The duffel bag stuffed with cash lay off to one side, forgotten and ignored.
Lying on his stomach in the middle of the road, Ian sensed the gorilla approaching. Glancing up, he watched the large man stride past him without a flicker of fear. His hands appeared empty of weapons except for a small knife, its triangular tip peeking from between enormous fingers. The knife’s sharp blade cut into his skin, turning his clenched hand red with blood.
“You should let her go,” said the gorilla. “End this like a man.”
“Fuck you,” said Nose Bandage.
“Okay. Kill her, then.”
Nose Bandage winced, clearly not expecting that response.
“We delivered her to your boss,” said the gorilla. “Her value to us is done.”
“If I let her go—”
“You face me,” said the gorilla. “That’s the only way you live.”
Defeated, Nose Bandage knocked the bloody knife from the woman’s hand and released her. She didn’t run away. Instead, she leaned back on the hood of the Lincoln and smiled. Her face was a mask of blood, glee and madness; her body taking on a posture and strength hidden until this moment.
“Are you okay, Mother?” asked the gorilla.
“Never better, darling,” replied Constance.
Nose Bandage spun back around, suddenly realizing his horrible mistake in letting his hostage go.
But he was too slow.
The gorilla sprang forward, grasping the man’s head in his hands and squeezing. Nose Bandage screamed as the knife in his attacker’s hand pierced his skull. With a twist of the blade, the split in the goon’s skull widened as the gorilla put all his strength into the vice-like grip until a sickening crack changed the shape of his combatant’s head.
Nose Bandage dropped to the ground, his eyes locked open wide, but there was nothing left to see.
The gorilla offered a bloody hand to his mother.
“Should we visit our new home?” he asked.
“In a moment,” said Constance, her voice light and dreamy. “It’s such a lovely evening. Let’s soak it in.”
In the distance, the sound of sirens began to converge.
“Just for a moment, then,” said the gorilla as he joined his mother on the hood of the Lincoln and took in the stars.
In the middle of the road, Ian rose slowly to his knees before strong arms grabbed him under the arms and helped him to his feet. Holding Ian’s weight, Gordo grinned over at him and whispered, “Holy shit! You get more interesting every time we meet.”
Ian felt a dozen pairs of eyes following their staggered path as he was helped back to his store and stumbled inside.
Locking the door behind them, Ian slumped to the floor and covered his face.
Zelig’s reign was over, he told himself, but what in hell had he helped create in its place?
Epilogue
Rossella hunted for a fresh shirt while Ian finished washing his hands and face. The man in the mirror looked older than he should with uninvited strands of white in his hair, deeper wrinkles around his mouth, and a weary hardness in his eyes.
“It needs ironing,” Rosella said, appearing in the bathroom doorway with a shirt in her hands, “but it’s clean.”
Ian accepted the shirt and slipped it on.
“You ready for this?” she asked.
“Truthfully?”
Rossella nodded.
“Is it too late to climb out the back window and run away together?”
Rossella smiled. “In this dress, you’ve got to be kidding.”
Despite the lateness of the hour, Rossella was dressed to kill in a dangerously short and distractingly tight black dress, plus lethal high heels with cobalt blue soles.
“I hope your date didn’t mind the interruption,” said Ian, attempting not to sound jealous.
“Only when I said I’d rather be with you.”
“Ouch.”
Rossella smiled wider. “Do you have your story straight?”
“Straight as I can get it.”
“Stick to the facts, don’t fill in any blanks, and when they stop talking, you stop talking. Don’t try to fill the silence.”
“Wow,” said Ian with a grin. “You sound just like a lawyer.”
“Smart-ass.”
Downstairs, Detective Jersey Castle stood by the front window and watched the flashing red and blue lights that illuminated the organized chaos outside. The coroner had to call in a favor from the local hospital to help transport the number of dead to the morgue.
“Your neighbors opened their restaurant to make coffee for everyone,” he said when Ian and Rossella arrived in the front room.
“They’re thoughtful like that around here,” said Ian. “One of the reasons I’m moving back.”
“I asked them if you were part of this, but they claim they didn’t see you. That right?”
Ian nodded.
“I find that hard to believe,” said Jersey.
“Me, too,” agreed Ian. “But I guess I’m not the only one with a hate on for Zelig.”
“Turf war?” asked Jersey.
Ian nodded again. “New player in town wanted a bigger piece of the pie. Guess negotiations went south.”
“He the same one who killed Noah?”
“Be my guess, although I didn’t get a good look at anybody.”
“Hiding under your bed?”
“Behind the sofa actually.”
Jersey kicked a duffel bag that was laying at his feet. “Found that lying out there in the blood.”
“What is it?”
“Cash. Around a quarter million.”
Ian let out a low whistle.
“Any ideas?” Jersey asked.
“Drug deal gone bad? Or it’s meant to look that way.”
“Meaning what?”
“A new player in town sets up Zelig to make a buy, drugs, weapons, whatever, only there was never going to be any deal. They simply wanted to get Zelig out in the open and take him out.”
“Zelig got sloppy?”
“Man was getting old.”
“Not anymore.” Jersey stared hard at his friend. “You being straight with me?”
“Straight as I can be.”
The detective nodded. “No civilians were hurt, so the Gang Violence Task Force will take it from here. They’ll likely have more questions, so it won’t hurt to keep your lawyer close, just in case.”
“Does that mean she should sleep over?” asked Ian.
Jersey grinned. “I recommend it.”
With a nod, the detective left the store, duffel bag in hand.
“Sleepover?” asked Rossella.
“We can lay head to toe if you don’t trust me,” said Ian.
Rossella punched him in the arm.
*
The phone rang in the middle of the night. Rossella was snoring gently beside him when Ian answered.
“I like this new place better than the mechanic’s,” said the gorilla. “It has two swimming pools, can you believe it? All those years Mother and I spent working our way up from nothing, and he had two goddamned swimming pools.”
“They’re yours now,” said Ian.
“Yes,” said the gorilla. “He left everything to his daughter. Makes things so much easier for the bastard son.”
“I said nothing to the police.”
“Didn’t expect you to.”
“Where does that leave us?”
“You worried I’ll change my mind?”
“Yes.”
“I’m a man of my word. So long as you don’t get in my way, I’ve no need to see you ever again. Besides, my mother has a soft spot for your family. So in honor of your grandfather, I owe you one.”
*
Ian held his breath as he placed the phone to his ear.
A sleepy voice answered on the fourth ring.
“Hey, sis,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “It’s safe to come home.”
— The End —
/> About the Author
Grant McKenzie is the internationally published author of five edge-of-your-seat thrillers, plus an ongoing mystery series set in San Francisco. His riveting thrillers Speak the Dead, The Fear in Her Eyes, Switch, and K.A.R.M.A. are available from Polis Books. Under the pen name M. C. Grant he writes the Dixie Flynn series that began with Angel With a Bullet, continued with Devil With a Gun, and returns with Baby With a Bomb. His short story “Underbelly” appeared in the First Thrills anthology edited by Lee Child from Tor/Forge. As a journalist, Grant has worked in virtually every area of the newspaper business, from the late-night “Dead Body Beat” at a feisty daily tabloid to senior copy/design editor at two of Canada’s largest broadsheets and editor in chief of Monday magazine. He lives in Victoria, British Columbia. Follow him at @AuthorGMcKenzie.
The following is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in an entirely fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Grant McKenzie
Cover, jacket and interior design by Damonza
ISBN 978-1-943818-02-0
eISBN 978-1-943818-41-9
First hardcover publication: September 2016
Polis Books, LLC
1201 Hudson Street
Hoboken, NJ 07030
www.PolisBooks.com
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