The TANNER Series - Books 13-15 (Tanner Box Set)

by Remington Kane

  “Where did I put what?”

  Sara grinned.

  “Deke’s grave, I want to pay my respects.”

  Tanner smiled, and it was the first one he’d had on his face since Alexa left.

  “He’s still above ground, and hell, maybe they’ll make a go of it. Alexa could do worse than Deke Mercer.”

  Sara reached over and gave his hand a squeeze, then released it.

  “She’s already done better than Deke; she just didn’t appreciate that fact.”

  Out on the lake, cheers rose up from the boys, as Rocco reeled in a good size trout.

  “It looks like we’ll be having fish tonight,” Tanner said. “I’ll grill it; would you care to join us?”

  “Yes, I just have to change out of this dress, and I’ll make a salad to go with the fish.”

  “Good, by the way, I’ll be leaving here tomorrow.”

  “Where are you going? To New York?”

  Tanner stood up, then leaned over to grab his shoes.

  “New York City can wait. I’m going to hunt down Maurice Scallato and I’m going to kill him. I should have done it already.”

  “How will you find him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Sara stood and walked close to Tanner.

  “Let me come with you; I can help.”

  “No, this is something I’ll do alone.”

  “But you don’t have to, and the two of us will have a better chance of finding him.”

  Sara expected Tanner to say no again, but instead, he nodded.

  “You’re right, if there’s one thing I’ve learned these last few months, it’s that I don’t have to do everything alone.”

  Sara moved closer.

  “That’s right, you’re not alone.”

  Tanner stared down at her.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “What?”

  “I think we’re friends.”

  Sara laughed.

  “Yes, we are friends now, and all we had to do was survive each other.”

  Tanner touched her on the cheek.

  “That was no easy feat; we damn near killed each other a few times.”

  They continued staring into each other’s eyes, as Tanner’s touch became a caress.

  Sara closed her eyes, as if awaiting a kiss, but then she felt Tanner move away. When she opened her eyes, she saw that he was looking at her strangely.

  “I should get that grill going,” Tanner said.

  “Yes, and I’ll make a salad.”

  Tanner walked off the dock and headed up towards the shack. Sara watched him, and there was a small smile playing on her lips.

  She had stopped denying her feelings for Tanner since she believed he had died while attacking The Brotherhood. She felt something for the man. It wasn’t love, but it was affection, strong affection. What Tanner might feel for her, if anything, was as great a mystery to Sara, as was the future.

  If she and Tanner would ever be more than friends, God only knew.

  Sara scooped up her shoes and left the dock, while whistling. One thing was for certain, with Alexa gone, anything was possible.

  ***

  Tanner watched Sara walk back to her car and vowed to stay away from alcohol for a while. He must still be a little drunk because he had nearly kissed her, an act that would have upset her and ruined their budding friendship.

  Friendship? Yes, they were friends, and more, because he trusted her, and trust wasn’t something he gave easily.

  It was a certainty that Sara Blake would never sleep with him. Friendship was one thing; intimacy was something else altogether. Her hatred towards him may have ceased to exist, but Tanner was sure that she would never think of him that way.

  Tanner smiled to himself.

  Him and Sara Blake?

  No, some things just weren’t possible.

  Tanner attached a propane tank to the barbecue grill. As he worked, he thought of ways to track down Maurice Scallato. It was time to make the hunter the hunted.

  Scallato would die.

  A BONUS SHORT STORY

  THE FIVE STAGES OF TANNER

  THE FIVE STAGES OF TANNER

  By

  REMINGTON KANE

  STAGE 1 – DENIAL

  SHERRY HILL, NEW JERSEY

  Salvatore “Sal” Ventura was in church when he learned that he only had a short time to live.

  “Say that again, Tony?”

  “It’s Tanner, Sal. Nicky Bartolli put out a contract on you and the hitter is Tanner. I’m so sorry, boss.”

  Sal stared at his friend and right-hand man, Tony Francissi, while feeling the blood rush from his face.

  Tanner? The big T? No, it must be a mistake. That sort of thing happens to other people, not me.

  “Follow me Tony,” Sal said, as he left the front pew.

  Once he was in the aisle, he fell to one knee in genuflection and quickly made the sign of the cross while facing the altar. After sending the priest, Father Terranova, a warm smile and a wave, Sal sprang up and headed for the street.

  Although he was in his late-forties, Sal Ventura had stayed fit through regular exercise, and he seldom ate to excess. He considered himself to be in the prime of his life, and so it was a shock to learn that Tanner had been hired to kill him.

  If it were true, he knew that he would soon be a dead man.

  ***

  Sal left the church with Tony at his heels. He was moving so swiftly that Tony, who was heavier and shorter, had trouble keeping up with his long stride.

  The limo was parked in front of the church, and Sal slid into it as his driver held the door for him. Tony sat across from him, and once the driver was behind the wheel, Sal told him to drive him home.

  After a long exhale, Sal looked across at Tony.

  “You look like you’re on your way to your mother’s funeral.”

  Tony sent him an apologetic shrug. It was clear to Sal that Tony believed he was looking at a dead man.

  Sal grinned.

  “Cheer up, Tony, Tanner isn’t after me. I don’t know who told you he was, but it’s bullshit. Nicky Bartolli doesn’t have that kind of juice.”

  “Joe Pullo does,” Tony said, “And Joe Pullo owed Nicky Bartolli a favor for something that went down back when Nicky was growing up in New York.”

  “Yeah, that prick Bartolli is from New York; I’d forgotten about that, but Tanner, that’s a hell of a favor. I mean, c’mon, the man whacked a Mexican cartel leader. Tanner is big time, and as much as I’d like to think otherwise, outside of south Jersey I’m not that big a deal.”

  Tony hung his head and shook it sadly.

  “We should have never made that move on Bartolli.”

  Sal laughed, and then he reached over a gave Tony a playful punch on the shoulder.

  “Hey, it’s not true. Tanner is not looking to whack me. I don’t care how friendly Bartolli is with Joe Pullo. Tanner is off somewhere killing bigger fish than me. You know what? I bet this rumor was just started by Bartolli to put a scare in me and make me pull back. Well screw him, we took the coke trade on the east side away from him square and fair. If he was a real man he would live with the loss, or come at me on his own.”

  Tony brightened a little as he raised his head.

  “You really think it’s all bullshit?”

  “Look at me, do I look worried?”

  “No, but Sal, what if it’s true? Maybe you should hide down in Miami for a few weeks.”

  Sal thought about it. If Tanner was after him, he might not live to see the sun come up. He tried to imagine what death would be like, to simply cease to be.

  He couldn’t do it, and he muttered to himself.

  “This can’t be happening. I’m still a young guy.”

  “What was that, Sal?”

  “Nothing Tony, but hey, why don’t you stay for dinner? Mary’s making Ziti.”

  That cheered Tony up.

  “Thanks, Ziti is my favorite food.”

 
; Sal stared out the tinted glass of his side window.

  This can’t be happening.

  STAGE 2 – ANGER

  Sal Ventura seethed in rage after having tossed a bottle of beer against the back wall of his office.

  Sal’s office was located at the rear of his restaurant. The restaurant specialized in Italian cuisine, but Sal also owned a number of other eateries in the area.

  It was early on a Monday morning, and the restaurant only catered to the dinner crowd.

  Tony Francissi was soon banging on the office’s locked door, as he called out Sal’s name and asked his boss if he was okay.

  When Sal opened the door, he saw that there were three other men with Tony, and two of them were supposed to be watching the front door.

  “What the hell are you two doing here?” Sal asked the men. “Get back to the front and keep an eye out.”

  The two men apologized and moved off swiftly towards the front. As they walked away, Tony instructed the other man to keep watch on the office door, and then he slipped inside to keep Sal company.

  After locking the door, Tony sniffed the air, smelling the strong scent of beer. When he saw the broken bottle lying on the floor, he guessed what had made the noise he’d heard.

  Sal had settled behind his desk, where his hands were balled up into fists.

  “Why is this happening to me, Tony? Hmm? I mean, I’m no saint, believe me, I know that, but do you know how much money I give to the church every year? I’ve done some shit in my time, yeah, but I’ve also done a lot of good. It’s not right that I might be gunned down now, not now when things are so good.”

  Tony walked over and leaned over the desk.

  “Don’t give up. Tanner still has to get past me to get to you, and I’ve got everyone in town keeping an eye out for him. This ain’t New York City. If he comes anywhere near you he’ll stick out like a sore thumb, and I’ll smash that thumb with a hammer.”

  Sal stood up and paced. When he spoke again, it was obvious to Tony that Sal hadn’t heard a word he said.

  “It’s not right!” Sal said through gritted teeth. “Not goddamn right at all and it makes me so damn angry that this Tanner thinks he can just snuff me out like a candle flame. What the hell did I ever do to him? And what, just because that damn Nicky Bartolli is a sore loser I have to die? Is that fair, for me to lose everything, for my wife to be a widow, my kids to lose their father, is that fair? Fuck no it’s not fair, and my kids, they’re at that age where they’ll start having grandkids soon. I’m supposed to miss out on all that? Grandkids, Tony, I won’t live to see my damn grandkids. It ain’t right dammit, it just ain’t fucking right!”

  Sal stopped his pacing, grabbed one of the chairs that sat before the desk, and tossed it through the rear window. The chair knocked down the blinds behind the desk as it sailed through, and granted a view of the rear parking area.

  Tony stared at his boss with his mouth open. He hadn’t seen Sal lose control of himself since they were a couple of punk kids trying to make names for themselves. His boss was losing it, and he had to do something or Sal might stroke out and die before Tanner ever took a shot at him.

  When Tony’s phone rang, both he and Sal jumped from the sound it made, but Sal soon began pacing again, while muttering something under his breath.

  Tony checked his phone and saw that the call was from one of the men. A kid named Christopher who showed a lot of promise.

  “What’s up, Christopher?”

  “Mr. Francissi, I hope I’m not bothering you, but I have information that you and Mr. Ventura should know about.”

  “Give it to me, kid.”

  “One of my boys from Philly says that Tanner was staying at a motel out on Roosevelt Blvd.”

  Tony grinned into the phone.

  “That’s great news! Where are you, I’ll meet you with some of the guys and we’ll take Tanner out.”

  There was silence on the other end of the call.

  “Christopher, are you still there?”

  “I’m still here, but the thing is Mr. Francissi, Tanner’s moved on. My friend thinks that Tanner figured out he was made, but I just wanted to give you a heads up that Tanner is in the area.”

  Tony let the phone drop to his side as he suddenly realized that Sal was pacing in front of an open window. He let the phone fall from his hand and reached out and gripped Sal by the arm, to rush him towards the door.

  “What the hell, Tony?”

  “It’s Tanner, he’s here in town.”

  Sal’s eyes grew wide and he unlocked the door in record time. He was moving across the threshold when Tony’s grip on his arm grew tighter, and at the same moment, a sharp pain exploded in Sal’s left shoulder, as a bullet seared across its outer portion.

  He had shut his eyes tight when the pain hit, but felt something wet and warm splash his face.

  It was Tony’s blood.

  The shot that had passed through Tony’s neck had kept going and grazed Sal’s left shoulder. Then, Sal heard the boom of the shot, as Tony’s grip went slack and his body fell backwards. Tony landed atop the carpet of the office floor with a throat ripped wide open, and Sal could tell that Tony would bleed out in seconds.

  A street soldier in his youth, Sal had the presence of mind to dive into the hall. Numerous shots tore through the office wall and into the hallway, but by staying low, Sal was able to crawl to the front of the restaurant. Once he was back on his feet, the two men who had been guarding the front door hustled him out to the limo like they were the secret service and he was a wounded president who had survived an assassination attempt.

  Sal was no president, but he had just survived a hit, and the assassin, Tanner, never gave up.

  Sal pressed a hand against the wound in his shoulder and felt the grief of having lost Tony, his best friend. It then occurred to him that they might be reunited much sooner than he’d like.

  Tanner wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t stop gunning for him, and it was just a matter of time before he was in the man’s sights again.

  Sal balled up his fists in rage, stared up at the roof of the limo, and cursed like he never cursed before.

  In time, his anger would fade, to be replaced by stark fear, as an undeniable truth took hold in his mind.

  Tanner was going to kill him, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

  STAGE 3 – BARGAINING

  Sherry Hill, New Jersey Chief of Police Arthur Huzzello couldn’t keep himself from smiling at the look of fear in Sal Ventura’s eyes.

  The leader of the local mob had called and asked the chief to come to his home, and Huzzello made the trip more out of curiosity than anything else.

  Chief Huzzello had actually been a childhood friend of Sal’s, along with the recently deceased Tony Francissi.

  After drifting apart due to personal differences in their teen years, Sal and Tony took one path in life, while the chief had taken a different road.

  After returning from a stint in the Marine Corps, Arthur Huzzello joined the police force and began climbing the ladder inside the department.

  Despite their different career paths, both men had risen to the top of their respective fields, at least they had in their own little corner of the world.

  The chief kept himself trim and in good shape and had the reputation as a no-nonsense law officer. He knew that a hit man named Tanner was out to kill Sal, and that this same Tanner was thought to be the man responsible for Tony Francissi’s death, and the minor wound that Sal sustained to his shoulder.

  Normally, a murder committed in his town would have left the chief incensed, but he had hated Tony ever since the man had knocked up his younger sister and forced her to have an abortion. Never mind that it had all happened decades ago.

  As far as Sal’s fate was concerned, if Tanner killed him, the chief believed that he’d be doing the town of Sherry Hill, New Jersey, a service.

  Sal was the driving force that kept the Italian mob alive and well in the a
rea, if he were to disappear, the chief believed that he could make inroads into eliminating half the crime in the area.

  And yes, Sal’s rival, Nicky Bartolli would step in to fill the vacuum left behind by Sal’s passing, but the chief knew that the FBI and the DA from Philly were on the verge of indicting Nicky Bartolli on two counts of murder.

  The murders occurred many years ago in a Philadelphia nightclub, but new DNA evidence recently surfaced, along with new testimony that placed Nicky Bartolli at the scene.

  With Bartolli going away and Sal dead, Sherry Hill could become a haven of law and order.

  ***

  On his arrival, Chief Huzzello saw that Sal’s home was being guarded by over two dozen men, as well as electronic surveillance. Upon entering the home, the chief was escorted to Sal’s study, which was more like a mobster man cave.

  There was a giant flat screen TV that took up an entire wall on one side of the room, while a wet bar made from rich cherry-strained oak filled up most of the other side. In between were a matching pair of leather sofas, a pool table, an old-fashioned jukebox, and on the walls a number of old and valuable guns were displayed. There was even a real Tommy gun. The guns were mounted alongside pictures of mob members from the past, one of which was the chief’s own grandfather.

  Sal was behind the bar when the chief entered the room, and there were four more goons with guns guarding him.

  Officially they were “Armed security personnel”, but the chief knew a hood when he saw one.

  ***

  Sal forced a smile onto his face.

  “Thanks for coming, Artie, what can I get you to drink?”

  “Nothing, I don’t expect to be here very long.”

  The smile left Sal’s face. He then ordered his men out of the office. Once the door closed, the smile reappeared, as Sal tried to cajole the chief into helping him.

  “C’mon Artie, loosen up. I know you like whiskey and I’ve got the good stuff.”

  “Word on the street is that Nicky Bartolli hired a heavy hitter to put your lights out, Sal. I assume that same hitter is the man that killed Tony, am I right?”

  “You know about Tanner?”