On The Black: (A CIA Thriller)

by Theo Cage

  Sergio headed off down the mall, reluctant to leave his valuable discovery with dim-witted muscle. But collecting was his job and he didn’t want to piss off his uncle who expected the money on time every single day, seven days a week.

  Nello ambled over to the bookstore next door and loitered by a bookrack, keeping one eye on the girl with the cool eyes. He wanted badly to get closer, but he was also getting a chill buzz. Sergio had said Feds. So they could be watching her too right now. He couldn't help but imagine that the mall was full of undercover cops. He was so distracted by invisible enemies that he missed her looking at her cell phone for the time and disappearing into the crowd.

  Nello could hardly breathe when he looked back at the brick wall. Sergio had found a witness purely by luck in a crowded mall - a girl the Ruffinos were willing to pay major bucks for. And then he had lost her in a heartbeat. It wasn't like the mall was chock-o-block with great looking blondes either. How did she disappear like that? Had she made him? That thought caused sweat to begin pouring down his sides. Sergio might be the type of guy who prefers beating a guy to a pulp. But based on what he knew, Enzo was more direct. All the Capos had their own style. Some preferred a bullet to the back of the neck. Others went with tradition - they cut off your dick and fed it to you till you choked. But Enzo was known to like shotguns. The rumor was it made identifying the victim almost impossible once he was done. One to the head. One to each hand. One to the crotch. No prints and no dental records.

  Nello had a fifty-fifty decision to make. She could go East or West. Because East was away from him, he assumed she went towards the Sears store. But he couldn't see any indication anywhere of a blond head. But think, Nello. All she had to do was pull off the band and shake her head once and she would look like a completely different woman.

  The store had two major exists. If he could get Sergio to watch the other, he could race to the Sears entrance and hopefully catch her when she left. She couldn't stay in the mall forever. She had to leave eventually.

  CHAPTER 57

  Chicago

  AS MUCH AS HE WANTED, Rice knew there were things about him he could never change.

  The instant he began to follow the made-man in the sharkskin suit, he reverted instantly to hunter mode. Once on mission, the training automatically took over. He had to make a conscious effort to control his body language. He had to remember to stand straight, to look like any other shopper in the mall and not to crouch like a predator. Regardless, all of his senses were locked onto Mr. Sharkskin.

  There was a good chance the gangster was not alone. A mobster, depending on his rank, could be working the mall today, or just looking for a new pair of shoes. What little Rice knew about these guys, based on some training he had taken years before, told him they tended to work in pairs. Today he couldn’t see any indication of a partner.

  Sharkskin had made a call when Addie caught his attention and hadn’t touched his phone since. His hands were empty. It would seem to Rice, if the guy was waiting for an immediate call back, he would keep his phone at the ready. So the picture he had sent had another purpose then. But what? Was he keeping a collection of pictures he took of women on the street? Who could fathom someone who chose this line of work?

  Of course you could just as easily say the same for Rice. So they were even on that count.

  Sharkskin was taking his time. He was idly looking in windows and checking out the merchandise carts in the aisles. Rice could see no sign of recognition from others; no nodding or smiling responses from the store owners or workers. Rice watched as a security guard walk past the hood without so much as a glance -like Sharkskin was invisible, which he wasn’t. He clearly stood out in the crowd with his arrogant stride and shiny summer suit. That made him either harmless or extremely dangerous, depending on your point of view.

  Sharkskin entered the food court at this point, gave a nod to two other men sitting at a table with coffees and sat down. Rice acted like someone trying to decide what fast food to inhale as he watched them from a distance. That was when Rice figured out what Sharky did for a living. The two men handed him their wrapped sandwiches, which he picked up in one meaty hand. But if you looked closely, you could see the wrappings contained something else. Money. He was a loan shark. Or at least managed the loan shark business within the mall.

  The gangster rose up from the table then, a stern look on his face, and headed for the exit. Rice followed him outside into the parking lot, where he put on a pair of shades. Rice knew, with absolute certainty at that point, the mobster was heading to his Cadillac. Black if he had to guess. Probably vanity plates.

  Sharkskin walked out to the furthest row in the lot where he reached into a pocket and pressed a button on his key fob. The lights on a Cadillac CTS4 flashed. Rice was close behind him now. So close he could smell his aftershave.

  As Sharkskin slowed to open the door, Rice slid around him, as if to pass, reached into the man’s jacket and pulled out the gun the goon had strapped under his armpit. Sharkskin tried to turn, a look of mean surprise on his face, but Rice pushed the barrel into the ribs surrounding his heart. The goon’s cologne was overpowering at this point - like an Old Spice flash bang.

  “Nice suit,” Rice said, pushing the tip of the gun hard enough into his rib cage to cause an ugly bruise.

  Sharkskin said nothing for a second, scanning Rice’s eyes. Looking for a weakness.

  “You’re fucking dead,” was all he said, his arms at his side.

  “I hear that a lot,” Rice said. “But here I am. After all these years.” They made an interesting couple, standing by the loan shark’s car, Rice’s hand inside man’s suit. Luckily there was no one within a hundred yards of them.

  “I’m going into your pockets now,” said Rice. “Make a move and I’m going to make giant gaping hole in your chest and get blood all over this sexy jacket of yours. It’ll never come out. Blood’s like that. Okay?”

  Sharkskin blinked. He never took his eyes off Rice, a pretty solid indicator that he wasn’t waiting for a partner or backup.

  Rice removed the two bricks of cash. It was hard to estimate the value. They were old and well used bills. He piled them up on the roof of the car. Sharkskin took his eyes off Rice for the first time, following the money. The cash clearly mattered to him as much as his life. Rice figured that was good to know.

  “Your boss won’t be happy when you don’t show up with these,” Rice said.

  Sharkskin narrowed his eyes, the first drops of perspiration forming on his forehead. They were standing in the noonday sun, but it was more than the heat that was making the gangster sweat. Sharkskin was likely considering the ramifications of showing up at the Saturday evening rendezvous empty-handed.

  “Do you know who you’re fucking with here?” he growled. “You won’t live twenty-four hours to spend that money.”

  “I’m not spending it, asshole. I’m trading,” said Rice.

  “Trading what?”

  “I need information.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yeah. I checked you out on ancestry dot com. I think my grandfather fucked your mama on your daddy’s side.”

  “I am so going to enjoy cutting off your balls and feeding them to my Rottweiler.”

  “Rottweiler? Really. I saw you more as a Pekinese kind-of-guy.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I saw you taking pictures of women in the mall. Why?”

  Sharkskin’s eyes went wide for just a fraction of a second. “I didn’t take pictures. I took one picture. And what’s it to you?”

  “See that money on the roof of your car? You give me the right answers, you get it back. If not, I go into the mall and start showering it down from the second floor balcony. That’ll be fun to watch.”

  Sharkskin let out an angry breath of air. “Someone is looking for a girl that looks a lot like her.”

  “Who?” Rice asked.

  “None of your fucking business.”

&nbs
p; Rice pushed the barrel harder. Sharkskin was going to have a nasty purple bruise just above his left nipple. The mob guy winced, tried to step back, but there was no place to go. The shiny black Cadillac made a great backstop. “Why are they looking for her?”

  “I don’t know, buddy. All I know is someone is paying a shit load of cash to locate a chick that looks a lot like the one I saw in the mall.”

  “Then why did you leave her there. What happens if she’s the one they want?”

  Shark guy smiled. “My partners staked her out. They probably have her now. And if I don’t call them soon, things won’t go well for her.”

  CHAPTER 58

  Chicago, Illinois

  ADDIE HAD BEEN ON THE RUN for so long now, it was automatic to never let her guard down. She wore sunglasses constantly, but made the mistake of removing them in the change room at Jean Junction. Then she forgot to put them back on when she walked over to Rice.

  The clerk in the store had given her that look - there's something different about you, but I can't quite put my finger on it - and Addie had ignored it. She walked into a crowded mall flashing those weirdo eyes of hers for everyone to see. She might as well be prancing around naked with a sign on her that said CALL ENZO RUFFINO and his phone number. What were the chances of being made by a member of organized crime in a crowded mall on a Thursday afternoon? Well, this was Chicago wasn't it? The home of the mob. The famous site of the Valentine's Day Massacre.

  Addie was standing against a brick wall, very much like the one the mob used in the massacre, feeling more and more nervous by the second. Rice had looked pretty serious, and he didn't even know her background. He was just paying attention to some loser he thought looked dangerous. A stereotypical goon, shiny suit and all. Did Enzo have her picture up on the Mafia's Facebook page? Did organized crime even use social media?

  She stopped chewing her gum, noticing a guy by the bookstore that kept shooting her glances. He looked strong enough to tear a paperback in half. Shit. So she waited until he turned his head for a second and slid up behind a family of four who looked like they were hurrying to a show at the Cineplex. She undid her ponytail and slouched to appear as short as possible. She kept behind them as they drifted past the bookstore. It felt wrong to move towards the thug in the store, but she remembered what Rice had said.

  “Never do what they expect you to do.” It seemed like solid advice. Even though it came from a part-time truck driver who struggled every time he needed to find sixth gear.

  Just past the bookstore, she peered over her shoulder and saw the goon twist his head back and forth. He looked panic stricken. Good. Then he headed away from her through the flow of afternoon shoppers and for some reason, she felt a bloom of anger. Here she was again, on the run, hiding, dodging, head down like a refugee from justice. And why? Because Enzo Ruffino had made her his sick personal hobby?

  Addie surprised herself then by turning on her heels and heading in the direction of the thug. She felt her hands bunch up into fists. She was curious about this guy and where he was going. And she was tired of running. And she was pissed.

  She found herself speeding up, focused on the back of his muscled neck and the tats peeking up through his crewneck. A body builder. Probably a guy who administered punishment. She’d seen these guys. Exactly like the ones who had killed her mom and dad and then lit her brother on fire. Bulky monsters with massive biceps and eyes bright with steroids. They sickened her.

  She was almost on his heels now. He was racing for the other side of the mall, obviously believing she was headed for the north exit.

  The people traffic around her started to slow. Addie could see an escalator ahead; part of a bank of several she and Rice had used to climb to the third floor earlier in the day. This one dropped two floors, a long steep steel corridor. She hung back for a second, pushing back on people behind her. She watched the goon approach the first step and pause, his eyes down on his cell phone, dialing a number. She rushed him then, focusing all her pent up anger into one furious push, high up on his shoulders.

  Nello grunted and pitched forward, his phone slipping out of his hands. When he grabbed for the cell, he missed an opportunity to break his fall and landed on the moving steps with his head and rolled. Addie watched, amazed at what she had done, holding back the shoppers behind her. Someone cried out in horror, another shopper moaned. The goon kept rolling.

  “He groped me!” Addie yelled, and people turned their faces to her. Someone applauded. The thug was now lying on his back, his legs spread out, hardly moving. He had taken a punishing hit to the head. But Addie wasn’t finished. She sprinted down the escalator and leaped up over the goon’s head and came down hard on his thigh with both high-heeled boots. Nello rolled up like a spring, both hands reaching for his groin, his eyes straining to open and his mouth agape.

  Addie leapt up over the mobster and continued down the stairs to the main floor, escaping through the revolving doors into the sunshine.

  She hoped the message would get back to Ruffino. She wasn’t anyone’s victim anymore.

  CHAPTER 59

  Scottsdale, Arizona

  ENZO RUFFINO WAS NEVER going to be seen sitting in the back seat of his Lexus SUV texting one of his goomahs. He had better things to do than chat with his girlfriends. Besides, he thought playing with a smart phone all the time made a guy look weak - like a baby sucking on a soother. If he needed to make something happen, he was surrounded by soldiers more than willing to get things done. A phone was for making phone calls, for getting business taken care of. If he wanted to play, he had a collection of shotguns hidden in the trunk under the spare tire that were far more entertaining than checking out the Twitter-verse.

  Enzo’s driver today was Tony, his nephew; a very serious young man with a wolf tattoo on his neck. The wolf always seemed to be staring at Enzo, who was sitting in the back seat, protected by several layers of bulletproof glass and armored side-panels. Ever since Tony was five his mother was convinced the kid had eyes in the back of his head. And Enzo was pretty sure of it too. It felt good to have a soldier like that on his payroll. Tony, the Wolf. A guy who could see everything.

  Sitting in the front passenger seat was ‘Snake’ - another nephew. Enzo couldn’t even recall how he got the name, but it didn't matter. The boy had a hair trigger mind. Tell him to break someone’s legs and before you’ve even got the words out, you could hear the crunch of tibia.

  That was the secret to making money in the garbage business - having great people around you.

  It was Snake who handed his cell phone to Enzo over the back of his seat.

  “This who you’re looking for, boss?”

  Enzo shed his sunglasses. The picture on the tiny screen wasn’t perfect, a bit blurry and dark. But he recognized the girl’s face immediately. And though hard to make out, if this capo in Chicago said she had two different colored eyes, then it had to be Addie.

  “Who took the picture?” Enzo asked.

  “Sergio Falco. A runner for the Benno family.”

  “Does Sergio know that if he loses this girl, I’m going to give his territory to my grandmother and bury him in my fucking backyard.”

  “I’ll make sure he understands, boss.”

  “Do that. I’ve been hunting this girl for years. I lose her again and I’m going to take out my frustrations on whoever is nearest.”

  Snake was already dialing. He sat with his phone tucked up under his ear for far longer than it should take to reach the grease ball in Chicago. He tried dialing again.

  “This guy hits the jackpot of all time, and then he can’t be bothered to pick up his phone? I’d say that was not a good omen,” said Enzo, straightening his cuffs.

  “Maybe he’s got it turned off. Like he doesn’t want to reveal his position or something,” offered Snake.

  Enzo shook his head. “Let me tell you about his position. Ass up and head down in a shallow grave somewhere. That’s what his position will be if he fucks this up
.”

  CHAPTER 60

  Washington D.C.

  SUMNER NEVER EXPECTED to make it to the restaurant in D.C. in one piece. Guys like these special ops agents working freelance were jacked up on politics and high on personal duty. They would try their damndest to take him out before he had a chance to eat lunch. Luckily for Sumner they had no idea where he was coming from. He texted Trent from a burner, a cheap pay-as-you go phone he bought at Circuit City and was now lying in a dumpster in Missoula.

  The restaurant Trent had picked was JoJo’s, a good choice, but it didn't really matter. Nobody was meeting there anyway. Global Imperatives probably already had the place surrounded.

  Sumner gave his contact the bad news about the change in plans forty minutes before noon.

  “No lunch today. I'm sitting on a bus bench at the corner of Fourth and Brant in Edgewood. And check this out. Six security cameras. The locals here are scared shitless just to walk past this corner. And actively monitored. So if you decide to go Navy Seal on my ass, which has happened before, smile while you're doing it.”

  Trent was there in less than fifteen. He sat down on the bench and looked at the people across the street filling up their gas tanks at the Shell station. Then his shoulders relaxed slightly. Sumner saw that as a good thing.

  “Where's Rice?” Trent asked.

  “Rice?” Sumner felt like smiling. Point one in the match. He has a game going here. And he had a name he didn’t have before. Rice. Obviously the pilot.

  “We tracked him with side-view radar when he took off from that turnoff at Whiskey Gulch,” answered Sumner. That was mostly fabricated, but close enough to be believable. Forty agents were sent into the gentrified farmland south of Bismarck where they suspected Addie had landed. But they didn’t find anyone. They were aware of another group operating in the same area. If it was Global Imperatives, this meeting was proof they were no more successful than the FBI.