North’s expression tells me that he understands my meaning.
‘Damn, Lori, if you were in trouble you could’ve—’
‘I wasn’t in trouble. He got what was coming to him.’
‘I see that.’
‘So come on, we should move.’
North glances into the truck, at the driver who’s still sprawled and shaking inside, then back at me. He raises his hand to his forehead in a mock salute. ‘Whatever you say, boss.’
I head out at a run, and North follows. My go bag’s banging against my back and my left arm feels hot and swollen beneath the sleeve of my jacket. I need to take a proper look at it, but first I need to get us out of the truck guy’s sight. He’s disabled for now, the volts having disrupted his muscle control and balance, but give him five minutes and he’ll be charging down this road with a hair up his ass about getting bested by a girl. Sure, I could have taken his vehicle, but that seems like a bigger risk. In small-town places like this, folks tend to be all up in each other’s business. I figure once word got out it wouldn’t take long for them to find the truck, and I sure don’t need any other kinds of mob on our tail right now.
We’ll stay out of sight better on foot.
And we need to get off the road.
23
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 21st, 06:32
Half a mile away from where we left the truck, we hang a right into a patch of forest. The ground is overgrown, the footing rough and uneven. North’s breathing is becoming more laboured. I drop our speed under the shade of the trees, but keep us marching. The sun’s up and we’re in full daylight now. Cops and Feds will be swarming around the crime scene back in Missingdon, and they’ll have most likely found our trail up to Carter’s Lake. ‘It’s not much further to Route 98 – maybe a couple of miles.’
North nods. ‘I was trying not to ask if we were there yet.’
I smile. He’s using humour to try and hide it, but he looks worried. With a heart condition and no medication, I know he can’t keep going at this pace for long. He needs a break. We both do. Maybe we should find someplace to lie low for a while.
We hike through the trees and out into an orange grove that stretches as far as the horizon. Using the compass on my cellphone, I check our position against the map and keep us heading towards Route 98 and a rest stop that’s marked as being a couple of miles from our current location.
Time passes. We stay off the road, and fate is kind to us; we don’t see the guy in the truck again.
The rest stop is set a little ways back from Route 98, between the local road leading from the orange groves and the highway. There’s a gas station and a rundown motel, and not a whole lot else. From the number of eighteen-wheelers parked up, it seems the place is popular with truckers.
I glance at North. He’s trying hard not to show it but his breathing is definitely a struggle. He looks pale despite his tan, and his skin seems to have a strange, waxy texture. I can’t get him his medication back, so, if we’re going to make it to Miami without, he needs rest.
I catch his eye and nod towards the motel. ‘We should take cover here for a while. I’ll get us a room.’
North doesn’t argue.
Having pulled on the Red Sox ball cap from my go bag and slipped on my shades, I push open the door to the motel. Before I step inside, I see North slump onto the bench seat out front, his head in his hands. Right now he doesn’t look like a big mob fixer; he looks like a broken man.
The older lady behind the desk looks up at me over her small oval glasses. Her tone is lukewarm pleasant, but her expression is full-on suspicious. ‘Good morning. Can I help you?’
‘I’m looking for a room.’
She looks me up and down, taking in my raggedy appearance. ‘We don’t rent by the hour here.’
In truth an hourly rental would’ve suited me just fine, but I don’t want her getting her panties all twisted. ‘Well, good, because that sure isn’t what I’m after. I need a room: one night, with twin beds. No connecting door to any other rooms.’ I lower my voice. ‘I had a bad experience like that one time.’
‘One night, twin room, no problem.’ Any embarrassment she might have felt about having insinuated my reason for needing a room was because I was a working girl she hides well with her firm tone and efficient manner. She takes a key from a hook behind the desk. ‘Room six is vacant. That’ll be fifty-eight bucks. Cash or card?’
Fifty-eight bucks is at least double what this place is worth, but North isn’t going to make it much further without a break, so she kind of has me over a barrel.
‘Cash,’ I say, peeling three twenties from the roll in my go bag and handing them to her. ‘Go ahead and keep the change.’
Room six is as basic as it gets: two beds, one closet, and a small bathroom with an even smaller shower, which has a load of black mould growing along the bottom edge of the tiles. It might smell a little musty, but it’s enough for our needs, and it’ll keep us out of the sun and off the roads. Right now, that’s all that matters.
I fetch us a few bottles of water and a couple of sausage biscuits from the hot-food vending machine outside the room. As we eat, I switch on the television and flick through the channels until I find the local news station.
On screen there’s a pretty blonde and an older, deeply tanned man, who are both wearing too much make-up. They’re talking with barely contained excitement about a shoot-out in nearby Missingdon. From the look on their faces I’m guessing this is the most thrilling piece of news they’ve ever reported on air.
But it’s not thrilling to me. I killed a man. Shot him and watched him drop off the walkway onto the dumpsters. My hands start to shake with the memory. I hate guns – only ever use one as a last resort. And it was a last resort: the man was firing at me. It was shoot or be shot.
That still doesn’t make it right.
Clasping my hands together to stop them shaking, I wince as pain darts through my left arm. I try to focus on the news report. The banner scrolling along the bottom of the screen reads: Four Dead in Missingdon Massacre.
Four dead? That doesn’t ring true. There were two Feds, the Miami Mob guy on the walkway, then Luciano’s two men killed by North at Carter’s Lake.
On screen the blonde is talking, I increase the volume.
‘…officers are on the scene, and we understand that our local police force are working side-by-side with the FBI to find the vigilantes responsible for this horrific night of violence.’ She looks down and puts her finger to her ear, obviously listening to something being fed to her, then looks straight back to camera. ‘We’ve just had an update through to the studio about the victims who lost their lives in this sickening tragedy. They were Federal Agents John Jackson Junior and Otis Young, and Miami residents, Giovanni Ricci and Nico Moretti. We are unclear at this time about how they’re connected, but we’ve been told the man injured during the attack has now been stabilised and is helping the investigators from his hospital bed…’
Relief that I didn’t kill the man on the walkway floods through me. Fear crashes into my chest fast behind it. I glance over at North. ‘I shot the man on walkway.’
He grimaces. ‘Not well enough.’
‘If he’s one of Luciano’s men, he knows who we both are.’
‘He won’t help the Feds.’
‘You sure about that?’
North looks thoughtful. ‘The bigger problem is he’ll be straight on the wire to tell Luciano what went down.’
‘I need to call him, make him understand the situation.’
‘Won’t do no good. We killed two of his best men. Even if you take me to him, he won’t forgive you that. It’d make him look weak. He won’t be able to let that stand.’
I shake my head. Think of JT and Dakota, of the threats the Old Man and Luciano have made against them. Look back at North. ‘I have to try.’
24
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 21st, 08:43
Luciano’s cellphone rings once before he pi
cks it up. He doesn’t say his name, just waits for me to speak first.
North’s in the bathroom, and I’d prefer he doesn’t hear, so I get straight to business. ‘I have North, but from the three men you had shooting at us I’m guessing that’s not the way you wanted things to play out.’
There’s a pause at the end of the line, then a single laugh with no happiness in it. ‘An error.’
‘The fact that North and me are still alive?’
‘That North is.’
‘Sure didn’t feel that way. Anyways, you said you wanted him alive.’
‘I don’t believe I was that specific.’
I harden my tone. ‘You and the Old Man sent me to do a job, and I’m damn well going to do it. I have North, I busted him out from the Feds and stopped him testifying this morning, and now I’m going to bring him back to Miami. So tell your dogs to back the hell off.’
‘A bitch with an invalid lover and little kid back at home in her apartment isn’t in any position to tell me what to do.’
I clench my fingers tighter around the cellphone. Can’t let anything happen to Dakota and JT, just can’t. They’ve already been through enough because of me. But I know Luciano will exploit any weakness. I make my tone hardball tough. ‘She is if you want North back.’
‘Well, you see, Lori, that’s the thing.’ He lets out another sinister laugh. ‘I don’t want him back. What I want is for you to kill him.’
‘But that’s not what we—’
‘Do it, and send me proof within the next hour. Or I’ll give the order to execute that cute kid and son-of-a-bitch lover of yours. And then I’ll hunt you and North down like the vermin you are. Sixty minutes, Lori, so get busy. Tick tock.’
25
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 21st, 08:51
North comes out of the bathroom and I’m not fast enough on the draw to get my poker face on.
He stops in the doorway, frowning. ‘You look like a dog that ate a hornet. What happened?’
‘Luciano’s not happy.’
‘Don’t say I didn’t call it.’
‘Wasn’t hard to call,’ I snap back, trying to buy time.
He shrugs and walks around the bed I’m sitting on to the one nearest the door. He puffs up the rather flaccid-looking pillows and flops onto it. ‘So, what now?’
My mind’s going bat-shit crazy. I need an answer. A plan. I think of the only person who can overrule Luciano’s instruction, and I know what my next move has to be. ‘What’s the landline number at the Old Man’s house?’
North raises his eyebrows. ‘Why’d you want that?’
‘I need to speak to him.’
‘Not a good idea ringing the house, he doesn’t like to—’
‘I’m not much in the mood for caring whether he likes it or not, I need to speak to him. Now, you got the number or what?’
‘Yeah, I know it.’ North reels off a number.
I tap it into my cell and press call. My stomach flips as it connects.
It takes thirteen rings before it’s answered. There’s a load of rustling, then a woman with a strong Spanish accent says, ‘Bonchese.’
‘I need to speak with Giovanni Bonchese.’
‘He’s not here.’
On the television the news channel is showing footage of Hampton Lodge. The rooms we’d been in are closed off with crime-scene tape. ‘It’s important. I’m doing a job for him and—’
‘No.’ Her voice is panicked, her words fast. ‘No business on this line, never.’
They held me hostage in that place, but they won’t speak business on the telephone? Ridiculous. I raise my voice. ‘Don’t hang up, I have to speak with—’
‘He’s not here. Away. No contact. Try Monday.’
The call disconnects and I’m left staring at my cell.
‘No joy?’ North says. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
I swivel around to face him. ‘Don’t be such an asshole. I saved your sorry ass last night, so try to be a bit less of a dick, yeah?’ It’s difficult not to take out my stress on North.
‘Maybe try listening to me, then.’ North holds my gaze. ‘Even if the Old Man had been there, they wouldn’t have let you speak to him. I know that because I’ve lived and worked with the family for years. I know how they operate.’
‘How did you know the Old Man wouldn’t be there?’
‘Because of the date. Every year he makes a sort of pilgrimage to the place his brother died – out in the wild country. He takes three days and goes alone, except for his two most trusted men. They all leave their cellphones behind. No business for the time they’re away – it’s one of the Old Man’s rules.’
‘You sure seem to know a lot about it.’
‘Yeah.’ He looks sad. ‘Until this year, I was one of the men with him.’
‘And Luciano?’
North shakes his head. ‘No. He never went.’
Real interesting, but it doesn’t help my immediate problem none. I check the time on my watch; it says 09:16. The clock’s ticking down. Luciano wants North dead by a quarter of ten. I have less than half an hour.
I feel the pressure building in my chest. My throat’s dry. Nausea whirls in my stomach. Without the Old Man to overrule Luciano’s orders I’m screwed. I can’t kill North; murdering someone in cold blood just doesn’t sit right with me. But if I don’t I’m condemning Dakota and JT to death from my lack of action. Whatever I do, somebody will die.
I gesture at North’s bed. ‘Rest, okay. I need to call home.’
Stepping outside, I close the door behind me. The area around the motel is quiet. There are a couple of cars parked up close, but no noise from the other rooms. At the far end of the building there’s a maid’s cart stationed in the open doorway of the last room. The maid is far enough away to be out of earshot, so I lean back on the wall and call JT.
As the call connects my stomach flips. I hope he’ll answer. I didn’t leave on good terms, and I know he doesn’t approve of the job I’m doing. But, tough or not, I need to hear his voice right now. Sometimes even the most independent people need a little support.
He answers on the third ring. ‘You okay?’
It’s not the question I want. Not something I want to talk about. I’m injured, but until I can take a proper look I don’t know how bad. I don’t want to tell him that my arm feels on fire, and that I fear this job is more than I can handle, so I bite back the doubt and the worry, and say, ‘I’m fine. How’s Dakota?’
‘She’s good. Working on a math problem for me right now.’
It’s gone nine; Dakota should be in class. Regular attendance is important, especially as she missed so much last year when she was sick in hospital. ‘She’s not in school?’
‘I thought she’d best stay home given what’s going on.’
He’s right. ‘Okay, good call.’
He lowers his voice. His words sound more urgent. ‘What the hell happened, Lori? I saw online that there was a shooting in Missingdon and some Feds got killed. Is that where you are? Did you do that?’
‘I was there.’
JT lets out a long whistle. ‘Well, shit.’
‘Luciano set me up. His men killed the Feds. They tried to kill me and North.’
‘You’re with North?’
‘Yeah.’ I think about what Luciano’s told me to do. ‘For now.’
‘Then you need to think fast, Lori. His face is all over the news reports – they’re saying he’s a fugitive.’
Shit. ‘The Jeep’s busted up. We had to go a long way on foot and North’s not in a good way. He can’t travel further right now.’
‘Then, much as I hate to say it, call that bastard Monroe. He’s with the Bureau, he can help.’
If he chose to, Special Agent Alex Monroe could help, but it’s always hard to tell which way he’ll jump. ‘I’ll figure something out. But, look, Luciano has asked me to do something else, and I don’t think I can. If I don’t do it he says he’s got people watching yo
u and Dakota and he’ll have them kill you.’
‘I’ll look after her, Lori, you know I always—’
‘You’re still injured, JT. I know you don’t want to hear it, but what they’ll come at you with, you’re not fit enough yet to—’
‘I’ll take Dakota to my cabin.’ JT’s tone is firm, no nonsense.
I shake my head. Bite my lip. I know I have to get him to see reason and accept he’s not ready yet to face up to the mob. I can’t lose him and I cannot lose Dakota. He needs to get away from the apartment and out of Luciano’s sights. I need them both safe. ‘That’s not going to work. They’ll know about the cabin. You leave the apartment and they’ll guess that you’re headed there.’
He says nothing.
‘Look, I’ve got another idea. Somewhere closer to home, and with someone who can help you both stay safe.’
He sounds distant, pissed. ‘I’m listening.’
I know JT doesn’t like accepting help, and he dislikes pity even more, but he needs to get over that. There’s only one other person that I trust to do right and keep my daughter safe. I give JT their name and tell him how to find them and what to say when he does. ‘Go now. Luciano’s men will be coming for you any minute.’
‘Yup.’
The distance seems to widen between us. I hate that I can’t reach out and touch him; that he can’t see from my expression that I’m asking him to do this because I love him. ‘JT, I—’
‘Take care of yourself, Lori.’ His gravel-deep voice is gruff. ‘Do what you need to do to protect our girl.’
I swallow down the words I’d been going to say, instead telling him I’ll do everything I can to protect Dakota and asking him to do the same. As I speak, my throat contracts and I struggle to hide my emotion. I feel my eyes welling up, and shake my head, telling myself to get my head back in the game.
There’s no room for error. No time to think on the tension between us.
Deep Dirty Truth Page 9
