Beyond Blue

by Austin S. Camacho

  Gorman didn’t respond right away, but he walked around behind Gunny and looked over his shoulder while he moved the cursor to zero in on a flashing light. The light pulsed on a grid that overlaid a Manhattan map. Gunny zoomed in on the map until only nine blocks fit on the monitor screen.

  “There he is, boss. Not far from here in Chinatown.”

  “Good,” Gorman said, his voice filled with resolve. “You wanted to know what we were going to do. We’re going to get your boy out. Now. Call us a cab, Gunny, and let’s go face Lucania’s demons with him.”

  Alex Brooks waved his long arm and Amy scurried into the living room. She almost dove onto her mother on the sofa, hugging her close. Alex turned to face them. Francine pulled her daughter to one side so she could see her husband’s eyes.

  Chastity moved her left hand to the window and pushed. This window was designed to slide to the side to open. A small push told her it was unlocked. She continued to slide it to her right. As it opened she could hear the conversation inside more and more clearly.

  “Alex, please,” Francine said. “Put that thing away. You don’t want to shoot anybody.”

  “She’s my daughter, for God’s sake,” Alex screamed, waving his left arm wildly. “You were going to make her lie about me? And of all things, that ugly lie? What kind of an evil, hateful bitch are you?”

  “Daddy, you don’t understand,” Amy said, tears flowing down her face.

  “Shut up!” Alex shouted, pulling his arm back as if for a backhand slap. Amy shrank back into the couch cushions, trembling.

  Chastity was staring at the back of Alex’s head. She had a good, clean shot. She could end this drama right now. If these people were strangers that is what she would do. The safe thing. The prudent thing. It was what her brain and her training were telling her to do.

  Alex Brooks pointed his gun directly at the spot between Francine’s fawn brown eyes.

  “Damn it, I loved you. I loved you.” Distant thunder rolled across the sky, but it didn’t stop Chastity from hearing the tears in Alex’s voice too. He was the danger in this situation, but he was not the enemy. She knew this man and his family, and she knew this did not have to end ugly. To hell with safe. To hell with prudent. She would do what her heart and her instincts were telling her to do.

  In one slow, smooth movement, Chastity pulled herself up. Her head moved inside the kitchen, suddenly not being pelted from above. She pushed harder, forcing her upper body into the house. Her arms ached as they reached full extension, but kept her movement silent.

  “Tell me why?” Alex was waving both arms at his wife. “Why?”

  Francine leaned forward, her fear fading from her face. “You could never understand, Alex. And that’s why I had to.”

  Chastity thought that if left alone, Francine could well talk herself into a bullet. Chastity’s eyes were on Alex but without warning, her attention was pulled to the side. She found herself staring into Amy’s eyes. The child had spotted her. Amy’s jaw dropped as she prepared to speak. Chastity shook her head violently left to right, water flying from her hair. Amy swallowed, closed her mouth and turned back to her father.

  “I worked every day,” Alex screamed. “Gave you everything, everything you asked for, and you leave me for some short, fat, ugly asshole?”

  “You think that’s what it’s all about?” Francine was almost as loud as Alex now. She stared up at him as if, for a moment she really cared. “You think broad shoulders and a nice face makes you a man?”

  “Shut up!” Alex said, with intimidating calm.

  “Marty’s a real man.”

  “I said shut up.” He leveled the gun again, this time at her chest.

  Chastity curled forward, her head dipping into the sink. Her legs curled in and her entire body was inside. She rolled forward, knowing that this was the moment when she would know if her instincts were right. Forcing calm to take her over, Chastity released the windowsill and flipped forward to land on her feet in a deep crouch on the kitchen floor.

  Alex spun, aiming toward the sound of her landing with the two-handed grip he had learned to use when meeting any intruder. He might have fired immediately, but he did not. Chastity had a chance. She stood slowly, palms forward at waist level. He didn’t seem to recognize her until she took a couple of steps forward, out of the shadows.

  “You! What the hell are you doing here?” Alex asked.

  “Did you call the police?” Francine asked.

  “Shut up!” Alex said.

  “Yeah, Francine, quit trying to get yourself killed,” Chastity said, moving closer. “Mr. Brooks. Alex. What are you doing? You’re a cop, for God’s sake.”

  “You stay out of this,” Alex said, stepping to the side so he could more easily see both women.

  Chastity stepped very slowly to the wall and toward the couch. Soon she was beside the end of the couch. If Alex faced the sofa squarely, he would have been facing Francine, with Amy on the couch to his left and Chastity on his right. But he was turned slightly, so that Amy was out of his line of sight. Chastity didn’t think this was an accident.

  “Think what this is all about,” Chastity said.

  “This is about a bitch who doesn’t deserve to live,” Alex said, waving the gun from Chastity’s chest to Francine’s. “No man should be betrayed this way. Lied to. Accused.”

  “Agreed,” Chastity said. “But this is really about her.” She pointed past Francine to Amy.

  “Amy loves me,” Alex’s voice was cold, as if quoting a scripture. Chastity could see his heart pounding in his chest, and perspiration appeared on his forehead.

  “Like hell she does,” Francine said.

  Chastity saw Alex’s finger tense on the trigger. “Ignore her,” Chastity said. “The worst thing she could do to you was to take your little girl away. But if you kill her, you’ll spend the rest of your life in a cell and you’ll lose Amy forever. That way, she wins anyway.”

  “Daddy, please don’t,” Amy said in a small voice. “I won’t go anywhere ever. I promise I won’t go away. I’ll stay with you.”

  Chastity was not much more than an arm’s length from Alex’s right hand. She took a small step forward. He took a long step back, the pistol aimed at a point in space between the two women. Francine looked from Amy’s tear-stained face to her husband’s. Her jaw set in a weird caricature of determination. “You won’t take my daughter from me, you worthless faggot. You ain’t got the balls.”

  Alex turned to face Francine, his right arm fully extended, the muzzle of his pistol focused on her heart. Francine backed into the sofa, as if for the first time she believed he could fire. He had been working himself up for this, Chastity thought, and now at last he was ready to end his torture by taking her out of his life.

  Chastity couldn’t reach him fast enough to stop the shot.

  She couldn’t get Francine out of the way.

  She saw only one option.

  “You going to fry in the chair for this bitch?” Chastity asked, stepping toward Francine. “Is she worth throwing your life away for? You just want her to hurt, right? Like you hurt. Suffer like you’ve suffered. Well, me too.”

  Chastity’s right cross caught Francine on the side of her jaw. The dull smack resounded in the room, and Francine’s body jerked to the side. She landed splayed across Amy’s lap, unconscious. Chastity counted on Alex’s startle reflex to hold him still for two-tenths of a second, but there was no pause in her motion. As her fist was bouncing off Francine’s jaw, her left hand whipped around to wrap around Alex’s weapon. Her fingers curled over the slide and her thumb slid into the tiny space behind the trigger. She twisted her wrist, locking Alex’s arm straight out. Another small twist locked his wrist back as far as it would go. The stiffened fingers of her right hand stabbed into his solar plexus. He grunted, and she yanked the gun away from his hand.

  Stunned, Alex crumpled to his knees like a too tall marionette whose strings had been cut. His hands rested on his thighs, p
alms up. His jaw hung slack and his eyes were glassy. Chastity could only guess at the emotions running through him right then. Grief? Rage? Certainly self-doubt and confusion. All she knew was that she had to tune out the unconscious wife and the loudly crying daughter and find a way to reach this man right then before he drifted too far away into his own little universe of horror.

  Looking far more confident than she felt, she stepped in front of Alex Brooks, literally getting between him and his wife. With him kneeling, Chastity looked down at his face, but not by much. She grabbed his shirt in both hands and pulled him toward her a few inches.

  “You have had a very bad day,” Chastity said, “but you can’t just crumble now. You need to forget all that’s happened to you in the last couple of days. Forget who you are, and remember what you are.”

  Alex looked up into her almond eyes. “What I am.”

  “You’re a cop,” she said with conviction. “A police officer. You’re the person other people count on when they can’t take care of themselves. People need you. And there are only two things in the world you need to be able to do. You know what they are?”

  Alex Brooks took a deep, trembling breath while his eyes moved as if he were searching for something inside himself. After a couple of seconds, he seemed to have found it. When he spoke, he sounded like a different man.

  “Yes,” he said. “To protect and to serve.”

  Samuel “Stone” Mason turned the knob and pushed with his fingers, letting the door to Irv Jerome’s office swing open. The squeak of the hinges was dramatic, but not very loud at all. He didn’t know what would greet him, and neither did Dubois. That was why he was chosen to open the door. He wasn’t altogether pleased with his nomination for this job.

  The sight that greeted Mason was almost what he had wished for. Irv Jerome sat at the reception desk, pen in hand, dealing with some sort of paperwork. The main room lights were off, but a lamp on the reception desk spread a cone of light over Jerome and his work. His sleeves were rolled halfway up his forearms. A fast food hamburger sat on its wrapper at Jerome’s left elbow. When he looked up his face betrayed no fear, only irritation at the unexpected interruption.

  “You again? What the hell do you want now?”

  Mason walked toward the desk, pulling off his gloves. “I was just wondering if your three stooges were around, so we could chat.”

  “Well, as a matter of fact.” Jerome snapped his fingers and Doc stepped forward out of Jerome’s inner office. Frankie and Psycho followed. “Since your last visit I decided they should hang around.”

  “Hey guys,” Stone said with a dim smile. “Nice sling, Frankie. Is it in a cast under there?”

  “I can kick your ass with just my right arm,” Frankie said, raising his good fist as if in demonstration.”

  “Maybe,” Steele said, stepping through the door with his gun drawn and aimed at Jerome, “but we won’t be finding out today. You boys need to go on back in that back room, before I blow your meal ticket away.”

  Jerome kept his eyes on Steele but spoke to his own men. “Don’t let him bluff you, boys. This guy’s no killer, and the other one’s empty-handed. If you all draw at once, there’s no way he can get you all.”

  The three bodyguards hesitated. Steele stepped farther to the side of the room, his boot heels clicking on the floor, until he had a long view that would allow him to shift very quickly from Jerome to any of the others. In the meantime, Stone noticed Jerome’s right arm moving, as if he was opening a low drawer.

  “You don’t want to do anything stupid, counselor,” Stone said. “Steele’s pretty calm but my other friends have been known to get a bit out of control.”

  On cue, Didi walked in to stand behind Stone. His gun, held one-handed, was thrust toward Doc’s head. Andre and the two others followed. Four guns were aimed at Jerome’s three thugs, all held at arm’s length and all turned sideways for reasons that escaped Stone. The Haitians beamed malice from their faces. Once they were in place, Dubois entered with an imperial swagger, swinging the door shut behind him. He wore black leather boots and gloves, and a long black leather coat that flowed like a cape when he walked.

  “You see,” he said, “my men are smaller, but dey are killers.”

  Jerome jumped to his feet. “What is this? Who the hell are you?”

  Dubois walked over to Steele and pressed one gloved finger against the forty-four, turning Steele’s arms until the gun again pointed toward Jerome.

  “Who am I?” Dubois repeated. “My name is Francois Bernard Dubois. What is this? This is the cost of betrayal. This, you little weasel, is payback.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jerome asked. “I never did anything to you. I don’t even know you.”

  “You should have known,” Stone said in his sepulchral tones, “that someday one of the gangsters you’ve been fronting for would decide you were too big a risk.”

  “That’s right lawyer boy,” Dubois said. “Your time is up.” Then he turned to Steele, flashing a broad grin. “Go ahead, white boy. Earn your freedom.”

  Steele further straightened his two-handed grip, pulled back the gun’s hammer and stared down its sights at Jerome’s forehead. Jerome looked from Steele to his own men to Dubois and finally to Stone. Then he lowered himself back into his seat.

  “No,” he mumbled. “No, this isn’t right.”

  “This ain’t a court of law,” Dubois said. “You can’t talk your way out of this one. Kill him, white boy.”

  Steele hesitated for a moment, and then stammered, “I don’t know.”

  Dubois grimaced, showing yellow teeth. Didi’s gun turned to focus on Steele. Stone stepped back out of the way. Dubois began to sound hysterical.

  “Do it. Do it now.”

  Steele released the gun with his right hand, waving that hand in a pleading motion toward Dubois. “Look, maybe there’s another way. A way we can make money out of this.”

  “To hell with money,” Dubois shouted. His bloodshot eyes flared wide with rage. “This ain’t about money. Nobody gonna stab Dubois in the back. And your fingerprints already all over that piece.”

  Dubois lunged with unexpected speed, snatching the Magnum away from Steele with both his gloved hands. Steele seemed stunned by his action and backed away.

  “Do it,” Didi whispered from across the room. Jerome’s raised his hands and opened his mouth to speak just before Dubois squeezed the trigger. Stone was staring at the gun so hard that the muzzle flash seared his eyes even as the blast pounded against his ears. His eyes recovered first, so that he saw Jerome and his office chair flip over backward, but could not hear the thump as they hit the floor.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Gunny and Gorman stepped out of their taxi into the soft autumn rain under the neon sign advertising the entrance of the Good Chinese Kitchen. Water dripped from that sign and several others on the empty street. Chinatown sparkled like a bowl of polished pearls with the sun well hidden by clouds and not far from dipping below the horizon.

  Gunny held the door for Gorman and followed him inside. Gunny had only to raise an eyebrow to the bartender, who recognized him and pointed to the back stairs. The crackle of boiling oil and the smell of freshly fried foods reminded Gunny that it was not too early for dinner. He saw few empty tables as they walked through the restaurant. At the door to the back stairs, he stopped and turned.

  “Why don’t you wait here,” Gunny told Gorman, “and I’ll go up and bring Lorenzo down.”

  Gorman nodded, and Gunny headed up the narrow stairway, knowing that those above would hear his approach. At the door he paused for a moment in the darkness. He could not know if he was about to walk into a room full of friends or enemies.

  Gunny pushed the door open and took one long step forward. Lucania was standing at the head of the meeting table. Mike was at the foot of the table now, nearest to the door. Robbie leaned against the bar, trying to look tough. Gus was not immediately in evidence, but Gunny was sure he
was there.

  “Hello, Gunny,” Lucania said. He raised his drink toward Gunny in salutation, either a warm greeting or a sad good-bye. “I’m surprised to see you here. I haven’t called you yet.”

  “Yeah, funny about that,” Gunny said. “But listen, do you think we could have a minute alone?”

  “Something we need to discuss?” Lucania asked.

  “Actually, someone I want you to meet.”

  “He already knows me,” Gorman said, unexpectedly stepping around Gunny. No sound had announced his approach. He walked straight across the floor to stand facing Lucania, ignoring all others in the room.

  “You know me, and I know you,” Gorman said. “That was you, wasn’t it? Friday morning, corner of Madison and Fifty-ninth?”

  Lucania put his glass down. “You are very good. Now, what do you want with me?”

  Gorman looked into Lucania’s black eyes and for a moment it was as if no one else existed in the room. “You don’t want to have this conversation here. Not with your friends listening.”

  “Then maybe I don’t want to have this conversation,” Lucania said. “I feel safe here.”

  “This isn’t you,” Gorman said. “I can see that already in your eyes.”

  “You’re wrong,” Lucania said with a sad smile. “This is very much who I am now. I think you should move on to another cause.”

  Gorman thumped a finger into Lucania’s chest. “I haven’t given up on this one yet.”

  “Hey, you heard the man,” Mike said, stepping forward. He stopped behind Gorman’s left shoulder. Gunny stepped forward but Gorman waved him still with a low motion of his right hand.

  “Mr. Lucania, you seem to have lost your way,” Gorman said. “I’m here to remind you of your correct path. Do you understand?”

  “Of course I do,” Lucania said. “What you don’t understand is that the path you’re talking about is no longer available to me. I’m with a new family now.”

  Despite his words, a deep sadness pulled Lucania’s face down. Gunny could see enough of Mike’s face to see that he didn’t understand the conversation, but he did understand the sadness in his boss’ voice.