Titans

by Tim Green

  Cook only nodded impatiently and asked the man to ring everything up.

  Before too long, Cook and Hunter crossed the Hudson at the Tappan Zee Bridge and were on their way upstate to find and rescue Rachel.

  "Cook," Hunter said as they slowed down for a toll booth, "what are you going to do about the FBI? I mean, it probably doesn't look too good for you, being a suspect in this Fellows killing and on the run from everyone. What are you going to do?"

  "Well, the first thing I'm going to do is help you get your wife back. I'll take care of the Bureau after that. It'll work out. I'm not guilty of anything."

  "If--if you think I can help out, I don't know how, but if there's anything I can do . . ."

  "I appreciate it," Cook said. "You can help me corroborate my story. The only other thing would be if you happened to be tight with any big political people, someone who might back me up in all this, before I go back. It would be nice to have them thinking about all this from my viewpoint. The problem is that the Bureau is pretty closed. They don't listen to too many outsiders."

  "How about Senator Ward?" Hunter said.

  "Yeah, like him."

  "I mean, how about if I have him call someone for you?" Hunter asked.

  "He would be the right guy. He's the chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee, a powerful guy up there and certainly someone who could get the word to Zulaff. That's the assistant director over me and Fellows and all of New York."

  I'll do it," Hunter said.

  I would appreciate that," Cook replied.

  The road thumped by as they wound their way into the mountains on Route 17.

  "Cook?" Hunter said.

  "Yeah?"

  "What's the plan? I mean, how are we going to do this?"

  "I don't know," Cook said. "We'll scout it out, see what's what, how many of them there are, where she is, and then figure out the best way to get her."

  Hunter took this in and frowned at the seriousness of the situation. They continued to ride in silence for some time, each in his own thoughts.

  "If we get her," Cook said, "you're not necessarily safe, you know. Unless you're both willing to testify and enter the witness-protection program. It's different now with this kidnapping."

  "I know," Hunter said. "I've been thinking the same thing. If that's what it takes, that's what we'll do. It would be tough. Rachel's so close to her parents, Sara is too. We wouldn't be able to see them, would we?"

  "No," Cook said.

  "Even with all that," Hunter said, looking from the road to Cook, "there are no guarantees, are there?"

  "No," Cook said and shook his head.

  Hunter pursed his lips. "We'd probably always be wondering, wouldn't we? I mean, if Rizzo or his people were going to find us."

  "It can be hard," Cook admitted. "But it's better than the way things are right now. There might be another option, though."

  "What?" Hunter said. "What are you thinking?"

  "Just this," Cook said. The only way to really be sure that Tony Rizzo leaves you alone is to kill him."

  Hunter stared at Cook in disbelief, unsure he'd heard him correctly.

  "Are you saying if we get the chance up at this cabin that. We should try to kill Rizzo?" Hunter said. "I could kill the son of a bitch without blinking."

  "I don't know," Cook said. "I used to think that, too, but it's different when it comes down to really doing it. If you kill someone, it seems to me that you become part of what you hate the most, the violence.

  "But I'm not talking about either of us killing him," Cook said. "I'm thinking that his own people, or one of the other families, might kill him."

  "Why would they do that?" Hunter asked.

  'The way I see it," Cook said, "these other families are going to be putting a big hunk of cash down on this game, just like the Mondolffis. Tony promised some pretty big people this game. Otherwise he wouldn't have done something as desperate as grabbing Rachel, believe me. He must have heavy pressure on him to deliver Sunday's game against the Giants. He's willing to kill for that game, and if he is, others are, too. So . . ."

  "Sol win the game on Sunday," Hunter said, seeing exactly where Cook was headed, "and the other families kill Tony as retribution for what looks to them like a double cross."

  "If we can grab Rachel back, you could win that game," Cook said. "If we can't get her, you've got to throw it and we'll go from there. I think Rizzo would kill her in an instant if you won that game. But if we've got her, we could put her and your daughter someplace safe and wait things out. He's going to have some real problems of his own. If he doesn't deliver on that game, I think we might find Tony Rizzo floating somewhere in the East River."

  "What about the other families with me?" Hunter asked. "Won't they want to get me,, too?"

  "No," Cook said, "that's not how they do things. The Ianuzzos and the Gamones wouldn't blame you. You didn't set up the deal, Tony did. He would get the blame and only him. The Italian families are still very traditional with their beliefs about revenge. He's playing a high-stakes game. Everyone knows what happens to him if he loses."

  Hunter thought about all this. He noticed a new-looking black Chevy Blazer on the other side of the highway that had been pulled over by the state police. He let up on his own gas, then accelerated again when he saw that the cop was busy writing a ticket.

  "I just hope I can win that game," he said. "I haven't even practiced this week. Hell, I don't even know the game plan, Cook."

  Cook looked over at Hunter and said, "I thought you were the greatest quarterback in the game right now."

  Hunter huffed, "Well, you gotta practice to play. I'm good, but I don't like the idea of having to win that game to take Rizzo out. I mean, if I lose, he's safe and--"

  "Yeah," Cook said, "witness protection. But you don't have much choice, do you? I mean, right now, if you could have your wife back, wouldn't you trade that for your career?"

  "Of course," Hunter said angrily.

  "I know," Cook said. "So look at it that way, and if you lose the game, then you and Rachel can testify against Rizzo, and the government will protect you."

  "Maybe," Hunter said.

  "We do a pretty damn good job," Cook replied. "And if you win, well . . . then Rizzo ceases to exist and you get your life back."

  Hunter scowled from the pressure of the situation. "Let's just get Rachel out of there," he said. 'You're right. After she's safe, anything else is just gravy."

  It was just after noon when they pulled off Route 17 into the tiny town of Roscoe. They stopped at a country grocer and got some provisions in case they had to spend the night in the car or the woods. The cashier was a cranky old woman with drooping skin and thick, heavy-rimmed glasses. She mumbled something about "damn city people" when Hunter politely asked her for a box of No-Doz behind her on a decrepit old shelf.

  "I can see they don't like people of color," Cook said as they climbed back into their car.

  "Nah," Hunter said. "I think that old coot was just a bitch."

  Cook nodded as though he agreed and they set off down 206. The wind blew some heavier clouds over the western peaks, and the sky began to spill infrequent raindrops on the windshield. The closer they got to their destination, the more grim-faced both Cook and Hunter became.

  Finally Hunter said, That's it!"

  "Don't slow down!" Cook said. "Keep going. We'll pull off at the next place we can hide the car."

  Hunter continued for another quarter mile until he saw the dirt road that Camille had taken. He, too, pulled into the old dump, but instead of parking out in the open, he slowly eased the car back into a clump of trees so that even if someone pulled into the abandoned dump, they wouldn't spot the car. After they killed the engine, Hunter sat rigidly with his fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel and his eyes shut tight.

  Cook put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Don't worry," he said, "it'll be all right."

  "Let's go," Hunter said, and he popped the
trunk before they got out.

  Cook pulled the Kevlar vests out first and put his on over the sweatsuit that Hunter had let him borrow.

  "You think there's going to be shooting?" Hunter said, following suit with the other vest.

  "I don't want there to be any," Cook said. "You never do. But if there is shooting, you're a hell of a lot better with one of these babies on than without one. Now, do you know how to use that thing?"

  Hunter looked up from the Colt .45 that he had been examining. 'Yeah," he said. "It's been awhile, but I used to shoot some when we were kids. I hope it's like riding a bike."

  Cook said, "I hope you don't need it, period."

  The camouflage gear went on right over their sweatsuits and bullet-proof vests. It was warm and waterproof. Last were the new pairs of Timberlands. Hunter felt like a fool and said so.

  "You won't feel like a fool if one of them looks out from that cabin and blinks because he thinks he saw something in the woods. Know your environment and make it work to your advantage. That's one of the things you learn if you want to survive in my line of work."

  They knew from Camille's description that the cabin was a straight shot up the mountainside from where its driveway met the road. They snuck through the trees back toward the driveway, and once it was just in sight, they followed it uphill until they could make out the outline of the cabin.

  Hunter reached into the pocket of his jacket and felt the cold, smooth shape of the .45. He had the irrational urge to run, run straight at the cabin with his gun out, kick the front door in, and just start shooting the hell out of Rizzo and his men. He started to tremble with nervous energy as this idea took form in his mind and acquired a life of its own.

  "Easy," Cook whispered in his ear, "just take it easy. I know what's going through your mind, but just relax. We got a lot of looking to do before we go doing anything crazy. We don't even know if she's there for sure, so just get a hold and do what I do."

  Cook got down on his stomach and crept closer to the cabin. Slowly and quietly they made their way around the perimeter of trees that surrounded the cabin. They saw no signs of life, and the only thing that made them suspect that someone was even there was the shiny black Cadillac that sat in the gravel out front. After the circuit was complete, Cook motioned Hunter to follow him deeper into the woods. When the cabin was no longer visible through the trees, Cook pulled off his hat and wiped his face.

  "Did you see anything?" he said.

  "No," Hunter said.

  "No, neither did I," Cook said.

  "So what are we going to do?" Hunter asked.

  "We'll go back and watch. We'll wait until it's dark," Cook said, "before we approach the cabin. It'll be a hell of a lot easier then. We'll know where they are by the lights, and we'll be able to look in without them seeing out. This way, I think we'll find out if there are three of them in there or thirty. Plus, hopefully we can locate Rachel and protect her when things start to go down."

  The dripping sky let up and the rain didn't come. The wind, however, continued to howl through the trees and tear at the colorful, dying leaves. The waiting was torturous for Hunter. As he lay staring at the lifeless cabin, his thoughts were sunk in despair and self-pity. Finally it was dark and the lights in the cabin came on.

  "Now," Cook whispered, "I want you to stay right here and train your gun on that front door. If anything bad goes down, you start shooting at them as they pile out after me. I'm going to get a closer look at things."

  Hunter tried to follow Cook's progress, but once he was ten feet away he completely lost sight of him. Once Hunter thought he saw Cook's shadow pass through the flat square of light that shone from the front left side of the cabin. Suddenly the front door opened, spilling light out of the cabin. Hunter's blood raced. He got to . His feet and pulled the .45 from his pocket, raising it as he closed the distance between him and the large figure of Angelo Quatrini, who moved with amazing stealth out onto the front porch.

  Chapter 42

  When they got to Scott Meeker's Star casino in Atlantic City, Tony picked up the phone immediately. He had a lot of calls to make that he'd neglected over the past few days. He knew it wasn't likely that the FBI could have traced a call he made from the cabin, but they were so thorough these days, and taking Rachel Logan was such a risky venture, that he'd simply decided to lay low for the week. So, now that he was at the hotel, he had a lot of catching up to do. The first call was to Aaron to check on the numbers for the week. They had shifted the line from five to three and taken in twelve million on the Titans compared to four million on the Giants. The family's take would be more than nine million tax-free dollars on this one game.

  "You know Mark Ianuzzo stopped by here on Wednesday, right?" Aaron said.

  "No," Tony said, "I didn't."

  "Well, he said you would say it was all right and to call you if I had a problem. I couldn't get you, of course, but he wasn't taking no for an answer. The workers all got kind of nervous. He had a couple of guys with him waving submachine guns around. He also had an accountant who wanted to take a look at our operation. I'm sorry, Tony, I didn't know what to do. They saw die imbalance in our books."

  'That's OK," Tony said. "I should have told you it was OK, but who could have guessed the son of a bitch would want to see the fucking books."

  Tony's next call was to Lonny in his car. Lonny reported that except for the fact that Hunter hadn't practiced all week, everything else was normal. The papers, Lonny told him, were assuring the fans that Hunter would be ready for the game on Sunday. Not wanting to take any chances, Tony called Grant Carter at his home. The owner was less than pleased to hear from Tony, but that didn't matter. Carter was appropriately cooperative. What did matter was that Tony emphasized the importance of Hunter Logan being on the field for the entirety of Sunday's game and that Grant Carter understood the implications if for some reason that failed to happen.

  Tony plunked the phone down and stretched his legs out on the coffee table. Scott Meeker had given him and Mikey a luxurious suite, and it was spacious enough so that he had to raise his voice for Mikey to hear him from his room.

  "Mikey!" he yelled. "Come in here. You want something to eat?"

  "Yeah," Mikey said, emerging from his room like a dog happy to be called from its kennel.

  "OK," Tony said and called room service. When he was through, he dialed his apartment in Manhattan. There was no answer, so he called Camille's apartment. There was no answer there either.

  "That bitch," Tony mumbled. He dialed the Palladium and asked the manager if he'd seen Camille. The manager said he hadn't seen her since they had been in together the week before.

  "Where the hell could she be?" Tony said, slamming the phone down and glaring at Mikey.

  Mikey shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe she just went out for dinner?"

  'That bitch," Tony mumbled again. "I told her to stay put."

  After they'd eaten in their room, Tony and Mikey dressed themselves in jackets and went down to the tables. Scott Meeker met them and gave them each ten thousand dollars in chips to play for the night. Meeker was obviously jittery. He couldn't keep his hands still or his mouth shut.

  "So," he said as the three of them sat at a blackjack table, "is everything set? It's set, isn't it?"

  Tony looked blandly at Meeker. "What the fuck do you think?"

  Meeker frowned and said, "I put a lot of money down on this one, Tony. Don't get mad at me for asking. The deal with Hunter Logan not practicing makes me nervous. Ianuzzo and Gamone both called me all week and wondered why you couldn't be reached. I think they're a little uptight about Logan's injury, too. I kept putting them off, telling them you were out of town, working on insuring that the deal came out OK. They were talking about calling the deal off until Wednesday."

  "Yeah," Tony said, "that's when Ianuzzo showed up at my warehouse and put a gun in my accountant's face to see the books."

  "But everything's OK?" Meeker said.

  Tony frown
ed at the fat man. With his bright orange jacket, he looked like a gaudy human pumpkin with sparkling diamond rings.

  "You think I'm worried about your money on this deal?" Tony growled, calling for another card and busting. "You think that's important here? I got the Gamones and the Ianuzzos putting millions on this game. I got my life on this game. You think your money's not safe? Fuck you."

  "Hey, Tony," Meeker said apologetically, "I didn't mean anything. You know that. I'm just the nervous type." Here he gave a high-pitched little laugh as if to prove his point.

  "Sometimes," Tony said, pushing his entire stack of chips out onto the table, "sometimes you just gotta take big chances."

  The dealer hesitated and looked at the casino owner. A small group gathered around the table as people going by noticed the three tall stacks of black hundred-dollar chips.

  "What are you looking at?" Meeker demanded. "Deal the cards!"

  The dealer snapped the cards down on the table. Tony got an ace and flipped over a jack. The small group of onlookers gave a cheer.

  Tony smiled, "See what I mean, Scotty?"

  "Yeah," Meeker said, thinking that it was easy when you weren't playing with your own money but saying nothing.

  They played for a while in silence, and Tony decreased his bets to drive away the people before he said, "Are the two big guys here yet?"

  "No," Meeker said. They're coming in tomorrow morning. They want to see you at nine."

  "Yeah," Tony said. "OK When I think about it, I wonder why in hell these guys want this meeting. I don't see the reason for it."

  "Maybe they just like your company," Meeker said, throwing down his card.

  Tony looked long and hard at him, saying nothing until Meeker couldn't stand it anymore and said, "What?"

  "Sometimes I like your sense of humor, Scotty," he said. "But this is one of those times when I'm not fucking laughing."

  "I'm sorry, Tony," Meeker said casually, thinking to himself that it would almost be worth it to lose his half-million dollars on the game just to watch Ianuzzo and Gamone tear Tony up into little pieces.