Against the Law

by Against the Law (epub)

  “Do you know how to disarm one of these things?” Donna asked.

  “Not really,” Joe said. “Do you?”

  “Sort of. I mean, I took a class. Twice. But I failed it both times.”

  Joe handed her his pocket-knife. “Better luck this time.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Is it activated?” he asked, as she leaned in closer, looking at the mechanism, still not touching anything.

  “Not yet,” a voice behind them said. It was Toomey. He stepped out from where he’d been watching, between two parked cars, holding a remote in one hand, and a Glock in the other. “Easy now.” He pointed the gun as them as they spun around.

  “Toomey,” Donna said.

  “Nice to see you again Donna,” he said. “Sorry our date didn’t work out.”

  “Date?” Joe asked.

  She shook her head. “Wasn’t a real date.”

  “And you are Joe Brody. I feel like our date has been coming a long time.”

  Now Donna glanced quizzically at Joe, who shrugged.

  Toomey went on. “I guess I should thank you too, Donna, for saving my life.”

  “Why not return the favor then?” she asked.

  He smiled. “Actually, I mean to. You see, once again you two have fucked up my plan. I was going to set this timer and go. Be long gone before it blew. But now, with the alarm out, it’s all a big rush. Even if I kill you both, the techs will be here to defuse it in what, ten minutes? So here’s my proposal. I set the timer for half an hour, you cancel the emergency call, say it was a false alarm, and we all walk away alive together. Or I set it for three minutes, and we just see what happens.” He looked at Donna. “What do you think?”

  “I think this is definitely our last date.”

  He laughed. “Full disclosure,” he said, “there is a trip wire on the bomb,” and then he pressed the button on the timer. “Go.”

  Donna turned to the device, silently praying under her breath.

  “You got this,” Joe said softly.

  “Joe . . .” she said, grabbing his arm as he turned. “I . . . what I said before . . .”

  “It was all true,” he said, squeezing her hand back, then: “See you in a few minutes.” Hands raised, he walked across the garage toward Toomey.

  “I’m impressed with you both,” Toomey said, when they were about twenty feet apart. “But not surprised. You’re warriors. Too bad we can’t all be on the same side, the right side, together. But the next best thing to dying with a brother-in-arms is at the hands of a worthy adversary. Don’t you think?”

  “I can think of a few I like better,” Joe said. “Like getting really old and dying of boredom on a beach in Florida.”

  Toomey smiled and shook his head. “You’re kidding yourself. That’s not going to happen to you. Family? Marriage? Retirement? Not for our kind. The most we can hope for is an honorable death.” He set the gun and the control down on the pavement in front of him and stepped back. “Red button stops the bomb,” he said, and then, like he was running into the arms of a lover or a best friend, he ran at Joe.

  In the split seconds that he had, as he ran toward Toomey, Joe thought of the many ways he knew to kill a person. Most of course required weapons, however simple—a piece of glass, a pencil, a straw. But he had none of that here. Then he thought of the ways he could kill with bare hands—shattering the larynx, breaking the neck, choking the carotid—but these depended to some extent on surprise and an opponent who did not share the exact same knowledge. Toomey was right about one thing: they were evenly matched, and in an even match, even if he won, he’d lose, when the seconds of his life, of many lives, ran out.

  So he did the one thing that would surprise Toomey, the thing a true warrior would never do—he retreated. As Toomey gained speed and momentum, crouching to lower his center of gravity and ducking his head for protection, hiding the vulnerable organs and swinging a fist at Joe, Joe, who was running full speed toward Toomey, jumped instead—he jumped as high as he could, clear over Toomey, and landed on the hood of a parked car behind him.

  Toomey stumbled forward, hitting his knees, then jumped up and whirled around to face Joe as Joe hopped up onto the car’s roof. Joe saw Donna look up at him for a moment, her face a mask of fear and despair. Just for an instant, their eyes connected, as Toomey closed in.

  “Fine,” he said. “You want to play games. It’s your last wish. Let’s play.” He jumped up onto the hood of the car, taking a karate stance, but Joe immediately leapt to another car. Toomey came after him, but Joe simply hopped back to the first one, bouncing off the roof, and jumped higher to the roof of a minivan that was parked next to the wall.

  “Fuck this shit, Brody,” Toomey said, leaping to the ground and trapping Joe by getting between him and the next vehicle. He was cornered. Toomey reached into the back of his waistband and drew a knife, short, curved, and vicious.

  “I thought you were playing fair,” Joe called to him.

  “And I thought you were the real deal, Special Forces. Bullshit! You’re just a coward.” He moved in swiping the knife, as Joe backed into the wall. “You fight like a fool. And now you’ll die like a fool, after I cut those strings.”

  He came at Joe, lashing out with the razor-sharp blade, and Joe jumped, like he was jumping rope, knowing that if the blade caught him, it would do what he’d done to Trey, sever his tendons and drop him like a ragdoll. He jumped high as Toomey sliced the air, closer and closer, knowing one false move, one slow jump, would end him. He could feel the cuts on his feet opening again. The knife flashed, catching his pants, slicing the skin. Toomey smiled at the blood. Joe jumped.

  Then a shot rang out, shattering the side window of the van and echoing in the basement.

  “No more fools are going to die today, Toomey. Except you maybe.”

  Toomey swung around and looked. Donna was holding his own gun on him with her right hand. In her left she held the control, which was stopped at 0:09. She shrugged. “There’s no way I was going to disarm that thing in time. I’ve got to retake that class.”

  Toomey roared. A howl of rage came up in him, clenching every muscle, every tendon, distorting his face, and his arm came up, to throw the blade. Donna shot and killed him.

  45

  THE TWO MILLION DOLLAR bounty was paid. After expenses, for everything from the flights to Afghanistan to the fake military uniforms and the weapons and vehicles, the payment, split seven ways, came to $264,285 each for Joe, Yelena, Cash, Juno, Liam, Josh, and the family of Hamid. They met in the basement of the building behind Club Rendezvous where once before they had come together and branded Joe with their mark. Once again, Joe stood before the gathered bosses with Gio at his side.

  It was Little Maria who presented the cash. She’d lost the foot—infection set in and it had to be amputated. She was on crutches now, with one leg in a cast and the other still in a stocking and red high heel shoe; rumor was that her prosthetic would be shaped to fit into stiletto heels. Her new boyfriend, a beautiful young man with a goatee, black T-shirt, and heavy gold cross, carried the bag of money and led a pit bull pup on a leash. Everyone stood up when she entered. First she kissed Gio on the cheek. “Hola guapo,” she said. Then, leaning on her crutches, she hugged Joe and kissed him on the lips.

  “Gracias amigo, con todo mi corazón.”

  Joe nodded in acknowledgment, a smear of bright red lipstick on his mouth. Alonzo was home but still not ready to travel; Reggie was there to represent him. He shook Gio’s hand, earnestly thanking him, then said to Joe, “My brother said to give you this,” and gave him a big hug. Jack Madigan was there, in a navy suit, white shirt, and red tie, with Liam at his side.

  Jack shook Gio’s hand respectfully, then pumped Joe’s hand hard. Liam clapped his back.

  “How’s your brother?” Gio asked them.

  “Fine, Gio, thanks for asking,” Jack said.

  Liam shrugged. “Anyway he’s better. The fucking eejit.”

  Reb
be, escorted by Josh, kissed both Joe’s cheeks. “You did it, boychick. Just like I knew you would,” he said, eyes twinkling, a sweet and kind old man with ice water in his veins. “Though I don’t think I’ll be going to that shvitz anytime soon.”

  Uncle Chen chuckled at this, and patted Joe on the back. Then he told Gio, “We know you made your father proud.”

  “Thank you Uncle,” Gio said. “That means the most coming from you, who know.”

  Anton’s name went unmentioned. In his place at the table, representing the Russian gangs, sat Yelena, regarding Joe with a sly, ironic smile. She looked different: she wore a tightly tailored black suit skirt and jacket, with a sleeveless silk blouse beneath it, and her hair was up. She barely spoke, but shook hands elegantly with the others, and gracefully accepted kisses from Rebbe and Little Maria.

  No one questioned her presence or authority. In the days since Joe stopped Toomey, Gio’s men, along with the other crews, had mopped up the last of the White Angel gang, brutally reasserting their domains. Bodies were still turning up in alleys and dumpsters all around town, but overall, things were returning to normal. A couple of Anton’s men were rumored to have fled back to Russia; others turned up dead in Miami or LA. And one was hauled out of the water near Brighton Beach, at least whatever had been left by the fish.

  Afterward, the group left separately, and Joe walked Yelena to her car, a sleek black Mercedes. She had taken her jacket off in the stuffy basement, and now, as she leaned back against the hood and lit a cigarette, Joe could see the scabbed over scar from her burn—like an arrow—where the corner edge of the furnace had seared her.

  “It’s healing well,” he said. “But you’ll have a mark.”

  She shrugged. “We all have marks. That’s life.” She laughed. “But this one doesn’t suit you.” She wet a finger and scrubbed away Maria’s lipstick.

  “Speaking of new marks,” Joe said. “You’ve been busy.” Yelena had several new tattoos to join the ones that had already decorated her body: Now an eagle soared above the church cupola on her back, beneath which, Joe knew, a Madonna and child indicated that she was born in prison. A dollar sign and a skull rode on each hip, indicating a safe-cracker and a killer, and a dagger ran down her left thigh, entwined with roses and a snake, whose raised head signaled “I began in stealing and robbing.” Another dagger, piercing a heart, ran down her right, and Joe could guess what the several newly added drops of blood meant. A new devil’s face had been inked on her arm, next to her burn mark.

  “What’s that?”

  “Enemy of the authorities. For taking out the SVR man.”

  “Right,” Joe said. “And these?” he asked, brushing the row of stars on the top of each shoulder. He squeezed her right ring finger, which now bore a small crown. “And this?” He touched her chest, where between her breasts and under her clavicle, an eight-pointed star now shone.

  “As you think,” she said, looking him back in the eye.

  Joe smiled. “Congratulations. You’re a boss now. Is that what you want?”

  Yelena laughed. “Want? It’s like your grandma taught you. We play the cards we are dealt. And we win.”

  “Do we?” Joe asked her.

  She leaned up and kissed him, very gently, on the lips. Then she knocked on the roof of the limo. Immediately, a huge man in a black suit jumped out of the passenger side and opened the back door, waiting with a respectful nod. The driver started the engine.

  “I have to go to Moscow,” Yelena said. “To settle a few matters.”

  Joe nodded. “Fly safely.”

  “You too Joe,” she said, smiling, and got in the car. The bodyguard shut the door and nodded to Joe as he got in front. Joe stepped back and watched them drive away. He looked down at Yelena’s cigarette, still smoldering on the ground, and stamped it out.

  “Hey,” Gio called to him. He was leaning from the window of his car. Joe wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, listening. “Need a ride?”

  46

  “SO YOU’LL COME TO the cookout?” Gio asked. They had been driving several minutes in silence. “Next Sunday?”

  “Sure,” Joe said.

  “Bring Gladys.”

  “Right.”

  “I’d say bring Yelena too, but I get the feeling she is going to be busy for a while.”

  Joe smiled and nodded. “Off to Moscow. On business.”

  “They won’t know what hit them,” Gio said. Then he shrugged. “Just as well maybe. The sight of her in a bikini might blow my kids’ minds. But then you’d know.”

  “Well, when I saw her, there was a lot more blood than I expect will be in your pool.”

  “Right.” He snuck a look at Joe then put his eyes back on the road. “Might be just as well for you too.”

  “Probably so.”

  Gio had been thinking; they had gathered today to reward Joe and his crew for saving their city, as well as delivering justice for themselves. That’s what Joe had been recruited for and what he’d agreed to do. Nevertheless, this whole thing had ended up working out pretty well for Gio. His enemies had been vanquished and replaced with friends who owed their own positions partly to him and to Joe. His allies were grateful, and his own strength was reinforced. He had never been so rich, so powerful, and, now that accounts had been settled, so secure. Much of this was due to his own cunning. Gio was very smart and very careful. But there was more: he had a gift for playing the game of power, a Machiavellian prince’s instinct for turning crisis to profit, even when he didn’t realize he was doing it. It was in his guts, the legacy he’d inherited from his father and grandfather. But he also had Joe. And that was why he turned to his friend now, as they cruised through the old neighborhood, and said, “I was thinking.”

  “Yeah?” Joe turned back from staring out the window, catching the tone in his voice.

  “Now that you’ve got this fat nest egg, maybe you want to do something more with it than hide it under Gladys’s bed.”

  “I do. I hide most of it in your safe.”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask about. What if I helped you do something else with it?”

  “Like what? You going to open me up an IRA?”

  Gio shrugged. “It’s not a bad idea. But I was thinking more along the lines of a house, for starters.”

  “A house? Where?”

  “Out on the island. Near me. We could hang out, take the boat out or whatever. Don’t worry, I won’t let Carol bug you too much. This cookout is just a special thing. You won’t be expected to come over every weekend unless you want to. Really it would be for Gladys. She might like a little bit of luxury, you know, some space, a yard, a pool even.”

  “I didn’t realize houses on the shore in Long Island were going for two fifty these days. With a pool.”

  Gio laughed, then looked shyly out the windshield as they turned down Joe’s block. “I could help out. You know, with the deposit. And with the paperwork to get you a mortgage or whatever. We can run it through the club. Or make you head of security for one of the other companies.” He stopped in front of Joe’s building and put the car in park, then turned to Joe. “I’d be happy to do it, brother.”

  Joe nodded. “Thank you, brother. That means a lot.” Then he grinned at him. “But you know Gladys, she’d never move anywhere in a million years. She’ll never change.”

  “Right,” Gio said, smiling. “Gladys will never change.”

  Joe tucked a large chunk of cash into his own pocket and left the rest in the shopping bag on the seat. “Pop that in the safe for now, will you?” he asked, and opened the door. “And thanks for the ride.”

  Gio called after him: “You back to work at the club tomorrow? Or you too rich now?”

  “I’ll be there,” Joe said and shut the door. Gio drove away.

  Liam and Josh went to see Sean at detox. They decided on the way not to mention the money Liam had just received, since it would just tempt his brother to hit him up for a loan. Nor, it went without saying,
did they bring booze. They brought a deck of cards and a box of brownies instead.

  “Hey!” Sean shouted when he saw Liam. He still looked a bit shaky, but his eyes were clear and wide open, the pupils a normal size. “What’s in the box? A file I hope? I’m ready to bust out of here.”

  “Brownies,” Liam said. “They got any coffee in this joint or is that off limits too?”

  “They’ve got it. But you’re a harder man than me if you can drink it.”

  “You remember Josh,” Liam said. Josh nodded to him. Sean peered back.

  “You the Jew poofter?” he asked.

  Liam spoke: “He’s the poof who saved your worthless fecking life. You’d be in a box right now if it had just been me there that night. Serve you right too.”

  Sean stared at Josh thoughtfully. “Then I’ve just one question.”

  “Go ahead,” Josh said.

  “Isn’t it a sin for you to suck my brother’s cock? Tain’t kosher!”

  Josh smiled. “I say a special Hebrew prayer.”

  “And I sprinkle some holy water on his prick before it goes up me bum,” Liam added.

  “Well all right then,” Sean said. “That’s all I wanted to check. Now hand over those fucking brownies, and let’s play some cards.”

  The medals were presented at 4 P.M., so Yolanda was able to pick Larissa up from school before coming to the ceremony. Donna had mixed feelings. Of course she was very proud to have her daughter see the mayor, the chief of police, and her local city council member present her with a plaque expressing the city’s gratitude, and the assistant director of the FBI hang a medal on her. On the other hand, she had hidden the fact that she had been wounded and shot at, not to mention the bomb. And then there was Mike. But in the end it was decided that his name would go unmentioned in the public ceremony, and Donna alone would represent the family at Langley, CIA headquarters, when they added another star to the wall that represented those who died in the field, secret and nameless. As for the gory details, the PR people assured Donna that none of the politicians would say anything that a child couldn’t easily digest. No one wanted to needlessly upset the public.