Widows-in-Law

by Michele W. Miller

  Their car sped down a wide two-way street in a gentrified section of Inwood, its sidewalk cafés fallow in the November chill like a farmer’s fields after harvest. They passed parking garages and industrial space on one side of the street and a playground and wooded hills on the other. Carl pulled his nine-millimeter from his shoulder holster. Their car stopped within sight of an overpass that supported the Henry Hudson Parkway above. A half-dozen Bureau cars converged from behind them, all proceeding slowly onto the dead-end street.

  Carl’s ear filled with the woman’s voice again. “The drone’s not showing anything. No one’s here, not outside at least.”

  Carl looked at Rick. “It’s too quiet.”

  Rick nodded.

  The woman’s voice: “We’re going in.”

  Agents ran from their cars, all wearing windbreakers with FBI printed across the front and back. Several agents began looking in the cars parked on the block. As Carl ran, he couldn’t help but notice the lack of luxury cars that Arena, Lucho, and the Tong members would have driven.

  Silently, groups of agents ran forward, swinging around in an arch.

  “Team Three,” responded another female voice, “we have a body, west end of the underpass.”

  “Shit.” Carl ran, hugging the wall of the tunnel, Rick following closely behind him.

  Two agents stood over a corpse, face mangled, jacket open. Under the jacket, the dead man wore an electric blue T-shirt, soaked with blood.

  Rick banged the side of his fist against the brick wall. “It was a setup.”

  Carl felt a moment of gut-wrenching guilt. Then fear settled deep in his spine. Where was Lauren? He grabbed Rick’s arm. “Listen, we’ve gotta find Jorge.”

  “It was a setup. They found out about CB, told him a deal was going down, and killed him. Jorge’s not around.”

  Carl shouted at Rick. “No, man, I was closest to this thing. Lucho said on the audio that they were expecting documents today. Documents is code for money. The weapons are on the move toward Italy. Something’s going down today. We have to grab Jorge now.”

  Rick growled back, “Don’t you get it? We don’t know where he is, and they were probably just suckering CB to get him out here.”

  Carl could feel the stares of the other agents who were starting to gather and mill nearby, waiting for orders. Carl lowered his voice, “Hold on.” He turned to the other agents. “I’ve got something before we toss it in.” Carl went back to the car and entered a number into his Gossamer that he’d noted days ago. Agents gathered near his open door. Adrenaline poured though Carl. He envisioned disaster for himself, but Lauren’s life was more important. The whole thing hadn’t been a setup to sucker CB, or Lauren wouldn’t have been with them today. He looked down. “I’ve got it. I’ve got a signal. Jessup Avenue in the Bronx. It’s a signal associated with Arena.”

  He heard Rick behind him, talking into his radio. “Command, we’re going to follow the signal Carl has and see if we can salvage things.”

  “Ten-four.”

  As Rick started the car, Carl knocked his knuckles in a frustrated rhythm against the passenger window. Rick cast a concerned glance at Carl before he pulled out. Carl ignored him, tense enough to spring through the windshield if he didn’t keep a tight rein on himself. He thought back to the audio they’d heard yesterday. Lucho said the documents were arriving today. The women were delivering the missing money. What other explanation could there be for Lauren’s cell phone signal placing her in the Bronx?

  First Brian Silverman, then Jordan Connors, now CB. By the time the car reached the bridge that would bring them over the Harlem River to the Bronx, Carl was sure the only thing going down today was Lauren, and there might not be a damn thing he could do about it.

  ***

  Jorge Arena was tall and stocky. He looked like kin to Pedro, except Jorge had salt-and-pepper hair and an air of authority and meanness that Pedro lacked. Jorge motioned Lauren toward him and pointed to her attaché. “Is this mine?”

  “Yes.” She stepped forward, willing her hand not to shake as she held it out to him.

  “Good.” He opened the flap and unzipped it. His wiry bodyguard stood close to his side, gun in hand now. Jorge looked inside then held the leather bag out to Pedro. “Cuentalos.”

  “Si.” Pedro took the bag from Jorge. He knelt in a corner and began counting the bonds.

  Now was the time to negotiate, Lauren coached herself. She had to tell Jorge that half the bonds weren’t there before Pedro realized it and told him. She had to let Jorge know where the safe-deposit box was and where he could pick up the key. But before she could say anything, Jessica stepped toward Jorge. He looked curiously at Jessica and scanned her, head to toe, undressing her.

  “Who killed my husband?” Jessica demanded.

  What the hell? What was Jessica doing?

  Jorge laughed, nothing friendly in the sound. “What?”

  “You’ve got your money. Well, I want to know who killed Brian. You killed him or you know.” Jessica’s voice raised. “I’ve been through too much shit to leave here without answers.”

  Jorge shook his head and took a step closer to Jessica. “You are a stunningly stupid woman. Why would I kill your husband? Have you noticed how much trouble his death caused?”

  Lauren glanced nervously back at Pedro. He still counted.

  “Jordan, yes, he had to die.” Jorge waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Mistakes—a few dollars lost, a few questionable hands of poker at my place—okay, but not this caliber mistake. And once we found you, we didn’t need him anymore.” Jorge moved closer to Jessica. “Anyway, my love, the fire was an accident. Your husband was smoking in bed.”

  Jessica stood tall, glaring at Jorge, her face red with fury.

  “Jessica,” Lauren tried to call her back. Lauren had a bad feeling about Jorge confessing Jordan’s murder.

  At the sound of her name, Jessica looked toward Lauren then back at Jorge. “The cigarette they found wasn’t his brand, and his watch was never found.”

  Lauren gaped. Jessica had never told her about the cigarette brand.

  A cruel glint in Jorge’s eyes combined with a sexual leer. “He liked pussy, your husband.”

  Jessica blinked hard, her mouth snapped shut.

  “He was with a puta, one of ours. We always kept an eye on things. He had a beautiful Cuban girl. They had a good fuck. Then she left.”

  Lauren looked back at Pedro. He was still counting—three quarters of the way through the pile. She stepped closer to Jessica, whose eyes glistened. It hadn’t been true—what Jessica said in the car—that nothing Brian did could hurt her anymore.

  “You ever had a cigarette habit?” Jorge asked Jessica without waiting for a reply. “It doesn’t matter what brand you smoke if you run out. He bummed one from my girl and died smoking the wrong brand. There are worse things.”

  Jorge glanced around the women toward the back of the room, checking on Pedro’s progress. Lauren began to speak again, to tell him the bonds were short, but Jorge interrupted. “The missing watch? Your husband trusted women too much, even hookers. He was the kind of moron who thought whores really liked him, that his package was so big and his technique so good that it wasn’t just the money they were after.” Jorge chuckled. “But with hookers, it’s always about the money, always. So, we learned that she took some liberties and stole his watch.”

  Jessica sucked back sobs.

  “We spoke to the girl. After all, your husband was a valued employee. She didn’t know that. But when we spoke to her, she admitted she put something in his drink, and he fell asleep. She took his watch. A Rolex. She said she didn’t notice the cigarette burning. Like Jordan not knowing where to find the money, this mistake won’t happen again.”

  Lauren paused, startled by the news: a prostitute had accidentally killed Brian.


  “Jorge.” From behind her, Pedro spoke fast in Spanish.

  Jorge looked at Jessica then Lauren, his face flushing.

  “We have the other half of the money in safekeeping,” Lauren said more calmly than she felt.

  “Really?”

  “We need to be assured we’ll be safe. This half is for goodwill. The other half is in a safe-deposit box. The key to the box can be picked up at Manhattan Family Court, fifth-floor waiting area. Our person will give you the key when I call and say we’re safe.” Lauren watched Jorge’s face turn nearly a purplish shade, but continued, “Only one more thing. When you go there, leave the guns in your car. You’ll have to pass through a metal detector to get in.”

  Stepping toward Lauren, Jorge snapped at Pedro. “Call Lucho now.”

  Pedro took out his cell phone and punched in numbers. He listened, shook his head. He said something to Jorge in Spanish then dialed again. Jorge nodded nearly imperceptibly to his bodyguard, who grabbed Jessica and put his gun to her temple. Jorge moved in and grasped a handful of Lauren’s hair at the scalp, yanking her toward him. “Stupid whore. You want me to go to a courthouse? Right in front of the police?”

  “Yes.”

  “Call them right now. Call your person. Get them here now!”

  ***

  “Fuck,” Carl spit the curse from his lips as their car had to slow at a red light on the Grand Concourse in the Bronx where crosstown traffic only sluggishly cleared for them despite their flashing lights.

  Rick grabbed Carl’s arm, speaking with a low but demanding intensity, “What’s the problem?”

  Carl wrenched his arm away.

  “Don’t lose your cool, Carl. It’ll be our biggest bust, and we’ll still end up transferred to Antarctica.”

  When the car was moving again, Carl fought with himself for one last moment, breathed in deep and braced himself. “Lauren Davis is out there. It’s her signal on the Gossamer.”

  Rick slammed his palms against the steering wheel. “Goddammit, Carl, I don’t believe—”

  The radio came to life in their ears, a female voice. “This is Command. We’ve got something interesting here. The stingray picked up a call from Pedro Arena’s phone, Jessup Avenue. The same place your Gossamer is sending us. And we’ve got some Tong members on the move too, headed that way.”

  Rick hit the gas, throwing Carl backward against the seat. The woman’s voice spoke in their ears now, sending all the teams to the address. The blood drained from Carl’s face, imagining the brutal Tong with Lauren too.

  As Rick drove, Carl plugged in Pedro’s cell phone identifier into his Gossamer, getting rid of the evidence that he was tracking Lauren. He trusted Rick not to tell. If Carl was lucky, no one would be the wiser that he hadn’t been following Pedro’s signal all along. That would be his last lie. He wasn’t cut out for this shit. His heart beat a rap tempo. He was scared on so many levels.

  Rick glanced at Carl and back at the road. His nostrils flaring, he spoke to Carl, “Spill it, everything.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Jorge threw Lauren into Pedro’s arms. His gun jabbed painfully into her ribs. She tried to reason things out but couldn’t think with Pedro’s hand running up and down her body, frisking her.

  Released by the bodyguard, Jessica began screaming at Jorge, her face red. “You’ll never get the key if you lay a hand on us. I don’t give a fuck what you do, hell will freeze over.”

  Pedro let go of Lauren. Jessica’s shouting filled the room. Arena’s fist crashed against the side of Jessica’s face. She fell. Arena stepped toward her. In that instant, Lauren knew what she had to do. She moved between Jessica and Arena, who looked hard at Lauren. By his shoulder, the sinewy bodyguard released his gun’s safety and pointed it at Lauren’s head.

  Arena pulled out a switchblade and grasped Lauren’s arm. “Call. For six million dollars, I’ll leave you with railroad tracks for a face.”

  Lauren leaned even closer to Arena, the knife’s point touching her cheek. She fixed her eyes on him. “I think not, Jorge.”

  Jorge’s eyes flashed with rage. “What?”

  Remembering herself as the girl who’d cleaned up her dead father’s drug stash, the girl who’d survived in the streets, who’d lived with a killer, who stood up in court every day, she forced her voice out strong. “Have you thought about how we found the bonds?” She stared into his eyes. “Brian was an excellent record keeper. He listed all the corporate shells you used to receive your payoffs from Jordan. And something tells me that’s where you’ve hidden all your money.”

  Jorge’s eyes narrowed.

  Seeing his reaction, Lauren gained confidence, feeling as if she were in a powerful zone despite the knife against her skin. “The bottom line is that I’m not depending on just one person at the courthouse,” Lauren lied. “My attorney will deliver the information to Federal Plaza at five p.m. if Jessica and I don’t show up safe before then. Once the names of the shell companies are exposed, you won’t be able to get the six million or any other money you were putting away for a rainy day. You’ll be broke and on the run from a murder indictment … because the Feds will know exactly who wanted to hurt us and why.”

  Jorge’s mouth closed into a tight slash. The knife point stuck deeper into Lauren’s skin at her cheekbone. A trickle of blood ran down her face. The bodyguard’s gun muzzle aimed at her head.

  She lowered her voice for emphasis, “Tell me, how far will your cash-on-hand get you when you’re hiding in the mountains of DR, paying off every cop, soldier, and politician who happens by? If you get that far.”

  ***

  Emily gripped her burner phone inside her jacket pocket. The Family Court waiting room was filled with people, standing and taking up every seat. She willed her phone to vibrate. She tried not to think of the possibility that she’d never hear her mother’s voice again. She had the strongest urge to run out of the court and find some way to help, but she was keeping her promise and doing exactly what her mother said. Her mother said that she had to keep herself safe—for all their sakes. That meant doing nothing, no matter how hard it was.

  A loud alarm slung Emily to her feet. The crowd reacted in a wave of noise. The court officers fanned out amongst them, flashes of uniforms in concerted movement. A public-announcement system called from above in between alarms, “This is a building-wide evacuation. Please proceed in an orderly manner to the emergency exits. Follow the instructions of court officers and building personnel.”

  The court officers opened stairwell exits. People moved, grabbing their kids and belongings in a fell swoop. A court officer with a megaphone announced over the repeated alarm and the noise of hundreds of families: “No running. Make your way quickly and quietly to the stairwells. No running please.”

  The throng surged toward the stairwells. Emily didn’t see the skinny court officer, Gary, anymore. She hurried toward his courtroom.

  “Miss, Miss,” a short female court officer shouted Emily back. “That area is off-limits. You have to evacuate by the stairs.”

  “But—”

  She sternly guided Emily away. “No buts. To the stairs now. Everyone has to evacuate the building by order of the NYPD.”

  Emily had a dark feeling. Would someone evacuate a whole building just for her? Just to get her outside the courthouse where they couldn’t bring their weapons? For six million dollars? The thought made it hard for her to swallow. She considered hiding in a bathroom, but the officers were watching. And she felt safer in a crowd than left behind by herself. She entered the packed cement stairs, walking downward next to a mother and daughter of elementary school age.

  ***

  The knife penetrated deeper into the skin over Lauren’s cheekbone, the pain intensifying momentarily, then lightening up. Jorge released Lauren’s arm in disgust.

  A series of gunshots thundered. Lauren
jumped back, her heart rappelling up her throat before she realized she wasn’t shot. Jorge spun toward the apartment doorway and pulled out his gun. The bodyguard shouted in rapid Spanish over the noise.

  Jorge yelled back, “Vete, vete.” The bodyguard hit the wall near the doorway, looking out the apartment. He ran into the lobby.

  More shots sounded out there. The percussion, then explosion, of each shot resonated against the walls. Jessica scrambled to her feet, still staggering and bleary-eyed from Jorge’s blow to her head. Lauren grabbed her and spoke near her ear, “Gotta be a robbery, someone knew about the bonds.”

  They backed up, the full significance of a rip-off hitting Lauren. She’d seen the gory news stories of what happened when criminals robbed each other. They didn’t leave witnesses.

  Jorge and Pedro shouted to each other. The shots continued to rumble inside the building, each clap striking closer. Lauren looked around in panic. There was no cover and no place to hide. Jorge leaned against a wall, entirely focused on the entrance to the apartment and beyond.

  Lauren signaled Jessica toward the window opening at the back of the room. If they got the chance, they could jump. It couldn’t be more than a few feet to the ground outside, high enough to break an ankle if they were unlucky, but they had to take the risk.

  Eyes still unfocused, Jessica steadied herself on Lauren but seemed to understand as they inched toward the back of the room. With Jorge’s back to them, Lauren looked around to gauge Pedro’s location. Pedro was a few yards from them, closer to the door. Pedro’s eyes darted around, his gun out. Lauren and Jessica crouched near the back wall, waiting for the gunfight to pull him and Jorge away, so she and Jessica could make their move out the window. They needed only the smallest moment of opportunity. Lauren prayed for just one moment of leeway.

  Gunfire pounded right outside the apartment now. A man screamed. Jorge ran to the door, signaling Pedro to follow. The women scrambled toward the window just as blasts filled the room, one after the next. The women dove to the floor as shots burst from Jorge’s gun. Return fire sprayed Lauren with splinters from a bullet that landed nearby.