Rookie was fast, but so were Tommy and Sal, and they kept up with him as long as they could. Rookie ran along the sidewalk of the busy street, tossing garbage cans, bikes, and even somebody’s baby stroller to hamper his pursuers. But Tommy and Sal were athletic enough to leap over cans and bikes and to run around a stroller. Sal even shook his head in disgust when he realized a baby was in that stroller.
But Rookie got away. He made his way around the corner before they could catch him, and was then running through an alley. By the time he made it on the backside of the alley, and was heading toward the end of the alley, he was smiling. At least for right now, he felt good. He felt as if he was about to be home free.
Until an SUV ran across the exit, and blocked his path.
Rookie slid in his tracks when he saw two men get out of the SUV. One he knew was the infamous Mick the Tick. The other one he didn’t know. But they both seemed to know him, with one of them, the younger man, sliding over the hood of the SUV as they both started heading his way.
Rookie was about to turn around, and run back in the direction that he had come. But Tommy and Sal were behind him, and running toward him, and Mick the Tick and the other guy were running toward him too. He was cornered. His heart was hammering. His stupid ass had done it now.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sal grabbed Rookie by the catch of his collar and slammed him down onto a bench. They were in the backroom of the very pool hall Rookie maned. They were on Rookie’s turf, in Rookie’s herald halls, and didn’t give a fuck.
“I told you I don’t’ know anything!” Rookie said. He’d already been worked over. The bruises proved that. But he resisted capture, and they didn’t have time for his games. He looked at all of them. At Sal and Tommy, at Mick the Tick and that man he didn’t know, the one they called Reno. And they all looked so rich and powerful. The very type of men Rookie hated.
“You’d better tell us something,” Sal said, “or your ass isn’t going to be grass, it’s going to be dead.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Rookie said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
If they had a dollar for every time they heard that excuse. Sal slapped him hard across his face. “Talk, Rookie. Your ass was talking up a storm to that fool you were trying to shakedown. Talk to us. What do you know?”
Rookie exhaled. “I need a cigarette.”
“Tough,” Tommy said. “Talk.”
Rookie hesitated again, but then he talked. “I hated the Brass. All of those bigwigs in the police department. I hated you, Cap, and you too, Sarge. I hated all y’all guts.”
It always hurt when those words were spoken directly to another person, and Tommy and Sal were no different. It hurt. Especially for Sal, who actually liked Rookie back in the day, and took the fall for his trigger happy ass. But they didn’t interrupt. They listened.
“We were all supposedly exonerated for the killing of those Nigerians,” Rookie continued, “but you and Sal quit the force. You left on a high note, leaving somebody else to have to pay the piper. Because the Nigerian consulate didn’t care that we were exonerated. He didn’t give a damn. He wanted his pound of flesh. Your old man gave it to him. I was the lowest on the totem pole, so he kicked me off of the force as a gesture of international good will. They stole my career, the very thing I wanted to be since I was a kid, as a gesture of good will.”
“Get to the fucking point,” Reno said. “Why are you trying to take Tommy down?”
“I’m not,” Rookie said. “That’s what I’m trying to tell y’all. I hate his ass, but so what? I have a life.”
“Get to the point, Rookie,” Sal said.
“I killed this motherfucker a few weeks ago. A snitch told on me, and I was going to be arrested. Chris agreed not to lock me up, to declare the snitch unreliable, if I did him a favor.”
Tommy frowned. “Chris? What Chris? Chief Lew Christie?”
“Yeah. That asshole.”
Tommy and Sal looked at each other. “What does Chris have to do with this?” Sal asked him.
“Who the fuck is Chris?” Reno asked.
“The police chief here in town,” Sal said. “Lew Christie. He was on my team the night those Nigerians bit the dust. He was just a cop then.”
“What did Christie want you to do?” Tommy asked Rookie.
“Put people in place,” Rookie said. “People who knew you, were enemies of yours, and who could be bought. I knew people who knew people and it was a piece of cake.” Rookie smiled. “The easiest list I ever compiled. But then the requirements changed.”
“He wanted more than a list,” Reno said.
“A lot more. I had to create scenarios, shit like that. And eventually, I had to act it out.”
Sal frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I had to do the dirty work.”
“Such as?” Tommy asked.
“I had to take out Shelby James.”
Tommy’s jaw tightened. “You shot Shelby?”
“I had to! Chris, he’s a maniac. He let that power get to his head.”
“What about Harry Edelson and Rondo Jefferson?” Reno asked.
“The two suicides?” Rookie asked, and then smiled. “Yeah, I took them out too. He even had me scaring up participation from Shelby’s friend Ann Kirkland, and from that silly college kid, Lisa McBride. I threatened to kill her ass if she didn’t distract your wife that day at the farmer’s market.”
“Where is Lisa now?” Tommy asked.
“Bottom of the sea,” Rookie responded, which used to be code in their cop days for dead in an unknown grave.
Tommy hated to hear it. Lisa was silly-ass, but she was young. She just wanted to be somebody. She didn’t deserve death.
But Tommy decided that Rookie did. That was why, when Rookie finished his spiel, Tommy pulled out his weapon without hesitation, and put a bullet through Rookie’s head. “That’s for Shelby,” he said to the now dead ex-cop.
Sal and Reno knew Tommy well. This was no surprise to them. But Mick looked at Tommy. He always thought of himself, Sal, and Reno as the ruthless ones, and Tommy as more businessman than thug. But the more he got to know him, the more he realized how much he had under estimated the handsome devil. Tommy was a bear when he wanted to be. Tommy could hang with any of them when he wanted to hang.
But he didn’t linger on his thoughts. They still had work to do. And this time, it wasn’t going to be as easy as taking out a rookie. This time, they were going up against a police chief. This time, they were going to have to tread carefully.
The old modeled Mercury Mystique drove up in the slanted driveway and Lew Christie stepped out. In his rumpled suit, and his unhealthily big bulk, he didn’t present the image of a modern day chief of police. Nothing about him, in fact, demonstrated his power. But that didn’t matter to him. He knew he had plenty.
He made his way up to the front door of his small, mid-century styled home, and fumbled with the lock. It was old too, and needed to be replaced, as it often jammed before opening. But then it always opened, and Christie forgot about it again until the next time it jammed.
But when he opened the door and walked in, replacing his lock suddenly became the last thing on his mind. Who suddenly had grabbed him, and flung him into his own house, became paramount.
Tommy flung him so hard that he fell on top of the coffee table in front of the sofa. And Tommy didn’t stop there. He got on top of the chief and placed the barrel of his gun to his head. Mick Sinatra, and Sal and Reno, were also in the room. And all of them were antsy. They didn’t like to deal with cops at all. Because they knew there was no heat like cop heat. They also knew that if they were wrong about this chief, there could be serious ramifications.
That was why Tommy knew he had to go all in. No drawn out conversations. No bullshitting. He put that gun to Christie’s head as if he aimed to use it. And got to the point. “Tell me motherfucker,” he said, “and tell me now!”
“Tell you what, Cap?” Christ
ie looked floored. “What are you talking about?”
“Why are you pulling this shit?”
“What shit?”
“Don’t fuck with me, Chief. You know me!”
“And that’s why I’m telling you I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Rookie says you do,” Sal said. “Rookie says you know all about what we’re talking about.”
“Rookie’s the one full of shit,” Christie said. “He’s just doing the Tank’s dirty work and trying to rope me in. But I did the release. I didn’t detain. I don’t even know what they’re up to.”
But Tommy and the others were still hung up on the first part of his confession. “The Tank?” Tommy asked. “What do you know about the Tank?”
“I knew him back in the day. We grew up together. I knew Rookie had recently married into his family and was the man’s son-in-law,” Christie said. “I know they’re in it together.”
Sal frowned. “In what together, motherfucker?”
“I don’t know what! Whatever you’re talking about, I imagine. It’s hate, that’s all. It’s hate with Tank. He’s the one who got her arrested. I knew it was some bullshit charge, but I wasn’t risking my life over somebody I didn’t even know.”
Now they were puzzled. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Reno asked. “He got who arrested?”
“Tommy’s wife,” Christie said. “Grace Gabrini.”
They were all stunned. “Tank got her arrested?” Tommy asked.
“That’s what he said. When Ellen Matanzas filed those charges, it was all a ruse. She was forced to get into a public altercation with your wife, and then file fake charges. Tank told me that much was going down. But he says it’s because of what happened. He says it’s because he hates her. He wanted me to detain her. And that’s all I did. But as soon as you showed up, Tommy, I released her.”
They were thrown. Not one of them saw this shit coming. Especially Tommy, who was stumped. “Why would Lew Christie hate my wife?” he asked. “What are you talking about?”
“He hates her. Rookie said something about how the Tank’s son killed himself over her.”
“Over Grace?” Sal asked.
“Grace Gabrini, yeah. But I don’t think she was a Gabrini back then.”
Tommy looked at Mick. “Did you know Tank had a son?” he asked.
Mick didn’t have to think long. “He had a son, yeah. And he committed suicide, I remember talk about that.”
Tommy was beginning to remember. “What’s his son’s name?”
Mick shook his head. “I don’t think I ever knew his name.
Tommy turned back to Christie. “What’s his son’s name?” he asked.
“Birch,” Christie said. “Cameron Birch. I knew his mother, Jillian Birch. She claimed her dead husband was the father, but that was a lie. Tank was Cam’s old man.”
Tommy remembered them well. Jillian used to be his business partner, a woman who nearly ran Trammel in the ground. Grace dated her son, Cameron Birch, before Tommy met Grace. She and Cameron had apparently had a messy break up, and he was angling to get back together. And Christie was right. Cameron did put a gun to his head and killed himself in front of Grace. But it had everything to do with Cameron’s sense of privilege and recklessness, and nothing to do with Grace. And Tank was Cam’s father?
“That means Tank’s the one,” Reno said. “He’s the one with the power and money to pull off all of this shit. That bull he and Rookie was feeding us, implicating this guy as if he was the mastermind, was all misdirection. Tank was the one all along.”
Mick agreed, and his jaws tightened. “And he just played us like a fucking fiddle,” he said, and began leaving the house, his white coat flaring in their wake. They all began running out.
But Sal stopped, and aimed his gun at Christie, the man who once worked under Sal’s command. “You said you know my brother,” he said. “Well I’m sure you know me even better. Try any cop shit against us and you and everybody you ever loved will be dead. I guarantee it.”
Christie threw up his hands. “Just stay out of my life,” he said, “and I’ll stay out of yours.”
If he hadn’t been a police chief, he would have been dead. It would have been Sal’s pleasure to take his fat ass out. But he was a chief, and they didn’t need that heat. Sal bit the bullet of rage, and left too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Tommy was calling Grace on his cellphone even as they were running behind the house, a street over, to where their SUVs were parked.
Grace was in the Nursery, on the floor with their children, when the call came in. The nanny, who was in the rocker looking on, moved to answer it for Grace. But Grace, knowing that Tommy was out on a run, answered it herself. “This is Grace.”
“Everything okay over there?” Tommy asked her.
He sounded like he was running, but hearing his voice was still music to her ears. “Everything’s fine,” she said. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Where’s Branson?”
“He’s around here somewhere.”
“Tell him to help you get the children and put them in the safe room. And you stay there too.”
Grace began rising. “I’m on it,” she said, and Tommy was relieved she didn’t hamper him with unnecessary questions. He ended the call.
But as soon as Grace had a chance to put TJ in her arms, and the nanny could grab Destiny, gunfire, exploding like the Fourth of July, could suddenly be heard outside.
By the time they ran the short distance to the SUVs, and Mick, Sal, and Reno began piling in, Tommy felt a jolt. Grace said all was well, but he had to make sure. He had to make certain that this wasn’t yet another misdirection.
“Tommy, get in!” Sal yelled.
“I’ve got to make sure my family is okay,” he said.
“I thought Grace said they were.”
“I’ve got to make sure,” Tommy said.
“I’ll go with you,” Sal said, concerned for his brother and his brother’s family.
But Tommy stopped him. “Tank won’t be an easy get. They’re going to need your expertise.”
“But take a crew with you,” Reno ordered, and Tommy agreed.
“We’ll find that bastard,” Mick assured him, “and safe house him until you can get there. That is, if we bring him back alive.”
Tommy understood. They took off in one SUV and Tommy got behind the wheel and took off, with his crew inside, in the second one. And he drove like a bat out of hell, far faster than his man ever could.
But when he was nearing his estate, his cell phone rang again. He answered it. It was Grace, but she was whispering this time. And gunfire could be heard in the background.
“Grace?” he asked, his heart hammering. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t get to the safe room.”
“Where are you?”
“The guards and Nanny are with the children in a room on the third floor. I’m on the second floor, trying to hold them off with. Branson’s with me. But it’s so many of them, Tommy. Can you come?”
“I’m almost there,” Tommy said, flooring it even more than he already was. “I’m almost there!”
But when he got there, Tommy didn’t take any chances. Especially when he saw the dead bodies of his gate patrol out front. He let his men out, so they could go in, undetected, on foot. Then he backed up that SUV so fast that he nearly swerved out of control.
But Tommy was in complete control. He turned that SUV around and drove to the backside of his grand estate. He put in a code on the outside box, a ladder descended down, and he climbed up to a second floor window, the floor where Grace said she and Branson were holding down the fort.
He put in the code for an electronic open, the window opened, and he climbed inside. When he made it through the bedroom into the hall, a gang of Tank’s men had just made their way upstairs and Grace and Branson were under siege.
Tommy, with his two guns and with both barrels blazing, began firin
g too. He took out one, two, nearly four different men. Grace took out a few too. As did Branson. But he got hit.
“God, no!” Grace cried when Branson fell, but Tommy slid Branson into one of the side rooms. He wanted to lock Grace inside too.
But Grace wouldn’t let him. “We’ve got to get to our children,” she said. “You’re going to need all the firepower you can get. It’s so many of them, Tommy!”
Tommy didn’t argue with her. Grace knew how to handle a gun better than most men he knew: he was her teacher. And she was handling it that day. Besides, she was right: Tommy needed all the muscle he could get.
They made their way up the stairs toward the third floor, where their children were housed. But more men began following behind them. They just cleared the stairs when the bullets began sailing. They had to shoot their way there, and then find a cubbyhole wide enough for them to take temporary shelter, and then they had to fight their way through again. By the time they made it to the room where their kids were housed, they could see the dead bodies of the guards that had been guarding them, and the dead body of the nanny, all at the door’s entrance. They shuddered to think what they would find inside.
When they found their children okay, with Destiny holding onto TJ, they felt some relief. But Tommy knew, he had to fight on.
Grace knew it too, and gave her approval. She had her gun locked and ready. “I’ll protect our children with my life,” she said.
Tommy’s heart swelled with emotion for this woman he almost let get away. “You protect our children,” he said, “and protect yourself. You live too, to care for our children,” he said. And then a look of anger appeared on his handsome face. “You have to,” he added.
And then he kissed her hard on the lips, looked at his beloved children, and took off out of the room, turning the knob to lock as he did. He was now officially out, and they were in. It was his job to make certain to keep the bad guys out too.
He made sure. He could hear footsteps running up the stairs as he made his way back to the cubbyhole that had given them cover before. And he waited. He had both guns ready, but he knew if he revealed himself too soon, it would all be over. And his children, and his wife, would be unprotected.
Tommy Gabrini: Every Which Way But Loose Page 15
