by Dani Amore
“Hello, Tommy,” Amanda Rierdon said. “This just hasn’t been a good week for the Abrocci family, has it?” She looked down at the dead man. The resemblance was truly amazing. It was like the same guy had been killed twice— in two different locations.
She stood in the middle of Loreli Karstens’ living room. The scene was your typical shoot-out mess: furniture turned over. Broken glass. Blood everywhere. Tommy Abrocci’s body sprawled on the ground, surrounding by blood. The body of an unidentified black male nearby. Blood around him, too. A third man, a white male, nearby. He’d been shot in the chest.
Amanda was beginning to admire the hell out of this Loreli Karstens woman. Jesus, she came out of a mob hit in Ann Arbor, and now a virtual blood bath in her own home. And she was gone. Not a trace of her.
Amanda looked around the house. One step up from trailer trash, she thought. A shitty little house in shitty little Warren. The furniture, what was left of it, was strictly JCPenney- wood veneer over flimsy fiberboard. The kind of stuff that looks decent new and a year later it’s sitting out on the curb. Amanda idly wondered if the home at least been neat and clean. The kitchen was. As were the two back bedrooms. So at least she wasn’t a slob. But something told her that this woman had a lot more going for her than it looked. She was a secretary at a good a law firm. She had a son. And she did some part-time hooking.
Now she had Tommy. But she didn’t have the tapes. The tapes that Tommy had made of Vincenzo Romano. The stuff that would lock up the bastard and throw away the key. The stuff that would tack on a few extra consonants after Rierdon’s name.
A promotion. More money.
And a fringe benefit or two.
Amanda turned back and surveyed the damage on display in the living room. What a thing, she thought.
She knelt down by Tommy.
“So what’d you do with the tapes asshole?”
She looked up to find Rupert staring at her.
“What?”
Rupert looked at her nervously. “We talked to her boss, Carl Ryson, he says he hasn’t seen or heard from her since work on Friday.”
“You spoke to Ryson?”
Rupert said he did.
“And he claims Loreli never called him. Never made any kind of contact with him?”
“That’s right.”
“Bullshit. She’s scared. She’s running around, not sure where to go. She would want a lawyer and a good one.”
“Ryson’s one of the city’s best criminal defense attorneys.”
“Believe me, I know who he is.”
***
They rode in silence. The night was still, traffic light. Amanda watched the cars pass them by as Rupert expertly drove the car. At last, he asked the question that no one had brought up in some time.
“Still no word from Macaleer?”
Rierdon looked out the car window. It had been a long day. A long week. A long road.
And to think that despite her best efforts, her best work, it could all be undone by a lackey she had been ragging on for more than a year.
It was probably that karma bullshit.
Macaleer, she thought. If I ever get a hold of you, I’ll wring your neck.
“Shut up and drive,” she said to Rupert.
55.
Jack circled the Romano compound in silence. His black jeans and black long-sleeved shirt blended into the surrounding darkness. It was a cool night, with a full moon and a few hundred stars. The wind whipped off of Lake St. Claire and the occasional car heading down Lakeshore Drive illuminated the carefully landscaped grounds of Romano’s estate.
Jack knew that the security was intense. The perimeter would be guarded by several laser trip beams, maybe even some heat sensors and certainly plenty of video cameras, some equipped with infrared technology.
The job at hand didn’t require stealth, though, in fact, quite the opposite. It was important, however, for Jack to cross the grounds and get back to the groundskeeping cabin at the back of the estate. Now, he ran, low, across the grass and slid behind a low rock wall. Here, he was blocked from view and the probing sensors of Romano’s security system.
The Romano estate was laid out parallel to the waterfront.
Jack was now on the northern side of the property, crawling on his belly toward the lake.
In less than a minute, he was there. He peeked over the low wall and looked at the house. Because it looked out onto the lake, Romano had no window treatments, at least none that Jack could see. Anyone with a boat and a good pair of binoculars could see the front rooms of Romano’s estate. Now, at night, Jack could look right in.
He saw no one.
He picked the flimsy lock on the groundskeeping shed and slipped inside. His eyes took in the shed’s contents: several riding mowers, two pushmowers, several gas-powered trimmers and edgers. There were pruning shears as well as bags of fertilizer, bags of seed and mulch.
With a small penlight, he carefully made his way to the back of the shed, where he found what he was looking for.
The gas cans were lined up from right to left. There were five smaller ones, then one large can that most likely held at least twenty gallons. Jack carried the smaller cans to the front of the shed and then peeked out.
There was still no movement. There should have been at least one guard outside, but Jack had watched him go in the house a minute ago. They usually went in to take a leak, but sometimes they went up to the kitchen and got a beer or smoked a cigar before making their way back outside. When Jack had kept an eye on the house earlier, he’d seen the guard pretty much get drunk by the end of his shift. He hoped that’s what this one was doing, too.
Jack pulled out his silenced .38 and trained it on the two videocameras mounted at the corner of the house. One pointed to the south, one to the north. But Jack figured that both were motion-activated.
He would have no more than sixty seconds to pull it off.
Jack casually lifted the gun and fired, shattering the lenses of both cameras. The sound itself of the bullets hitting the cameras was minimal, as was the tinkling of glass on the patio bricks.
Jack trotted out from the shed with three of the gas cans. He opened the first one, splashed gasoline on the edge of the house as well as the wooden patio furniture. He started to turn back toward the shed, but then spotted the outdoor grill and its twin propane tanks underneath. He debated for a moment whether or not he had time, then decided that he did. He worked quickly, unhooking both cables from the propane tanks and opening both valves. The propane gushed from the tanks with twin hisses. He opened the second and third cans and sloshed gasoline onto the propane tanks, then in a trail back to the shed. He opened the fourth and splashed the 20 gallon can with the rest of the gas. He also opened its top.
Jack heard voices outside and figured that the preliminary investigation into the disabling of the videocameras was about to begin. He double-checked to make sure that he hadn’t spilled any gas on himself or his clothes then made his way to the low wall which had given him shelter before.
He took out the rag he’d found in the shed and that he’d dabbed in the first gas can. He took out a lighter, lit the edge and tossed it into the middle of the gasoline trail. One rolling flame went toward the house, the other deeper into the shed.
Jack was halfway across the lawn when he heard two small explosions followed by one that was much, much louder.
He figured he had another sixty seconds.
56.
The first thing she noticed was the checkerboard, its edge poking out from the lower shelf of an end table in Carl Ryson’s impressive living room. Ryson himself sat on the center cushion of the leather couch, Amanda in the club chair across from him. Rupert stood silently behind both of them, his hands crossed in front of him, like a defensive back ready to plug a hole should a running back break through the line.
“So, Detroit’s premiere power attorney,” Amanda said, “Linked behind closed doors to Vincenzo Romano’s Gibraltar Enterprises-”
Ryson’s face twitched every so slightly, and Amanda caught it. “-likes to play checkers in his spare time?”
Ryson, having recovered, said, “My nephews were over earlier. They beat me eight out of ten games.”
“Eight out of ten?” Amanda asked. “I would have thought with your strategic ability, your penchant for slick maneuvering that you would have done better.”
“It was just a game and they are kids, after all,” Ryson said, an easy smile on his face.
“What a coincidence,” Amanda said. “Loreli Karstens and her son Liam are missing, and her boss just happens to have had a nephew or two over. Too bad they weren’t here at the same time, they could’ve played together. It would have been a regular kid party in Carl Ryson’s stately home.”
“I love children,” Ryson said, shrugging his shoulders. “They’re so much more honest and trustworthy than adults.”
Amanda said nothing, her eyes boring into Ryson. They had dug around Ryson’s background as best they could in the limited time they had, and she was playing a hunch.
Ryson stood. “Speaking of children, it’s way past my bedtime. Are you planning on charging me with anything Special Agent Rierdon?”
“I’m planning on charging you with racketeering, conspiracy to commit fraud, perjury and murder. Just not tonight.”
“In that case—”
Amanda’s cell phone chirped and she snatched it to her ear. She held it there as she listened, then raced from Ryson’s home, leaving the giant oak door wide open.
“Where to?” Rupert asked, crashing in behind the wheel.
“Vincenzo Romano’s house. He’s having a party and didn’t invite us. We’ll just have to crash it.”
57.
The blast rattled the windows throughout the Romano mansion. Even the three foot by two foot basement windows. Someone had spray painted them with white paint and installed security bars. But now, the blast shook them so badly that one of them cracked.
Loreli heard Liam whimper and started to say something to calm him down but just then, the big man in the corner rose from his seat and thundered up the stairs. The other man, the one in the T-shirt, followed him.
Loreli didn’t know how long she’d have. She had to get out. She had to get Liam free.
She tipped the chair over and squirmed on her side toward the window that had cracked. She moved like a spastic snake, herking and jerking the chair, moving it a few inches at a time. She cut her fingers and legs on the glass until she managed to get a fairly good sized chunk of glass in her hands. She turned it, but too quickly and it sliced a furrow in her index finger. The glass became slippery with blood and Loreli almost dropped it, but she got a better hold and slowly pressed it against the duct tape.
She yelped as she cut her forearm. The blood was everywhere now, but she kept sawing at the duct tape. The man had wrapped it several times, so she had at least three, four, maybe even five layers to get through. It was slow going.
58.
Jack shot the first man out of the house. The .38 slug took the top of the man’s head off and he crumpled. The next man was halfway out the door when he saw the dead man. He stopped and was starting to duck back into the house when Jack shot him in the chest. He sank to his knees and fell on his ass, his back slumped against the wall of the house.
The third man out stopped at the edge of the doorway, and Jack fired through the windows on the each side of the door until his gun was empty. He sprang to his feet and raced for the other side of the house, keeping low. He moved quickly and with no wasted motion, navigating the carefully landscaped grounds with ease. He’d already picked out his next point-of-entry. A small balcony on the second floor. A picnic table sat ten yards away. Jack dragged it underneath the balcony, climbed on top, then jumped and caught the handrail of the balcony. He pulled himself up and slid over the top. The door to the balcony was a sliding glass door.
It was unlocked.
59.
Loreli felt the last layer of duct tape give away and she pulled her arms free. The circulation wasn’t good. She felt tingles all along her arms. And they weren’t right. She could barely feel them. She reached down to tear off the duct tape holding her feet and she couldn’t move her hands. She waited a moment and felt the blood trickle down, regained some sense of feeling. She felt along the circle of tape until she found the outer edge. She pinched it with her fingers and pulled the tape off in layers. Her hands were covered in blood, but she got the job done.
She got to her feet and ran to Liam. “It’s okay, honey. We’re going to get out of here.” She pulled the duct tape from his eyes and he cried out in pain. He started sobbing as Loreli worked his hands and legs free.
“Mommy.”
“Shh. It’s okay.” Loreli’s hands shook as she worked the last of the tape from Liam’s legs. She knelt in front of him and swept him into her arms. She felt his small body against hers, felt the warmth. She began to cry. “I’m so sorry, Liam.”
The boy continued to cry into her shoulder. She wiped the tears from his face. She said, “We’ve got to get out of here. We’ve got to be strong. Okay, Liam?”
The boy looked at her, his wide eyes brimming with more tears. He nodded.
Loreli stood and took his hand in hers. She lifted him off the chair and he stood, feebly. “My legs,” he said. Loreli dropped to her knees and rubbed his legs. She squeezed his thighs, his calves, rubbed them until he said, “That hurts, Mom.”
She got to her feet and they hurried toward the basement stairs.
Suddenly, gunfire erupted. Liam clung to Loreli with all the strength his arms could muster. Loreli was awash in fear. She knew that the gunfire was good, but she considered waiting in the basement. No. She would certainly be dead if she stayed here. Her only hope to get Liam out safely was to make a break for it.
Loreli climbed the stairs, Liam behind her.
She could hear screams and shouts, more gunfire.
“Please God,” she said.
And then she put her hand on the knob and turned it.
Loreli was in the hallway, debating which way to go, when the big hand came out of nowhere and clamped across her mouth. She grabbed Liam and pulled him toward her, even as the strength of the man behind her put enormous pressure on her spine.
“Move,” he said.
60.
Jack moved briskly through the great room, firing as he went. The two men standing by the door he took out first. Another man running in from the garage Jack shot between the eyes. He heard a wisp of movement and whirled, just in time to see a man swing a baseball at him. He ducked, but the bat caught him a glancing blow. He dropped to the floor and shot the man in the chest.
Jack looked at the man.
Nick Falcone.
“Shit, sorry about that Nick,” Jack said, stepping over the dead man and hurrying down the hallway.
The cops would be here any minute.
The question was, where was Romano?
Jack figured the blonde woman was the hooker Tommy had shacked up with in Ann Arbor. He saw the frightened boy at her side. Jack didn’t like this. Romano should have figured out a way to resolve this whole thing without bringing women and children into it.
He circled around past the kitchen, thought he heard a whisper, maybe a child’s voice, down the hall. He stayed low, then ducked into the library.
And came face to face with Vincenzo Romano.
The woman next to Romano said to Jack, “Please, help.”
Her eyes begged him and Jack looked at Romano.
“A woman and a boy?”
Romano laughed. “Not my style, but it couldn’t be helped. This was Tommy’s all-time fuckup, too bad he didn’t live long enough to witness it.”
“Put the gun down, Vincenzo, I’m not here for you.”
“You blew up my house, killed most of my men. You sure you’re not here for me?”
“It was the only way I knew how to get you to call the Spook.”
; Romano laughed.
“So do it. Call him.”
A shadow moved at the edge of Jack’s peripheral vision. The slug tore into his shoulder as he heard Romano’s words:
“I already did.”
61.
Rierdon was nearly five blocks from Romano’s estate when she saw the flashing lights of the Grosse Pointe police cars. The streets were nearly empty, denizens of Grosse Pointe safely ensconced in their palatial homes for the evening.
Rupert gunned the car past the local police cruisers and slid to a stop in front of Vincenzo Romano’s home. The flames were coming from nearly every window in the house. Amanda’s heart caught in her throat. She leapt from the car, her gun drawn. She radioed in to headquarters and requested backup.
This was the moment she’d been waiting for. Romano had screwed up, and by the look of things, maybe for the last time. But she wanted to make sure he was dead or that she could put him away forever.
Amanda wondered who else was in the house.
Everything was at stake for her.
Professionally.
And personally.
62.
The gunshot had barely registered in Loreli’s mind when she felt the man’s grip around her neck relax. With sudden, vicious power, Loreli threw her elbow back into the center of the man’s chest. It wasn’t much, but the fat man’s arm flew off her and he screamed in pain.
The gun dropped to the floor.
Loreli didn’t stop to wonder what was happening. She scooped up the gun with one hand and grabbed Liam with the other. She ran down the hall. She had to get out of the house. Flag down a ride or call a cab. And then what? She didn’t know. But she knew she and Liam had to get away.
The hallway fed out onto two more hallways and what looked to be a sitting room.
