The Sorrow

by Azhar Amien

  Chapter 10: The Departure

  “Are you ready to believe my vigilante theory now?” I asked Sarah.

  The news reports were out. It was insanity. There was an uproar. Reporters had tried to get in contact with Reece Donovan over his kidnapping. They had tried to ask him about the murder of his father. The slaves his father had kept in the basement had been eager to reveal their stories and expose all the horrors they had endured, and overnight Gregory Donovan had become the promotional poster for the face of evil. I did not know what Reece had told them or whether he would be charged as an accomplice to his father’s entertainment, but I had little doubt in my mind that regardless of what became of him he’d spread the word about the man in the black ski mask. I was not fooling myself. Now was the time to expect a reaction from the mob. They would not tolerate my actions, and once Reece started spewing his guts they’d stop at nothing to find the man who had kidnapped him. Me.

  “This is crazy! What the hell is going on in this city?” Sarah breathed.

  I was restless. I had to go after the next target on my list quickly, before the mob made it impossible for me. Time was of the essence. There was only so much longer that I could keep up the charade; that I could walk in the shadows when the light was drawing near.

  “I have no idea.”

  Sarah’s jaw clenched and I raised a hand to her shoulder.

  “This makes us pathetic, Jack. Now there’s some killer running around taking out crime lords and we’re sitting here with our tails between our legs, clueless. Why do we even bother?”

  She had kept her voice low so that no one could overhear our conversation. I turned her to face me. I looked into her eyes. And I felt. I could not remember the last time I had felt anything. It was as elusive as warmth, and I held onto it in that moment.

  “That’s not the Sarah I know talking,” I said.

  “The Sarah you know doesn’t have the energy anymore.”

  I reached down for her hand, making sure that no one else could see. I half expected her to jerk her hand away, but she didn’t.

  “You keep fighting and maybe one day the world will show you why. That’s what you taught me when I needed it most.”

  She smiled at me then and whispered her thanks. She gave my hand a small squeeze before letting go. Right now she was all that I had. I just wished that if she ever found out the truth about what I had done that she could find it in her heart to understand. Either way I knew this wouldn’t last forever. It could not.

  I heard a commotion stirring behind us and one of the officers called to Sarah. I joined Sarah in her approach. My curiosity was peaked. A bunch of staff members were crowded around a television set which appeared to be having trouble with its broadcast. Once I got to the front of the crowd with Sarah I realised that it wasn’t a broadcasting issue. It was a hacking one. A figure was appearing on the screen, and before the picture even became clear I knew what it was. This was the mob playing their hand. A person appeared on screen seated and dressed fully in black. He, or she, was hiding behind a mask. I deduced that it was a male given the person’s build, and that was confirmed when I heard the voice behind the mask.

  “Greetings citizens.”

  The voice had an inhuman edge to it. It was meant to intimidate.

  “What in God’s name is this supposed to be?” Sarah whispered.

  “By now you are aware of the deaths of Victor Salvatore and Gregory Donovan. Despite what you may believe, they were murdered in cold blood by a crazed vigilante. It would seem there is a man walking among you who has a vendetta against us. Today I simply bring a message to all of you. Whoever is targeting us, know that we will respond in kind. We will do what is necessary to find the one responsible. Rest assured we will find you. This is a warning, to all citizens. The blood will be repaid.”

  There was silence all around as the broadcast ended. And then all at once everyone began speaking, and noise peaked. With grim certainty the true meaning behind the message became clear to me. It was not a threat. It was not a threat at all. It was a strategy; a move. One that we as the police had no choice but to fall for. Sarah backed my belief.

  “Shit! Those assholes! By making it public knowledge that there’s an assassin hunting them down, we’re forced to investigate into it for them; offer them protection even.”

  While we didn’t strictly have to offer them protection, it was encouraged and we were now obligated to open up an official investigation into the case of the vigilante killer. Under different circumstances I would have respected the mob’s strategy.

  “Luis Kane, Paul Castellano and Anthony Cornero are still alive and well, Sarah. They’re the next targets after Salvatore and Donovan. They have to be.”

  “Alright, Jack, this is what we’re going to do. I’m going to go over and talk to Cornero and see what I can find out. I’ll send Fields over to Kane. And you’re going to meet Castellano.”

  I smiled to myself. Perhaps the mob’s play wasn’t that bad after all. It certainly saved me the trouble of devising some intricate plan to set up a meeting. I didn’t know much about Castellano. He was a very private man. I followed Sarah to her office, closed the door behind me and drowned out the noise from the outside. It was good to have some quiet. I folded my arms and turned to Sarah.

  “Will you be okay with Cornero?”

  “I can handle it.”

  “I know. Just be careful, okay?”

  “What, no jokes for me today?” she said.

  I smiled and walked toward her.

  “Let’s just say I’m busy working on new material.”

  Sarah stood in front of her desk. I felt a pang of sadness. There was no coming back from the things I had done. One day it was likely that I would no longer be able to see Sarah like this - as friends. I would miss her. I would miss the way she made me feel like I wasn’t alone.

  “It’s really good to have you here, Jack.”

  “You too, Sarah.”

  “You know sometimes I wonder if I’m crazy. Hearing what Donovan did to those men he kept in cages, I should be glad that he got what he deserved. But I’m not. I just feel angry that there’s someone out there undermining everything we stand for, everything we risk our lives for, to take the law into their own hands. This killer is making us look worthless.”

  I felt my heart sink. I had expected that she would see it that way. I knew her. But it hurt all the same, knowing what she’d think of me if she found out the truth.

  “Am I sorry that he’s dead? Not particularly. But I know how you feel. I don’t like that there’s someone out there who’s making us look like fools.”

  Sarah went quiet. I decided to change the subject.

  “When was the last time you took a break, Sarah? You look beat.”

  “Take a break and do what?” she replied.

  “I don’t know. Walk the beach, watch a movie...sleep?” I said, hoping to lighten the mood.

  “To be honest I’m not sure when last I did any of those things.”

  “What kind of person are you?” I teased.

  “A morbid one,” she humoured me.

  “I’m sure you were the poster child for it.”

  She half-smiled.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I just need a minute. I’m exhausted and it’s going to be a long day.”

  “It will be alright. We’ll get through this.”

  I instinctively reached toward her arms. She looked up at me and I couldn’t read what was in her eyes.

  “What are we doing, Jack?”

  The question was so abrupt that I wasn’t prepared for it.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean what is this? Between us.”

  I let go of her slowly. My mind was swept up by a tornado. I felt a ripple of anxiety in my chest. I didn’t know the answer. I didn’t know what I felt. Anything would feel like betraying Nicole. I still wore my wedding ring on my hand. I wasn’t ready. I cou
ldn’t. The fear was real. I saw her face fall, ever so slightly, when I did not have a response.

  “I’m sorry I asked. I’m just tired,” she whispered.

  “You’re all that I have.”

  She touched my hand gently and put on a smile before gesturing at the door, “You have a date with Castellano.”

  I nodded, but my mind was conflicted. Without another word I went for the door.

  I drove towards the home of Paul Castellano. I had prepared myself for it. It was going to be a long drive. I tried to keep my mind active. I tried not to think about Sarah and about what our relationship was - what it had become. I tried not to think about Nicole. Instead I did what I always did in my moments alone. I got lost in my mind to escape the world. I thought about the murders that I had committed. People liked to dramatise a lot of things; turn anything into literature. But I had realised a truth. Reality was never what you expected it to be. You were never prepared for it. I thought about the men that I had killed. People spoke of how murder haunted you and ate at your soul. But I didn’t see their faces at night. I did not feel guilty. I was not haunted. I did not even feel like a bad person. I simply felt nothing. It was what had to be done, and it brought me closer to Jess. Life wasn’t sacred. We were all flesh and blood. Good or bad we all bled the same. The only difference was that some people left the world a better place when they died.

  I harboured contempt for those who saw the world as black and white; through the eyes of good and evil. Those who did were nothing more than preachers and hypocrites, and they’d never hold onto their childish sense of morality if they were ever faced with any real threat. There was only context. I would ask those who would call me evil a simple question. I would ask them if they were parents. If the answer was no then the conversation would simply end and they would no longer be worth another second of my time. And if the answer was yes I would tell them that they were not fit to be, and should never have had a child. If you weren’t willing to do anything, become anything, to protect your child then you were not a parent. You were just a coward.

  I put my face into my hands. I was hoping with everything I had that Paul Castellano knew something about Jess. With each crime lord I spoke to I felt as though I was getting further away from the answers as much as I was getting closer. I felt it deeply in my gut now; a part of me that was afraid of the truth. All that I could hold onto was that Jess was alive. But I couldn’t shake the doubt. Why had I not heard anything from her since that phone call? If she truly was being held captive why had no one made any demands? None of it made any sense. I refused to believe that I had hallucinated that phone call. I could remember every word. I could remember the sound of her voice. “Daddy. Please come find me.” That was what she had told me over the phone. I had heard it. I was not crazy. Jess needed me.

  I pulled up at the correct house. I gawked at it. It was something magnificent beyond what Victor Salvatore or Gregory Donovan had. I was looking at a palace. It was surprising because Castellano was hardly someone you heard about on a day-to-day basis despite his reputation as one of the most powerful men in this city. I began to suspect that, looking at where he lived now, it was his wealth that gave him that status and not some legendary crime record. I climbed out of my car and stretched fiercely. It had been a long drive. I needed the walk.

  Two bodyguards as stiff as statues stood at the entrance to his home, and they demanded identification. One of them asked for my weapon. I told him to shove it. I carried a firearm by law and I was here for protection, not a tea party. He gave me no emotional response to that and spoke into his walkie-talkie for a few seconds before giving me the clear. I went in. It was bright inside. Plenty of white. Dozens of exotic flowers and grand decor. Castellano was certainly a man who knew how to be wealthy and show it. It was quite eccentric, yet strangely beautiful. I didn’t know exactly how many bodyguards he had, but there were more than enough to make any threat negligible. Although I knew that wasn’t entirely true. Any defence had a weak point. It was just a matter of identifying it. After all I was right there in his home; completely under the radar. A hearty voice interrupted my thoughts.

  “The famous Jack Mercer! Welcome, welcome.”

  I was taken back. I didn’t expect the warm greeting, but there was Paul Castellano at the top of the balcony, spreading his arms and smiling at me from above. He was somewhat overweight and had beady eyes. He had on a white silk shirt and jewellery. I had no eye for fashion, so what he wore stopped registering in my mind past that point. He appeared rather feminine to me. He was just the splitting image of someone who had more money than he knew what to do with. 

  “I apologise for your trouble at the door, with my men wanting to remove your firearm. They’re just doing their jobs.”

  He descended the stairs and approached me. He shook my hand with enthusiasm.

  “Can I get you some refreshment perhaps? Or would you mind some comfort?”

  I stared. Was his over-politeness and eager-to-please demeanour a ruse? Or was he simply not much of a threat after all, and it was just his wealth that gave him the name? I knew that people didn’t get to where he was without having some degree of ruthlessness or cunning.

  “No thank you, Mr Castellano-”

  “Please, call me Paul.”

  “I’m on official police business. I’m here to offer protection because I believe your life may be under threat. Are you aware that someone is targeting the mob?”

  Castellano appeared thoughtful, “Nasty business that. But Jack I’m sure that you’ve seen I have all the protection I need right here.”

  “Just following orders, Paul. Word of advice: you shouldn’t underestimate this person. He got to both Victor Salvatore and Gregory Donovan. I bet they thought they were safe as well.”

  “This is true. Fair enough. I’ll let you get to it then.”

  “Actually I need to speak to you. In private if you don’t mind.”

  He summed me up, “Certainly, certainly. Right this way.”

  My mobile phone rang. I took it out. It was Sarah.

  “I’ll have to take this. I’ll just be a minute.”

  He nodded as I picked up the phone.

  “You need to hear this.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I got an anonymous tip. It came out of nowhere; landed up right at the office on my desk. Jack, it contained some evidence that’s pretty damning to Gregory Donovan.”

  My heart began to thump, but immediately my mind began to work. I had to remain composed.

  “Seriously? Do you think it’s from the same person who sent you that warning about Will Harding being a mole?”

  “Possibly. It may even tie into your vigilante killer.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Turns out that Donovan was not only a sick slaver, but a human trafficker. He ran a big time operation buying and selling able bodies. Prostitutes, workers, you name it. He probably even recruited and trained men for his whole operation. He’s a supplier of many of the mob’s men and various forms of ‘entertainment’. According to the information here, apparently the brawls with those slaves has been a tradition in the Donovan family for years. Whoever killed him, Jack, just destroyed the mob’s business on this end.”

  I contemplated that. The mob would definitely feel that loss. Good.

  “What of Victor Salvatore?”

  “The source’s information was about Donovan only. We haven’t been able to stir much up about Salvatore since his murder. The man was definitely retired. At best we’ve got evidence of dirty money and other small bites here and there, which was expected I guess. It’s nothing major. Salvatore was a veteran at this after all, and from the last generation. The people and evidence to damn him have long been buried.”

  I retreated to my mind. Donovan had implied that Victor Salvatore had been a mentor to them, when he had told me about Reece’s meeting with him. I decided to throw that onto the table with a little white lie, sin
ce Sarah obviously didn’t know about my altercation with Donovan.

  “Castellano implied that Salvatore was a mentor of sorts for the mob. A teacher.”

  “So his death burns the knowledge tree?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Makes you think doesn’t it? Jack, if I didn’t know any better I would say that this vigilante killer of yours is single-handedly trying to cripple the mob.”

  “Maybe. It sounds like it. But if that’s the case can the killer really be working alone?” I said, stirring the pot, “I mean how could he, or she, accomplish all this without help? The anonymous information; the way the killer has got to these people. We don’t know that it’s a lone wolf.”

  “People can achieve some pretty amazing feats when they have the right motivation. But you’re right. Let’s not rule out the possibility that this person has help.”

  I reflected. An anonymous tip? Who would possibly have access to information of that level? It was now becoming apparent that I was getting into something deep. Sarah was convinced that the vigilante killer and the anonymous source were one and the same. Of course I knew that there was no actual vigilante killer. But the anonymous source sounded like a new player in the game. For now I could not concern myself with it. I’d just take it as a stroke of good fortune that the mob suffered more with Gregory’s death than I had originally thought.

  “Jack?”

  “Sorry, I was just thinking. Tell me, Sarah, what do you know about Castellano?”

  “He keeps to himself. I know that he’s a businessman; owns a number of companies and properties all over the place including a bank - which is used by many people affiliated with the mob. He may be the one who moves their money. He’s the richest man in this city after all.”

  I was certain his companies and properties were fronts for mob activity as well, and his bank was damning evidence that he had a key part to play in all of this. An empire of wealth was at his fingertips, and there were few problems that money could not solve. But something didn’t feel right about him. He seemed too clean almost. There had to be something he was hiding. After Gregory Donovan my mind could only find comfort in assuming the worst.

  “How are you holding up, Sarah?”

  “I’m alright. I can deal with Cornero. And on your end?”

  I paused for a moment.

  “Listen...about earlier I-”

  “Don’t worry about it, Jack.”

  “You know that I care about you, right?”

  “I know.”

  I didn’t know what to say after that.

  “We’ll catch up later,” Sarah broke the silence.

  “Be safe,” I replied, wishing that I had more to offer.

  The call ended. I slipped my phone back into my pocket. I followed some smartly-dressed man who directed me to Castellano. I stepped into a cosy, air-conditioned room that was spacious and well-decorated. There was a large, expensive-looking mat on the floor, a few couches and a great view of a beautiful garden. I wondered if living so extravagantly made one forget where they came from.

  Castellano was already seated and he beckoned to an open chair as he nursed a drink in his hand and eyed a box of cigars on the glass table. He briefly opened the lid of a laptop, clicked and placed it onto the table. I noted it; specifically the fact that he had not needed to type in anything to get to his desktop, which meant it wasn’t password protected. As I approached I glanced at the walls. There were pictures of people I didn’t recognise. Perhaps it was Castellano’s family. Was he married? I didn’t know. I saw a briefcase on the desk, which I kept in mind. There were some odd choices of ornaments around the place, one of which included a rabbit’s foot. I picked it up from the counter.

  “If a rabbit’s foot is so lucky, what happened to the rabbit that it came from?”

  Castellano laughed at that, “That’s certainly something to ponder.”

  I seated myself. I decided that I would test Castellano’s polite demeanour and willingness to cooperate. Maybe I would be able to glean the information I needed from him without threats or violence. He was secure enough in his palace, and unlike Gregory Donovan’s son or Victor Salvatore’s free invitation to his home, I had not found anything to exploit here. I had no trump card.

  “I have a few questions for you, Paul, that I was hoping you could help me with.”

  “Fire away my good man. I have nothing to hide.”

  I almost scoffed out loud. People who truly had nothing to hide generally didn’t feel the need to affirm it with words. A man like Castellano was made from the ashes of buried secrets.

  “I’m sure that you read about the weapons shipment I put a stop to at the docks some time ago? What can you tell me about it?”

  Castellano mulled it over, “I hope you don’t think those were my weapons by any chance. I’m a man who enjoys beautiful things. I have no taste for guns and bloodshed. I’m a businessman.”

  “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind. So, do you know anything about it?”

  “I must say reading about it in the papers surprised me just as much as the rest.”

  I decided to push my luck a bit.

  “I spoke to Gregory Donovan before he died. I asked him about it as well. He said that things have been tense among you big boys lately. His words not mine. He said that someone most likely brought in those guns in case things blew out of proportion.”

  “Hmm. I’m sorry to say, Jack, that whatever the reason is I don’t have any stake in it. Like I said I don’t get involved in all that. I keep to myself and I do my business.”

  That meant the guns had been brought in either by Luis Kane or Anthony Cornero. Considering that Cornero was the most dangerous and feared man in this city, I chalked it up to being his doing. The explanation I had got from Donovan had seemed sound enough. But I never thought that Castellano had been behind it. I initially had a few suspicions given that he was a businessman and all, but seeing him in person dismissed the idea. I mostly had wanted to just test how open he’d be with me about it.

  “Alright. Then I’ve got another question for you.”

  “By all means. I’m happy to help.”

  He waited patiently as I looked on. I took a moment to summon the courage.

  “My family...”

  His eyes became sympathetic. That startled me.

  “Do you know who murdered them?”

  He set his drink down, and then leaned forward in his chair.

  “Jack, if I could tell you I would. No, I’m not hiding it. I don’t know. I know what you went through. I lost my first wife years ago. If you’re asking me off the record here...”

  “Yes of course. Off the record.”

  “Look you can’t repeat what I say here to anyone. I mean it. My best guess would be that either Luis Kane or Anthony Cornero knows something about it. About who did it, I mean.”

  I felt out of my depth. Castellano was being too open about it. Did he know something? Or was he truly sincere? The thought seemed ludicrous in my mind. I could not weigh him up.

  I played anyway, “Why would you say that?”

  He shrugged, “Let’s not kid ourselves here. I’m just a businessman. We both know how dangerous they are. They’re a violent breed. I can’t say anymore than that I’m afraid.”

  “Can’t or you won’t?”

  “Can’t. I don’t know anything for certain.”

  I wondered then if I should bring Jess into the equation. I didn’t know. He was pleading the innocent party to pretty much everything. I didn’t know what to make of it all. He didn’t look like the murdering type, but then again Gregory Donovan had not looked like the slaver type either. The word I’d attach to Castellano based on first impressions was ‘shrewd’. If I had been a different man I might have fell victim to his grandeur. I had become far too cynical to see anything other than another man I could not trust. Perhaps just like the other dogs he needed the right incentive in order to obey. I did not like the way he had been
quick to deflect the blame onto Kane and Cornero for my family’s murder. It was telling, but it was also admittance to me that he knew something. Before I could probe any further, he said something that sparked my suspicion.

  “Jack, if you wouldn’t mind I will have to ask you to leave by sunset.”

  I frowned and eyed him up, “I thought I had your blessing to do my job. I have to ask why. That isn’t wise, given what you know.”

  Castellano waved me away, “I have business to attend to this evening. Only a few of my most trusted employees will be allowed in the house at that time. I do appreciate your services, but business is business. I’m sure you can understand.”

  “You do realise this killer of ours put down both Victor Salvatore and Gregory Donovan, right? Your acquaintances.”

  “I understand that. Really I do. But my plans tonight cannot be put on hold. I am safe here.”

  It seemed that I didn’t have much of a choice. It puzzled me why the man was not willing to accept my presence given what he knew of the killer. What was so important that just had to be done tonight? I decided not to press the matter further, but I was definitely on alert now. I told him that I wouldn’t stick around much longer. I’d get out of his way soon enough. He thanked me cordially. I left his office. I waited around pretending to be busy. Time passed slowly. Eventually Castellano exited his office, saw me on my mobile phone and informed me that he was going to have a drink by the pool. I watched him go. I did not trust the man. Neither did I believe that he was clean.

  I knew that I should have left him as he did not know anything about what had happened to my family, but he could have been fooling me. What business did he have tonight that required only his most trusted bodyguards to be present? He was, by appearances, the mover of the mob’s money. By keeping up the whole image of not being involved he was actually the perfect secret keeper. He was obviously hiding something. Perhaps I could find out more on his laptop or inside his briefcase. I did not care if I was being paranoid. I wasn’t going to take the chance. I was here. I would not get another opportunity to be on the inside like this. I wouldn’t get another opportunity where Castellano would be occupied, giving me liberty to act. I also had no time frame to work with on when Sarah would recall me, and there was always the chance of some other complication would arising. I had to act. I suspected he’d be more willing to talk once he had the right incentive.

  I had an idea. There would be no way to get into his palace without suspicion later. The one thing that worked in my favour was that Castellano had told me that there’d only be a few people allowed in the house by tonight. I did not know how many a ‘few’ was by his standards, but it sounded promising. I texted Sarah to say that I’d be here until evening and we’d catch up later. I turned my phone on silent then. I casually made my way to the stairs. I didn’t know if I’d be allowed to go up. Maybe being an officer would help. I pretended to look like I had a purpose. No one interrupted me. One or two guards gave me looks, but I supposed they all knew that I was here to offer protection. I checked out the rooms looking for Castellano’s. I found it easily enough. It was by far the most luxurious bedroom in the place. There was a huge bed with brilliant red and gold sheets; the carpet itself was a maroon colour and the furniture was of a strange taste. I noticed a gigantic wardrobe across the room. I quietly strode over to it, double-checked that I wasn’t being watched and opened it. It was big enough to fit a family. It would serve my purposes. I stepped out of the room again.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I started. One of the guards looked at me accusingly.

  “Checking how secure this place is,” I rather lamely stated.

  “Snooping around the boss’ room? You got no business in there.”

  I decided to strong-arm him.

  “Listen I don’t know if you’re aware, but your boss is being targeted by a killer who has single-handedly taken out two of the biggest mob bosses in this city. You don’t know what you’re up against. I do. So I suggest you stay out of my way while I search for security leaks.”

  The man glared at me before taking off swearing under his breath. I waited nonchalantly at the balcony. I had to choose the right moment. My heartbeat started to quicken. The guard I had mouthed off had went into another room. There was one below me who had his back turned. There was one outside smoking a cigarette. There was another pacing down below who didn’t notice me. I had a small window of opportunity. It was my chance. I was about to move when a door opened to my left and the guy who I had briefly exchanged words with emerged again. I had almost messed up. He walked towards me and I tensed, but then he started descending the stairs. He made his way out of the front door.

  If I wanted to do it, it had to be now. I tried to be as quiet as I could as I went back to Castellano’s room. What I was about to do was both stupid and reckless. I could so easily get caught and mess everything up. But my gut told me that Castellano was hiding something important. And I intended to find out what that was. If he did know something about Jess I would force it out of him when he was alone and vulnerable. I headed over to the wardrobe.

  I stepped inside and retreated behind a rack of clothes. My plan was to hide out until after dark, and then get a look at what Paul Castellano had so urgently planned. It would have been pretty safe to call me a fool at this point. But I didn’t see another way that I would be able to be on the inside, or a more important moment. It had to be this way. Once I was sure that I had made myself as small as possible, I closed my eyes and faded from the world.

  I awoke to voices. I reprimanded myself for dozing off for the umpteenth time. I checked my phone. It was evening. I shook myself awake and focused on what was happening outside of the wardrobe.

  “There we go, gently now. Put this on. That’s it.”

  It was Castellano’s voice. He sounded almost soothing. What was going on?

  “We have quite the night ahead of us, my sweet. A wonderful night indeed. Don’t you worry, dear, it won’t be painful like last time, or unpleasant if you cooperate. I just need to finish up downstairs, and then it will be our time. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable and please do try not to twist and turn; you’ll damage your skin and you know how much I don’t like that. Ring the bell if you need anything.”

  I was confused. What sort of weird games was he into? I knew everyone had their flavours, sure, but what I’d heard sounded disturbing. I hoped to God I wasn’t interrupting some kinky night he’d planned with his mistress. Probably his second wife. He had mentioned something before about losing his first wife years ago, so the implication that he’d remarried was obviously there. I did not want to be in his private quarters while all of it went on. But it did give me the perfect chance to snoop around for the duration of his happy time. I wanted to get access to his laptop or briefcase. I heard Castellano leave the room, and the door shut. I was sure I could be quiet enough to get out without the woman hearing, and if I failed my gun would do well to shut her up. As carefully as I could I opened the wardrobe door and crawled out.

  My eyes unintentionally caught sight of the figure on the bed. Sheer horror prevented me from moving an inch; from even breathing. It was not his wife. It was not a grown woman. It was just a girl. She could not have been more than twelve years old. She was naked except for thin panties that barely concealed her. She was blindfolded and handcuffed to the bed; her body laying still on the red sheets. There was an ugly bruise on her hip, and another on her thigh. All of her dignity had been stripped away with her clothes. Her body was hardly even developed. She was only a child. Her entire life had been snatched away from her.

  I averted my eyes. Instantly my senses went into overdrive. I felt sick. I felt rage. My insides burned. My teeth clenched. My hands balled into fists. I felt as though my lungs were about to burst. And all rationalisations fell away as I once again saw the true face of this city. I had been a fool to not expect this from Castellano, to not expect him to
be as disgusting and vile as the rest of them. I reached for my holster and drew my gun as if in a hollow trance. I placed the suppressor over the barrel. The girl on the bed did not move. I did not know if she could hear me or not. I wanted to go over to her. I wanted to reassure her and tell her that everything was going to be alright. But I could not risk her screaming. I could not risk her getting more afraid than she probably was. And so my mind found a target to direct all of its wrath: Paul Castellano.

  What little control I had slipped away. I saw silver stars. My face felt hot. There was a dull ebbing in my ears. I felt as though I was having an attack. I struggled. I put all of my energy into what I had to do. I cocked the Beretta. The girl jumped at the sound. I advanced towards the door swaying on my feet. I listened if anyone was on the outside. I heard nothing. I pulled it open. The corridor was empty. With each second that passed the anger grew more intense. I tried to control my breathing. I failed. I stepped over to the balcony. There were no bodyguards in sight. I began my descent. A roaring erupted in my gut. My heart went wild. Anxiety set in. But my mind was clear.

  I saw him before I reached the bottom. Castellano was sitting in front of a massive television screen with a bowl of fruit next to him and a pile of papers spread out on the table in front of him. His laptop was on the seat to his side. He had his back turned to me. There was no escaping it anymore. There was no escaping what I was; what I had to do. There could be no more running. It was the only way. After what I had seen up in that room I could not leave here without doing what was necessary. The anger was so intense, so overwhelming that I became secondary to it. The beast called for blood once more.

  I did not make a sound as I approached Castellano. I aimed the gun at the back of his head. For a fleeting moment I wanted it to be quick. I wanted him to not even have the basic understanding of what was happening to him. For him to know nothing. I wanted to kill him with less care than I would have given to a bothersome fly. But there was also a part of me, a stronger part, that wanted something else. His fear. The look of dread and panic in his eyes that I would get the moment before he died. My gun hand was perfectly steady.

  “Paul Castellano.”

  He jumped. He turned. I saw the stages of his reaction all unfold in a matter of seconds. First surprise spread across his face. Then recognition. Followed by shock. Then at last pure, earth-shattering terror. Unlike any other time, I enjoyed it. I did not give him another moment. I squeezed the trigger. I didn’t miss. A startlingly loud pop burst from the gun, echoing in the vast space, and his head jerked back as though hit by a rocket. A thick glob of blood splattered the floor and he crumbled like a sack of dirt, slamming into the table in front of him. It caused a loud crash as it gave way from the impact of his weight. The roaring disappeared. I breathed again.

  I heard a loud clatter. In a flash I brought my gun towards the direction of the noise. Standing there was the security guard that I had had a spat with outside Castellano’s room. He was a recurring irritation for me today. I tensed. He looked shell-shocked as he took in the scene and the gun pointing at him. It happened in moments.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I warned. He had seen me. This was a problem.

  He reached for his hip. Idiot. Anger snatched away all mercy. I fired one shot that struck him in the throat. He clutched at it, gargling as he choked on his own blood. He dropped. I turned around and ran. I made my way to the door and removed the suppressor from my Berretta. I stored it safely away in my jacket pocket. I had no time left. People had to have heard something by now. I had to get out. I’d been so reckless, but I didn’t have any choice. It had to be done. I couldn’t let what I had seen stand. No one could. I was empty inside once again. I reached the main entrance. I half expected an army of guards to come bursting in. But no one came. I pulled the door open and the still night air greeted me. I scurried over the grass towards the gate glancing in every direction and keeping my gun at the ready. But it was like a wasteland.

  I turned towards the gate and stopped dead; the surprise crippling me. Mounted on the wall in front of me, staring directly into my face, was a security camera. Panic erupted wildly inside of me. I stood there paralyzed like a child. How could I have made such a stupid mistake? How could I have not seen it? Was the camera on? Was it recording? I heard shouting. Men were coming. I did not have the time to make a decision. I took off towards the gate gunning my legs as fast as I could. I was completely exposed. There was no cover here. The gate loomed close. A burst of sound shattered the night sky. A decorative tree near to where I was standing faced the wrath of the bullet that plunged into it. About three men were running out from the shadows, and chaos burst free. I doubled back and ran not knowing where I was going. Bullets whizzed at me. I was now at the mercy of dumb luck and the inaccuracy of firearms fired under pressure. This would be a foolish death.

  I turned a corner. I was terrified. I had no idea how many men were closing in or where I was supposed to go. I continued forward. I was circling the mansion now. Maybe there was another exit? I heard the men behind me. I quickened my pace. Another shot sounded behind me. My eyes glimpsed a way out ahead. It was a small gate ideal for people only. A vehicle would not fit through it. I charged towards it. I slammed into it harder than I had anticipated. I rattled it and pushed it at it. I swore. The damn thing was locked.

  I launched myself away from it as bullets flew at the wall. I turned and fired four shots. Unsuppressed my Berretta was ear-shatteringly loud. Nothing hit, but it was just meant to split them up. The adrenaline in my body was in overdrive. I spotted another guard in the distance. I was screwed. I made a sharp turn and I was back in front of the entrance doors. The main gates were still there in the distance. There was only one guard between me and it. I squeezed the trigger three times in quick succession. I missed him and he kept himself low to avoid any further gunfire. My Berretta held fifteen rounds. I had already used nine shots. If I ran for the main gates the other three men would trap me in from behind. The only choice I had was to circle back again. I couldn’t keep it up for much longer. I took off in a sprint once again. I would have to bust through that small gate around back or climb over, because I was out of options. I charged around the corner again.

  The impact knocked the wind out of me. One of the men had decided to do the reverse of what I had attempted, and we collided hard. His gun went off and my eardrums rung painfully from the noise. But I was damn lucky. The bullet went into the sky. He was off-balance. The recoil at such an odd angle had rendered his gun hand useless for a precious few seconds. I still had mine. There was no time to screw around anymore. It would be over in an instant. I saw the outcome. I acted on instinct. I threw my forearm forward viciously and struck him in the trachea at the base of his neck. His gun dropped and he immediately clutched at his throat with his hands, gasping for air; a somatic reflex. It could cause asphyxiation and possible death. I wasn’t going on maybes. I wasn’t taking the chance that he could recover enough to shoot me in the back. He was wide open for the next strike. I grabbed him and put out all of the force I could muster into a powerful knee strike to his groin. It would cause vomiting; his lungs would fill with fluid and he’d face certain death. I didn’t wait around to confirm it. I didn’t need to waste the bullet. I raced on. I heard his wretched noises. It was a cruel death. But he would have killed me if given the chance.

  I could suddenly hear a sound in the distance becoming louder by the second. Police sirens. I was momentarily stunned. Who the hell had called the cops? How had they got here so quickly? I screamed as pain exploded in my hip. I ran instinctively. My side felt blazing hot; warm liquid seeped into my clothes. I’d been shot. I clutched at the wound and pressed on with all that I had. I had only six bullets remaining. The sirens had distracted me. It had cost me dearly. I heard more bullets slam into the area around me. Then the shooting was halted. I heard men shouting urgently. Had they heard the sirens too? What was going on over there? The men had stopped chasing me.
I heard more gunshots. Had the police got here already? I didn’t know. I had to get to that gate.

  I fled around back. I stopped. The gate was wide open. How? It had been closed just a minute ago. Was someone waiting for me? I didn’t have any options left. I ran for it; the pain forcing me to grit my teeth and bear it. I felt a lot of blood. I didn’t know the extent of the damage, but I was lucky it had not crippled me. I suspected that the bullet had grazed me rather than lodged itself in. How long could I ride my luck like this? I scrambled over to the gate with my gun held out in front of me. I sprinted full on and clumsily slammed my shoulder against the wall. I cried out and grabbed onto the wall.

  I heard a shout behind me. Multiple gunshots sounded out. I didn’t have time to react as the bullets slammed into the wall fractions away from my arm and I recoiled violently. I cried out as my gun spun wildly out of my hands. I did not even have to look to know that it was too far away. I could not get it. I had to escape. I flung myself out of the gate and shut it behind me. I ran as fast as I could in my condition. Had the police moved in? Who had opened the gate? I didn’t have time to contemplate the unknown. I had to reach my car. I felt slightly weak. The blood loss was starting to take effect.

  The gate was some sort of side entrance to the mansion. I tried to get my bearings. My car was a bit of walk from where I was. The sirens sounded as though they were right on my heels. I could still hear gunshots. It looked like the mobsters had company. It was probably the police. I still did not know who had called them. The gunshot noises could not have been enough to get them to Castellano’s mansion so quickly. People didn’t reach for their phones to call the police the moment they heard gunshots. They fled first. I reached my car, hurriedly unlocked it and almost threw myself inside it. I started the engine and brought the car to life. I sped away immediately, fighting to ignore the burning pain in my hip as I raced home.

  The pain from the gunshot wound in my hip was agonising. I hated it, but at the same time I welcomed it. The pain brought me a twisted sense of relief; it told me I could still feel. I staggered into my bathroom and ripped my jacket off. My aching shoulder protested in pain. I wasn’t completely disabled. That was a good sign. My top was matted to my side from the blood. I used a scissors to slice through it and tear it off. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I already looked like the walking dead, over and above my injuries.

  I was a dumb bastard. I was so damn lucky. I had almost been shot in the arm. But all I had walked away with was a bruise from knocking into the wall. It was another false belief people had from fiction that getting shot in the shoulder or arm was considered a non-lethal wound that didn’t disable you. I was stupidly lucky to have avoided it. In reality if I had been directly hit, there were plenty of vital organs that could have suffered. The shoulder contained the subclavian artery, which fed the brachial artery, or in other words the main artery of the arm. It also fed the brachial plexus, which was the large nerve bundle that controlled arm function. Long story short if I had got hit in the brachial plexus I probably wouldn’t have been walking around like this, and I’d have needed immediate surgery. I would be out of commission and suffering from severe pain, blood vessel damage and possible loss of motor function, which could potentially never return to full health.

  I turned my attention to my hip. I almost laughed through the pain. I was so lucky I could have sworn divine intervention had taken its toll. There had been lots of blood, but it looked far worse than it was. The bullet had grazed the outside, fatty part of my abdomen. It was like getting swiped in the love handle. I was fortunate that the bullet had sliced it and had not struck anything vital. It certainly scared me that if the bullet had made a solid hit a few inches closer towards my abdomen, it could have led to serious damage to my bowels or intestines. High risk of infection, surgery and many possible complications would have just been the start. I knew that I had come close to an end.

  Right then my immediate treatment was to stop the bleeding, clean the wound and make sure it was sealed to avoid infection or any dirt getting in. It was going to hurt, but it was doable. However before the night was up I definitely needed to visit a small hospital to check on the wound and get it sewn up. For now I had to do the best that I could on my own. An hour later I was sprawled on my couch, exhausted from the events of tonight and the self-treatment I had issued to my wound. I was bandaged up now around the hip, and had taken what painkillers I could find to manage the ebbing ache. I closed my eyes.

  But there was to be no rest for me, as my thoughts aligned in a flash. Abruptly I jolted. I turned cold. Memories returned to the forefront of my mind. The security camera had seen me, and I had dropped my gun at the scene. I felt nauseous. My stomach churned as though I had not eaten in weeks. My head pained. The sheer amount of stress was so overpowering that I felt as though I was about to go mad. I was done. The mob would discover me from the security camera. The police would find the gun at the scene and identify my fingerprints. Even though I had used gloves, I knew that I had touched the gun many times with my bare hands in the comfort of my home, with my guiltiest moments coming in during the construction of the suppressor. It had been a negligent oversight on my part to have not wiped the prints off it. The police would also find traces of my blood at the scene. They scoured crime scenes so thoroughly that they would be able to find a strand of hair under a damn kitchen appliance if they wanted to enough.

  I had messed up big time. I had always known that one day it could happen. That my cover would be blown. But not in the way that it had happened. Not when it could have been prevented. Not so early. I had sworn that I would not let anger or irrational impulse control me. I had broken that vow, like I always did. I had let my weakness take over when I had seen the girl chained up on Paul Castellano’s bed like an object. But how could anyone have just walked away from that without doing what was necessary? There was no other solution.

  I tossed and turned in the chair. The clock was ticking. My time was running out. In a matter of hours it would be over. I was going to be a fugitive. I had failed Jess. I shook my head and slapped my face. No. Not yet. I was not going to sit here and feel sorry for myself. I had always known what I was getting into. I had known what I had promised myself. I didn’t care about what happened to me. All that mattered was that I had to find Jess. She was still out there. And I was not dead yet.

  With a grim finality I realised that I had to leave. I could not stay in my house past the night. The time it took forensics to identify fingerprints varied. Naturally low-profile cases like a vehicle burglary would not be considered high priority and could take days, weeks or worst case even months if the investigating firm had low resources. But the events of the night? Paul Castellano, the wealthiest man in this city, dead in his own home? A twelve year old girl chained up in a bed upstairs? Two mobsters dead on site? A full on fire fight at the crime scene? The police would want to know what had happened yesterday already. And when they found my Berretta isolated from the rest of the fight at the foot of an open gate, with bullet holes on the adjacent wall, Sarah or even any other half-assed cop on the scene would conclude that the gun had been dropped from someone who had been trying to get away. Then they’d identify the fingerprints on that gun in a matter of hours. I knew that I had that time, because even if my fingerprints were identified within a few hours there would be no immediate action. The authorities were not always the fastest to act. I didn’t have long though; probably not longer than tonight. I might have lost my Berretta, but I still had my police-issued Glock. With some minor modifications I was sure that I could get the suppressor in my pocket to fit it just fine.

  As for the mob it would take time for one of the men from Castellano’s mansion to get the word around that I was the killer. The security footage was still there of course, but that would take a while to get to as well. In their worst case scenario, which was that the footage was not seen and all the mobsters on scene got killed by the police who had moved i
n, they’d still have enough reach in law enforcement itself to learn that my fingerprints were on that Beretta and I was the police’s target. In other words there would be no escaping the end of my secrecy. It was inevitable.

  I slowly began to feel a deep sorrow stir in my chest. I hastily moved around the house, packing what I needed to take with. I packed all of the ammunition that I had. I took whatever medication could be important. I packed clothes. While I worked I felt the sadness grow. I was leaving behind the only connection I still had to my family. Even if my home was nothing more than a pit filled with pain, it was all that I had as a link. The only remnant of my family that I would take with me was a picture in my wallet. The rest would be gone.

  I forced myself to lose the sentimentality. I was doing all of it for Jess. I took one last look around the pit. I opened my door and walked into the cold air. It was drizzling now. The harder rain would come before the night was out. I knew that I couldn’t afford to use my car anymore after the night ended. I couldn’t take Nicole’s either. Sarah would know exactly what to look for once the police discovered the car was missing. I had to rent or trade in my vehicle for another. I got into my car. It would take me where I needed to be for the time being, but I’d have to leave it behind once I got there. I had to get somewhere safe; somewhere I could hold up for tonight and fly under the radar.

  I knew that I had to consider every contingency now. I only had one shot, and any mistake would become permanent. I allowed myself to think, and brought forth what I knew as a detective. I had to think of what I would do if I had been on their end. The first move then became the easiest one to make. Before the night ended one of my priorities would have to be to withdraw as much money as I possibly could from both mine and Niccole’s bank accounts. I would have to find an ATM as soon as I could. Once the cat was out of the bag the police would freeze our accounts. It was standard protocol for law enforcement when on a manhunt. It was one of the easiest ways to flush a runner out. Paranoia ensured that I ended up making the ATM my first destination of the night, and before long I had enough money to last me a good long while as far as survival, food and accommodation was concerned.

  I hurried as quickly as I could to the nearest hospital and used my police badge to gain priority treatment. I wouldn’t have to stay long. It was just a simple check up and a sewing of the wound. I had done most of the preliminary work to prevent infection or worsening of the injury. But it wasn’t a perfect science, and so I let the doctor do his job. He was fairly impressed with my treatment, and gave me his best wishes before writing me a prescription for painkillers and sending me on my way. I had double-checked the side effects of those pills with him. I did not want my performance to be impaired. I had to be sharp from here on out. I could not afford any mistakes.

  Tomorrow I would be a wanted man. Wanted alive by the police and wanted dead by the mob. There would be no more clutching to the safety of the darkness. I was alone. I started driving. With an ebbing sorrow I thought of Sarah. In a matter of hours I would lose her. My heartbeat slowed. My emotions deadened. And I was less than empty. I hoped that she would understand.

  All that I had left was Jess now. I knew that one day I would have to tell my daughter the truth. I would have to tell her all that I had to do to get her back. I would have to tell her that I was a killer. Would she understand? Despite feeling drained and empty, in that moment I began to weep uncontrollably. She had to understand. My Jess had to. Otherwise all of it would have been for nothing. Please, God, don’t let it all be for nothing, I pleaded to a higher power. The tears rolled down my face and I could not stop crying. I was broken. Time passed. I didn’t know how long I had driven for or how far I had gone. I just kept driving. I needed to rest. I needed to think about my next move. I truly had nothing left now. Nothing besides Jess. She was everything that I had left to live for. My mobile phone rang, jarring me from my thoughts. I looked over at it on the passenger seat.

  It was Sarah.

  I chastised myself, as I knew that I should have left the phone behind. I had already made my first mistake. The police could have been tracking me already. I swore to myself. What was I supposed to do? I reached for the phone. The next few seconds, or minutes, would change everything. I was not ready.

  The phone continued to ring. The last memory I had of her was telling her to be safe. That was nice. There was something sincere in that. But I knew that answering the phone meant I could destroy that. Yet, a distant part of me had to know what Sarah wanted to say. I already knew what she would think. I knew her well. That’s what the voice of reason told me. But for a long time Sarah had been all that I knew I had with certainty. I owed her. I owed myself. I answered the call. Wordlessly I raised the phone to my ear.

  I could hear her breathing. She didn’t speak, and neither did I. The quiet instead spoke the words that could not be said. And for a long moment that was all that existed between us. I could do nothing but hold onto the call; a lifeline and a death sentence. Finally after a few, endless seconds, I heard her voice. It was shaken. Wrecked. The voice of someone whose world had come crashing down.

  “Jack, what have you done?”

  Hearing the tone of her voice in that moment broke what little there was left of me to break. She was horrified. I was a monster to her. I had already lost her. I fought with myself. I wanted to tell her why I had done what I had. I wanted to tell her that I was going to find Jess. I wanted to explain myself. I wanted to tell her that I was sorry. I wanted to beg for her forgiveness for lying to her, manipulating her and doing all that I had done right in front of her eyes without her seeing. I wanted to try and convey my regret and agony over having betrayed her after all she had done for me. There had to be some combination of words out there that could explain all of it.

  But nothing came. I felt regret that cut into my core. I had ruined Sarah; broken her trust, and her heart. I thought of Jess. I lowered the phone. I looked ahead into the black. I ended the call. I dropped the phone out of the open window, severing my ties with everything that I had once had. And I knew. Jack Mercer was dead. The beast broke free.