“Regardless, the tactic bought him time because after that, the evil torture woman told Devecchio she was going to give Drake Archer her findings and let him take it from there.”
“So, he bought us time?” Mac asked.
Adael nodded and leaned down to speak into the phone.
“We have some time, guys, but not long. Archer is more than likely going to execute him when he’s sure Nico’s told him everything, whether he believes he’s Flynn or not. He’s not the kind of guy who gets sentimental over employees and he won’t take any chances.”
Mac’s heart squeezed in his chest as he realized what the Israeli was saying. He stared at Adael and then looked down at the phone as he gritted his teeth.
“You got a plan to get us out of here?” he asked Adael again, ignoring the phone he still held out between them.
Adael nodded and smiled sadly. “Yeah.” The man reached out and touched Mac’s forearm, squeezing it slightly. “I do.”
Mac stared hard at him, deciding that he really wasn’t kidding. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. I’m with Dayan, guys. We’ll do this his way.” The Israeli smiled and Mac noted the sadness there once again. He nodded back.
“Good,” Adael said. “Good.”
Chapter Seventeen
Nico opened his eyes and blinked several times as he tried to focus. Slowly but surely, he began to realize that he was only now waking up. He sucked in breath but for some reason it was hard to expand his lungs completely. His neck was stretched. Why? Nico realized he was in a seated position and his chin was touching his chest. He struggled to lift his face and when he did… God, his neck felt better. He wondered how long he’d been sitting there, hanging his head. He glanced around the room, trying to remember where the fuck he was. He could only see out of one eye. The armory. I’m at Stryker-Dunn and I’m in the armory. They were beating me… His mind suddenly snapped back to the present.
That weird woman had threatened him with… what the fuck were those… torture implements? He turned his head and… BAM! Nico gasped as pain slammed into his head and neck. Memory came flooding back. He’d been caught by Drake Archer, dragged to the armory by two goons, strapped to a chair and beaten. Then some woman had come in and threatened to scoop his eye out with a spoon.
“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. They hadn’t beaten him that bad before she’d come in. He blinked a few times, glancing around again. Why did his neck hurt so bad? He glanced down and noted congealed blood running in long lines down his body to pool in his bellybutton and then find its way down to the waistband of the black fatigues they’d given him. Where’d the blood come from? He turned his head again and then stopped as an image formed in his mind.
After Torture Twat left, two more guys had come into the room. They’d been laughing and joking with each other, making bets which one could make him pass out first. Apparently, someone had hit the lotto because he was just now coming to. He remembered one of them taking a few punches at his face, snapping his head back as they laughed. The other one had complained that he wasn’t going to get his turn and the first one had grudgingly stepped aside and let the second goon pound his midsection. Nico had gasped, trying to catch his breath but like he’d been when he was a kid, he’d just zoned out when things got really shitty.
****
19 years ago
“Come on, Nico. I’m gonna be late and my dad promised to play ball with me after dinner.” Trevor broke into a run and Nico scrambled after his friend. The words stung just a little. His best friend, Trevor Thomas, had just turned seven and Nico knew he was itching to get home from the park and try out the new mitt his dad got him for his birthday. Nico also had a birthday coming up but he knew there would be no new baseball glove or a dad willing to play catch with him. He would be lucky enough to get a cake made from a box mix.
Nico’s mom worked long hours at the local diner and his father worked odd jobs… when he could get them. Very little of his paycheck ever made it home to put food on the table, much less pay for luxuries like baseball mitts, at least that’s what his mom said when she dared to stand up to him. All Nico could hope for tonight would be a cold diner burger and fries that his mom was sometimes lucky enough to grab before one of the other waitresses picked up the mistaken orders to take home.
Nico’s parents were what his mom called working poor and his father’s drinking at the local bar down the road depleted their funds, at least that’s what his aunties said when they came to visit. He only knew that when his mom argued with his dad, it made him stay out later; Nico had become used to hearing her cry when she thought she couldn’t be overheard. Nico didn’t have any brothers or sisters though he often wished he had a brother to play with. He thought about how lucky Trevor was. He didn’t have brothers either but at least he had a new baseball mitt and a really nice dad to play catch with.
He rounded the corner, hot on Trevor’s heels as they got to their street. Both of Trevor’s parents stood on the front lawn of their house behind the three-foot chain-link fence that separated their yard from the cracked and uneven sidewalk. They both smiled when they caught sight of the two small boys running up the block toward them.
“Mom! Dad!” Trevor called out, waving when he saw them. They waved back and waited patiently for him to look both ways for cars and then cross the street in front of their house. He stopped in front of their gate that was opened by Trevor’s dad as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. Nico stopped running when he drew even with Trevor but didn’t make any move to cross the street. He watched as his friend’s dad caught him up in a bear hug as Trevor hit him at a run. His mother laughed and patted Trevor on the back as the family turned to walk into their brightly-painted yellow house. They were talking to each other but the conversation wasn’t loud enough to hear from where Nico was standing. He was forgotten without a backward glance as their front door shut. Nico stood watching for a few seconds longer before turning to walk slowly down the last half block headed to his own home.
Nico’s house wasn’t yellow and the grass wasn’t green. The chain-link fence was warped and rusted and what had once been a lawn was now a forest of brown weeds. Nico’s house was small, gray, and pathetic. The paint was peeling and the overall rundown feeling of the sad little house so perfectly mirrored Nico Devecchio’s real life that he knew he was in the right place. He hopped the fence and ran up the walk, stopping only for a second to check out the driveway on the side. The dilapidated brown pickup in the parked there sent warning bells to Nico. Dad was already home. The presence of Nico’s father at the house kind of scared him. He yelled a lot. As Nico walked up the porch steps, he heard shouts inside. It only took him five seconds to decide that going in through the front door wasn’t a good idea.
Nico slipped quietly around the side of the house to the back. His second-floor bedroom window faced the weeds in the back and only just this summer he’d learned how to climb down the trellis to escape when things got dicey. Entering the house this way was easy enough, even for a six-and-a-half-year-old. He grabbed one of the redwood sticks and began to climb. The trellis wouldn’t have held the weight of an older kid but it suited Nico’s purposes to a tee. He didn’t debate whether to go inside. It wasn’t an option. If his dad came upstairs and found out he wasn’t home, he was going to get it and the last thing Nico wanted was a spanking tonight. He didn’t get them often and he’d learned to stay away from his dad when he was drunk. Besides, Nico already felt cruddy after witnessing the happy scene at Trevor’s house.
In only a minute, he’d climbed into his bedroom and shut the window behind him. The sounds from downstairs were familiar. His father was bawling his mother out for something or other, probably the fact that she wouldn’t give her paycheck to him when she was responsible for putting food on the table. Nico just wished his dad would stop yelling. It made his mom cry and that put unhappy butterflies in Nico’s belly where they shouldn’t be. At his age, he knew things were wrong at his house. He knew how the
y were supposed to be. He knew Trevor’s dad would be out in the yard with him tossing the ball around as soon as they’d finished dinner. They’d probably have home-cooked meatloaf or spaghetti and his mom would laugh and pat Trevor on the back and maybe even hug him. She’d tell him what a good boy he was and how lucky they were to have him. Nico never got any of that. Mom was way too tired to give him anything more than a box of leftovers and a half smile. Dad was… well, Dad was Dad.
Nico walked over to his narrow bed and smiled down at Clarence. He bent and picked up the worn teddy bear and looked him over. His once-furry coat had patches of missing hair and one of his button eyes was larger than the other. The small black eyes seemed to stare into Nico’s soul. He hugged the bear to him as his dad started up again downstairs. He heard a dish crash against a wall and break. Time to hide.
Nico yanked open the drawer of his small nightstand and pulled out a yellow plastic flashlight. He’d saved his penny allowance and bought the treasure down at the Dollar Tree. He flipped it on and stared into the light. The batteries were weak but he didn’t have new ones. He transferred the flashlight to the hand that clutched Clarence and used his free hand to reach for his book before walking over to his closet and pulling the door open. He stepped inside the small space and pointed the flashlight at the door as he slid it closed. Nico sank down onto a pile of clothes on the floor and scooted as close to the back wall as he could. Once he was in place, he threw a black sweatshirt over his legs. The makeshift hiding place would make him feel “incognito”. Nico had just learned that word and he liked using it in everyday language. It made him feel smarter. He’d have to remember to tell Trevor to remain incognito the next time they played hide and seek with their buddies.
Once he was settled into his safe place, Nico opened the book he’d found at the dump when he and the other kids combed over it for treasures. A Tale of Two Cities was a really big book and it didn’t have any pictures. Nico supposed that was okay, though he did like pictures in books. He was almost seven and the best reader in his class. His teacher constantly tried to challenge him by giving him more advanced books but he devoured them too quickly for her to replace. She grinned and patted him on the head.
“You have a brilliant mind, Nicodemus,” she’d once told him. “Your mind needs to be nurtured and challenged. Here you are. Read this and then bring it back and tell me all about it.” She’d smiled as she’d handed him the first book he’d ever seen without pictures. The memory was alive in Nico’s mind. Nico opened his new find and ignored the mildew on the warped pages as he began to read. “It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.” Funny, the book sounded a lot like Nico’s life.
The closet door slid open with a sudden bang.
“What are you doing in there?” his dad roared. Nico clung to Clarence as if his life depended on it. His dad bent and reached for his arm, pulling Nico out of the closet to his feet. The book tumbled to the ground as he managed to save his precious bear. The flashlight fell to the floor with his book.
“You’re reading again? What did I tell you about that? You need to be outside playing with the other boys. Instead, you’re inside the house again, reading like a pansy!” Nico’s dad scared him when he got like this. He bent and picked up the book, thrusting it toward Nico. “You hear me, Nicodemo? No son of mine is going to be a pansy!” He threw the book back into the closet and slid the door closed so fast it rattled. Nico felt tears slip down his face and he clutched Clarence even harder as his dad shook his shoulders.
“Leave him alone, Joe!”
Nico snapped his head up at the sound of his mom’s voice. She stood in the doorway of his bedroom wearing her faded pink waitress uniform. The collar was a dull white and her pink skin was flushed red above the neckline. He wanted to run to her but he hesitated. Dad stood in between them. She held out her hand and looked right at him.
“Come here, Nicky.”
Nico bolted, running past his father as the man cursed.
“You’re not helping, Thea. He’s gonna have to learn to be a man and coddling by a woman ain’t what he needs.”
Nico’s mother squatted in front of him, taking his hand and smiling weakly into his eyes. “I brought you a quesadilla, baby. I left it on the kitchen table. Go eat.” She squeezed his hand and reached out to wipe away his tears before standing up. Nico took his cue and scooted out into the hallway, flying down the stairs to the kitchen. When his dad slammed out of the house five minutes later, he knew he wouldn’t be home until late. What he didn’t know was that he’d never see his dad again.
****
Nico’s sad memories of his childhood snapped back as the guy punched his belly. His dad had never hit him but he’d yelled at him all the fucking time. He was always drunk and when he wasn’t he was still in Nico’s face. He could never do the things that made him happy. He’d tried but the only person who’d ever cared about him was his mom. Nico smiled as he thought of her. She’d been tired and haggard all the time but even though her hands were work worn and rough with callouses, her touch was always welcomed. She smiled and sang to him as he drifted off to sleep.
And, Nico had loved her until the day she died.
Nico smiled sadly—not because she’d died in the street when a bus had veered to avoid being hit head-on by a drunk driver—but because she’d been on her way home with wonderful news to tell him. One of her regulars at the diner had given her a scratcher as a tip and his mom—Nico’s fucking, unlucky in everything mom—had scratched that sucker and hit the jackpot. One million dollars. She’d won a fortune. So what had she done? Quit her job and picked up her purse and been hit by a bus on the way home probably to tell her little boy that they wouldn’t have to suffer and scrape by, alone anymore.
As the goon had pounded his midsection, raining one blow down, followed by another, all Nico had been able to do was think about his mom and what had happened after her death. His aunt Betty had come to tell him that his mom had died and then packed a bag for him as he sat there on the couch and cried. She’d taken him home and told him that she’d be taking care of him. Nico had always loved her, she was kind, and he’d never worried about her husband coming home drunk—she hadn’t had a husband.
Instead, her “special friend”, a lady by the name of Maggie, had come by all the time. It wasn’t until he was a teenager that he’d realized that the two women were a lot more than friends. They were… girlfriends? At the time, he hadn’t thought a whole lot about it. Maggie had always been good to him, asking about school, and helping Aunt Betty make sure the house was clean. Some nights she’d stayed over, going into Aunt Betty’s room, and sleeping there. When Nico turned eighteen, they’d gone out to dinner. He’d already been in college—had been since he was much younger—and they’d explained that whenever he was ready, he would be able to get his own place.
That’s the night they’d told him about the money.
Apparently, they’d found the scratcher among his mom’s belongings at the hospital and put it in the bank for him, holding it in a trust until Nico was old enough to claim it for himself. Nico hadn’t taken the money out. Instead, he’d sat down with a financial advisor and rolled it into an investment account. By the time he’d become a police officer, he didn’t need the pension the NYPD set up for their employees. Nico was a rich man. He’d taken some of it out and bought himself a great brownstone and then when he’d left the force and moved to LA, he’d sold it for more than twice what he’d paid for it.
Nico hung his head again, remembering that he hadn’t been home to his new house in LA for days. He didn’t have animals, but he knew his plants were probably gasping for lack of water, just like he was. He shifted his body in the chair, mentally checking limbs. Nothing was broken but when he took a deep breath, he groaned. Something poked him in the right side. He wondered if his ribs were broken. He wouldn’t doubt it. He’d passed out as the guy had been pummeling his belly but the goon very well may have snapped something inside.
He glanced around again, feeling the same pain in his neck as he swiveled his head—gingerly this time. He was still alone. They’d left and hadn’t come back, though he anticipated Torture Twat swinging that door open at any moment with her canvas bag of fun.
****
“We’ll start by getting guns,” Adael said. “We have to get firepower because we know they have it. It’s the only chance we’ll get to arm ourselves and without a couple of high-powered automatic weapons, we’re dead meat, McCallahan.”
“I totally agree with you,” Mac said, nodding. “So, where do we get guns? We can’t exactly go to the armory and say, “Hey, we’re the guys you’re looking for and by the way, that’s our friend in there. Just give him back and let us take some of your fucking guns while we’re at it”.”
Adael grinned widely as he pushed a mahogany lock out of his eye. Twin dimples punched into his stubbled cheeks, giving him a rakish look. The guy was stunning, Mac had to admit.
“Why not? We can kill two birds with one stone, as you Americans say, right? We’ll go to the armory to gear up and rescue Devecchio at the same time,” Adael said, excitedly. The faster he spoke, the more his accent made an appearance. It was sexy as hell but Mac couldn’t stop too long to admire it at the moment.
Mac nodded, noting the lighter tone of the Israeli’s words. After hanging up the SAT phone with their friends, Adael was now discussing what he thought should be done to rescue Nico and get him out of the building.
“My friends said you discussed a plan to get Nico out of here, not commit suicide. You wanna let me in on the plan or am I just expected to follow you blindly into the armory which is no doubt heavily guarded?”
“Okay, as much as I like your conversational approach, maybe we should think about doing it just a little different,” Adael said, still grinning.
Endings and Beginnings (Death and Destruction Book 8) Page 26
