by Steve Hadden
“But what about evidence, Ike?” Jenna said. “We need evidence that Tom was murdered and that the Falzones and Tanner were involved.”
Ike hesitated. Lauren was still smiling, but it faded with every millisecond of his delay.
“Ike?” Lauren said.
This was the moment he’d never wanted to happen, but for Maria, Ike had to press on. “Look. I think your investigator might be able to finish this and get you what you need.”
“But you’re our investigator, aren’t you?” Lauren said.
Ike reached for her hand, but she yanked it away.
Ed read the expression on Ike’s face. “Damn. You’re done.”
Ike didn’t answer. He held Lauren’s piercing stare.
“Ike, is he right?” Lauren said. “Are you refusing to help Jack?”
The words sent a wave of sadness through Ike. He imagined Jack being convicted. But even worse, he imagined Jack never knowing why his father died. “I can’t anymore. They’ve destroyed our place and nearly killed my sister. I can’t risk her. She’s all I have.”
Lauren slapped Ike. It stung worse than any punch he’d taken in the ring.
Lauren stood up. No tears, just contempt in her eyes. “You’re going to abandon Jack after all that talk and all those promises?”
Ike remembered Lauren’s definition of commitment as defined by her husband’s death in Afghanistan. She was right. After keeping his word as his father had taught him all his life, Ike was breaking it for the second time in a week. His character was failing him. But he had no choice. Maria was his responsibility, and twenty-two years ago he’d promised himself and pledged to his parents’ spirits that he’d protect her—no matter what.
Ike was still under Lauren’s glare. “I’m sorry.”
“Tell that to Jack,” Lauren said.
“Hang on, Ike,” Jenna said. “There has to be a way. We can’t let these bastards get away with this. They’ve threatened me and my family, and we have to get them. The only way we do that is with you.”
Ike slid the file across the table to Jenna and rose. He was with her in spirit, except his spirit wanted to rip the Falzones’ guts out. They’d nearly killed Maria, and that alone warranted Ike’s action. But he couldn’t give them a second chance. Maria was right. He was kidding himself that if he somehow pulled off a miracle and saved Jack, he’d get closure. In the cost-benefit analysis, the cost was too high to take such a long shot. For the first time in his life, he’d quit—just walked away. He’d weighed his feelings about Jack and his feelings about Maria and run them through a meat grinder, and what came out was uglier than what had gone in. He took a last look at Lauren.
“I’m sorry. I’m done.”
He left the office and drove north toward The Farm.
CHAPTER 49
Ike steered the Shelby through the gates and drove along the paved drive. The opposing forces in his conscience ground against each other and generated a red-hot anger. Still, his anticipation felt different this time. He’d convinced himself he’d made the right choice: save Maria, save himself, and protect what was left of his family. But his promise to help Jack ground against that decision like seismic plates pressurizing for an earthquake.
As he wound down the tree-lined road again, he spotted more cars than he’d ever seen here. They spread beyond the white gravel surrounding the corrugated-steel building and were at least six rows deep into the grassy field beyond it. He pulled next to Moretti’s Lamborghini and stepped out. The giant double doors were open, and Ike could see the empty ring in the center. Moretti’s clientele swarmed through any open space, sporting thousand-dollar sport coats and more gold than Fort Knox. Ike retrieved his bag from the trunk and headed through the doors.
Moretti raised both hands. “Here he is. The undefeated champ. Get your bets in, gentlemen.” He walked to Ike dragging what looked like the offensive line of the Steelers with him.
“Ike, I’d like you to meet these gentlemen.” Moretti said, extending his hand.
Ike shook it. “Not now.” He pushed through the crowd and entered the makeshift dressing room. Alfredo was standing by the locker without gloves or tape. His old face was lined with worry, and he met Ike with both palms in front of him. “No, Ike. Not this one. No fight.”
Ike didn’t need this, even from his oldest friend. Ike dropped his bag and grabbed Alfredo by his shoulders. “I appreciate your concern, my friend. But this is going to happen.”
“He’s a killer,” Alfredo said.
Ike reminded himself: Size doesn’t matter.
Alfredo pushed Ike’s arms from his shoulders. “No, no. This one mean. Like a snake. I heard he killed a man.”
Ike bent down and ripped open his bag. He yanked out his trunks and held them in front of Alfredo’s face. “I’m doing this. With or without you, my friend.”
Alfredo’s shoulders sagged and he dropped his hands to his sides. His face grew long, and he turned and grabbed the tape from his bag. Ike quickly dressed, and Alfredo taped his hands while he silently wagged his head. He slipped the thin gloves on and tied them off. Then he made the sign of the cross and rested his right palm over Ike’s heart.
Ike slammed his gloves together. “Don’t worry, Alfredo, I’ll be back.”
Alfredo forced a smile and Ike stormed out toward the ring. He reminded himself of the attack on Maria and the obliteration of their bar but then remembered her scolding in the hospital. He thought about the assailant who’d put two slugs into the Shelby. He imagined Jack in court getting his sentence, and the anger grew. He pounded his fists together harder and imagined them as made of lead. He envisioned an iron shield covering his body and burst through the door.
As he approached the ring, he saw his opponent waiting in the corner. He was tall and thick with shoulders as big as basketballs. His skin shone like polished ebony. His hair was black and close-cropped and continued into a beard that hugged tight to his skin. His eyes were darting and wild.
Ike slipped between the ropes and planted himself in the corner. One nickname came to mind as he eyed his opponent. LeBron.
Moretti stood on a box next to the ring with a hammer in his hand and silenced the crowd. “Gentlemen, betting is closed. Here we go.” He struck the bell mounted on the pillar next to him and Ike and LeBron charged to the center of the ring. LeBron launched his right first and Ike blocked it with his left. But then LeBron’s left crashed through and caught Ike in the cheek, rocking him back a step.
Ike countered with a right and caught him squarely on the jaw. LeBron ignored the blow and hammered Ike’s midsection with a left that landed with a crack. Ike still had air, but he was down one rib. Ike circled to regroup and LeBron just plodded closer, his eyes blazing with sanitarium rage. Ike hammered him with a combination that slowed his advance. Then without warning, a fist crushed Ike’s jaw and he felt his legs go. Halfway to the canvas, he extended his arm to soften his face’s impact. He was down. For the first time in ten years, he’d been knocked down. Ike tasted the blood in his mouth as LeBron circled once and headed to the corner. At least he observed the knockdown rule.
Moretti started a count with the help of the crowd. With no referee, Ike knew to take his time getting up. Moretti reached five. Inhaling and then blowing out the cobwebs, Ike pushed himself off the canvas and raised his guard.
Smelling an upset, LeBron appeared instantly and threw a barrage that Ike slipped as he slid to his left and caught LeBron with another right. This one stood him up. Still, LeBron kept coming, huffing like a locomotive. Ike stepped to the left again and tagged him with an uppercut that dropped most opponents. LeBron shook his head and his eyes burned even hotter. They came together and LeBron bulled Ike into the corner. Ike covered, but a right drilled into his ear and everything went silent.
He awoke on the canvas again with Moretti hitting six. The bell rang, but as agreed, the bell saved no one. He pressed himself up as Moretti reached nine. His vision was blurred, but he found Alfred
o in the corner—he’d never done that before. No fight had gone to the second round.
Alfredo wiped Ike’s face and shoved a water bottle at him. Ike’s mouth burned when the stream hit it. He spit blood into the bucket at his side. Alfredo raised the towel in his hand.
“It’s enough. Like I say.”
“No.” Ike said as he stood. “We finish.”
The bell sounded and Ike stormed toward LeBron. He’d end this now. Ike hesitated as they came together, then planted his right foot and threw a left that caught LeBron by surprise. Stunned, he lowered his guard enough for Ike to pummel him with a combination. LeBron wobbled backward, and Ike stepped in with his right cocked, ready to finish him. Ike launched it, but before it could reach LeBron’s jaw, Ike’s face ignited in pain. His legs collapsed and he hit the floor. The crowd was roaring—for LeBron. Ike heard Moretti at two, but the crowd noise faded.
An image of Jack kneeling before his father’s grave flashed before Ike. Jack was older, maybe twenty and crying. Ike was standing in the distance, hiding like a coward.
Then, in an instant, it hit Ike. A way to save them all. The rage he felt electrified his body. The roar of the crowd returned and Moretti said “Eight.” The surge of adrenaline lifted Ike off the floor and one word exploded out of his mouth. “No!”
He snapped his attention to LeBron, who had his arms raised. LeBron turned away from the crowd, and for the first time Ike saw doubt mixed with the crazy. Ike thought of Jack and charged LeBron, who responded by raising his iron fists and charging. Ike waited and LeBron led with his right. Ike hammered it down with his left and launched his body and every ounce of vengeance—for him, his family, and Jack—behind a right that caught LeBron square on the cheek. LeBron’s head snapped to the left and he quivered and crashed face first into the canvas.
The crowd stormed the side of the ring in a near riot, and Ike couldn’t hear Moretti’s count. It didn’t matter. Ike rushed to the ropes and a stunned Alfredo parted them. Ike shoved through the crowd, biting at the laces on his gloves. He reached the dressing room, grabbed his clothes, and shoved them into the bag. With his hands still taped, he fought his way to the Shelby. He opened the door, tossed the bag inside, and got in. He fired up the engine, then reached into his bag and pulled his iPhone out. He found a message. It was from Tom Cole.
He threw the phone onto the seat and slammed the car into first, spinning and slinging gravel at the crowd and their cars. He’d save them all or die trying. When he’d cleared Moretti’s drive, his phone rang. He answered hands free. “This is Ike.”
“Ike,” Jenna said. “Jack is missing.”
He fishtailed onto the two-lane road and raced toward I-79.
CHAPTER 50
Joseph had tried to avoid this all along. Now a piece of him was torn off and exposed. Nick had succumbed to his demons, and Joseph had to stop him.
The rain pelted steadily against the window as Joseph waited. He’d called the number Latham had given him, and they promised a quick response. Just in case, his second call went to his head of corporate security, who promised, Saturday night or not, he’d assemble a team to quietly hunt down Nick and Jack. Neither would be as hard as the explanation to Erin. She’d trusted him all along, just as he’d asked her. Now that trust was crumbling. He could hear Erin sobbing down the hall. At least Shannon was with her. They’d expect answers—answers Joseph didn’t want to give.
Erin appeared in the doorway first. The shock had left her tear-streaked face, but she’d aged twenty years in fifteen minutes.
“Did you make the calls?” Erin asked as she entered the library.
“Yes. I’m so sorry about this.”
She kept walking closer. “What did they say?”
“A detective will be here in minutes, and security is already out looking.”
She reached his desk and stopped. “How could you let this happen?”
It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.
“I didn’t know.”
“Come on, Joseph. He’s been a problem since before I arrived. And I did everything I could to make him a part of our family. I set aside everything for him, and all he did was shit all over me. No matter what I said, you told me he’d be fine. He’d had a rough time without a mother, but he’d be okay.” She folded her arms. “Well, he’s not. He’s got our grandson and I want to know why. Why would he take him? What’s going on? I know there’s something going on.” She pointed at him. “And you know, Joseph. You know.” She refolded her arms and waited.
Joseph was on the defensive—a place he rarely was, especially with Erin. He read her face, and the chasm between them felt irreparable. It was as if he’d been dropped into the deepest, darkest part of the Atlantic with no sight of land.
He stood and walked around the desk. He reached for her, but she pulled back and stared at him.
“I hope you know, all I ever wanted was to build a loving family,” Joseph said. He looked away and thought about Nick. “He was a good boy at the core. I know you can’t see that now, but I did. I thought I’d stay with him—give him my love and support, and someday that boy would return. I had no idea it would turn into this.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why, Joseph? Why did he take Jack?”
There was no way to answer that question and not end the family right here. “I don’t know. But I’ll get him back. And Nick is done, I promise. He’s out.”
Erin quaked. Her eyes burned into him like lasers. “You’re lying, Joseph. I never thought you’d lie to me. If you don’t tell me the truth, I’m done.”
Joseph was trapped now. He’d have to give her something. “He thinks Jack is after him. He thinks that’s why he shot Franklin.”
Erin furrowed her brow and ground through her own analysis. She was brilliant and not easily fooled. “Why would Nick think that?” Joseph saw her eyes widen. “Unless he had something to do with Tom’s death? Joseph?”
Joseph remained silent a little too long.
Erin’s eyes glazed and she pivoted and headed to the door. Shannon met her there and Erin pushed past her.
Shannon called after her. “Mom. Mom?”
“I’m going to look for Jack,” Erin said over her shoulder and left the hallway for the garage
Shannon turned and eyed Joseph. “What did you tell her?”
Joseph wagged his head.
Shannon marched closer. “It’s Nick. I know. I warned you about him. He’s a—”
The doorbell interrupted her.
Joseph thanked God for the interruption. “That’s the police.”
“I’ll let them in,” she said. She left and returned with Vic Cassidy.
“You have him yet?” Joseph said.
“No,” Cassidy said, “It won’t be long, though.”
“So no news?” Shannon said.
“No, ma’am.”
Shannon cut Joseph’s throat with one look and marched toward the office door, pushing past Cassidy. “I’m going with Mom to look for him.”
Cassidy stepped into the library and strolled to Joseph.
“You know what’s at risk here?”
Joseph always knew the risks. “I’m well aware, Detective Cassidy.” He moved inches from Cassidy’s face. “You get your ass out there and earn your money. I don’t give a damn what’s at stake. Find them. No matter what it takes. Then you call me, Detective.”
Cassidy lingered.
“Now.”
Cassidy grinned sickly and left.
Joseph knew he had to find Nick before he did something else stupid. At this point he was out. The disappointment and guilt over Nick’s failures didn’t matter now. There was no telling what Nick would say when he was caught. It was a risk Joseph had never wanted to take. His family was unraveling, and if he mishandled this, his fortune could be right behind it.
CHAPTER 51
Ike rocketed down I-79 toward the city. He pushed the Shelby to 110 miles per hour and threaded through the thin Saturday-night t
raffic. He knew the longer Jack was with Nick, the more likely he’d be killed. He guessed either Nick wanted to know what Jack knew and who he’d told or he was looking for a place to kill him. Or both. Whatever the case, time was his enemy and Ike had no idea where they were, other than in the city. Jenna had said Jack was taken around nine—thirty minutes ago. She’d said Lauren had alerted both the Pittsburgh Police and the State Police. An AMBER Alert had been issued, but that wouldn’t save Jack.
He remembered that Jack had an iPhone, and he gave the voice command to the hands-free system to call Lauren’s cell phone.
Lauren answered on the first ring. “Ike. They have him. They have Jack.”
“I know. I’m on it. Where are you?”
“Just getting into the car to head to the Falzones’.”
“Go back inside and give me Jack’s Apple ID and password.”
“I know it. It’s AppleJack. The password is Jac01Col04.”
“Got it.”
“Why do you need his log-in information?”
“Sorry, Lauren. I don’t have time to explain. I gotta go.”
“I’m so sorry about slapping you.”
“No worries. I’ll get him back.”
He ended the call, downshifted, and skidded to a stop on the shoulder just before the I-279 ramp into Pittsburgh. He opened the iCloud website and entered the information. If this was a desperation move, Nick may not have deactivated Jack’s phone.
The connection was slow and Ike chided the phone. “Come on.”
The map appeared and Ike immediately recognized the location of the green dot: the old marina adjacent to the poker-night house. He slammed the car into first and ripped through each gear. Without police interference, he’d be there in fifteen minutes. He’d already decided he wasn’t stopping even if the entire force was on his tail.
He raced down I-279 and along the Allegheny River on Highway 28. When he crossed the river on the Highland Park Bridge, he looked upriver for any boat traffic. The black water was smooth and undisturbed. Running the traffic light at Butler Street, he skidded hard through the intersection and turned north. He paralleled the river until he reached the entrance on the left.
