It was now or never. I lowered my voice and leaned toward her. “Mrs. Snider, they will never let him go. That’s how they work. More than 70,000 people have been killed since this drug war started in Mexico. And it’s not going to stop. It certainly won’t stop by your husband helping them get their money.”
When she didn’t answer, I stood. “If this is what you want—if you want your husband in prison, or dead and your kids without a father—or dead—then keep doing what you’re doing. If not, I’m your last chance to set it straight.”
She sat at the table, shaking. And crying. I recognized something in her face. I leaned down and rested my hand on her shoulder. “Mrs. Snider, what’s wrong? What happened?”
She grabbed a Kleenex and wiped her eyes, and her nose. And she kept shaking her head as if in denial.
“Tell me,” I said.
“There’s nothing to tell,” she managed to get out.
“The look on your face says differently. You can’t lie to me; I’ve seen that look before.”
“What look are you talking about?” She was taking an aggressive, defiant stance now.
I opted to take a chance. “The one that tells me that someone did something to you. The look that comes from inside of you. From your soul.”
She looked at me but said nothing. I took hold of her hands and looked into her eyes. “I know. I see it every single day when I look in the mirror.” That was difficult for me to say, and I had to fight to keep from shedding tears, but it felt good to get it out.
She sat straighter in the chair, and she squeezed my hands back. “You know?”
I hesitated before saying anything else. I almost didn’t go on, but I figured this might be the only way to get through to her. “Six months ago, I was raped. Almost killed.”
“Oh my God! How?”
“It happened on the job. A serial killer—”
She gasped. “The one here in Houston? The one who cut off the lips?”
I nodded. “If it weren’t for my partner, I’d be dead.” A few tears escaped, and for the millionth time, I silently thanked Tip for my life. “The truth is, Mrs. Snider, there have been so many days since then that I wished I were dead. Every morning for months, I looked in the mirror and said, ‘Why me, God? Why did this happen to me?’”
“Does it get better?” she asked.
“With help, it does. With the right kind of help.”
We talked for hours after that. She told me what had happened at the warehouse and what Carlos had said about their daughters. It was all I could do to keep from rushing out to shoot Carlos, but I was determined to do this the right way. I would never resort to doing things like Uncle Dominic.
“Patrick and I have fought about this,” she said. “He’s convinced we have to do what that man said.”
I took hold of her hand and squeezed. “Listen closely. I’m not going to tell you this is easy. Or that we can protect you and everything will be fine. It won’t be. The truth is, something shitty happened to you, like catching cancer or having a car accident. It’s not nice. It’s not fair. But that’s the way it is. And there’s only one way out of it.”
She seemed to be listening, so I continued. “We can get you protection, but it’s not fun either. It sucks. They’ll make it seem good for a while, but you have to make a new life, and you won’t be able to do the things you used to do. Your names will change, even your first names. Your husband can’t be a banker, so he’ll have to learn new skills. And you won’t make nearly as much money.”
“Oh, God. Why did this happen to us?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You can’t ask that question because there is no answer. It’s no different than saying ‘Why did God give me cancer?’”
She broke into tears again. “I’m scared,” she said. “Scared for my girls.”
I ached for this woman. She had been through so much, yet I could tell that her fear for herself was nothing compared to the primal fear for her daughters. I didn’t have kids. I couldn’t know that feeling, but I understood it on a different level.
I hugged her. “I’m going to help you get through this. You’ll be all right.”
She gave me a squeeze and then stood tall. “What do we have to do?”
“Press charges against Carlos Cortes. We can’t arrest him unless you do.”
She remained silent for a moment, but then she nodded. “I’ll do it.”
When I looked into her eyes, I saw determination. This was a strong woman, and she was ready to fight.
Chapter 39
A Safe House
I stood in the foyer and reminded Cathy Snider of what she had to do, and what she absolutely couldn’t do. On the had-to side was pack clothes and necessities for her and the kids. I told her to plan on a minimum of three to four nights’ worth. Necessities meant things like toothbrushes and prescription medications. It didn’t mean video games or a coffee maker.
She also had the onerous task of instructing her husband to do the same—after explaining what was going on. Cathy said he’d fight the decision tooth and nail, but she had made up her mind, and she promised me they’d go through with it. I believed her.
On the absolutely-couldn’t-do side, were the taboo items of all witness protection work, even the very early stages. Once the process started, she couldn’t call anyone. Not her mother, or sisters, or best friends. And she couldn’t tell the neighbors she’d be gone, let alone where she was going. The same rules applied to the kids. No friends were to know. No cell phones were allowed. No computers to check email or surf the internet. When the time came, we’d get them disposable phones to make a few calls. And when that time came, the FBI would take over and slap a whole new set of rules on them.
I didn’t like thinking of what they’d go through in the witness protection program, but I felt good about having done my best to explain it to her. I certainly hadn’t painted a rosy picture.
“What’s the procedure from here?” she asked.
“We’ll get the forms for you to press charges. We’ll put you, Mr. Snider, and the kids in a safe house, and then we’ll arrest him.”
“You’ll arrest all of them?”
“We can certainly get Carlos and Roberto. We may need a lineup though.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Cathy said. “I’ll recognize them. There’s no way I’d forget what he looks like.”
I knew exactly what she meant. I still had the image of that maniac who’d attacked me burned into my memory. His face, his smile, and especially his eyes.
“It will take us a day or so to get the safe house approved and set up. In the meantime you can prepare. Do everything I told you. Think positive. And call me if you need to, any time day or night. I sleep with the phone on my nightstand.”
She gave me a hug. “I think I’ve got it, Connie. Everything as normal until we hear from you.”
“Right,” I said. “Send the kids to school. Make sure Patrick goes to work as usual and does nothing differently. Do whatever you normally do. I’ll get the house set up, and, once you’re safe, we’ll arrest that son of a bitch.”
“I hope so,” she said.
We covered everything one more time, and then I said goodbye. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked.
“As good as can be expected,” she said. “All except for the girls. I’m so worried about them.”
I gave her a hug, and said, “They’ll be okay. I promise.”
She smiled, and then I walked to my car.
It had been a good visit, a productive one. Not only did I convince Snider to cooperate, I thought I’d helped her get on the road to recovering from her own incident. On top of it all, I felt as if I’d helped myself. It was the first time I’d opened up to a stranger about what happened, and it had the surprising benefit of making me feel better. The only thing that still worried me was the same thing that worried Cathy Snider—her girls. If something happened to them, I’d die.
I started my car and d
rove off, waving bye as I pulled onto the street. I thought about Uncle Dominic and how he must have been scared for me so many times. The time when he was arrested, and he worried over what would happen to me if he went to prison. Or when he was shot during the war with the other families, and he worried about leaving me alone in the world. I’d never thought about life from his end, only that he was a disgrace, a mobster, a killer. I’d never thought about him being a loving uncle or someone who cared for me, loved me.
If I was certain of anything in life it was that: for all of his faults, Dominic Mangini loved me more than anything in the world. I could feel it when he kissed my cheek. Heard it in his words, in the way his voice changed when he said ti voglio bene. And most of all, I could see it in his eyes, the way they sparkled when he looked at me. He had always been so proud of everything I did.
I shook my head to clear the thoughts. If I didn’t watch out, I’d be an emotional mess, and I couldn’t afford a chink in my Brooklyn armor.
I got back to thinking about Cathy Snider. I empathized with her on several fronts, and that empathy ignited a fire in my soul. I’d made a vow to uphold the law when I got this badge, yet I wanted nothing more than to kill Carlos Cortes. To walk right up to him, stick my gun in his face, and pull the trigger. Some people didn’t deserve to live. Uncle Dominic taught me that years ago. I never believed him until today.
“People don’t have a right to live,” he always said. “They have to earn that right.”
Uncle Dominic and the Constitution didn’t see eye to eye on that issue. In the past, I’d sided with the Founding Fathers, but now I wasn’t sure. I felt that I could justify making an exception in Carlos’ case.
No way does he have a right to live.
As I waited at the traffic signal a few blocks from the Sniders’ house, I happened to glance to the side. A man driving a blue Hyundai Sonata sped off through the parking lot. The driver looked like Fabrizio. I shivered, and a warm feeling raced through me.
Mother of God! What the hell is wrong with me?
It was bad enough that I dreamt about him; now I was seeing him during the day.
I need to find a lover.
It was a twenty-minute drive back to the station, and by the time I was halfway there, I’d convinced myself a dozen times that the guy in the Sonata couldn’t have been Fabrizio. But I dreamt it was him a couple of dozen more. Either way, I knew that somewhere in Texas there was a drop-dead gorgeous man-tiger who was probably prowling the streets after dark looking for me. And Bon Jovi was likely with him. Fortunately, the phone rang and brought me to my senses.
“What’s up, Tip?”
“Did you do any good?”
“Hope so. I convinced Mrs. Snider to press charges. Whether that’s good or not remains to be seen.” I filled him in on what happened to her at Carlos’ warehouse.
“That motherfucker,” Tip said. He didn’t often say the F word in front of me, but when he got pissed, he did. And whenever someone hurt a woman, child, or animal, Tip got really pissed.
“I feel the same way.”
“Are you on your way in?” he asked.
“Yeah. I should be there in ten minutes.”
“I’ll see you when you get here, and we’ll figure out what to do.”
I arrived a few minutes late. Tip was waiting with coffee. I could have kissed him—if he hadn’t been Tip.
“Let’s see Coop,” he said. “She’ll have to approve everything, and we’re probably going to need help from the FBI with witness protection.”
“Agreed. If anybody needs witness protection, it’s the Sniders. Even after Carlos is in prison, I don’t think they’ll be safe.”
We got in to see Coop right away. I filled her in on what had happened with Mrs. Snider, and Tip reminded her that we still had suspicions of a leak somewhere, but we didn’t know where.
“What kind of leak?” she asked.
“We’ve had too many instances of this mystery woman, who we now believe to be El Terrible, being one step ahead of us. And we know that Carlos has a lot of connections.” Tip paused before adding, “And you know about Stenson.”
Coop’s glare focused on Tip. “As far as the department is concerned, we know nothing about Stenson.”
Before Tip could piss her off, I interrupted. “Captain, we’re concerned about Carlos. He’s got powerful connections and unlimited money. We’d like to get the Sniders into a safe house as soon as possible, and then execute an arrest warrant for Cortes and the other men at the warehouse.”
“Where are you thinking of putting them?” Coop asked.
“None of the new sites,” Tip said. “Do we still have some old houses we haven’t used in a while?”
Coop leaned back in her chair and unwrapped a mint to chew on. “I’m not sure. I can’t think of any, but there must be some.” She leaned forward and hit the intercom.
“Yes, Captain?”
“See if Delgado’s in the house. I want him in here now.”
“What’s Delgado got to do with it?” I asked.
“He’s been here longer than any of us,” Coop said. “If anybody knows the old safe houses, it’ll be him.”
For a few minutes, we discussed the FBI and what their role would be. Coop wanted to keep it to a minimum, but once you called for federal help, you usually had to take the baggage that came with it.
Ribs walked in a few minutes later. “You wanted me?”
“Have a seat,” Coop said. “We were discussing Tip and Connie’s case with the Sniders. They need a safe house, and we’re reluctant to use any of the well-known ones.”
It didn’t take Ribs long to come up with a solution. “I know the perfect spot,” he said. “Remember that place we used in Jersey Village?”
Tip sat up straight. “Yeah. The one by Jones Road. I’d forgotten about that.”
Delgado snapped his fingers. “That’s the one.”
Tip hit the desk. “It’s perfect, Coop. We haven’t used it in years. And it’s a decent house with good access to major roads.”
“Let’s wrap it up,” Coop said. “I’ll get approval from the Chief. Have Julie dig out the paperwork. It will need to be cleaned and prepared, and we need it done fast. I want them in by tomorrow night.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Tip said. “If we’re lucky.”
I left Coop’s office in a good frame of mind. Things were moving; we were getting closer to putting that prick Carlos behind bars. We filled Julie in on what needed to be done. She asked Herb to set up a cleaning operation, Charlie was responsible for the keys, and Julie would handle the mounds of paperwork to make sure it never entered the system—a near-impossible task.
I didn’t get home until almost eleven that night, which left me enough time to take a hot bath, eat a frozen pizza, and say a prayer before crawling into bed. I seldom prayed but found that since my incident, I had taken to it more. This time it wasn’t for me, though; it was for the Sniders. I hated what I was doing to them, but it was the right thing.
I hope.
Chapter 40
Alligator
The alarm went off at seven o’clock. I wasn’t ready for it, but I hopped out of bed and headed into the kitchen, eager for my morning coffee but anxious about what lay ahead. While waiting for the water to boil, I emptied the dishwasher and checked off my to-do list on a mental calendar.
We needed a warrant, but Coop was taking care of that. Julie and her crew were handling the safe house, and the Chief and Coop would contact the FBI. As I sipped life’s liquid, also known as espresso, I realized that I had nothing I had to do. That revelation made my day brighter, so I decided to call Cathy Snider.
“Hello?” Her voice sounded tense.
“Cathy, it’s Connie Gianelli. Everything okay?”
She sighed. “As good as it can be. The girls are getting ready for school, and Patrick already left for work.”
“How are you holding up?”
“Better. Patrick and
I talked last night. He didn’t want to go through with this, but after I told him all of the things you said, he agreed that we have to.”
“You’re doing the right thing,” I said.
“I hope so,” she said. “Patrick is sacrificing a lot. We’re all sacrificing a lot. I can’t imagine what the girls will do when they find out. Especially Trish.”
“It’s always tougher on the older ones,” I said. “The funny thing is that I don’t know if it ever gets easier. When I moved here from Brooklyn…well, let’s say I almost didn’t move here.”
“The Lord will provide,” she said, as if in prayer. “Detective, I need to help the girls get ready. I’m sure we’ll talk later.”
“You bet we will. We should have things ready today. After your husband gets off work, we’ll eat a nice dinner somewhere and get you settled into the new place.”
“Is it nice?” Cathy asked. “The place we’ll be staying at, I mean.”
I wanted to tell her yes, even though I hadn’t seen it. Instead, I told her the truth. “I doubt it’s anything like you’re accustomed to. But it’s only temporary.”
“All right. I’ll see you tonight.”
“I’ll call when we’re ready,” I said, and hung up. For a minute I sat and did nothing. I felt sorry for her, not only for what Carlos did to her, but for what I was about to do to her and her family. Their lives would never be the same.
***
El Terrible was up before dawn. She put on her jogging suit then headed out for a two-K run. The house she used was in the type of neighborhood where men left for work dressed in suits, carrying their laptops or tablets in a leather briefcase. The type of neighborhood where the men leered at her and would do unspeakable things to her—if they thought they could get away with it. If there was one thing El Terrible was certain of, it was that none of these men could get away with it.
It didn’t take her long to crank out the two-K, and afterward she returned to the house, showered, opted for orange juice instead of coffee, and then made a hearty breakfast—eggs with peppers and onions, and bacon with toast. El Terrible was never one to shy away from good food. When she ate well, she had to work harder to maintain her figure, which meant she stayed in better shape. At least on the outside. What it was doing to her insides, she didn’t know. But she didn’t worry about her insides; she never figured she’d live long enough for that to matter.
Bullet From Dominic Page 21
