Deep Dirty Truth

by Steph Broadribb

  They do as he says; grabbing weapons from the stash in the middle of the floor, they take up station at the windows. As they fight back against Luciano’s men, more bullets pummel the house. Gunfire ricochets through the room. Juliette cries out, Sophia speaks Italian to her in calming tones.

  There’s a shout, and Greasy drops to the floor, his gun clattering against the flagstones. I hurry to him, but as I roll him over I see he’s beyond help. The bullet’s gone through his cheek and into his skull, no exit wound. He’s gone. Dead.

  I rush to the pile of weapons, hesitate a moment. Hate that I’m going to have to do this again – use lethal force. But I know that, in this situation, it’s the only way we’ll have a chance of staying alive.

  I reach for an AK-47.

  North grabs my arm. Frowning, he shakes his head. ‘It’ll take more than that for us to survive this.’

  ‘I can’t just stand by and—’

  ‘They outnumber us. We need another plan, a smart one, and fast.’

  The bald guy is reloading. The other two let off a series of shots, then pause. Outside all is silent.

  ‘What’s going on out there?’ Growler shouts into the walkie.

  In the kitchen, we’re quiet, listening for a response.

  The walkie stays silent.

  He yells again: ‘Answer me. Status update.’

  There’s a loud burst of static, then Luciano’s voice comes through the handset’s speaker. His tone’s smug. ‘They’re dead, or they’re with me. I’m the head of this family now. It’s time for y’all to give it up.’

  65

  SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 23rd, 19:49

  ‘We need to go to the bunker,’ says North.

  Growler nods. ‘Take the Old Man and Juliette. We’ll hold them off as long as we can.’ Picking up one of the AK-47s he moves to join his remaining men at the windows.

  As they fire shots out towards Luciano’s mob, North glances at me then kneels beside the Old Man. ‘I need the key to the bunker.’

  The Old Man’s regained consciousness, but his eyes seem unable to focus. He peers towards North. Shaking his head he smiles. ‘Anthony, you know Papa says we mustn’t play in there.’

  Damn. He’s delirious.

  A new volley of bullets pepper the side of the house. More glass shatters. Splinters fly into the air. A red mist sprays from the bald guy’s throat as he sprawls backwards from the window.

  North tries again, his tone more urgent. ‘It’s North, sir. You’re injured. I need to get you and Juliette safe. Giovanni, please, give me the key.’

  The Old Man frowns. He looks bewildered, lost. The man who treated me so callously when he brought me here a few days ago, and the determined man of just a few hours ago, seems to have disappeared. He glances at Juliette. ‘I … what’s…?’

  She whispers to him in Italian and smiles. Stroking his cheek, she then reaches around his neck and removes a key on a silver chain. She passes it to North. ‘This is what you need. Now, get us out of here.’

  North opens the pantry door, and starts clearing the freestanding racks holding packets and cans of food from against the back wall. I move after him, helping him shift the racks out of the way, the feet of the metal frames screeching across the flagstones. Then he crouches down and inserts the key into a hole that’s low to the ground. I hear a bolt unfasten.

  North gives the back wall a hard shove, and it opens to reveal a dark chamber with a spiral staircase leading downwards. ‘Come on.’

  I don’t move. It doesn’t make sense. ‘An underground bunker? How is that possible? You can’t build a basement in Florida.’

  ‘It’s not a basement,’ North says. ‘It’s the first level. The ground in this part of the compound is artificially raised.’

  ‘Won’t Luciano just come after us? We’ll be trapped in there.’

  ‘The Old Man’s father had it done, way back in the day. Few people know about it, and Luciano isn’t one of them.’

  ‘You’ll be boxed in, it’s a—’

  ‘I have to.’ North glances back at the Old Man. His eyes have rolled back into his head, and he’s lost consciousness again. ‘He might not last, but I can’t let Luciano be the one to finish him.’

  ‘Okay, but I’m staying here. I won’t hide in a hole while I’m still fit to fight. I need to finish this and get back to my daughter.’

  Before North can argue, I turn and hurry out of the pantry back towards the window. I step over Greasy’s body, trying not to look into his sightless eyes and the bloody mass left by the bullet wound, and peep through the gap between the dresser and what’s left of the window frame.

  I can see Luciano, hunkered down behind his Range Rover. Squinting through the gloom, I use the light of the full moon to count the number of men he still has standing. I have to stop counting at thirty-six; I hit the deck as another barrage of shots pelt against the window.

  North calls after me, but I don’t respond. If we can’t hold Luciano off, they’ll kill North and the rest of them in the bunker as easy as shooting fish in a barrel.

  I have to do something.

  I remember North’s words: We need to be smart.

  He’s right. When you’re in a tight spot you’ve got to use whatever you’ve got to get the job done. This isn’t over. There’s another play to be had here. Grabbing my cellphone, I dial Monroe’s number.

  He answers after the first ring.

  With the gunfire echoing around me, I shout into the cellphone. ‘Tell Jackson Peters me and North are inside the Bonchese compound. Tell him Luciano is making a play for leadership of the Miami Mob.’

  Monroe sounds unsure. ‘Is it true?’

  ‘Can’t you hear it?’ I drop to the ground as Growler and his last two men return fire. I know Monroe won’t do anything from kindness, only if it benefits him. ‘We can’t hold them off much longer. If you don’t get Peters to intervene you can kiss goodbye to me being around to do that Chicago sting.’

  ‘Hold on.’ There’s rustling at Monroe’s end of the call and footsteps that make it sound like he’s running. ‘I’m telling him now.’

  There’s a huge crash and the dresser across the window breaks into pieces and collapses onto the flagstones. Bullets pound against the walls and the floor. I dive for cover in the pantry Growler’s close behind me.

  Neither of the other two make it. Their bodies jerk as the bullets rip through them. The vase of gardenia blooms shatters.

  ‘Monroe?’ I shout into the cellphone.

  There’s no answer. The call’s disconnected.

  More bullets spray the kitchen, ricocheting off the flagstones. Gardenia petals whirl in the air, scattering over the fallen men’s bodies like funeral pyre ashes. Their blood stains the white petals crimson.

  The outline of a man appears in the gaping hole where the window and dresser used to be, silhouetted in the moonlight. I hear a familiar, mocking, laugh; Luciano.

  ‘I’m out of ammo,’ Growler whispers.

  I don’t have a gun, but that doesn’t mean that I’m giving up, and I sure as hell won’t let Luciano shoot me on the floor of this pantry.

  Springing up, I pull my Taser from my holster and wait for him to get within range. He’s cocky enough to believe he’s untouchable. But no one’s untouchable, and in a situation like this, a winning hand can pivot to a losing one in the pull of a trigger.

  Luciano steps closer. He’s in the middle of the room now. I just need him four paces closer for him to be in the Taser’s range.

  He whistles like he’s calling a dog. Takes another step. ‘Lori? I know you’re in there, hiding like the bitch you are. I’m going to enjoy—’

  From outside, I hear the roar of vehicle engines.

  ‘What the—?’ Luciano turns and sprints back to the window gap. He gestures furiously, yelling at his men. ‘Fire. Stop them for…’ His voice fades as he disappears back out into the lot.

  Luciano’s men open fire.

  I hurry to the windo
w and peer around the wall. A line of police and FBI vehicles, their headlights and spotlights blazing, smash through the entrance gates with one hell of a clatter. The law-enforcement vehicles are armoured, their firepower a whole lot stronger. Luciano’s men are the ones who are outnumbered now.

  Hitting the ground, I scoot away from the window. Tell myself this was the only play I had left, that Luciano forced my hand, and I didn’t have another choice. I know that Luciano will never surrender, and I try not to feel guilty about what I’ve set in motion.

  This will be a fight to the death.

  66

  SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 23rd, 20:13

  The gunfight seems to go on forever. Law enforcement versus the mob, neither side backing off. I stay hunkered down behind one of the dressers, hoping it’ll all soon be over.

  There’s a pause in the shooting, and I think for a moment it’s finished. Then Luciano steps backwards into the kitchen through the hole in the wall where the window once was.

  ‘Luciano Bonchese. You’re surrounded.’ Special Agent Peters’ voice has a tinny echo to it from the megaphone he’s using. ‘Put your weapon down and come out with your hands on your head.’

  ‘Never,’ Luciano shouts. Raising his gun, he fires out towards the parking lot, but all I hear is a trigger click. The gun is out of ammo.

  His back is towards me. His focus is on the gun.

  This is my chance to end things.

  I inch towards him, my Taser drawn. He’s almost in range.

  Peters’ voice booms over the megaphone. ‘Luciano Bonchese, this is your last warning. Drop your weapon and come out with your hands on your head.’

  Luciano still doesn’t notice me. He’s cussing loudly. One of his hands is bleeding, and he fumbles with his gun as he tries to reload, dropping bullets in his haste. Cusses more.

  Mouth dry. Heart racing.

  I take a step towards him, then another. One more and he’ll be in range.

  Special Agent Peters’ voice is firm. The megaphone makes it seem to echo. ‘You have until the count of three.’

  Luciano’s still scrabbling at his pocket for more bullets; he still isn’t aware I’m behind him.

  ‘One,’ shouts Special Agent Peters.

  I take another step closer to Luciano.

  ‘Two.’

  Pulling the trigger, I shoot the probes from my X2 Taser into Luciano’s back. As they discharge their voltage, he yells out, half turning towards me as he crumples forwards onto his knees. His teeth are set in a grimace, his body convulsing. A damp stain spreads across the front of his pants.

  ‘He’s down,’ I shout before Peters can count to three. ‘I’ve tasered him.’

  ‘Identify yourself,’ Peters shouts in the megaphone.

  ‘Lori Anderson.’

  ‘Is Carlton North with you?’

  I know I have to play this real careful. I’m an armed fugitive in the eyes of Special Agent Peters, if he thinks I’m resisting arrest he’s just as likely to shoot me as he was Luciano. ‘North’s in a bunker with the Bonchese family. There’s just two of us left in here, sir, plus Luciano, who is immobilised.’

  Peters’ voice is firm, hard. ‘Drop your weapons and come out with your hands raised.’

  Given the situation, this treatment is as good as I can hope for right now. I glance over to the pantry, where Growler is hiding. ‘You prepared to do this?’

  He nods.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ I shout. But I don’t move, not yet; there’s something I need to do first.

  Dropping my Taser, I take out my cellphone, and select Red’s number. I type a quick message: North and me fine. Luciano stopped. Feds have control of compound. Get away from here fastest. I’ll find you later.

  Pocketing my cell. I put my hands on my head and step around Luciano. He’s still jerking about, his nervous system disrupted, and I know it’ll be another few minutes before he’s able to think about moving again.

  Growler joins me by the gap in the wall.

  I glance at him. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘We’re coming out,’ I shout.

  Then I step out of the house and into the custody of the FBI.

  67

  SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 23rd, 20:28

  Two huge spotlights illuminate us, blinding me. I blink into the light. All I can make out are the ghostlike shapes of bullet-ridden vehicles and bodies scattered like litter across the gravel of the parking lot.

  It looks like a battlefield.

  There’s so much death. So much waste.

  I bite my lip and try to stay strong, but I fail to stem the tears as the strain of the past few days and my emotions collide. I feel horror at the sight of all these bodies; fear of what comes next. But above all, my overriding emotion is relief, because Red should be well on his way back to the other marina, and Dakota and JT are safe.

  SWAT team officers grab me roughly, forcing my hands behind me. I feel the cold bite as metal cuffs are snapped around my wrists. More officers swarm past into the kitchen. They cuff Growler and Luciano. I hear them removing the barricade to the hallway door and continuing on to search the house, yelling ‘clear’ as they move through the rooms.

  A man steps out of the darkness, into the beam of the lights. I recognise him. He’s tall and athletic with an FBI ball cap pulled down over his blond hair. Even the fatigue of the past few days as he’s been tracking me and North is unable to dim his movie-star good looks. Special Agent Jackson Peters.

  He raises his eyebrows. ‘Well, Lori Anderson. Finally we meet.’

  ‘I guess we do.’

  ‘Where’s North?’

  ‘Still in the bunker, keeping Giovanni Bonchese and two women safe from Luciano.’

  ‘Special Agent Monroe said that you told him Giovanni is injured.’

  ‘He is, badly.’

  ‘How do we access the bunker?’

  ‘I need your word that you won’t harm them.’

  Peters narrows his eyes then nods. ‘So long as they don’t fire on my men.’

  It’s as good a guarantee as I can hope for. I turn, nodding across the kitchen. ‘There’s a secret passage from the back of that pantry. Follow the stairs down, that’s where they went.’

  As Peters directs his men towards the pantry, I see another silhouette approaching. I’d recognise it anywhere: tall, lanky, with fly-away hair that’s just a touch too long. Special Agent Alex Monroe.

  He steps out of the direct light, and his features become clear. His gaze is fixed on Peters. ‘You got what you need? We all done here?’

  Peters looks from Monroe to me. ‘Alex told me what you were doing, that he’d sent you in to gain North’s confidence and bust the Miami Mob crime family open.’

  I stare at them both, saying nothing, guessing what’s happening here. Having worked for Monroe before, I know he’ll lie and cheat his way to the result he wants. And right now he wants me to do the Chicago job for him, so he’s said what Peters needed to hear in order to prevent me from getting arrested. It means I owe him. And the thought of that makes me shudder.

  Peters looks impressed. ‘You did good work, Ms Anderson.’ He glances at Monroe. ‘I just wish Alex would’ve let me get in on the secret a little earlier.’

  Monroe shrugs, and gives a small smile. ‘Couldn’t have you jeopardising my operation, now, could I?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Peters looks back at me. ‘I’m just glad you got out alive.’

  Peters nods to the SWAT officer nearby, and he uncuffs me. Rubbing my wrists, I take the bottle of water Monroe offers and take a long drink. It feels like I’ve not had any liquids in hours.

  ‘You ready to go?’ Monroe says.

  I nod. ‘For sure.’

  Monroe walks me out across the parking lot. Gravel scrunches beneath our feet as we navigate a path around the bodies of Luciano’s and the Old Man’s men. Looking away from their bullet-ridden corpses, I glance over to the SWAT vehicles. The uninjured are being loaded into pol
ice transport; the wounded are being tended by medics.

  Monroe leads me on past them. Pressing a key fob, the lights flash twice on a black sedan up ahead. ‘You did good, Lori. Real good. Hell, you brought down the goddamn Bonchese crime family.’

  He sounds impressed, pleased, but that’s not how I feel. Sure, I got what I wanted, what I needed. I helped North reveal the deep dirty truth about Luciano, and Tommy. And got the price lifted from me and my family’s heads. I achieved my aim for sure. I should feel happy, but I don’t.

  Before I get into the car, I glance back over my shoulder, at the bodies strewn across the gravel lot, and shudder. An eye for an eye, the Old Man kept on saying; the old way, scores settled with blood. I don’t agree. The cost is so high. The lives lost so many. The Miami Mob came after me, and I had to defend myself, but that doesn’t change the fact I feel an overwhelming regret that so many are dead.

  Monroe glances at me sideways. Raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re awful quiet.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘What happened here, it doesn’t feel good is all.’

  68

  MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 24th, 01:43

  Monroe gives me a ride to the motel where JT and Dakota are staying.

  As I go to get out of the car, Monroe puts his hand on my arm. I turn back to look at him. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he says.

  I nod. ‘I don’t doubt it.’

  I know what he’s talking about, but I don’t want to think about the job in Chicago right now.

  Climbing out of the car, I slam the door shut and make my way to room seven. When I messaged JT from the car, he said that’s where he is with Dakota. I told him I was on my way and he sent me a single word reply: Okay.

  On the opposite side of the street is the marina where Red’s houseboat is temporarily moored up. In the moonlight I can see the masts of yachts and the silhouettes of big tourist cruisers. I fancy I can hear the sea lapping against their hulls, but it’s probably in my imagination. A distraction from what might happen next.