrow.”
Then he was gone.
Zelman’s chest pounded as he stood there dumbfounded. How did this guy know about the missed payroll? And the villa in Barcelona? His exit plan had just been pushed up.
The door reopened and Mancini stuck his head in. “And please, don’t try to run. That will only accelerate your demise.”
Chapter 23
When Agent Chang saw the headlights stop in front of the Bracco house, he immediately reached for his pistol. He was guarding the front of the home from the den, while a deputy guarded the rear. Fortunately, Julie was in the bedroom reading a bedtime story to Thomas, so Ken didn’t have to conceal his actions.
He pulled aside the blinds and watched someone get out of the passenger side of the SUV, then walk up the driveway while the car drove away. Just by the slow, natural gait, Ken could tell it wasn’t a threat. A few seconds later, Nick waved to the window announcing his presence.
Ken opened the front door and Nick gave him a fist bump.
“Thanks for doing this, buddy,” Nick said.
“Of course.”
Nick didn’t carry any bags or gear.
“That was fast,” Ken said. “Are you home for good?”
“No, just a quick trip to see the family for a few minutes.” Nick pointed to the hallway. “She reading to him?”
Ken nodded. “Good timing.”
Nick headed to the bedroom and Ken resumed his watch for the evening.
* * *
Nick turned into Thomas’s bedroom and found Julie sitting next to his son with a book on her lap.
“Daddy!” Thomas yelled, then jumped from the bed and ran into his father’s arms.
Nick crouched down and clutched his son.
“How’s my boy?” Nick asked.
“Good,” Thomas said in his ear. “Mom said you were working for two more days.”
“I am buddy. I just came back to visit you for a few minutes.” Nick directed Thomas back to the bed and lifted him up to place him next to his mother.
Julie leaned across Thomas and gave Nick a peck on the lips. “What a surprise.”
Nick sat on the bed and gazed at his two prized possessions. He smiled and used muscles that had been dormant for almost a week.
“So, we had an exciting day today, huh?” Nick asked.
Thomas took the cue and reached over to grab the baseball on the nightstand. “Look, Dad, isn’t this cool?”
“It is.”
Thomas gripped the ball along the seams and held it up. “That’s a two-seam, right?”
“That’s right, buddy.”
Julie looked confused. “What’s a two-seam?”
Thomas then gripped the ball with his finger across the seams and said, “And that’s a four-seam.”
Nick grinned with pride. “Exactly.”
“Guys?” Julie said, feeling left out.
“Those are different types of fastballs,” Nick explained.
“Oh.”
Thomas held the ball along the seams again, then tapped his index finger on the ball. “That’s a cutter, right?”
Nick adjusted his fingers, which were barely large enough to grip the ball with one hand and said, “There.” Trying to bring normalcy to an otherwise abnormal day.
Julie seemed grateful for the diversion.
Then Thomas looked down at the ball in his lap and said, “The man who gave this to me was a bad man.”
It wasn’t a question. It was his way of addressing the elephant in the room.
Julie looked at Nick with a wrinkled brow, as if to say, this is your job.
Nick took the ball and played with it in his hand until he centered the Chechen flag. “You see, buddy, this is the national flag of Chechnya. There are some very nice and caring people there who love their children like we do here. But some of the people from that country came to America because they were too poor to take care of their children. They were starving and wanted a better life for their families. So when they came here, they discovered that things were a lot different than at home and they couldn’t find jobs. So, some people started stealing things so they could eat and stay alive.”
“Really?” Thomas asked. “Were they hungry? We could help.” He turned to Julie. “Right, Mom?”
Julie nodded. “Of course we could.”
“But a few of these people from Chechnya,” Nick continued, “got greedy.”
“Greedy?”
“Yes, they wanted more food and toys than other people and they didn’t want to share.”
“Oh.”
“So they became mean and sometimes they would hurt other people so they could keep more food and toys for their family. And those are the people that Daddy has to find so he can stop them from hurting other people.”
“Because that’s your job, right, Dad? Getting the bad people?
“Yes.”
“But the guy who gave me that ball. Was he a bad person?”
“Yes.”
“And was he going to hurt me?”
Julie gave Nick a quick glare, notifying him that his answer was significant.
“No,” Nick said. “The Chechen people never harm children. They are only mean with adults. So you are completely safe here.”
“But how come I can’t go to the park with Randy and Michael? Mom said there were bad people out there.”
“Well, there is only one bad person in Payson and I am going to get him so I can put him in jail. Then we can all go back to normal and go outside and throw the baseball again.”
Thomas’s eyes brightened. “Then can you show me how to throw a slider again?”
Julie sighed, seeming grateful for the offer of hope.
“Yes, of course, buddy.”
Thomas gripped his baseball once again and smiled.
Nick pulled out his cell phone and tapped his screen a couple of times until he reached the image he was searching for. He held up the picture of a man posing for a mug shot and asked Thomas, “Hey, pal, is this the man who gave you the baseball at the park?”
Thomas blinked for a second and said, “How did you get his picture? Did you meet him before?”
“I did,” Nick said, dropping the phone onto the bed. “He is much nicer than most bad people. He’s just hungry and wants food. I am going to find him and help him out.”
“We went to the store today and got a bunch of stuff. Maybe you can bring some with you.”
“I will.”
They sat there, making small talk, Thomas asking about jail and curious how much food the prisoners got, suggesting that maybe the Chechen people should all go to jail so they could eat.
Nick explained everything as best he could, walking a tightrope between lying and protecting his son’s psyche.
After a few minutes, Nick’s phone buzzed and he glanced at the text message. He put the phone back in his pocket and said, “Time for me to go.”
“Are you going to find the bad guy?”
“I am,” Nick said touching his son’s cheek, then leaning over and giving Julie a kiss.
“Will you come home tomorrow?” Thomas asked with hope in his eyes.
Nick stood up and held up two fingers. “I’ll be back in two days. No longer.”
“Promise?” Thomas asked.
Julie leered, cautioning him.
“I promise,” Nick said with all the confidence he could muster.
When he left Thomas’s bedroom, he stopped by the master bedroom and went to the medicine cabinet to retrieve the PTSD pills he’d forgotten. He glimpsed at the bottle before dropping them in his pocket and noticed it was a stronger strength than usual. His dose was normally 10 milligrams, but these were 20 milligrams. He held the bottle by his side while trying to decide if Dr. Morgan had increased his dosage, but simply couldn’t remember that conversation.
He turned and saw Julie standing there.
“Hey, Sweetie,” Nick said. “Did Dr. Morgan change the strength on my pills?”
Julie took a deep breath, then folded her arms across her chest. She didn’t say a word.
“Honey?” Nick said moving toward her. “What’s wrong?”
Julie bit her lower lip.
“Baby,” Nick said, gathering her into his arms.
She rested her head on his shoulder and tried desperately to restrain herself.
“After all these years,” Julie whispered. “You’d think I’d be used to this by now.”
Nick let her purge the sorrow as he gently kissed her neck.
“There’s nothing to get used to,” Nick consoled her. “There is nothing normal about having an FBI agent protect you while I go to work. Don’t ever think that is normal.”
“Okay,” she said in a low breath.
They stood there while Julie seemed to control herself. After a minute she pulled away and took a brown bottle from the medicine cabinet and handed it to Nick.
“Here,” she said. “These are yours.”
Nick was confused. He looked down at the bottle he’d taken from the cabinet. It was the exact same medicine.
Julie pointed to the label on the bottle. “They’re mine,” she said taking them from him. “I meant to tell you, but there didn’t seem to be a good time.”
Nick had a million questions, but Julie seemed determined now. There was a new tone in her voice as she patted Nick’s back like a little league coach supporting a young player. “You promised Thomas you’d be back in two days.”
“I did.”
She looked thoughtful, her eyes roaming the bathroom until they landed directly on Nick. “Now I need you to make me a promise.”
Nick expected her to say something like ‘be safe’ or ‘don’t take any chances.’ But she looked at him with a determined expression and said, “Get the assholes who murdered Sal and threatened my child. Can you do that for me?”
What else could he say in that moment. Whether he believed it or not, he gave her a steely glare and said, “Bet on it.”
Chapter 24
Tommy pulled into the Jake’s parking lot just after eight o’clock and backed into a spot next to the dumpster, away from the overhead lights. The bar was a one-story stucco building that was originally a residential home built back in the fifties. It sat on Central Avenue in downtown Phoenix, where it looked out of place among the twenty-story office buildings and fast-food restaurants.
Tommy shut off the car and looked at Cara, as if noticing her attire for the first time.
“You do know this is a dive bar, right?” he asked.
Cara smoothed the fabric of her short dress and crossed her legs to let a high heel dangle from her foot. “I felt like dressing up tonight.”
Tommy cocked his head. “You’re up to something, but I’m just too dense to figure it out.”
Cara opened her door and Tommy followed her across the parking lot, the thumping of a rhythmic bass line was pulsing out the open door.
“No one ever accused you of being dense,” Cara quipped as they strode toward the back entrance.
“You should’ve heard what my high school teachers called me.”
A thick Asian man wearing a skin-tight black T-shirt stood next to the back door and said, “Ten dollar cover,” with a practiced monotone voice.
“Ten bucks?” Tommy said, fishing for his wallet. “Is Bob Dylan doing a set tonight?”
The guy frowned as Tommy handed him a twenty-dollar bill.
They walked single file down a narrow hallway with a low ceiling until they entered the main room. Against the far wall was a long bar with a female bartender hustling back and forth between customers who were packed two deep across from her. To their right was a small stage with a three-piece band. A bass player, a drummer, and a skinny kid with a long ponytail playing guitar and singing lead. The room was crowded, but well designed. The main floor was sunken so people could stand and yet the customers sitting at the bar and booths surrounding the room could easily see the stage. The acoustics weren’t bad either. The music wasn’t bouncing off the walls and causing reverb.
