The Victim of the System

by Steve Hadden

  Slowing, he killed his lights and made the turn. To his left was the lock road leading past the bed-and-breakfast and the poker-night house. To the right was the water-and-sewer maintenance facility, then the old marina. Ike checked his phone. The dot still hovered over the marina.

  Ike coasted the Shelby past the long maintenance building and onto the narrow decaying road to the marina. Hugging the trailered boats for cover, Ike prowled closer to the river and stopped. Weak floodlights mounted on the dilapidated repair shop illuminated a black Hummer. Ike reached into the glove box, slipped out his gun, and slid one into the chamber.

  He left the car and crept along the boats until he had a view of the old dock. Several speedboats sat quietly in the slips. He could hear the water lapping against the piers, and the cold air nipped at his hands. Leaning around the bow of the last trailered boat, he could see three larger cabin cruisers at the end of the dock. The dock lights were burned out and all three cabins were dark.

  Then his eyes detected movement on the middle boat. It was an old wooden cabin cruiser with peeling paint and faded wood trim. A dark shadow moved to the stern and released a line, and the engine roared to life. Ike darted around the boat and sprinted down the dock. The figure turned and Ike caught a glimpse of a gun as it swung in his direction. He dropped to the dock as it fired. The wooden planks splintered in front of him. He rolled, then crawled over the gunwale into an uncovered speedboat.

  A smaller figure darted onto the deck as the cruiser pulled from the slip. Jack. “Ike! That’s Ike. Ike come help me. Please, Ike.” Someone dragged Jack back into the cabin.

  Ike yelled over the engine noise. “I’m coming, Jack.”

  The cruiser had cleared the slip and was heading upriver fast. Ike scrambled to the dash of the speedboat but found no key. He hammered the glove box open and threw the contents onto the deck. Still no key. The next boat was covered. He leaped onto the cover and ripped it from the boat’s edge as if he were opening a sardine can. Slipping into the opening, he peeled the cover from the windshield. There was no key in the ignition. Ike cracked the glove box with the butt of his gun and it popped open. As he watched the cabin cruiser head upriver, his fingers found the keys. He jumped to the deck, untied the boat, and checked the cruiser’s location again. It was nearly out of sight, heading around the bend in the river.

  After leaping back in, he jammed the key into ignition and the Sea Ray roared to life. It was dark, but with the diffuse light from the city along the shoreline, he could see the heavy wake of the cruiser. Ike weighed his options and chose to keep the pressure on. Falzone was a coward and the boy was still his leverage. He’d keep him alive as long as Ike was close. As Ike traced the wake around the corner, the crack of a gunshot followed by splintering fiberglass made him slow and swerve. They raced upriver, Ike weaving between shots.

  They passed the Fox Chapel Marina on the left and Ike continued to close. Ike knew this part of the river well. He’d been up and down it with the DeSantis brothers in their old man’s ski boat every summer in high school. Sycamore and Nine Mile Islands bounded a narrowing of the channel ahead.

  He swung away from shore as the dark outline of Sycamore Island loomed ahead. After the cruiser curled around the island, its engine was killed and it disappeared. Ike looped farther out and spotted the cruiser beached on the northeast side of the island. Beaching alongside would be deadly, but Ike was out of options and Jack was running out of time. Ike headed into the island and beached about fifty yards away, keeping his gun aimed at the cruiser

  Ike jumped onto the muddy shoreline and waited. A faint light glowed from the cabin cruiser’s windows, but there was no movement. Ike had spotted only one car back at the marina, but Nick might have help. He’d have to take his chances.

  He weaved to the tree line that covered his advance to the cruiser. Beached, the bow towered over the shore by about ten feet. The stern still floated in the river and the swim deck was easily accessible, but the glow from the city lights on either side of the river would give anyone onboard a clear view of his advance.

  He dashed to the bow and waded into the water, working his way down the side toward the stern. The river was cold and Ike could feel the current tugging at his legs. After reaching the swim deck, he swung a leg up and climbed aboard using the stern as cover. A round could easily pierce the thin, rotted wood. He had to move quickly.

  Peeking over the stern, he spotted the door to the cabin. Leading with his gun, he worked his way there. Standing aside, he pushed the door open. He spotted Nick holding a gun to Jack’s head and took aim, slowly descending the steps.

  “Well, well. The great Ike Rossi in person.”

  Ike kept his aim at Nick’s head. “You okay, Jack?”

  Jack shook his head.

  Ike watched Nick’s eyes and aimed right between them. “You don’t need him, Nick. Let him go.”

  “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. This young lad could end my life.”

  “Your life’s over anyway.”

  “That’s the problem with you jocks. You always overestimate your abilities. My life has only just begun.” He pulled Jack closer and shrank behind him. Ike lost his angle

  Jack’s eyes brimmed and shifted between Ike and the gun at his own head.

  “It’s gonna be okay, Jack.”

  But that didn’t ease Jack’s fear. Instead, Jack’s gaze darted over Ike’s shoulder and his eyes grew wide.

  Nick seemed to relax. “What took you so long?”

  Ike started to turn, but the blow to the back of his head dropped him to his knees. Then he hit the floor. In an instant, everything went white, then black.

  CHAPTER 52

  Ike guessed this was a dream with a terrible ending. He floated freely, defying the laws of gravity, while a growing dread made his flight more difficult. The first thing Ike heard was crying. It drifted through a thick gray fog and echoed somewhere in the distance. It was higher-pitched and beckoned Ike like a siren’s call. He was supposed to be there—to do something.

  As the crying grew loud, his head throbbed. His hands and feet were paralyzed. In seconds, he’d entered the no-man’s-land between sleep and consciousness. He forced his eyes open and saw Jack, his hands behind him with his feet bound to a thick chain, crying. He followed Jack’s gaze to Nick and the thug who’d tried to run him off the road.

  “Glad you could join us,” Nick said. He stood resting his foot on an upside-down bucket with his gun hand draped casually over his knee. Ike shook his head to clear it and noticed the pungent smell of gasoline. He spotted the red can in the thug’s hand and it all came rushing back. The bar, the explosion, Maria. This was the asshole who destroyed Rossi’s.

  Ike’s feet were bound to an anchor chain that connected him to Jack, and his arms were bound behind him. He yanked at the ties, trying to break free, to no avail.

  Ike recognized the dilapidated cabin of the old Chris-Craft cruiser he’d chased to Sycamore Island. They were against the back wall of the rope locker under the bow, the farthest from the stairs. The locker door had been removed and Ike could see all the way to the cabin door. The window in the door had been broken out, and Ike could see into the darkness. The seating and tables had been ripped out, but the old rotting galley between them and the cabin door remained. Trash and rags covered the floor, and the anchor chain holding them was coiled in the corner facing the galley, atop a rusted anchor. He noticed that the boat gently swayed. They were afloat, not beached.

  “Ike? Ike, are you okay?” Jack asked, his lips quivering.

  “I’m good, Jack. Hang in there.”

  “Oh, how nice,” Nick said, shoving the bucket from under his foot. “However, it’s not going to be okay, Jack. You see, I can’t have you around yapping away about what your father did or didn’t do and trying to put me in the gas chamber. And Mr. Rossi here never should have stuck his nose in our business.” He stepped past the thug and circled closer to Jack.

  “So, you did kil
l Tom Cole,” Ike said.

  Nick twisted and faced Ike. “Not me,” he said, grinning. He pointed to the thug. “Him.” Nick faced the man. “Isn’t that right, Roustabout?”

  Jack’s eyes hardened and he stopped sniffling. “You killed my dad?”

  The big man just chuckled. He was thick, with eyes that shifted with discipline and precision. Ike had seen that look before, and with the thug’s rigid posture and the fact that he’d handled explosives, Ike wondered if he was ex-military. Ike spotted a tattoo low under his neck that said he was an ex-con. It didn’t matter. When Ike got free, he’d be sure he was ex-alive.

  Nick paced back to Jack. “It wasn’t hard, kid.”

  “No, it was brilliant,” The Roustabout said. “An injection into the neck with succinylcholine and a cylinder of carbon monoxide masked to his face, and I had all day to set the sad scene in the garage.”

  Jack lunged at the man and the anchor chain snapped him back to the ground. “I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you!”

  Ike worked hard on his wrists while Nick and The Roustabout enjoyed their taunting. The ties were tight and the material wasn’t plastic. It felt like a smooth synthetic rope of some type. The technique he’d taught potential kidnapping victims would be useless.

  Nick poked the nose of the gun into Jack’s red face. “You’re not gonna kill him, but he has a treat in store for you and mister football.” Nick stood and paced back across the small cabin again. “And you know what the best part is?”

  “Yeah,” Ike said. “The best part is you’re an asshole who can’t do anything without your daddy’s money.”

  Nick slammed the butt of the gun into Ike’s cheek. The fragmenting pain was instant and the force knocked Ike backward on his arms. More time to work them—and it took Nick’s attention off Jack. Ike could feel the blood running down his cheek, and still he couldn’t get any slack in the rope.

  “Now, where was I?” Nick said.

  The Roustabout jiggled the gas can.

  “Oh, yeah,” Nick said. “We have an old wooden piece of shit, and we have two depressed souls tied to an anchor chain with PVA rope that will dissolve in the river water minutes after they drown. Their burned bodies may or may not be found after they’re ground up in the boil and backwash on the downstream side of the lock’s low-head dam. You’ll either drown or burn—or hopefully a little of both. With a bit of help, they may even conclude that a washed-up football hero who failed to help a condemned boy decided to end it all for both of them.”

  Ike eyed Jack. Jack’s anger had faded and his face turned pale. He began to shake. Ike hated that Jack was experiencing the terror of expecting death. He turned back to Nick but spoke to the boy. “Don’t worry, Jack. They’ll never get away with it.”

  Nick slowly handed his gun to The Roustabout, grinning. The Roustabout kept the gun on Ike. Nick deliberately turned his face to The Roustabout, who wound up and hammered Nick on the cheek. Nick turned back to Ike, grinning, with blood running down his face.

  “We will now.”

  The Roustabout sloshed the can again and headed up on deck.

  “Just on the deck. None in here,” Nick said. “And set the timer for five minutes. I want our guests here to experience a slow burn before they drown.” He laughed and followed the Roustabout onto the deck, slamming the door behind him.

  Ike heard the gasoline hitting the deck as the footsteps creaked and then faded and stopped. The smell of gasoline intensified.

  Jack was crying.

  “Jack.”

  Jack ignored Ike.

  “Jack! Look at me. Now!”

  They both flinched when they heard a pop on deck. Then Ike heard the crackle of the flames.

  “We’ll get out of this, Jack,” Ike said. “You have to stay with me here. I need your help.”

  Smoke seeped under the door. Ike scanned the narrow cabin for anything that could cut the poly rope. Jack stared at the flames coming through the cabin door, his eyes wide with terror. Ike could see the fire through the portholes. The entire deck was engulfed and their only exit would be through the fire.

  “Jack. Kick the chain, Jack. Into the cabin.”

  Ike yanked the chain tied to his legs and pulled it into the doorway of the locker. Jack caught on and helped kick the chain into the threshold. There were about five feet of chain between them, and Ike wanted Jack to be behind him, farthest from the flames that were now devouring the yellowed lacquered walls of the cabin on all three sides. The thick acrid smoke dropped like a curtain. They had a minute or two—no more.

  Ike coughed. “Get behind me,” he said. With his hands bound behind him, Jack struggled to inchworm past Ike. Ike would not watch Jack die first. “Watch this.”

  Ike dragged his arms under his legs and cleared his ankles, lifting the chain bound to his legs. Now behind Ike, Jack slipped the chain beneath him, cleared his feet, and held the slacked chain in the rope binding his wrists. That would give Ike precious seconds if his plan worked.

  The flames raced across the floor of the cabin and hit the chain. The boat groaned and Ike felt the floor quake. The boat was splitting. Ike kicked the chain farther into the fire.

  “Yeah. That’s it!” Jack yelled. “Manganese and iron. Mg and Fe. It’s very conductive.” The chain was galvanized and Jack recognized it. A true genius.

  In that moment, Ike saw the periodic table.

  “The key,” he said. “The key to the clues.”

  “What?”

  The thought energized him. The heat seared Ike’s face and feet. Still, he leaned forward, gritting his teeth. Fire engulfed the distant part of the chain, and the boat lurched again. The links resting against the painted wall of the galley smoked, and Ike pushed his wrists against the chain. He smelled the hair on his hands burning. He growled in pain but kept the poly rope against the hot chain. He yanked his wrists apart, breaking the rope, and he pulled his blackened hands back. The boat heaved and the hull parted beneath them. Freezing water rushed in. Ike sucked in deep a breath. The water smothered him, and the anchor chain rocketed Ike toward the bottom of the river. Ike’s mind locked on one thought. Save Jack.

  CHAPTER 53

  Ike hit hard on top of the anchor and the chain on the river bottom. He reached for his legs and clawed at the poly rope. He fought the current pushing him backward. The rope softened and he found the knot. His lungs burned as he untied his feet. Once he was freed from the chain the current ripped him away, but he caught a few chain links with his hand. Jack was at the other end of the chain and Ike was running out of breath.

  Hand over hand he followed the chain in the dark water and collided with Jack’s limp body. Finding Jack’s hands, he tried to yank them apart. Pain ripped through his chest as he fought the urge to take a breath. He yanked Jack’s hands again and felt the rope give. On the third try, he ripped Jack’s hands free and grabbed for his body before the current could rip them apart.

  Jack’s body weather-vaned in the current, but Ike held him tight and moved hand over hand to Jack’s feet. When he felt the rope, it was mush, but Ike was passing out. Rage fueled him and he tore Jack’s ankles free. The current ripped them downstream, but Ike held on to Jack and kicked off the river bottom with his last shards of energy.

  He wasn’t sure how, but he found himself at the surface, gasping for air and holding Jack’s limp body in one arm, flailing with the other. He sucked in the cold air and cleared his head. Ahead in the darkness, he saw the lock and dam racing closer. They were in the center of the river, and in the dim light he spotted the Highland Park Bridge just ahead. The bridge pylons were their only chance before the current swept them over the dam. He’d have to catch a pylon with one hand. Alive or dead, he was not letting go of Jack. Ahead, the flaming debris from the boat crashed into the dam.

  Ike clawed at the water with a fury he’d reserved for the last twenty-two years. The current dragged him toward the center of the dam, but he fought back toward the dark pylon, still fifty yards aw
ay. Jack’s body was still limp.

  Ignoring his instinct that it was too late, Ike shoved down a lump in his throat. Now just ten yards from the pylon, he struggled to stay on a line that would get them there before the current swept them over the dam. He kicked hard and reached for the concrete base. His fingers caught a gritty edge and he pulled them both onto a narrow foundation just above the waterline. Ike cradled Jack, flipped him over, and, with three desperate thrusts, tried to clear his lungs. His lifeless body did nothing.

  “No, God!”

  Ike thrust his hands against Jack’s back again. On the third try, Jack coughed and threw up. Tears flooded Ike’s eyes. After flipping him over, he rubbed hard against his skin to warm him. Jack’s eyes were glazed and his pupils dilated. He’d been at least four or five minutes without oxygen, and Ike hoped his brilliant mind hadn’t been destroyed. Jack’s body jerked and his eyes focused on Ike.

  Ike smiled and wiped his eyes. “You made it. You made it.”

  Jack raised his head. “The periodic table?”

  Ike was laughing and crying at the same time as he hugged Jack. For an instant, he let go the leaden revenge he harbored for Falzone. In the distance, he spotted the River Rescue Patrol boat. It cleared the lock and headed their way. Ike knew from his time with the Pittsburgh Police that the boats were like floating ambulances. It would have an EMS team and one police officer on board. As the spotlight swept over them, Ike waved.

  “You’re going to be fine, Jack. You did great.”

  But Ike knew this wasn’t the end. For him, it was just the beginning. As the boat approached, all he could think about was destroying Falzone and the Roustabout. When the boat pulled aside, two EMTs steadied the vessel against the pylon while a third reached for Jack.