The Marker: Book One in the Bridge Series

by Howes, Ann

  I load the magazine, slide it into the Sig, then place my left leg in front, angle my pelvis slightly and take aim.

  “Not bad,” he says, adjusting my hips. His hands linger a little, which I find not entirely unpleasant. Problem is, they’re not Gianni’s.

  “Widen your feet,” Bob says, and waits until I do. “Okay, let’s see what you can do.”

  I aim and squeeze the trigger.

  Hmm.

  I missed the circle, but not by much.

  “Impressive. Again,” Bob orders.

  I repeat the process and after a little more instruction, I shoot for the next twenty minutes until my arm cramps and my stomach rumbles.

  My aim has improved enough that my groupings are consistent and Ziggy and I are now close friends. So I call it a day.

  “Let’s go have some real food. My treat, Uncle Billy.”

  “Sounds good, I could use a burger.”

  “I know just the place down in the Marina District.”

  We pack up, hand the safety gear to Bob, who’s back at the front desk checking in the morning crowd.

  This time he hugs me goodbye and I feel his gaze following me as we approach the doors. When I look back, he smiles. He’s cute and I appreciate the attention but a pair of hot blue eyes that don’t belong to Bob pop into my head.

  Sigh!

  I force a smile and throw Bob a wave.

  The parking lot is much fuller now, though it hasn’t deterred the two geese standing sentinel in between the Land Rover and a banged-up Volvo station wagon.

  We slow, unwilling to provoke them, but it doesn’t take much. By the look in their eyes, I’d swear they’ve been waiting as they make a beeline towards us, hissing.

  “Shit.” Billy stops dead, not taking his eyes off them. “They’re out to kill us! What the hell are you wearing? You got goose pheromones in your perfume?”

  “What? I’m not wearing any. Maybe there’s a nest nearby?”

  “Nest, my ass. That one’s out to do murder. I recognize that look.”

  As they get closer their hissing gets louder.

  “You know what?” I snap my fingers and point at him. “I can run faster than you, so I’ll lead them away from the car. Pick me up at the end of the parking lot.”

  How hard can this be?

  “Good plan.”

  “Ready?”

  “Make a lot of noise. GO!”

  So I go.

  “Goose…hey…goose.” I jump and wave my arms. “Over here. Woo-hoo.”

  It works.

  They turn and focus their dark pebble eyes on me, stretching and lowering their necks, picking up speed.

  Gah!

  To say I misjudged how fast they are is an understatement. I run towards the cross street, but I’d forgotten about my clunky combat boots. They’re slowing me down and those damn assassin geese are speeding up.

  “Hurry up, Billy!” I yell over my shoulder, catching sight of the Land Rover backing out of the spot. Fucking hell, not fast enough.

  The lead goose gallops and bounces towards me, flapping and honking until only a few yards separate us. He snaps, getting closer by the second.

  Outrunning them is not working. I change posture, jutting my hips forward while swiping an arm behind me, hoping to deflect any bites to my ass.

  “Shit!” I squeal as one lands a nip on my butt. “You got me, you bastard.”

  Not fucking working!

  “Hurry up,” I shout again. “Ow, ow!”

  Okay, time to change tactics.

  I swing my purse. This might have worked if there’d only been one, but they’re tag teaming me, one on either side. Just as I connect with a roundhouse kick, the Land Rover pulls up next to me, tires screeching. Billy revs the engine and beeps the horn. The two geese part and back off, but only for a second. That’s all I need. I yank open the door and launch myself ass first into the car, pull in my legs and slam the door.

  “Woo!” I palm my forehead. “Holy fizz pops, that was close.” My heart pounds as I brush a loose strand of hair out of my face and click my seatbelt. Then lean back, breathing hard.

  It takes me a moment to realize we’re not moving. Instead, little piggy snorts and high-pitched hee-hees fill the SUV. The gear clicks and I squint at Billy. His head rests on his forearms, which are draped over the steering wheel, shoulders shaking. Tears roll down his cheeks.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Do you have any idea,” he says in between snorts, “how funny you looked?”

  “I’m molested by a goose and you’re laughing?” I stare at him. “He’s chewing on a chunk of my ass right now.”

  He wipes his eyes with the back of his hands, then mumbles, “Oh look, here come the rest of them for back-up,” before he succumbs to another round.

  I look behind, and sure enough, several more geese are heading our way.

  “Next time, you run interference,” I say, punching his upper arm. “I’ll go for the car. See how amusing it is!” Despite that I find this annoying, not to mention painful, my mouth twitches and I end up giggling with him.

  “Let’s go eat, you big lug. I owe you a burger.”

  * * *

  An hour later, at my favorite joint in the Marina District, I pick at the fries we ordered to share, dipping one into a mix of ketchup and Tabasco sauce and suck on a chocolate milkshake. No more alcohol for me. The restaurant is small and intimate with black-and-white photographs of ballplayers and flags on the walls.

  Billy angles his burger, trying to fit it into his mouth, before giving up and cutting it in half.

  “Tell me more about what Joey was into,” I ask after he takes a bite.

  He chews with his eyes closed, pointing a pinkie in the air. “Damn,” he murmurs, grasping a napkin, wiping his face before taking a sip of beer. “That’s a good burger. The one thing Papa was adamant about was no drugs. Gianni agreed. Joey didn’t.”

  Oh no.

  Now I’ve opened this can of worms, I’m not sure I want to hear anymore, but Billy’s bent on educating me.

  “Gianni had a hell of a time with him after the old man passed.” He lifts his eyes to mine. “They were at each other constantly, but what Joey did?” He shakes his head. “That was a betrayal to Papa’s memory. They didn’t talk to each other for a long time. Another reason why Gianni decided to get out.”

  “What kind of drugs are we talking?”

  “Cocaine.”

  “Shit.” I drop my fry, suddenly losing my appetite. “Doing or dealing?”

  “Supplying.” He exhales. “I loved that little asshole and it cut me when I found out what he was into. Heard he had a partner and things went bad, blew back in his face.”

  “The last conversation we had, Joey said he had a problem with a business deal. Do we know who this partner is?”

  He shrugs and takes another bite of his burger. “He kept that quiet, but I’m gonna find out.”

  I pull the band out of my hair, run my fingers through it before tying it again. “I knew there was something different about him.” Sadness washes over me and I mourn for the old Joey, not who he’d become. “God, what was he thinking?”

  “Don’t think he was,” he continues. “He changed after you and your mom left. If you ask me, I don’t think he ever got over you. There were women, of course, but none that lasted.”

  “He dumped me, Uncle Billy, right after Daddy died. That doesn’t say love to me.”

  “Yeah, he was young and stupid. Didn’t understand any better.”

  “And I did?” I sit back in my seat and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “He’s the main reason I find it difficult to trust men. My very first boyfriend cheats on me. Kinda set me up for life.” The fact that my last one did too with a co-worker at my salon, doesn’t help either.

  “Joey ran around on you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Shit.” Billy’s shoulders drop. “Did not know that. Sorry, kiddo.”

  “
Didn’t want to believe the rumors at first but Gloria Tortino confirmed it. Was going to give him a second chance then he dumped me.”

  “Gloria again.”

  “Yep. That girl was like herpes. Couldn’t get rid of her.”

  “You were both young.”

  “Still hurt.” I swirl the straw around in my shake. “Anyway, moving on.” God help me, but I can’t help asking. “What’s Gianni up to now he’s gone legit?”

  “Owns a construction company and a bunch of apartment buildings. Bitch of it is, the brothers got over their beef, mostly because of their mom, I’m sure. But Joey had just started working with him. That’s where they found him.”

  “Wait, found him where? In one of Gianni’s buildings?” My eyes get wide.

  He nods. “In a vacant unit he’s remodeling.”

  Oh God.

  I collapse back in my seat just as my phone pings with an incoming text. I don’t recognize the number but my brain lights up like a marquee sign the moment I read it.

  Hey Baby, think that fat asshole and a gun can keep me from you?

  Billy stills, with his burger halfway to his face.

  “What?”

  I turn my phone so he can read the text.

  He sighs and puts down his food. “Okay, this fuck’s really pissing me off. Give me your phone.” I pass it to him and he enters the number into his own, pushes send and puts it on speaker.

  Dean answers on the fourth ring.

  “Da.”

  Wait? Isn’t da yes in Russian?

  “Yo, Deano,” Billy says. “How you doing?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “What? You don’t recognize me? My feelings are hurt.”

  “Who the fuck is this?”

  “The fat asshole with a gun.”

  Dead air dominates for several moments before Dean responds. “What do you want?”

  “So sensitive. I’d expect a man who’s trying to fuck me to be a little bit friendlier.”

  “Fuck you, you fat fuck.”

  Billy makes clicking noises with his tongue. “See, now that’s what I’m talking about. No way to seduce me. I require a little loving, a little…tenderness. Maybe some candy and roses. I’d especially love it if you’d massage my feet. I got this…”

  He’s interrupted by an unintelligible torrent of what sounds like Russian dotted with a few fuck yous (not in Russian), then Dean hangs up.

  I kinda want to laugh, but bite my lip instead when I see the look on Billy’s face. “Was that wise?”

  “Don’t know, but fuck, I just put a couple things together.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That little prick is connected. Bet my bakery on it.”

  “Connected? Oh my God…you don’t mean…?”

  “Yep. To the Russian Mafia.”

  6

  The Russian what?

  * * *

  Good God!

  The Russian Mafia?

  It’s all starting to make sense. I didn’t see it because I live in a bubble. A pretty, shiny, fragile bubble that just popped and went splat.

  I drop my forehead on the table and groan and immediately bolt upright again, my eyes wide. “How does he know about Ziggy?”

  “Same way he knew where you were last night. He’s got people following you and I don’t like how this is developing,” Billy says. “Because it got more serious in the last five seconds.” His gaze shifts to the window, scanning the street and buildings.

  Yup.

  Like him, I check for Dean’s car, seeing nothing. But nothing doesn’t mean nothing. It could very well mean something, just something I’m not seeing. Ergo…nothing!

  I scrape a tooth over my thumbnail. At this rate, I’m going to have none left, because now I’m scared.

  The frigging Russian Mafia. Those assholes are mean.

  “Jesus, Billy. What do I do?”

  “First, keep your gun with you at all times. Make sure when you clean and load it, you wear gloves. If you need to ditch it in a hurry, you won’t have time to wipe the inside or shell casings of prints and DNA.”

  “Got it.”

  “Second, I want you to come home with me until this is sorted out.”

  “I don’t want to be baggage, least of all yours, Uncle Billy.”

  “Kiddo, you’re not baggage, you may not be blood but you’re my family. We’ve got no choice. This text”—he points to my phone—“isn’t nothing. You gotta take this seriously.” His big hand covers mine. “Third, we need to bring more people in.”

  “More people?” My eyes go round, and my skin prickles because I know what he’s going to say.

  “I want Gianni on this.”

  Dammit.

  “Absolutely not.” I shake my head. “Not going there.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because we have history and...well.”

  “And well what?”

  “Let’s just say he’s not going to waste time on me.”

  His head jerks back and his dark brows come together. “What are you talking about, kiddo?”

  “I don’t want to go into it, but trust me on this.”

  “Doesn’t matter what your history is. That’s not how this works. Don’t you remember anything?”

  “I’m beginning to realize there is a lot I’ve forgotten.”

  “Gianni’s powerful and has the resources I—we need.”

  “You said he’s gone legit.”

  “Yep, so?”

  “So…? I don’t understand.”

  “Nothing for you to understand. You’re in danger and he can help.”

  “You’re scaring me more than I already am.”

  “Should be scared. This fuckwad”—he points to my phone again—“is psycho. And if he’s only half as psycho as I think he is, you’re ankle deep. We’ll form a plan, be prepared to act, and if nothing happens…” He shrugs. “But we gotta be ready. Don’t be complacent ’cause I got a twinge in my bum leg telling me he’s gonna do something.”

  I scan Billy’s eyes, hoping he’s joking. My belly drops when I realize he’s not. I blow out air and turn my face to the window. Even the weather seems to agree with him. Heavy fog banks roll through the headlands, engulfing the bridge and the wind’s picked up making the yachts in the marina sway.

  “I’ll owe him.”

  “Who?”

  “Gianni.” My eyes swing back to Billy’s. “I can’t owe him.”

  “No, kiddo, I’ll owe him. It’ll be my marker because he’ll be doing this for me.”

  I meet Billy’s eyes and big, fat, oily tears roll out of mine.

  God, I love him.

  My father’s gone and the hole he left in my soul begins to fill a little with this man’s love. It makes me determined to be brave and not let Dean intimidate me.

  “We’ll go straight to my house. I’ll have one of Carmine’s men pick up some of your things.”

  Carmine has men? That makes my head tilt. What kind of men?

  “Um…wait. I don’t want strangers going through my stuff. If I have to do this, I’d rather we go ourselves.”

  “Fair enough.” He sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face. “All right, let’s move.”

  While Billy drains the last of his beer and brushes crumbs from his pants, I wave to the waiter for our check and hand him my credit card. I sign the merchant slip, grab my purse and check myself at Ziggy’s unfamiliar weight. How long does it take to get used to having a gun in your bag?

  The air’s wet with fog and cold enough to bite through my clothes. In order to ward off the wind, I hook my arm through Billy’s for warmth, cuddling up against him as we walk the half block to his Land Rover.

  Before we cross the street, I check for cars. Only one double-parked. Halfway across I hear the engine gun and the high-pitched squeal of tires.

  What the hell?

  The driver’s aiming the car straight for us and something about it is familiar. Before I can process, Bi
lly shoves me hard, sending me sprawling towards the sidewalk. I land, scraping my knees and palms on the asphalt, between two cars.

  There’s a sickening, metallic thud and when I look up Billy’s on the car’s hood, arms and legs spread wide like a human star. The driver swerves and Billy rolls across the windshield then lands with a meaty thwack. Over all that, I hear a woman scream.

  My stomach roils. The tires skid before gaining traction, then the car speeds away and turns the corner. I scramble and run towards Billy, realizing it’s me screaming, dropping to me knees as I get close.

  Fuck, no.

  He lies crumpled in an unnatural heap looking dead. So very dead.

  “Dear God…Billy.”

  Blood.

  No, no, no.

  Blood, every-fucking-where seeps from a gash in his hip. Too afraid to touch in case I do more damage, my palms hover over his face, shaking.

  “Somebody help him,” I cry.

  People trickle from buildings, some with hands on their heads, rushing towards us, several on the phone. A man with reddish Brillo pad hair pushes between me and Billy.

  “Paramedic,” he states. “Give me room.” He bends and begins to examine Billy.

  “Please tell me he’s alive,” I say between sobs, and after an endless moment, the man mumbles, “Still breathing, pulse weak, fractured…”

  My chest heaves while I fight for oxygen and I don’t want to look, but can’t tear my eyes away. The man places two fingers on Billy’s neck and raises an eyelid.

  “Probable internal injuries.”

  “Don’t let him die. Please…don’t let him die,” I keep chanting.

  He ignores me and continues examining Billy.

  Things get fuzzy around the edges of my vision and in the background, I hear a siren but it’s vague and kind of wobbly. When I look up, a red firetruck with ‘Paramedic’ written on the side turns the corner, just a few blocks away.

  “What about you?” Brillo pad asks, looking me up and down. “You hurt?”

  Everything suddenly comes back into sharp focus. I shake my head. “Wasn’t hit.” I press the back of my hand against my mouth, to keep the bile down.

  “You’re covered in blood. Your knees bleeding?”