His Witness

by Vanessa Waltz

  “Agent Palmer. He’s in the FBI. Tommy, they’re going to recognize me—”

  The waitress returns with the coffee, and I don’t hear what she says as the dark stream of liquid pours into a chipped white mug. Melanie leans back into her chair, allowing her hair to cover her face as waves and waves of shock crash over me.

  I wave off the waitress irritably, who huffs and stalks off without another word. “Are you fucking sure?”

  Her lip curls. “I talked to that man for hours. Of course I’m sure!”

  I swallow hard, unable to believe that the man I looked up to my whole life, who had such a hard-on for the rules, was a worthless, cock-sucking rat. My hand dips into my pocket and I retrieve my phone, handing it to her. “Take a photo.”

  “What?”

  “Take the goddamn photo, and we’ll get out of here. We need proof.”

  She looks away from my face, pretending to scroll through my phone as she plants both elbows on the table and takes a shot. At least she has the presence of mind to silence the phone, because I don’t. Smartphones are the bane of organized crime, but for once I’m grateful I never listened to Jack and got one of those ancient flip-open phones he wanted us to use. I just was never a moron and never discussed business on my phone.

  I hear her small intake of breath as she hands over the phone and I grab it roughly, scrolling through the pictures. Yeah, there are clear shots of each of them and Jack’s face is clearly visible. I look into Melanie’s eyes and know that she’s telling me the truth. Why would she lie? Still, I need to find out for myself whether these fuckwads are really FBI. I need to know for sure.

  “Can we get out of here, now?”

  Quickly I slap a few bills on the vinyl table and I stand up, grabbing her arm. If she’s right, I can’t risk them recognizing her in this place. I’m so intent on getting the hell out of there that I don’t even hear her whimpers of pain until she digs in her heels.

  “You’re hurting me.”

  The annoyance on her face melts away when I glance back with the heat of everything I just witnessed at the forefront of my brain. Her face dissolves into that subdued, shrinking look that I hate: fear. I’m probably looking at her as if I want to kill her.

  “Sorry.”

  A strained smile spreads across my lips and I let go of her, ignoring the chime of the hostess’s, “Have a great day!” to open the doors for her.

  “Tommy,” she says once we’re outside. “What does this mean? Why is he meeting with the FBI?”

  I shake my head violently and press my fingers to my lips. Jesus Christ, there could be agents watching the door. They might’ve already seen us.

  Fuck!

  We get inside the car and I peel out of there, gunning down the highway at probably unsafe speeds. I can’t think. I just can’t.

  “Tommy! Answer me!”

  “You better be fucking sure that those men are FBI agents,” I snarl at her. “You better not be fucking mistaken—I’m serious, Melanie.”

  She looks taken aback by my anger, and even I’m confused. Why am I yelling at her? Why does my heart feel like it’s going to burst?

  “I’m not mistaken. I’m sure.”

  “How sure?”

  “One hundred percent! There is no doubt in my mind. There, is that good enough for you?”

  No, it’s still not good enough.

  “God-fucking-damnit!” I take the next exit and pull over at a gas station.

  I need to see it for myself. “What’s his name again?”

  “Who?”

  I nearly scream. “The FBI cocksucker you recognized.”

  “Agent Eric Palmer.”

  I look his name up on my smartphone, the dull pounding of my heart increasing to a dizzying thud, but I can’t find his name anywhere. Of course I fucking wouldn’t. The FBI doesn’t exactly have a LinkedIn page for this shit.

  Then, trembling, I attach the photo to a message to Vincent, sending it without a comment. I turn the phone in my hands, Melanie focused on shredding her nails in sheer anxiety. My phone lights up immediately with Vincent’s call and I put it on speakerphone.

  Vincent’s hostile voice crackles through the speaker.

  “Where the fuck did you get that, huh?”

  Forcing my voice into a state of calm, I raise the phone to my mouth. “Just tell me if that’s Agent Eric Palmer sitting next to him—”

  “Yes, it is. They’re all part of New York’s Organized Crime Task Force.”

  There’s a wall toppling over me. It’s at least twenty feet high, and at the top, heavy cinders fall down and smash into my body.

  “Jesus Christ. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

  Melanie jumps violently in her seat. My shaking hands almost drop the phone.

  “You need to tell me exactly how you got those photos—now.”

  “Vince—do you know what this means? That lying fuck’s probably a protected FBI informant. After all that bullshit about family and honor—”

  “HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET THE PHOTOS?”

  “I followed him myself to a diner in Valhalla. I took the goddamn photos.”

  For a few moments there’s nothing but the sound of crackling static and Vince’s shaking breaths. I know how he feels. He can’t believe it. Neither can I.

  “We need to talk. Can you come over to my place?”

  The car echoes with my laughter. “So you can pop me? No thanks. I already took care of Paulie, and I’d rather not have to kill you, too.”

  “Tommy, I’m not going to kill you in front of my wife.”

  I look at Melanie, who chews resolutely on her thumb. “Fine. I’ll be there soon.”

  * * *

  Violent thoughts swirl in my head as I pound Vincent’s apartment door, which opens quickly. Adriana, his wife, stands in the doorway, looking as white as a sheet. She brightens when she recognizes me.

  “Tommy, come in.”

  “Good to see you, Adriana.”

  I step inside Vincent’s apartment, Melanie following quickly behind me. Adriana’s face sours when she recognizes Melanie, the woman who ratted on her husband. I don’t like the look she gives Melanie, but I let it slide. There are bigger fucking things going on in the world.

  Every muscle in my body tenses when I see Vince’s silhouette down the hall, striding forward quickly. He looks like shit. The stress of being in a federal indictment seems to have taken a toll on Vince’s health. Though his eyes look tired, the way he grabs my lapels suggests that he would have no problem throwing me over his balcony.

  “Vincent!” Adriana admonishes.

  “When the fuck did you get those photos?”

  My back slams against the wall as he yells in my face, the girls screaming behind him. I look into his red-rimmed eyes. “Today. Maybe ten minutes before I sent them to you. Melanie’s the one who recognized them.”

  Vincent releases me and stumbles backward with the shocked stupor of someone who’s just been shot. His face twisting in a grimace, he walks away from me to the gray couch sitting in his living room. Adriana follows, looking bewildered at her husband’s sudden display of emotion. He buries his face in his hands.

  “Oh God.”

  The pain in his voice gives me a jolt of fear. He rocks back and forth, and I worry that he’s snapped. Adriana sits down next to him and rubs his back, shooting me apprehensive looks.

  “Vince, if he’s a protected FBI informant—”

  “We don’t know shit!” he screams suddenly. “You just saw him at a café. That doesn’t prove anything!”

  He lifts his red face from his hands to glare at me.

  As annoyed as I am by his denial, I’m not surprised. “Then why the fuck would he drive all the way out to Valhalla? Wake up, Vince. He’s a fucking rat.”

  Adriana’s inhaled gasp distracts Vincent’s attention. “Are you talking about Jack?”

  “Adriana, give us some privacy.”

  “I will not.” She turns her terrified face to me
. “Tell me.”

  “We’re talking about Jack.” I ignore Vince’s flash of rage and keep talking. “This explains why he got off so easily when you all got indicted in that RICO case. Christ, he could’ve given us all up and we’d have no idea.”

  He shakes his head, his eyes wider than ever. “I can’t believe it—I just can’t.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. My insides rot as I think about all the times Jack clapped me on my shoulder, congratulating me on a job well done. “The piece of shit is talking to the FBI, and I’m not good enough to get made.”

  “This isn’t about you.”

  I lean over his coffee table, ignoring the twitch of anger inside me. “No, it’s about all of us. You know what needs to be done.”

  The reluctance in his gaze worries me.

  “He might’ve already given you up.”

  He hardens instantly. “He wouldn’t.”

  “Vince, I just saw him talking to the feds. I would have never thought he’d talk to the feds, but here we are.”

  “Girls, would you please give us some privacy?” The tension in his voice seems to rouse his wife. She gets up immediately, heading toward Melanie, who still stands in the hall. They disappear into one of the rooms and then finally we’re alone.

  “I don’t know, Tommy. I don’t know if I can whack him.” His face crumples again and I think of how generous Jack was to me as a kid, how much I looked up to him.

  “I can.”

  He attacked me without provocation, tried to kill the woman I asked him to spare, and didn’t bat an eyelash. I’ll be glad to kill him. Just get me in a room alone with him. Suddenly the desire to strap him to the table where he had me execute so many of his men overpowers me. I can almost taste his blood in my mouth. God, how ironic would that be?

  “And then you’ll be boss.”

  White fear flashes over Vincent’s face, and he seems frozen in place. It never occurred to me that Vincent might not want to be boss, might not want the headache that comes with it.

  “Tommy, if we actually go through with this—you can’t stay in New York. Paulie is dead.”

  My chest burns. “He shot me—what the fuck was I supposed to do? Roll over and let him kill me?”

  He looks pained. “I owe you a lot, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to overlook the death of a made guy.”

  I stand up, laughing as my face burns with a rage so powerful, I’m afraid that I’ll use the gun strapped to my waist. “I should have left you in the fucking dark.”

  “You’re saving your ass just as much as you’re saving mine. You wanted the girl, you got her—and all the consequences that come with her.”

  The bitter taste in my mouth is like black coffee. Vince was the one guy I thought who had my back. It just feels like another blow.

  “Help me with Jack, and I will personally see to it that Johnny accepts you into his crew. He doesn’t have to know what happened here. No one does.”

  Temptation sweetens the bitterness in my mouth. Montreal could be a good fit for me. I don’t speak French, but supposedly it’s a haven for the mob. There’s less interference from the cops because so many of them are on the payroll, and there’s lots of money to be made. Johnny has a vise grip over the city and nothing much gets by him.

  But I’ll have to start all over.

  My gaze flicks toward the door where they disappeared. Melanie might need convincing to leave New York. Or maybe not, considering everything that’s happened.

  “All right.” I stick out my hand, and Vince grabs it tightly, neither of us blinking as we shake hands.

  “Okay, I need to make some calls and figure out how the fuck we’re going to do this.”

  The temporary truce between us makes me feel slightly more at ease, but I’m worried about her—stuck in that room with that other woman. I stand up slowly and head toward the door as Vince makes calls. Then I knock on the door.

  “Mel?”

  The door opens to a small nook containing a tiny lime-green couch and a desk. Adriana stands with her hands on her hips, and Melanie’s face streams with tears. My chest tightens when I see her crying, and then Adriana tactfully leaves the room.

  “We heard everything.”

  I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth, annoyed at the fact that Vince let his wife pick a room in earshot of us. Melanie bends into her hands, another desperate sob shaking from her chest. It’s as if someone has just reached between my ribs and squeezed the fuck out of my heart. I sink down beside her and she buries her face in my chest, squeezing my back.

  “Don’t do it. Please, don’t!”

  “I can’t believe you’re still defending him—”

  “No!” she says in a raw voice. “I’m worried that you’ll never come back.”

  The emotion in her voice makes my throat constrict, and a wave of agony trembles through me. I hate myself for making her feel like this.

  “Listen to me, Melanie. Just listen.” I dig my fingers in her hair, inhaling her flowery scent. “I love you.”

  Her chest swells against mine and my eyes start to burn, but I keep them shut. I can’t fall apart right now, but the pain in her gasps is so strong that I can feel it, too. It’s ripping me apart.

  “I promise you that I’ll come back.”

  “You can’t promise that.”

  “I can do this, Melanie.” I pull back from her and give her the confident smile that she needs. “It shouldn’t be any harder than getting you to fall in love with me, right?”

  She reluctantly returns my smile, nodding as she takes a deep breath. “I love you. Please—”

  Unable to stomach another desperate plea from her lips, I crush her mouth against mine. She responds passionately, nearly throwing me off the couch as she falls on top of me, ripping the buttons off my shirt. Damn, that’s hot.

  A harsh series of knocks startles us both. “Tommy, I don’t want to know what you’re doing in there, but get the fuck out.”

  Laughter shakes from my chest as I sit up with her on my lap, and I think about that first time we were interrupted and how pissed off I was. A pink blush blooms over her cheeks and I know she’s thinking about it, too. She helps me button up my shirt, and I’m smiling until I catch her gaze, which is full of tears again.

  “Go,” she forces through her lips. “If you have to go, do it now.”

  “I promise, Melanie. I’ll come back.”

  When I stand up and turn my back on her, I try to erase the haunting image of her tear-stained face from my mind.

  * * *

  We need to lure Jack to a place we are certain isn’t bugged by the feds. It’s not that easy to deceive a boss as wily as Jack, but Vince has the strongest rapport with him. He’s his fucking underboss. Everyone crowds his apartment—all of his captains are on board, even Nicky, who seems to have taken Jack’s betrayal as a personal insult.

  “When I get my hands on that motherfucking liar—”

  Vince stands at the center of it all, watching his phone for a response. I sigh to myself and turn toward the massive windows in his apartment overlooking Manhattan.

  “What?”

  I turn around, crossing my arms as everyone falls silent. “He knows that we’re on to him. That’s why he’s not picking up the phone.”

  “Can’t we trace it?”

  “It’s going straight to voicemail.” Vince lowers his arm, seething. “Damn it, I want to get this done quickly.”

  Shit. None of us can afford to allow Jack to skip town, not while he knows as much as he does. “We should get the word out on the street.”

  The air stills as all of us suddenly become aware that we’re plotting the demise of the don, the strongest man of the hierarchy. Then I look at Vince curiously. He’s acted as a boss figure for so long that all of the men accepted the transition with hardly a hiccup, but he looks different to me now. It’s strange.

  “Get out there and find him.”

  Together we leave his apartment and ret
urn to our cars. I dig in my pocket for my keys as I feel a tap on my shoulder.

  “Tommy, want to team up?”

  He looks reluctant to drive off by himself in search of the man who, after all, made all of us into what we are today. I nod my head and he joins me in the car. It roars beneath my feet and I look at Joe’s impassive face.

  “I have no idea where to look for him.”

  He speaks with that slow, calming cadence. “He’s probably in their protection by now.”

  “Fuck.”

  I decide to head first to the deli. As unlikely as it is that he’s there, I still feel determined to search every possible corner. We walk through the place, even checking the freezers, but he’s not there. It’s one place we can scratch off our list. I briefly debate visiting his home in the Hamptons, but I can’t believe Jack would be stupid enough to be there.

  The city rolls by my windows, neither of us very hopeful as we check place to place. I even drive by his house, fighting every instinct I have not to. Nothing is there as far as I can tell. There’s only one possible option I can think of.

  The old house where I kept Melanie.

  It’s safe, secluded, plenty of places to hide hired guns. They’ll be able to see us coming. We drive for nearly half an hour until I reach it, parking a half mile down the road just as a precaution.

  “This is fucking stupid. He won’t be here.”

  “You never know,” he keeps saying.

  We’re fucking sitting ducks surrounded by all this white snow. We might as well have signs around our necks: Shoot me! We head for the tree line, tromping through snow, our breaths misting the air. Then I grab the binoculars in my pocket and train them on the windows. Jack wouldn’t be dumb enough to sit near a window, which is too bad.

  It’s dark inside the house, but my heart leaps when I see several forms shifting in front of the glass. “There are people there.”

  Could be squatters.

  Or it could be him.

  Do I call Vincent and ask him to come here, even though it could be a complete waste of his time?

  I decide to sneak in from the back. There are huge piles of snow in that area, and fewer windows. Still, it’s fucking dangerous.