Widows-in-Law

by Michele W. Miller

  “You tell him who you are, that I’m in trouble, and that you need to go to the Federal Building around the corner. Then you tell the FBI everything. But that won’t happen, Emily. Just sit tight and I’ll call you.”

  Lauren’s eyes met Emily’s. Emily could see in her mother’s expression that staying fierce and loving Emily at the same time was hard for her too. Lauren kissed Emily on the forehead and squeezed her tight. “I love you, pumpkin.”

  And Lauren walked away.

  CHAPTER 37

  Jessica and Lauren rode northwest through Tribeca, Soho, and the Meat Packing District. In Chelsea, traffic stopped and started, slowing their progress.

  “So it doesn’t look like Steve was involved at all,” Jessica said.

  “You thought that too?”

  “Couldn’t help myself. When Steve turned on me, and Nicole pretty much disappeared, it felt as if Brian and I had divorced—you know how your husband’s friends will divorce you too. But that’s not supposed to happen when somebody dies.

  “Being in jail gave me time to replay a lot of conversations in my head. We used to go out with Steve and Nicole all the time … long weekends, sailing. Something wasn’t right in the end. Steve was distant, even hostile. Brian and Steve had started to have disagreements about how to handle cases, and they argued over a lead-poisoning case. I know Brian was upset about it. Steve wanted to settle it and Brian didn’t. It got so Brian liked Nicole better than Steve, although she always made me feel insecure. And then there was something else about her that made me”—Jessica seemed lost in thought—“uncomfortable. I tried to bring it up with Brian, but he totally dismissed me.”

  “Men get into a haze around women like her,” Lauren said. “They can’t see straight.”

  “Still, I never would have thought she’d betray—”

  “Listen, next time you’ll pick your husband and friends more carefully,” Lauren said, thinking that she’d already said too much. She had to steer Jessica away from the subject. They couldn’t afford the distraction, but she softened her voice, realizing she’d spoken too harshly. “We’ll take care of Steve after.”

  Jessica sighed. “Really, nothing would surprise me at this point. And you can stop trying to protect me, although it’s sweet. At this point, I wouldn’t blink an eye if you told me Brian were hooking up with Steve. I’m so through with thinking I knew Brian.”

  “Okay,” Lauren said. But she wasn’t sure she believed Jessica and was still determined to err on the side of not surprising her. They rode in silence the rest of the way to the sports bar. Then Lauren pointed. “That’s it.”

  Jessica nodded grimly and parked in an overpriced outdoor parking lot used mostly by tourists visiting the Intrepid or taking the Circle Line. The lot was nearly empty now. The attendant signaled them to a spot. When they stopped, Lauren clasped hands with Jessica for a moment low on the seat.

  Lauren’s legs felt weak as she stood upright on the pavement and closed the car door behind her. She crossed the street next to Jessica, trying not to think of what happened here last time.

  The sports bar was half lit and empty except for a couple of large men sitting inside the door who looked like bouncers. CB’s eyes opened wide when he saw them entering. Why was he afraid? Did he know something they didn’t? Lauren nearly backed out of the door but felt Jessica’s firm grip on her arm.

  “You here for Lucho?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Jessica said.

  “Sit.” He pointed at an empty table near the bar.

  CB went behind the bar and casually picked up a cell phone, although something about it didn’t seem casual. He made a call and sat on a stool. He spoke softly into the phone, swiveling to give the women his back. Lauren assumed he was talking to Lucho, but she turned around at the sound of Lucho and another, stockier man entering behind them.

  CB lurched to his feet with a Cheshire cat grin and called out, “Lucho, Pedro, entren.”

  The sound of Spanish and the smell of cigarettes filled the air around her. Anxiety, almost a solid object, pounded Lauren’s ribcage. She could sense Jessica stiffening next to her.

  The heavyset one, Pedro, hung back, watching. Lucho stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray on the bar. Lucho’s eyes appraised Jessica, pausing at her breasts. He spoke to Jessica, “We will go to meet Jorge. You two go with Pedro. CB with me.”

  Lucho grabbed Lauren’s attaché, ripping it away from her. She forced herself not to flinch, keeping her eyes steady on him. He opened the flap of her bag, looked quickly inside and smiled. “Good, Jorge will be happy.” He turned to CB. “Let’s go.”

  CB jumped to his feet and pulled a jacket from a hook. Jessica and Lauren rose from the couch. Lucho grabbed Lauren’s arm with a harsh familiarity, like she was his bitch. “Come.”

  Terror shot through her at his touch, her blood rushing. She jerked her arm away but went with him toward the door. She looked back to see that Jessica was following. As they walked, Lauren coached herself: It will all be over soon, it will all be over soon.

  Two cars were double-parked out front. Lucho opened the front passenger door to the first car and signaled to Jessica and Lauren. “Come.”

  Pedro didn’t say anything, just entered the driver’s side of the car and started it. Jessica got in the passenger side and slid to the middle next to him. Lauren followed her. As their car pulled away, she looked back. CB entered the second car with Lucho, two bouncer-types joining them in the back seat.

  ***

  CB looked out the car window, having already given up on keeping conversation going with Lucho. CB had no idea where they were headed as they drove uptown on the West Side Highway along the Hudson River. He imagined his phone as if it were burning in his jacket pocket, attracting trouble like a rebounding rubber band. Fear jackhammered inside his body. He didn’t like this. He didn’t want anything to do with Jorge’s meet-up or the goddamn Feds. When they’d approached him to cooperate, he hadn’t been able to bear the prospect of the decades in jail for his drug bust, but now he doubted the wisdom of his decision.

  Lucho’s phone rang, a reggaeton ringtone. The sudden music nearly launched CB from his seat. CB thought about the song. Where did Lucho get the time for messing with ringtones? Maybe one of his girlfriends had picked it out for him. Lucho balanced the phone with one hand on top of the steering wheel as he drove and looked at the number of the caller. He put the phone to his ear. A horn blew, and Lucho corrected his creep into the next lane.

  CB swiped at Lucho’s phone to keep him from talking and driving at the same time. “Watch the road, Lucho.”

  Lucho held it out of CB’s reach. “Relax, CB. You too jumpy.”

  Lucho put the phone back to his ear. “Tito?” Lucho let out a laugh and turned to CB. “Oye, CB, it’s Tito. Jorge’s lawyer bailed him out this morning.” Lucho turned back to the phone and listened. “Si, CB is here with me …” Lucho listened for a while. “Si … no.”

  Lucho hung up. He looked over at CB, his eyes narrow as if Tito had pissed him off about something. For no reason at all, CB thought it had to do with him. But he hadn’t seen Tito for months, and he had enough problems with the fucking Feds without worrying about some motherfucker from the pueblo in DR who used to kick his ass every summer when they were kids.

  Lucho hung up and made a sharp exit from the highway. As if CB hadn’t been nervous enough, there was something new in the air. “Where are we going, Lucho?”

  Lucho’s voice had turned mean, every word laced with unexplained venom. “You know Jorge’s nephew, my cousin, will die if we don’t get this money?”

  “Yeah, sure. I mean I hope not. We’re going to get the money.”

  Lucho didn’t answer. CB gripped the leather armrest as Lucho road-raged through streets in Washington Heights, past apartment houses with bodegas and bars on their first floor. Lucho accelerated and b
raked fast, making CB’s stomach churn.

  “I just wanted to hear that you know.”

  Lucho pulled under an overpass on Dyckman Street in Inwood, the shadowed sidewalk spattered with pigeon droppings from their roost within the steel girders above. Fencing ahead separated the wide dead-end street from a park.

  “You wait here,” Lucho said to the men in the back of the car. “You, come,” Lucho said to CB and got out of the car.

  CB’s legs felt wobbly and he needed to pee. He didn’t like this, didn’t like the way Lucho was acting. CB had a bad feeling. This dead-end street without an easy exit wasn’t a good place to do a high-dollar exchange. And why wouldn’t the other men come with them?

  CB could see the beginning of a path on the far side of the overpass, sloping upward toward the park. He ticked the seconds off in his head, his back stiff. Every second they were on foot—CB’s phone emitting a slow-moving signal—brought them closer to the federales arriving and shooting it out with Lucho. CB didn’t want to be in the crossfire when they tried to take Lucho down, especially in the middle of nowhere with no way to get out.

  CB glanced beside him and saw an expression on Lucho’s face that made him prefer to take his chances on a shootout. CB’s breathing shallowed with each step. There wasn’t a human being in sight. CB would have done anything to see a single person other than Lucho.

  Lucho stopped.

  CB peered around. “What are we doing here, Lucho?”

  “You think we would not know, sooner or later?”

  “What?” CB’s heart plummeted, a lead weight.

  “You were seen when you got busted. Tito saw you. You should have kept a better eye out if you was gonna be a pussy.”

  CB shook his head slowly, backing up toward the wall.

  “You got busted.” Lucho’s phone rang again, muffled through the leather of his jacket pocket. Lucho yanked it out and slammed it with a loud crash against the wall next to CB’s head. “The police are probably tracking this now, no?” Lucho lurched and hurled the crushed telephone over the fence into the park. Then he pivoted back around and pulled out a shiny .357 Magnum from his shoulder holster. He pointed it at CB’s head. “You think we stupid y los federales think we stupid. But Jorge and me don’t stay in business for twenty-five years being stupid.”

  CB began to cry.

  “I know they got the federales coming fast right to where we standing now. Gotta be—’cause they know the money is coming. But I got big enough balls for this. One fucking cabron, I can handle.” Lucho clicked off his gun’s safety.

  “Por favor, Lucho.” CB’s back pressed hard against the overpass’ stone wall. He cried, “We’re from the same town.”

  Lucho put the cold steel of the gun flush between CB’s eyes. Hot urine coursed down CB’s inner thighs, his wet legs giving way under him. The gun followed downward, pressing against CB’s forehead as his back inched down the wall.

  “You should have thought of that when you were planning for me and Jorge to go to prison and my cousin to die.”

  “No, Lucho, it wasn’t like that.”

  Lucho leaned close to CB’s face. “When I see your mother, I will tell her goodbye for you.”

  The gun muzzle pressed heavier against CB’s skin as Lucho’s arm straightened. Lucho backed up a pace to avoid blood spraying on his clothes. CB had time to know that, his last thought.

  CHAPTER 38

  Jessica and Lauren sat in the front seat of Pedro’s late-model Mercedes Benz. Pedro hadn’t said anything yet. His cologne—applied with a strong hand—filled the car. It was cologne that had been popular a few years ago, a scent ever-present at malls and cocktail parties. He wore a thick gold Rolex that peeked out from under the sleeve of his leather jacket as he steered, a watch not so different from Brian’s—the one they never found.

  Jessica observed the streets they passed in case they needed to find a way out in a hurry. She had long ago lost her sense of direction in this strange, hilly territory of the Bronx. At one point, they’d passed under the elevated train she and Lauren had seen last week. Jessica didn’t know exactly where they were, but she didn’t think they’d traveled a great distance from Manhattan. They’d seemed to circle more than anything.

  An icy fear kept Jessica’s muscles stiff and her mouth dry. She was trapped between Lauren and the silent man. She could feel the heat of his thigh against hers. At least he wasn’t Lucho. He paled next to Lucho’s frightening energy. She only hoped Lucho would stay away until Lauren and she were done and out of there.

  The car traveled a wide street. Pedro turned right, uphill on a hairpin curve, and onto a narrower street of prewar apartment buildings and clapboard houses. The familiarity dawned on Jessica. At the center of an empty lot was the building with the scorched lobby they’d visited, the twelve-million-dollar building.

  Pedro didn’t say anything as he pulled into a spot two-thirds of the way up the hill and got out of the car.

  “Brian’s building,” Jessica said when they were momentarily alone.

  Lauren nodded, her mouth a downward parenthesis.

  They left the car and followed Pedro across the street to the rubble-strewn lot. Jessica and Lauren followed Pedro between the building’s two brick wings over the matted-down path through the courtyard. They entered the charred lobby with its stench of fire, human debris, and mold. There was no sign of the homeless woman from before, and Pedro headed to the opposite side of the lobby.

  A sudden noise from behind spun Jessica around. The metal front door had opened then crashed shut. A little kid ran by, clattering up a staircase with a plastic grocery bag in hand. A door creaked open above and a quick rattle of adult Spanish drifted out before the door slammed shut.

  The thought occurred to Jessica: if they had to run for help, would those people help them? A voice inside her head swiftly answered: You don’t know because you don’t belong here. You should never have come here. Turn around, and get out now.

  Ignoring the voice, Jessica followed Pedro through a fire-widened doorframe into the freezing shell of the apartment she and Lauren had been in before. Wind whipped through the empty brick window frame at the far-right side of the room. The opening let in daylight, the rest of the windows still boarded up. Jessica’s eyes burned with terror that she kept at bay with grim determination.

  Pedro stopped at the center of the large room that had once been an entire apartment. He held up his palm, “Wait. Viene Jorge.”

  Breathe, Jessica commanded herself and turned back around in time to see Pedro walk toward the apartment’s entrance. A man entered.

  “Jorge.” Pedro stepped forward, deferentially, and shook Jorge’s hand.

  A wiry man with a wooden gun butt sticking out of his jeans’ waistband came into the room behind Jorge.

  Jessica’s inner voice—she recognized it as her father’s voice now—spoke up again: You’ve made a mistake, Jessica, like usual. You’re a screwup like your mother, a walking mistake, Jessica. And now you’ve really fucked up, just like you always fucked up. But, Jessica realized with a start, that wasn’t true. She’d hardly ever screwed up. She’d made some mistakes, but she was far from a fuckup, maybe too far from one. She looked at Jorge, at his arrogant bearing, as if he owned the whole goddamn world and an unexpected anger percolated from deep inside her, drowning out the berating inner voice. She, Lauren, and Emily had been royally fucked by everyone—by Brian, Steve, Jessica’s father, and now this bastard standing in front of her. And they deserved better.

  She met Jorge’s dark appraising stare. His eyes flickered to her breasts and back to her eyes. She saw red. Right now, all she wanted was to know who in the hell had killed her husband and turned their lives into a goddamn mine field. This man had the answers.

  ***

  CB had seen Lauren. He’d called Carl to tell him she was at the bar meeting Lucho. Lu
cho had already murdered someone just to send a message to the Tong. To Lucho, life was worth less than the cost of postage, at least other people’s lives. And here Carl was, ready to make the biggest and most dangerous bust of his career, and Lauren was in the middle of it, with Lucho.

  Carl gently rubbed the sides of his sore nose and looked out the car window. He and Rick were driving on Broadway past Fort Tryon Park, following CB’s cell signal at a distance. Several times, Carl had almost told Rick about CB’s call and everything else. But he couldn’t chance screwing up his entire career or put Rick in the position of knowing—not unless it became a matter of life or death. The situation hadn’t reached that point yet. If all went smoothly, the bust would go down without a shot fired. They had enough manpower to thoroughly overwhelm Arena’s crew and the Tong, making gunplay unattractive even to those ruthless bastards.

  Yet no one was expecting innocent women to be there. You held your fire a lot longer when you knew innocent people were likely to be in the crossfire. Of course, if Lauren and Jessica were there, the troops would assume guilt, not innocence, no matter what Carl said at this point. At least everyone knew to watch out for CB. Maybe they would look before they fired. But an informant wasn’t really innocent in anyone’s eyes either.

  Carl looked down at his Gossamer, homing in on CB’s signal. “Lucho’s with him. They’re about eight blocks northwest.”

  Carl didn’t say the rest of what he was thinking: there were no other cell phones there. That meant Lauren wasn’t with CB and Lucho anymore. Carl felt as if a vice had unclasped his lungs. Whatever she’d been doing at the bar could be over … unless something had happened to her phone.

  Carl pressed the mic on his earpiece, “They’re in Dyckman Park near the Henry Hudson Parkway.”

  “They’re waiting for Arena there,” Rick said.

  “Yeah.”

  “We’re getting feed from the drone, approaching the area now,” a voice said in Carl’s ear. Carl held his breath, waiting to hear what surprises the video might show.