Sophie’s Last Stand

by Nancy Bartholomew

  “You witnessed a murder.”

  Nick closed his eyes and nodded. “I didn’t know who it was at the time. I didn’t know what it was worth.” He tried to laugh, but the sound died in his throat. “I would never have done time if I’d known what I had.”

  “Nick, you saw someone murder an FBI agent.”

  “Yes,” he whispered. “I know that now. It was mob—”

  Nick broke off, choking and gasping for breath. Joey touched my arm, his expression close to panic. “Should we call the nurse?”

  Nick stopped coughing as suddenly as he’d started. “Don’t do that. I’m not done.”

  “Nick, maybe you should rest awhile.”

  His eyes widened. “I told you. I don’t have time. I need to tell you the rest.”

  “Nick, who wants the tape? Someone followed you down here, didn’t they?”

  He grimaced, either from the pain or from the effort to talk.

  “I was stupid. I trusted the wrong people. I thought I could sell it to the guy who pulled the trigger, maybe get enough money to leave the country, but Connie double-crossed me.”

  Joey and I had to strain to hear him. His voice was barely loud enough to rise above the quiet hush of the machines that monitored his vital signs.

  “She was supposed to meet me at the gate the day I got out, but the bitch took my car and took off. She was gonna beat me to it.”

  “Where is the tape, Nick? Where did you hide it?”

  Nick smiled. “Where nobody but you would ever find it,” he murmured. “It was too simple, just like ABC, like a kid’s coloring book. I fooled them.”

  His eyes closed and he appeared to be sleeping. Joey frowned down at him and shook his head.

  “What in the hell is he talking about?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s Nick for you, never gives you all the information you need, always holding back something important.”

  Nick’s eyes were open again and he was listening. “I treated you so badly, Sophie,” he whispered. “Don’t worry, Connie paid me back.”

  “Nick, did you kill her?”

  He shook his head.

  “Who did?”

  “I don’t know,” he moaned. “Tony? Kathy? I just don’t know. Sophie, they won’t stop until they have what they want,” he said, his voice pitched high with panic.

  “Nick, who is Kathy?”

  He didn’t seem to hear me.

  “It’s a fucking war, Sophie. Connie was such a fool. You don’t play with the mob, Sophie. They don’t play.”

  “Who, Nick? Who?”

  “Where’s Kathy?” Nick asked suddenly. “She brought me here and then she left. Maybe she killed her.”

  “Kathy who? Nick, who is she?”

  His head dropped back against the pillow and his eyes shut. “May God have mercy on my soul,” he murmured. “I’m going to hell.”

  Joey and I crossed ourselves reflexively and bowed our heads. When I finished, I looked up and found Gray Evans leaning in the doorway. His face was lined with fatigue and there was no warmth in his eyes, no sign that he even recognized me.

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Nick whispered, then lapsed back into unconsciousness.

  I turned to him, reached into my purse for my Rosary beads and touched Joey’s arm. The two of us murmured the familiar words, “Hail Mary, full of grace…” but Nick never responded. He was lost somewhere between our world and the next, scared and in pain.

  I didn’t need the pressure from Ma to pray for Nick’s soul. The forgiveness and compassion came without effort. I reached out and touched his shoulder, as if willing some energy to pass from my body into his. I tucked my Rosary beads up under his pillow and leaned down to whisper into his ear.

  “I’m going to call your brother, Nick. Try and hang on, okay?”

  Nick’s breathing never changed. The heart monitor beeped steadily and without any of the spikes I’d seen earlier. Joey and I bowed our heads, prayed silently for a few more moments and then turned to go. Gray Evans had vanished from the doorway as suddenly as he’d appeared; in his place stood his FBI counterpart, Agent Cole.

  I attempted to walk past her and on toward the elevators, but she moved, putting herself between me and the metal doors. Given our last encounter, I figured she was a slow learner.

  “Move.”

  “I need to know what he told you.” Cole was attempting to stare a hole through me, giving me her best shot at intimidation.

  I stared right back at her and said nothing. I didn’t trust her. Would she still think I was in on it? Agent Cole blinked. “You’d think, after all he’s done to you, that you would want to be more cooperative,” she said finally.

  I pushed my way past her, reaching the bank of elevators just as one slid open. Joey and I stepped inside, half expecting the agent to stop us, and feeling relieved when she didn’t. Joey leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and sighed.

  “I’m just glad you didn’t decide to kick her ass again,” he said. “I’m way too tired to pull you off her, so it would’ve wound up being a homicide. Then Ma would’ve killed me for letting you kill an FBI agent, and Pa would’ve killed somebody, anybody, because he missed the boat on getting Nick.”

  “And all of this because you’re tired?”

  Joey nodded. The elevator doors slid open, discharging us into the front lobby. “Yep,” he said. “That’s family for you. They’ll kill you.”

  I ignored my brother, picked up a pay phone and dialed Nick’s brother’s home number without having to search my memory for it. Some things just stick in your mind without rhyme or reason.

  We returned to an empty house. Joey walked inside with me, checking every nook and cranny, offering to stay if I needed him. I shook my head, smiled and pushed him out the door.

  “The police are watching the house,” I told him, noting the dark circles under his eyes. “I’ve got more dead bolts on the doors now than I had in Philly. Go home. Get some sleep.”

  He was too tired to argue. I stood in the doorway, watching him walk away from me, and was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to see his face just one more time before he left.

  “Joey!” I called.

  He turned, looking alarmed.

  I raised my hand and smiled. “I just wanted to say thank you. I didn’t want you to leave without me saying it.”

  He shook his head, relieved. “Soph, you don’t have to thank me.”

  I looked at my big brother and smiled even though it was all I could do not to cry. “I know that, Joey. What I’m saying is I love you, and given Nick’s condition, and the shock of it all, I think I need you to hear that I love you and I am grateful for all you do for me.”

  Joey didn’t tease me. He nodded and stood there in the driveway, his hand resting on the roof of his car.

  “Joey, there just aren’t any guarantees in life,” I said. “I want to make sure the people I love know how I feel about them.”

  He nodded. “I know, Soph. So tell Gray, all right? I don’t think he knows where he fits with you. I think if he knew, he wouldn’t have a problem with you and Nick. You see what I’m saying?”

  That was Joey, half-dead on his feet and still giving me advice, only now I didn’t mind it at all. My brother was right.

  I nodded. “I’ll talk to him in the morning,” I said. “Right now, I’d better get the FBI off my ass. I’m going to call Agent Cole. At least she can’t arrest me over the phone.”

  Joey lifted his hand, waved it in my general direction and got into his car. A moment later I watched as his taillights vanished around the corner and I was alone again.

  I closed the door, turned the dead bolt and took one last glance out at the street through the living room window. No black sedans. No police cars, either. I wondered where Gray had gone and when he’d return, or even if he’d return. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the door, remembering the way the evening had started.

  The
flood of images rushed up to meet me, cycling rapidly through the evening and ending with FBI Agent Cole’s icy eyes staring at me from the doorway to Nick’s ICU cubicle. I felt tired and numb inside, too tired to figure it all out. All I wanted now was rest.

  Instead, I pulled the FBI agent’s card from my pocket, dialed the number and when she answered, began telling her everything Nick had told me.

  Chapter 14

  The shrill ringing of the phone awakened me at seven the next morning.

  “I took the day off,” Darlene said. “I thought you might need me.”

  I rolled over, phone in hand, and buried myself between two twin piles of pillows. I lay there with my eyes closed, surrounded by the lingering scent of Gray’s cologne. I inhaled deeply and tried to go back to sleep.

  “Sophie!” Darlene yelled. “Wake up! I’m coming over. I’m bringing bagels.”

  I moaned. “Let me sleep, Darlene!”

  “Get in the shower,” she instructed. “I’m leaving my house now. We’ve got to head over to the hospital. What if Nick wakes up and starts talking? What if somebody tries to get to him? Now move it. I’m on my way!”

  The phone went dead and I stayed where I was, breathing Gray and trying to pretend Darlene hadn’t called. But my brain took over, making sleep impossible as it began chugging like a small train climbing Mount Everest. Darlene was right. We needed to get to the hospital. I threw the covers back and sat up.

  On the best days, I am not a morning person. On other days I’m not even certain I belong to the human race. Today I was brain dead and unable to kick-start myself into anything more than a stupor.

  I didn’t bother waiting for a complete pot of coffee to brew, choosing instead to fill my mug from the thick stream of the first part of the brew and cut it with hot water. I wandered back upstairs to take a shower. I stood under the spray with my eyes closed, wishing for another four hours of sleep.

  The water coursed over my body, beating on my back. Slowly I began to put the pieces of yesterday into place. The harsh reality of Nick lying in an ICU bed and not expected to live brought me back to a full awareness of my day’s agenda.

  I heard sounds coming from the kitchen and assumed Darlene had arrived. “Put cream cheese on mine,” I yelled, turning off the water. I stepped out of the tub and turned to grab a fluffy yellow towel. Thinking Darlene might not have heard me, I wrapped a second towel around my body, twisted the first up to cover my hair, and started down the stairs to call to her again.

  “Hey!” I yelled over the banister. Someone was moving in the dining room, opening and closing the drawers of my antique sideboard.

  “The silverware is in the kitchen,” I called. When no one answered me, I continued down the stairs, little prickles of alarm creeping up the back of my neck.

  As I rounded the landing and descended the last four steps, Della walked out of the dining room. Durrell was following her, sniffing at her heels.

  “You didn’t answer the door so me and Durrell came on in to make sure you was all right,” she said. “Need a refill on your coffee?”

  Della looked like she’d been shopping at a thrift store. She was wearing a faded pair of men’s jeans that had to have been two sizes too large, and an oversize cotton dress shirt in a faded shade of burnt orange. Her hair was a rat-tailed mess and she looked like she hadn’t slept at all. But her appearance wasn’t what caught my attention, it was the way she talked. Yesterday, shocked by Pete’s shooting, Della had stopped talking like a country bumpkin. Yesterday, she’d spoken like someone who’d had a good education, and her enunciation had been polished, without a trace of an accent.

  “Help yourself,” I answered, but I watched her, feeling a wave of suspicion waft over me. Why look for a coffee mug in the dining room drawers? “I see Durrell finally turned up,” I said.

  Della looked down at the dog as if she hadn’t realized he was in the room.

  “You haven’t been at the hospital with Pete all this time, have you?” I asked. I realized that in my rush to check on Nick, I’d forgotten all about Pete.

  Again the blank look and another long pause before she answered. “No. I left after his wife got there. I guess I just forgot about the dog. That shootin’ shook me up right much. I just went on home.”

  I nodded and would’ve said more, but Darlene, with her usual good timing, chose this moment to come walking in with a bagful of bagels.

  “Get that dog before he bites me!” she shrieked. Durrell was still standing by Della’s side, showing no signs of movement, but he did grin.

  “He won’t bite you,” I said. I looked down at Durrell. He grinned up at me like this was a big game and he was ready to play. “Go on, Durrell,” I said. “Tell the nice lady how friendly you are.”

  Durrell spun around and growled in Darlene’s direction. She yelped and made a vain attempt to scale the countertop. Della leaned down and yanked on his collar.

  “Come on, mutt,” she said. “We got work to do.” She looked up at me and attempted a smile. “We’ll start on the front yard if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Della,” I said, “you look done in. Why don’t you go home and rest up?”

  She shook her head vehemently. “No, me and Durrell need the money.”

  Durrell sighed, looked up at me and grinned.

  “Dog food, huh?” I asked him.

  “Rent money,” Della answered, and signaled to Durrell. “Come on, mutt.” They walked back through the house and were out the kitchen door before I could offer Della a bagel. Darlene watched her leave and rolled her eyes.

  “I’m telling you, she’s bad news. Bad Karma. She’s a drug addict or something, and just look at that dog. You ever see a dog like that?” Darlene was opening the bag of bagels and pulling out a tub of cream cheese.

  She started rummaging around, opening the kitchen cabinets and drawers and peering at the contents. “You don’t own a toaster?” she asked finally.

  “It’s in the basement with the rest of the kitchen stuff. I didn’t unpack it.”

  Darlene sighed. “What? We’re supposed to eat them raw?”

  “Darlene, they’re not raw. They’re cooked. They’re just not toasted, that’s all. Use the oven.”

  Darlene straightened up from her inspection of my drawers and cabinets; in her hand was a pink piece of paper.

  “Okay,” she said. “You want proof she’s on drugs? Look at this.” She extended her arm and shoved the paper in my direction. It was one of the flyers Della had printed up to advertise her home repair business.

  “Look,” Darlene said, “she didn’t even put her phone number on it. If you were a potential client and you did want to hire her, how would you find her?”

  I stared at the paper and then back at Darlene. “Okay, so she’s not a rocket scientist. At least she works hard when she’s here. That’s all I ask.”

  Darlene was slathering cream cheese on a cinnamon raisin bagel. “How would you know?” she asked. “She’s always taking someone to the hospital. She can’t work a day without someone getting hurt or shot at.”

  I frowned at my sister. “That’s not her fault,” I said, but a flicker of doubt sparked and kindled into suspicion. What had Della been looking for when I’d come downstairs?

  Darlene turned around, a smear of cream cheese dotting her nose. “Oh, isn’t it? You ever think it’s her karma attracting all that negative energy?”

  I shook my head and started toward the bag of bagels. There was definitely something strange about Della and now I was beginning to worry about it.

  “That girl wouldn’t have a job working anywhere if she hadn’t been walking down the street and bumped smack into you.” Darlene laughed. “She probably spotted you from a block away and said, ‘There’s a sucker—let’s go get her to hire us.’”

  “Darlene, that’s cruel.”

  My sister rolled her eyes again and bit down on her bagel. For a moment there was silence as she chewed, then she was at it again.


  “I know people,” she mumbled, her mouth full of bagel, “and I’m telling you, I don’t trust her.” She held up her hand like a traffic cop, warding off any further discussion of Della’s karma. “Never mind about her for now. We have bigger fish to fry.”

  Durrell interrupted us, barking like a maniac as someone opened the screen door and stepped up onto the back porch.

  “Well, at least you got a doorbell out of the deal,” Darlene grumbled.

  I stood up, expecting Joey or Pa, and found Gray standing in the back doorway. He looked like hell. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, he needed a shave and his clothes were wrinkled, like he’d slept in them, or worse, not slept at all.

  “I wanted to let you know we caught the two men who hit your car last night,” he said. His tone was terse and clipped, as if issuing a report to a hostile press. “Danny Cassiano and Mel Turantino. Those names ring any bells?”

  I shook my head. “Should they?” I asked.

  Gray shrugged, noticed Darlene and nodded to her before turning back to answer me. “They’re from South Philadelphia,” he said. “They’ve got arrest records as long as your arm. I talked to the police up there. They said both men work for the Lombardo crime family. They’re mob-connected enforcers. All their arrests are on assault charges, but nothing ever seems to stick, or if it does, the most they’ve ever gotten is probation.”

  “Did they say this Lombardo sent them?”

  Gray’s expression was completely devoid of any emotion. “They’re not talking, so we’re working it from the Philadelphia angle.”

  “That would be you and Agent Cole?” A wave of unexpected jealousy swept through me. I had become an outsider. He was now keeping details to himself, sharing them with her and treating me like a civilian, or worse, perhaps a suspect.

  “Yeah,” Gray answered. “Cole said you called her about Nick.”

  He didn’t thank me for passing on the information, or apologize for thinking I only wanted to see Nick because I once loved him, but his tone had softened.