They watched, with Land’s eyes on and off the road as he rolled around the block, as Bang went through a series of motions to disconnect the bomb’s external trigger along with the remote in her pocket.
She threw the backpack down beside her when things were finally safe. “How dare you?” She held her neck and looked like she wanted to slap Beckett.
“Don’t you think it’s poetic justice?” he asked. “Bang ends with a bang—just an internal one.”
He was rewarded with a shudder.
“What are your conditions?”
Beckett could hear a touch of an accent now. Maybe a former Southern Belle? “My conditions are simple: Leave. Go use your talents for something worthwhile—work in construction, or as a fireworks specialist, some shit like that.”
“Fine. I will do that. But first you take this thing out of my neck. I don’t want to be tracked like a dog.” She moved her hair and pointed to the offending device.
“Nope. No can do. Just review in your mind how that thing is made and let me know when you figure it out.”
Beckett tapped his foot and spoke to Land, who had thankfully pulled the car to a stop. “Type out a message on that display and send it to Spider. Tell him to send Dildo here to pick up Bang and help her dispose of this fucking bomb.” He turned his attention back to the woman.
“Hmm…yes, poison, barbs, I get it,” she assured him. “But how do I know you won’t light me up when you’re high as a kite sometime?”
“Because when my brain is intoxicated, all I want to do is fuck. And I’m off drugs, so it’s your lucky fucking day. In the past I would’ve killed you so hard right now—and part of me still really wants to. My fucking brothers? Really?” He stopped for a second and let the hate flow through him, his protective instincts washing in like a tide. “But I’m taking a new approach now. Know this, though: I own you, Bang. I own your mind, your talents, and every fucking thing you know.” He smiled.
“Okay. I will do this,” Bang said, nodding. “I will leave. But if I find out how to remove this thing, I will.” She turned and looked at Beckett as if she knew this moment of mercy was an act for the kid sitting in front of him.
“You mess with it, it kills you—which also makes me warm and fuzzy. So have at it.” He shrugged. “I have a friend who’s going to pick you up on this corner. I’ll need you to hang with my people for a while, you got me? Remember the tracker.” Bang got out of the car and Beckett called after her when she failed to take the backpack. “You have a memory problem? I said this backpack was your new best friend. It’s on you.”
Dildo pulled up behind Beckett and waited.
“That’s your ride.” Beckett nodded toward Dildo.
Bang leaned in and grabbed her pack. When she’d pulled away with his man, Beckett had Land type new orders for Spider into the car display: have Dildo bring the bomb to Treats.
Land was all jazzed up, clearly thrilled to see Beckett Taylor in action. “I think you need a doctor,” he said, turning to look in the backseat. “Just guessing, but I’m pretty sure that tore-up shoulder is disgusting.” He made a face.
Beckett glanced down and saw that the fabric on his jacket and shirt was worn away. The road rash beneath was bright red and bleeding. “I got to get to my brothers. You cool? You can leave. You should be home, by the fucking way.” Beckett opened the back door. The motel was now swarming with cops.
“No way. You wanted people enforcing shit. I was on it. Helped a crowd stop a guy with a gun, and now this sick bitch? This is a rush. I want to work for you!” Land bounced in his seat.
“Just keep the car running for now. You’re not working for me, pup.” Beckett stepped out and made his way—much more slowly than the first time—toward the motel. His brothers must have been watching for him, because in an instant they were both in front of him on the sidewalk.
“Everybody all right?” Beckett felt relief washing through him.
“Melvin’s still with us, and the family is fine,” Blake reported. “Thought we lost you for a second, though.” He put his hand on Beckett’s un-mangled shoulder.
“Back at you both, and I’m thrilled to see you, but you need to get inside. I don’t need you as bait on the street.” Beckett pointed to the motel’s side entrance, and one of the cops there let them stand inside.
The arm he usually committed the brothers’ handshake with was too painful to move, so they all just half hugged quickly.
Blake leaned in. “So, the woman, you want the cops to pick her up?”
Beckett shook his head. He had plans for Bang he had no intention of sharing with his brothers.
Just then John McHugh’s voice carried as he stepped into the vestibule where the brothers stood. “Why don’t you ask Taylor?” he yelled over his shoulder. “That’s why we’re here, right?” The older man stepped up to the toes of Beckett’s shoes and poked him in the chest. “Taylor, you waste of skin. What did you bring into my city? How dare you issue a call to arms on television? An officer here is down!” he said, seething.
As Livia rushed in and stepped between them, Beckett had flashbacks to her wedding day. Her father only moved because she was there. He was a man on the edge.
“Dad, please, he’s hurt,” she said.
McHugh took the smallest of steps back.
“I need you to treat these guys as if they’re under fire,” Beckett told him. “I will handle Vitullo.”
McHugh glared as he was called away by another officer. He didn’t even acknowledge Beckett’s words.
Beckett looked at Livia as her father retreated down the hallway. “Can I get you to watch G? He’s with the local Channel Five newscaster. I’ll have a kid named Scottland with a rainbow Mohawk bring him over.”
She nodded, and Beckett hugged her with his good arm, waving away her concern over his wound. He turned to his brothers. “Stay here. This is a great place to stay safe now.”
He slipped out before McHugh could return and remember he was looking for his head. He had Scottland drive him a few blocks over so he could watch the ticker on the display. The 9-1-1 calls reporting crimes were down, and the reports of citizen’s arrests and fires under control were dominating. Satisfied that the city had pulled itself back from the brink, Beckett gave Scottland the new job of getting G to Livia and handed him a wad of cash for taxis or whatever he’d need.
Then he eased himself back into the driver’s seat and headed to the home of one of his tenants. She just happened to be a nurse.
30
Parlay
As his nurse/tenant finished up on his shoulder, Beckett used his good arm to text:
Me4et at Firefly Par#k in on1e hour$.
He sent the message to Spider to have it relayed to all his people. This feud was as personal as it got.
He thanked her profusely and promised to see a doctor when the smoke cleared. He returned to the Challenger and called Dutch. “Did you take Primo and Sevan to the doctor and get their blood drawn, cheeks swabbed for DNA, and all that stuff?…And you have the results? Sweet. Hold that crap in a safe place and bring it to the meet. Thanks.”
He rolled up into Firefly to see most of his douches hanging around, with a few stragglers still trickling in. When he had a good crowd, he began to speak:
“I tried to do this painlessly, in a way that protected each and every one of you. But today things changed. Rodolfo Vitullo lived through the house fire we helped him have, and after months of lying low, he decided it was time to fire back. What he wasn’t expecting, and could never imagine, is that you guys would defend Poughkeepsie. Together. And I want to fucking thank you for that.” He took a second to swallow his thankfulness. “We’re going to split up and make sure no more crap blows up and no more people get rowdy.”
The crowd started to clap, slowly, but eventually it rolled into a full-out shouting session. They’d saved Poughkeepsie, impossibly, by being an army all of their own.
Beckett clapped as well. But he had more to
handle. The man that had orchestrated this terrorism was still sucking on air, and that needed to stop. He had his people break into teams, continuing the good work of kicking any ass they needed to. When the meeting dispersed, Beckett turned to see Shark, Primo, and Sevan walking with Dutch from his car to the meeting site.
“Okay,” he announced as they arrived. “We’re taking ourselves to Rodolfo.”
Primo’s mouth opened. “I thought Father was dead!” he gasped.
Beckett gave a brief head shake, and Shark punched Primo in the face.
“I’m going to take these two fuckers to Rodolfo to see if he wants to trade,” Beckett told Shark and Dutch. “I’ll be alone. If things go haywire, you know what to do.” He pointed to his prisoners and then toward the Challenger.
Once he’d stuffed Primo and Sevan in the backseat, Beckett called Dutch over. “You’ve got the DNA stuff, right?”
The man nodded.
Beckett reached into the car and grabbed an envelope from the glove box and Eve’s motorcycle helmet from the floor. “These are the remaining pieces of the puzzle you should need. Do what you have to do to check for a familial match among these ASAP. As soon as you know, I know, got it?”
Dutch nodded again.
Beckett nodded in return—seemed like the thing to do—and began the drive to Rhinebeck, where a terrified Bang had told Spider Rodolfo was camping out. She’d become very chatty after he showed her the app he had to engage her tracker’s neurochemicals.
When they arrived, less than an hour later, three men stood at attention at the front entrance of Rodolfo’s new estate. Their eyes widened when they saw Beckett get out of the car. Sevan and Primo refused to come out.
“Fine, fuckers. Stay here.” Beckett held up his phone and showed them the buttons he had on the screen. “Lest you forget, I own you. And if I don’t call by a certain time, Eve will press the buttons from where she is.” Beckett put the phone in his pocket. “And if you tell anyone about the thing in your necks, I’ll kill you. Plus, Spider’s watching from the heads-up display. Smile!” He gave them a big smile before turning to address the doormen. “I want to parlay with Vitullo.”
It was an old-school trick: two bosses would meet with the promise of leaving alive. It had fallen out of favor because there was no honor among thieves, but Beckett figured if anyone would appreciate an old-school reference, it was the cryptkeeper himself. The men spoke into a walkie.
After a pat down and a few minutes’ wait, Beckett was approved. He walked into the living room to find Rodolfo with index cards spread out on a dining-room-table-sized coffee table. A man in the corner had his gun trained on Beckett.
“A little late to parlay, Taylor. You fucked with my ultimate plan. Now nothing will stop me from making Poughkeepsie a crater in the ground that no one would even stop to take a shit on. And soon.” Rodolfo crossed out the contents of one index card with a giant red X.
“So poetic.” Beckett shook his head. “You seemed relaxed. Must have had a good dose of fiber.” He rocked back and forth on his feet, hands in his pockets. “I’m here for a trade. I have two bitches you might want.”
“Let me guess: Primo and Sevan?” Rodolfo smiled. “I do not care one flying fart what you do with them.”
“Tsk-tsk. Primo will be so sad to hear you say that,” Beckett countered. “Also, I have the eggs.”
“Better yet, tell me what happened to the babies. Then we can talk trade.” Rodolfo shuffled another stack like they were playing cards.
“They didn’t make it. Too fragile. Too soon. You had to know that, though. Just as I’m sure you know your beloved Nicholas shot Alison.” Beckett shrugged. “So much for trust, right?”
Just then one of Rodolfo’s minions led Primo and Sevan into the room. Rodolfo looked up. “Your bargaining chips? They’re now mine.”
The minion then took Sevan out with a silent bullet to the neck. Beckett worked not to flinch.
“Vin, clean up that mess,” Rodolfo barked.
Sevan’s lifeless body required both Vin and the gunman to drag it out of the room. They had to stop and adjust a few times.
“Now I have my son, and one of my most despicable enemies is dead. Things are looking up,” Rodolfo said. “Now, the eggs you mentioned. Let’s talk about that.”
Beckett whistled. “Seriously? Why would I tell you shit? Look how you treat the son you have. He’s totally expendable to you, no?”
Primo’s holier-than-thou act fell off like a dead foreskin. “Dad, Jesus! I’ve been kept for the longest time by this asshole. Please tell me you tried to get me out? His stupid girlfriend had people golf-club my balls. My balls.” His hands shook.
“Son, do need I remind you I didn’t let them kill you when there were thirty laser sights trained on your face? Of course you matter. I just didn’t know what had happened to you, and I was desperately trying to replace you in some way.”
Primo looked a little confused, but nodded. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”
“Give him a nice, big hug so I know you mean it, and then we can deal with you forcing your decrepit sperm on my wife,” Beckett suggested from across the room.
Rodolfo made a face like he’d stepped in dog shit. “I don’t have to do this. I don’t have to do anything you say. I can make you give me the answers I need.”
“One little hug, Rodolfo. What’s it going to do, kill ya?” Beckett stepped backward and invited Primo in with a sweep of his arm. “Say hello to Papa. I’m sure he’s missed you, like he said. Maybe you’ll even get to borrow the car!”
Primo looked wary, but walked past Beckett, eyes hopeful as they turned toward his father. As Primo stepped in and embraced a stiff Rodolfo, Beckett slipped his hand in his pocket and tapped his screen twice.
The effect was instantaneous: Primo’s neck and head exploded. And as his body slipped to the ground, Beckett noticed Rodolfo was also missing some vital parts of his head.
Behind him in the hallway, partially down the stairs, Sevan’s body had also worked as a bomb. Both Vin and the gunman lay slain.
Beckett pulled out his phone and took a picture of Rodolfo with Primo at his feet. Next he grabbed the gunman’s weapon out of his bloody hands. He then slid down the handrail of the stairs, taking aim at Rodolfo’s men wherever they popped up. He hit the ground running and made sure the men standing outside also had a bellyful of lead before he left.
As he drove away from Rhinebeck, Beckett sent the picture of Rodolfo to his whole crew with the accompanying message:
This is how we thank assholes
for messing with Poughkeepsie.
Eve was startled awake by the phone that vibrated in her hands. She opened the picture, and it took her a minute to figure out what the hell she was looking at. When she finally figured it out, she was grateful she hadn’t eaten in God knew how long because if there were anything in her stomach, she would surely want to vomit.
She stood and looked into the nursery, where she found a much more pleasant scene. The babies were in the same crib again, pressed together like they were still in the womb.
A nurse touched her shoulder. “Hey, want to wash up and come get a closer look?”
No. Yes. No. Yes. Please God, yes. Don’t get attached, Eve. They might not be yours. Eve smiled and washed her hands carefully as the nurse watched.
“Okay, Mama, let’s go.”
When Eve walked into the NICU, it was as if her heart was leading the way. They were so tiny, a lump together. It was hard to see their faces through all the tubes.
She felt a lump in her throat.
“Go ahead—see this?” The nurse pointed to a gap in the crib. “Reach in there and stroke their skin. They like it.”
Eve had a desperate need for Beckett right then. He needed to be here with her, not presiding over dead bodies. The pink of little Theodore was closest, so small and delicate that you could see his veins—almost a transparent version of a baby. His skin was soft when she stroked him. The
nurse fed her details.
“Theodore here is just over three pounds, and he’s doing fairly well. He’s a fighter, that’s for sure.”
Eve looked at his tiny face. Tape and tubes cluttered his beautiful body which was dressed only in a diaper. He turned his head a bit toward her.
“That’s right. He knows his mommy!” The nurse walked quietly to the other side of the crib. “How about little Mouse? Come on over.” She smiled, which seemed out of place here, surrounded by the tiniest of babies. When Eve didn’t move, the woman touched her shoulder. “It’s okay to be happy. You’re a new mom. I know this looks scary, but these are your babies. Love them for the moment you’re in. And know that you’re in a good moment.”
Eve nodded and reached in to touch little Mouse. She ran her finger up her desperately small chest. The baby took a shuddering breath.
I love them.
It was tripping and falling. The walls inside her tumbled down. And she didn’t know how long she had with them. She didn’t know if they were really hers. Maybe it didn’t matter. Teddy and Mouse. Everything else fell away.
She reluctantly removed her finger from where she could feel Mouse’s heartbeat like butterfly wings. And she took her phone out and took a picture. Then a little video. Then another picture. And then she washed her hands again, and until shift change, she went from one twin to the other, stroking them and talking softly.
Ryan kissed Midian again. He’d just stopped in to see her on his way back into Poughkeepsie after he’d finally been able to leave Fallom, and she’d been very happy to see him. He was a bit pissed that he’d missed all the insanely crazy action on the home front, but Midian seemed to feel just fine about the fact that he’d been far away from danger all day.
Saving Poughkeepsie Page 35
