Forced Out

by Stephen Frey

  Marconi shrugged. “Hey. You don’t wanna tell me, you don’t gotta.” He pulled the cigar from his mouth and eyed the colorful band identifying its Cuban maker. “So you figured out McLean really did it? You’re convinced he was the one who killed my grandson?”

  Tony Treviso had run over the little boy. No doubt. Probably as he and Paulie squealed out to go after McLean, Johnny figured. The trip to the body shop and the owner’s admission had proven once and for all who had killed the little boy. But it didn’t matter anymore. Johnny had made his decision. He wanted Karen Treviso, wanted her for his own. And he didn’t want her psychopathic husband and his ape friend Paulie the Moon trying to track him down the rest of his life. With Marconi’s permission to make the hit, that would never happen. Treviso would be dead, and Paulie would never seek revenge if Marconi had okayed the killing. It was too bad for Kyle McLean—and Helen—but that’s how it was going to be. He was waving good-bye to his code of honor forever. Nuking it. But maybe Marconi was right after all, maybe it was stupid. Killing was killing. There wasn’t any honor when it came to killing. Maybe not even on the battlefield.

  “Yeah,” Johnny said quietly but firmly, “McLean killed him.” He couldn’t second-guess himself now. He had a passionate sense of purpose about something other than killing for the first time in a long time, and nothing was going to distract him from it. He wanted Karen Treviso, and nothing else mattered. If he tried telling Marconi the truth, that his grandson’s killer was really Treviso, that might throw a monkey wrench into everything. Marconi might stop the process, might want to dig deeper for confirmation. No way in hell that was going to happen. This way it was all neat and tidy. He got Karen, he killed her husband himself with permission from the boss, and he made a million bucks. “There’s no doubt about it.”

  Johnny lay sprawled on his back on the bed. Karen lay next to him on her left side, head resting on the pillow next to his. She was caressing his head with her long fingernails.

  She’d asked over and over what had happened, what was wrong with his shoulder, why he looked so pale. He’d told her a story about falling down some stairs. The same story he’d told Helen McLean, who at this point was tied up tightly in the trunk of the Seville, a washcloth from the Happy Go Lucky Motel stuffed down her throat.

  He’d been forced to be rough with Helen—very rough—to break her down fast. To get her to tell him where Kyle was. He’d done some awful things to her. Things he’d pay for dearly on Judgment Day. But there’d been no other way. She wasn’t just going to tell him. He grimaced. He was almost as good at torturing as he was at killing. So maybe it wasn’t Treviso the devil would call his friend, Johnny realized. Maybe it was really him. And the problem with being a friend of the devil was that he always turned his back on you in the end. It was simply a matter of time.

  Turned out Kyle McLean was in Sarasota, Florida, playing baseball for some crappy minor-league team. Turned out he was playing under an assumed name: Mikey Clemant. It wasn’t going to be real hard finding him now. Well, at least he’d done all those horrible things to Helen in the name of true love. He grimaced again. Jesus, how hollow and self-serving did that sound?

  Treviso was up in the Bronx again with Paulie the Moon, boozing it up at the same place as before. Johnny had the same eye behind the bar ready to let him know when Treviso left. He had it all worked out. He just wanted to see Karen one more time before he went to Sarasota. Seemed like Karen was the only good thing in his life right now, and he needed his fix of her to get him through the next few days. To make him feel better about what he’d done.

  When he first got to Treviso’s apartment, he thought about making love to her, but his shoulder hurt too bad. But damn, her fingernails felt good running through his hair and over his chest, even though he’d kept his shirt on so she wouldn’t see the wound. Right now it felt almost as good as making love.

  “You’re warm, Johnny,” she whispered. “Are you sick?”

  “I’m fine.” Amazingly, he really did feel better now that he’d been lying here for thirty minutes with the woman he loved. The pain in his shoulder had eased thanks to her gentle caresses. “Really.”

  “Can I fix you some coffee or tea?”

  “Nah, but thanks. What you’re doing feels great. Don’t stop.”

  She rolled onto her back and started caressing him again. “What are we gonna do, Johnny?”

  He glanced over at her. Hadn’t she just heard him? “What do you mean?”

  “We can’t keep sneaking around like this, you can’t keep coming here. Sooner or later Tony will figure out what’s going on. We both know what’ll happen then.”

  “I got it all worked out,” Johnny said confidently. “Everything. We’re gonna be together, Karen. You’re not gonna have to worry about that prick husband of yours ever again. And I’m gonna take care of your kid, too,” he added. “I mean it. I will. I’ll treat him like he’s my own. I been thinking a lot about this.”

  She rolled quickly back onto her side so she was facing him. “Are you serious?” she asked excitedly. “Really, Johnny?”

  “Really, Karen. I’m committed.” He was, too.

  “O God.” She kissed his cheek. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too. I really do.”

  “So what are you gonna do?” she asked excitedly.

  “I’ll tell you everything later,” he answered, raising up with a groan and swinging his legs slowly to the floor. He hated to tear himself away from her touches, but it was after ten-thirty. He had to get back to his apartment and get some sleep. He had to be up at six in the morning to make his flight down to Florida. The good thing was, he’d be able to stay in his own place in Tampa. “When I get back from my trip, I’ll lay it all out.”

  “Trip?” she asked, rising up on her knees, then shaking her long, dark hair. Arching her back and running her hands over her breasts and down her flat belly.

  Johnny took a deep breath. She was so gorgeous. It was like being on a drug watching her. And now that he’d decided to have her, he started to understand what Treviso went through every day. That awful insecurity of wondering if today was the day she’d meet her next prince. If today was the day the natural selection process—nature’s most powerful force—would make her move. “Yeah. I gotta go away for a few days,” he finally said, promising himself that this would be the last trip he’d ever take without her. He wasn’t going to give any man any chance to take his place. And he’d kill him if he tried.

  “Please don’t go,” she begged. “I can’t take three days without you.”

  “I got no choice.”

  “Take me with you.”

  For a few moments he actually considered it. “No, I can’t.”

  “I wish you would.”

  “I’ll take you next time, when it’s not business,” he promised. More to himself than her. “You’d like Sarasota.”

  “Where’s Sarasota?” she asked, sliding off the bed and kneeling down seductively in front of him. “Forget it,” she said as he was about to answer. “Right now I don’t care where anything is but this,” she murmured, unzipping his pants. She looked up at him sexily. “How’s about a going-away present?”

  Treviso stole down the narrow, pitch-dark hallway toward their bedroom, silently sliding the fingertips of his right hand along the wall to guide him. At the last second remembering to pull them away from the wall six paces past the front door to avoid the crucifix hanging there. He’d taken off his shoes in the corridor outside the apartment so he wouldn’t make any noise walking on the wooden floor. He felt the pistol tucked into his belt beneath his shirt. Was aware of the cold steel against his belly despite how drunk he was. Thank God Paulie had driven him home. He wouldn’t have made it on his own. He was way too drunk. Paulie was a good man. Always took care of everything.

  He stopped outside the bedroom doorway, took a few quiet breaths, and listened. Then leaned forward, just far enough to see into the bedroom with one ey
e. Even though the shade was down, the rays of the streetlamp outside the apartment window were bright enough for him to see silhouettes. God, she was beautiful.

  He moved across the floor, quickly removed his clothes, and slipped into bed. “Wake up, baby.”

  “Tony,” Karen murmured, still half asleep. “Tony, is that you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.” He could feel himself becoming aroused. The touch of her body against his did it to him every time. No matter what part of her body was touching him. “Kiss me, honey. Kiss me hard.”

  For several moments their lips were locked together. Then he moved on top of her and she guided him in, moaning in pain as he entered her with one impatient stroke. “Did you find out?” he wanted to know.

  “I got everything,” she answered, biting her finger to keep from screaming as he began to move in and out. “He couldn’t resist me. It happened just like you said it would. I knelt down in front of him and told him I wanted to give him a going-away present and he couldn’t resist.”

  Treviso felt himself becoming more turned on, thinking about her kneeling in front of Deuce Bondano. The unsuspecting Deuce Bondano. “Where, baby, where? Where’d you do it?”

  “In here. Right beside the bed.”

  Just a few feet away from where they were doing it now. Jesus. “Did you do what he wanted? Did you, Karen?”

  She ran her tongue around her lips as his back-and-forth motion turned violent for a few seconds. “I did, baby. I did everything he wanted. Everything you wanted.”

  He shut his eyes tightly, imagining her on her knees in front of Bondano. Imagining what it looked like. The visual fantasy heightening his lust. “Christ!”

  “He’s flying to Sarasota, Florida, in the morning,” she murmured huskily. “This guy he’s going to kill plays for some minor-league baseball team down there. The Sarasota Tarpons. Says his name is Kyle McLean, but he’s using another name.”

  “What is it?”

  “Mikey Clemant.”

  Treviso felt that familiar overpowering sensation coming on, but this time it was different. This time it was like an earthquake. Way more intense than it ever had been. Even more intense than that first time so many years ago when he was twelve. When he’d gone down that lonely, trash-strewn alley with an old, toothless woman he’d paid twenty bucks to. Gone down the alley a boy—and come out a man.

  It had been his ultimate act of self-control to make Karen give herself to Deuce Bondano, Treviso realized. He’d warred against every instinct inside to do it, but he’d finally prevailed. And now that it was done, now that everything had worked out perfectly and he was back in her arms, the sense of power was unbelievable. His wife had done exactly as he’d ordered her to do—gone against every natural instinct inside of her, too. But now he knew where to find Kyle McLean. Finally he had a chance to dig himself out of this terrible hole and get all that money back. On top of everything, he’d be the one to kill Kyle McLean for Angelo Marconi. Then maybe he wouldn’t have to be a two-bit loan shark the rest of his life. For several exhilarating seconds he actually thought about being made, of maybe even being on the council someday.

  He gazed down at Karen as he lost control. Sure, most people in the world would think he was a disgusting coward. But the hell with them. All of them. They didn’t understand how disgusting it was just to be Tony Treviso.

  And as the incredibly powerful climax finally exploded, his mind turn to only one thing: killing Deuce Bondano.

  Part 4

  39

  JACK MOVED PURPOSEFULLY down the hallway from his bedroom wearing his plaid bathrobe, boxers, and white socks, barely noticing the pain in his knees as he gimped along. He held his breath as he came around the corner of the living room, then let out a long sigh of relief. Thank God. The Kid was fast asleep on the couch. Just like he’d been last night at twelve-thirty, when Jack finally got home. He took a deep whiff of the Vermont roast wafting toward him from the kitchen. He’d been so worried the Kid would be gone this morning. Or, worse, that this had all been a dream.

  “You’re up early,” Cheryl said as Jack sauntered into the kitchen, feeling good about himself again. “It’s only seven-fifteen.”

  Jack pulled a coffee mug down from the closet. Rosario was in her high chair. Cheryl was feeding her. Everything seemed right with his world again. “Yeah, some trucker blew his horn going by the house a few minutes ago,” he said, trying to seem pissed about it. “Bastard woke me up.”

  Cheryl scoffed as she steered a spoonful of applesauce into the little girl’s mouth. “Nobody blew his horn, Daddy. You were worried Kyle was gone.”

  “I was not, I was—”

  “What time did you get home last night?”

  “I’m not sure,” Jack answered tersely, pouring a cup of steaming black java, then heading for the table, irritated at the tone she’d interrupted him with. They were suddenly a lot more equal than they’d ever been. He understood why after the argument yesterday morning—but he still didn’t like it. “So did the Kid say anything to you last night while I was out?”

  “What time did you get home?” she repeated, her tone even firmer.

  “Did the Kid say anything to you last night?” he repeated, even louder.

  She stuck her tongue out at him, then smiled sweetly at Rosario.

  He knew she didn’t like him changing subjects, but there was no way he was talking about last night. Not yet, anyway.

  “He wanted to make sure you were who you said you were,” she finally answered. “He wanted proof.”

  “What did you—”

  “I gave it to him. I showed him that scrapbook with all the pictures of you and the players. He was pretty impressed.”

  Jack eased into the chair opposite Cheryl’s.

  “He wanted to know why you quit the Yankees, too,” she added, stirring the applesauce into a neater pile.

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “That they fired you because you were a mean, middle-aged man who makes his daughter cry.”

  “Hey, I didn’t—”

  “I told him you just got burned out and quit.”

  Jack brought the steaming mug to his lips. “Oh, okay,” he muttered in a hat-in-hand way. “I’m sorry about yesterday, Princess,” he said, gazing at the baby. “I’ve thought a lot about it since we had our, well…our little discussion.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a little discussion. Maybe not even a discussion at all.”

  “Okay. Since our argument. There, I said it. Look, I’m not proud of what happened, but I meant well. You know that.” He was hoping for some kind words back, but they didn’t come. “I promise I won’t try to run your life anymore, Princess.” He couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “And I won’t say anything bad about Bobby anymore. I won’t try to keep you away from him.”

  “But will you accept him?” she asked, her voice on edge. “I don’t want you to just ignore him. I want to know that if we get married you’ll love him like you should love a son-in-law.”

  Jack started to roll his eyes, then caught himself. “Are you already talking about marriage?” He tried using a tone that didn’t sound like he was irritated, but it was hard.

  “Bobby mentioned it last night on the phone.”

  “What do you mean, he mentioned it?”

  Cheryl put the applesauce down on the table. “You’re doing it again, Daddy.”

  Jack held up his hand. “Okay, okay. I hear you.” It just seemed so wrong. He had such a bad feeling about Bobby Griffin. Or was it simply that he was going to have bad feelings about any guy she dated? He hadn’t liked any of the losers she’d gone out with since they’d moved to Florida. But at least he hadn’t had this gnawing sense of apprehension about any of them like he did about Bobby. “I’m working on it, all right?”

  She took a long time answering. “All right,” she finally said.

  He glanced out the bay window in front of the table. It was another beautiful spring morning in Sout
h Florida. Warm and sunny, hardly a cloud in the sky. Of course, this morning was a little better than most, he thought, staring at the small storage shed where he kept the lawn mower and some other odds and ends. Actually, it was a lot better than most. Which was why he felt so good. Kyle McLean was safely under his roof, and hopefully would soon be listening to his advice. Then taking it.

  He smiled, thinking about that other thing out in in the shed. If the Kid hadn’t been victimized yet, why not now? He ought to be glad about it happening here rather than at some big stadium in front of his veteran major-league teammates, who’d howl at him for days.

  “Daddy?”

  “Yes, Princess?” Her tone suddenly had a hint of desperation. “What is it?”

  “I hate to bring this up so early in the morning,” she said hesitantly, reaching for her purse and pulling out her checkbook. It was stuffed with envelopes—bills that needed paying. “I know how you hate it, but we’ve got to talk money.”

  She was right. He hated it so much. Suddenly he wasn’t feeling as good about his world.

  “We spent more on Rosario than I thought,” she explained, holding up a few of the receipts. “A lot more.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, big ouch. On top of that, my car needs work on the cooling system or something. It’s been making a funny noise, so I took it by the shop near the office. The guys are pretty nice there, and my boss knows them. So I trust them. They said I needed a new—”

  “Ah, you can’t trust anybody when it comes to fixing cars,” Jack muttered angrily. “All those places are out to steal you blind. Don’t you get that?”

  “Yes,” she said evenly, “I do.”

  Like she was placating him, he realized. Like she’d heard him go on and on about it so many times it wasn’t worth arguing about it anymore. “How much are they gouging you for?”

  “Eight hundred dollars.”

  There was no reason to argue—and no going back now. “I’ll have the money for you tonight.”