Forced Out

by Stephen Frey

  “But how’d they pin it on you?”

  “They found an e-mail on the server sent from me to some guy in the Red Sox organization.”

  “But why would you give the Red Sox that kind of information?” MJ asked, stunned. “You’d been with the Yankees for more than thirty years at that point. Right?”

  “You’d think I’d get the benefit of the doubt, wouldn’t you?” Jack asked softly. “Well, I didn’t.” His tone turned bitter. “Not one damn crumb of it.”

  “But it doesn’t fit. There’s something you’re not telling me. Come on, Jack.”

  That was the problem with smart people. They were always smart. They recognized when you hadn’t told them everything. That all the facts didn’t fit. “Okay, look, here’s what happened.” Jack hadn’t told anyone but Cheryl this. “I got a son named David. He’s my only other child. He’s with the New York City Fire Department, has been since he graduated from high school. He’s one of those guys who went to the World Trade Center on nine-eleven and saved a bunch of people. He’s been decorated so many times for bravery in the line of duty I can’t even remember them all. He was getting pretty senior in the department by 2004, and he was up for a big promotion.” This was so hard to think about. “Well, a couple of days before the 2004 ALCS with the Red Sox starts, I find out David’s got a drug problem. He’s doing cocaine. Lots of it, all the time.”

  “Damn.”

  Jack rubbed his temples, remembering how David’s wife had called that night at three in the morning, hysterical. Sobbing uncontrollably because he wouldn’t stop snorting the powder. She was terrified he was going to lose his job, terrified they were going to lose everything they had, mostly terrified he was going to die. Remembering how he’d raced to David’s place in Queens. Thinking—praying—that somehow David’s wife had to be wrong. His prayers smashed to bits when he saw David. Red-eyed and hopped up, pacing around the basement like a caged bear.

  “Yeah,” Jack continued. “Damn. So I gotta do something, and I gotta do it fast. If somebody at the Fire Department finds out what’s going on—”

  “He won’t get that promotion,” MJ cut in.

  Jack scoffed. “The promotion wasn’t even on the radar screen anymore. David woulda gotten fired faster than you can say ‘fired.’ They’re real strict about that stuff. They gotta be.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “I drove him to a detox center in Iowa I knew about and told the department he was on vacation. I thought I had it all worked out. Until I got the call.”

  “Call?”

  “The call that ruined my life. Some guy who claimed he was with the Red Sox,” Jack explained. “The same guy I was supposed to have e-mailed. Turned out he knew everything about David’s drug problem. Said he had a contact at the center in Iowa. Said if I didn’t get him information about the Yankees he could use in the Series, he’d call the Fire Department and tell ’em everything.” Jack shrugged and looked down. “And that’s what happened.”

  “But you didn’t send that e-mail. Did you?”

  Jack shook his head. A sixteen-year-old kid he’d only known for a few weeks had more faith in him than people he’d played slave to for years. How much of a tragedy was that? And yet he still wanted to work for them again, was still unfailingly loyal to them. God, he hated being human.

  “Nope,” Jack confirmed. “I never would have done that. I never would have sent that information about Jeter to the Red Sox. Not even to protect my own son.”

  “Who did send it?”

  “I don’t know. Somebody who must have really hated me.”

  MJ moved beside Jack and patted him on the shoulder. “You know what I appreciate?”

  Jack glanced up. “What?”

  MJ tapped his pocket with all the cash in it. “That you gave me the cash outside without my mother seeing. You gave it to me, not her. I appreciate that a lot. You know I’ll give it to Momma, but you gave it to me to give to her. That’s important to me.”

  “I trust you, MJ. I really do.” He could hear the emotion in his own voice, and it embarrassed him. But it would have been worse for MJ not to hear that. “And I don’t trust many people.”

  “I know. I trust you, too.” MJ hesitated. “Jack.”

  Treviso trained the high-powered binoculars on the condo building entrance. Deuce Bondano should be coming out anytime to head down to Sarasota—about thirty minutes south of here—to do the deed. To kill Kyle McLean.

  Well, Deuce was going to lead him right to the prey, but the bastard wasn’t going to be the one who finished McLean off. It was going to go down different than that. A lot different.

  Since losing the hundred grand to McLean two years ago, Treviso and Karen had lived like paupers. The new cut on loan profits Marconi had imposed made it nearly impossible to live, especially with a baby. But he hadn’t bitched about it to anyone besides Karen because he was afraid Marconi might decide to pop him one day if he heard he had a malcontent in the family. He’d been forced into a life of theft to survive. So when Deuce Bondano had shown up at the apartment that morning to tell him McLean was still alive, it was all Treviso could do to control himself. Not to bust out shouting and yelling. Finally a chance at redemption.

  But Bondano wasn’t willing to help. Didn’t give a damn about helping a man in a tough spot.

  Treviso had settled on his plan a few hours after Bondano left. It had taken him those several hours to convince himself he could really handle the thought of Karen having sex with another man, with Johnny Bondano. Sure, he’d seen that awful lust in Bondano’s eyes as the bastard stared into the hallway, thinking the husband didn’t get it. Sure, Bondano hadn’t taken the bait right away when Treviso had sent Karen back into the kitchen to “touch him a little and get him heated up” while he claimed he was taking a piss. Sure, Bondano had managed to refuse then. But it had been like water building behind a dam. Inevitable. Ultimately Bondano couldn’t resist Karen. He was just like every other man. Treviso had known Bondano would come around, though not as fast as he had. Bondano had called Karen that same afternoon, for Christ’s sake. Then she’d called Treviso on his cell phone right after hanging up with Bondano. Called to tell him that Bondano wanted her bad. She was a good girl.

  Then the question became: Would Karen really go all the way? Sure, she’d been willing to flirt a little in the kitchen. But would she go all the way? It hadn’t taken long to find out. Turned out Karen was sick of living like a pauper, too.

  Treviso thought back on their lovemaking session last night. When she’d told him in detail everything she’d done for Johnny Bondano. When she’d told him how Johnny had told her how he was coming down here to Florida to kill Kyle McLean. When Karen had told him how easy it was to get information out of Johnny when she was kneeling in front of him doing what he wanted. Treviso felt himself becoming aroused all over again just thinking about it. Maybe he was one sick-as-all-sin man after all, but he’d never experienced anything so physically and mentally powerful in his entire life. And he couldn’t wait to feel it again.

  It was all going to work out perfectly, Treviso realized. So little in his life ever had. But now, when it counted the most, it seemed like this would. Well, the sun couldn’t shine up the same dog’s ass every day.

  He brought the binoculars down. The only thing about it all that bothered Treviso was that he’d never seen Karen so turned on, either. And for a split second it occurred to him that maybe she wasn’t doing Johnny Bondano just for the money. Maybe there was something more.

  41

  HI, PRINCESS.” JACK smiled at as he came through the front door of the house, carrying Rosario. “How are you?”

  “Fine, Daddy. Here, I’ll take her,” Cheryl offered, holding out both hands. The little girl leaned toward her right away and broke into a big smile. “Hi, little one,” she murmured, nuzzling the baby’s velvety face.

  After giving Cheryl the baby, Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out another folded stack
of bills. This one was thicker than the one he’d given MJ. This time it was five thousand dollars. “Here. This should take care of the bills.”

  Cheryl gazed at the folded-over hundreds fearfully. “Oh, Daddy,” she said with a gasp, “what did you do?”

  It had been one of the toughest thing he’d ever had to do. But it was better than stealing jewelry from a helpless, elderly woman who was being taken away in an ambulance by a Judas. He couldn’t have lived with himself if he’d gone through with it. He’d actually gotten all the way to the door of the big house after Biff and Harry had driven off with the poor woman. Actually turned the doorknob to see if the house was unlocked. It was—and it had scared him to death. He’d turned and hobbled away as fast as his old knees would carry him. Back through an open field to the Citation—parked in a strip mall a mile away. He’d just wanted to get out of there as fast as he could.

  “I sold the last World Series ring,” he said hoarsely. “The Subway Series ring. When we played the Mets in 2000.”

  Cheryl’s expression turned sad, like she’d lost a good friend. “I’m sorry. I know how much that ring meant to you.”

  It was the last thing he’d owned that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that at least for a time he’d been an important cog in the Yankee organization. Now it was gone forever. Sold to some faceless guy on eBay.

  “It’s okay. You were right, Princess. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d taken that woman’s jewelry.” He’d broken down and told Cheryl what Biff wanted him to do, and how everything was all interrelated. How Biff knew they had Rosario and how that was one way the guy could get revenge if Jack didn’t take the jewelry. Unfortunately, he’d admitted to Biff how Cheryl and the baby had bonded so quickly. So Biff knew he had leverage.

  “Does this mean they cops will be coming for Rosario?” she asked apprehensively.

  “I don’t know, but I’ll find out tomorrow.” Biff was going to be one pissed-off EMT when he realized the deal hadn’t gone down. But there was still a chance everything could work out. “Don’t worry.”

  “Oh, sure,” she answered, her lower lip starting to tremble. “You know me. I never worry.”

  He’d shoot Biff before he’d let the bastard have Rosario. “How was your afternoon with the Kid?” he asked, trying to distract her.

  “Fun. He’s nice.”

  He could see he hadn’t distracted her at all. “Is he here?”

  “Yeah. He said he was tired, so I told him to take a nap in your room. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “No, of course not. Are you still going out with Bobby tonight?”

  She nodded, then forced a happy expression to her face. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “You got the Kid to agree to go back to New York.” He assumed that wasn’t it, but he had to keep pushing her. She might end up being the key.

  “No. And I don’t think he should, either, I really don’t. But let’s not talk about it now,” she said, hoisting the baby into her left arm and taking Jack’s hand. “Come with me,” she said, pulling him toward the kitchen. “Come on.”

  As he came around the corner he saw a man sitting at the kitchen table. A white-haired, ruddy-faced man about his age. “Jesus H. Christ,” he whispered. It was Howard “Fin” Olsen. His best friend in the world. “What in the world are you doing here?”

  “Hello, Fast Jack,” Fin said in his deep voice, standing up and spreading his arms. “As warm as ever, aren’t you?” He laughed. “It’s good to see you, old friend.”

  Jack smiled. “Good to see you, too.”

  They met where the kitchen and the living room came together and embraced for a long time. The way two old friends who hadn’t seen each other in what seemed like forever ought to embrace.

  Johnny moved along the concourse of Tarpon Stadium, checking the printed black numbers on his ticket stub against the painted red numbers on the cement walls. Looking for the tunnel that would lead him to his seat. He felt better, a lot better. He’d gotten almost five hours’ sleep at the condo this afternoon, and though his shoulder was still tender as hell and he still didn’t have much range of motion with his left arm, he could tell he was on the mend. It would take awhile to get back to normal, but there wasn’t any sign of infection, which was the most important thing. He was still changing the dressing and the bandages religiously—he’d changed them twice on the plane from New York—and he’d keep doing that as long as the wound was raw.

  He’d wanted to call Karen while he was driving down here from Tampa, wanted just to hear her voice for a few seconds. But he’d managed to keep his fingertips off the phone. There was no reason to risk Treviso finding out at this point. They were so close to getting what they wanted. He’d cap McLean tonight, snap a few pictures of the body with the digital camera in his pocket, then hop a flight back tomorrow morning and be in New York by early afternoon. Treviso would be a dead man in short order, and he and Karen would be free to live their lives happily ever after.

  Johnny spotted the number on the wall matching his ticket and headed into the tunnel. When he emerged, he gestured at an usher wearing a red cap with a shiny black visor. An old man with age-spotted arms who was leaning on a yellow railing. “Yo.”

  “Yes, sir.” The old man shuffled right over. “Let me see your ticket and we’ll get you seated as fast as we can.”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “Oh, no? Then how can I help you?”

  Johnny pointed toward the field and the players. “Which one of those guys is Mikey Clement?”

  The old man squinted at the field, then touched his forehead. “Oh, gosh, none of them.”

  “What?” That didn’t sound good. “Aren’t those guys the home team? Aren’t those guys the Sarasota Tarpons?”

  “They sure are, but Mikey isn’t out there tonight.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Suspended.”

  “Suspended?” Holy shit. Wasn’t that just par for the fucking course right now? What was he going to tell Marconi? “How long is he—”

  “Don’t worry, sir. At first I heard he was going to be out for two weeks. That was yesterday. But when I got to the ballpark today, I heard they settled everything this afternoon. He’ll be back out on the field tomorrow night.” The usher got a concerned look. “Unless you’re vacationing and tonight is your last—”

  “No, it’s fine.” Johnny let out a relieved breath. McLean’s suspension meant spending one more night than he wanted to in Florida, but hey, things could be worse. This could be Arkansas or Rhode Island or some other shithole. “Thanks,” he said, turning away from the old man and making sure not to look directly in his eyes so he wouldn’t remember him. “Thanks a lot.”

  Kyle knocked on Cheryl’s open bedroom door. “Hi.”

  She turned away from the mirror above the bureau. She’d been putting on an earring. “Hey, you, come on in.”

  He took two steps into the room, then stopped dead in his tracks. “God, you look incredible.”

  Well, that was nice. Unprompted, too. She moaned under her breath. Why did he have to be so much younger than she? So nice and so good-looking, too. Oh, well, what she had wasn’t that bad. She caught herself wondering how far Bobby would take it tonight. “Thanks.”

  She’d finally taken the advice, finally decided to doll herself up. She’d just finished her hair—it was down on her shoulders, no more unruly bun, and styled. And she was wearing a sheer, clingy dress that fell halfway down her thighs along with a new pair of sexy heels. She’d bought the dress and shoes this afternoon at the mall while she’d gone off by herself for thirty minutes—thank God the credit card still worked—so Kyle wouldn’t see what she got. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want him to see until tonight—why she’d opened the door when she was almost finished. When she looked in the mirror, she had to admit it was quite a change. Judging from Kyle’s expression and his reaction, it was a good change. A very good change.

 
“I…I really mean it, Cheryl. You look unbelievable.”

  “You should hang around more often.” She was getting comfortable with him so fast. But thirteen years younger? A few years maybe, but thirteen. Besides, he probably didn’t think about her in that way. She thought she’d caught him sneaking glances at her a couple of times at the mall, but it didn’t make sense. She’d caught plenty of younger, very attractive girls gaping at him. Girls who were way more attractive than she was. “It would do wonders for my self-esteem.”

  “I’d be happy to,” he said with a sincere smile. After a few moments his expression soured a little. “You going out with that guy tonight?”

  She slid the other earring through the piercing in her left lobe. “What guy are you talking about?” Daddy must have told Kyle that Bobby was a loser.

  “That guy you’ve been dating. Your dad says he’s a real successful businessman in the area.”

  “Daddy said that?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Wow. That was amazing. Maybe Daddy was actually coming through on his promise. She grabbed her purse off the bureau, moved to where Kyle was standing, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I had fun this afternoon.”

  “Me, too.”

  “You sure you don’t mind taking care of the baby tonight?”

  “Nah. I used to babysit my cousins all the time. A couple of them were younger than Rosario. It’s no problem.”

  Kyle was nice, really nice. And she still couldn’t get over those eyes. It was like they were constantly searching the center of her soul. But not in a bad way, in a good way. “You’ll probably be here alone. I’m sure Daddy’s going out with Fin tonight. They haven’t seen each other in a year.”