by Greg Enslen
Christine bit her lip. “She’s married now, but you probably knew that. To Vincent Luciano—do you remember him?”
Gary nodded. He’d been spending a lot of time thinking about Vincent lately.
“Well,” Christine began, “he’s not very nice to her, if you know what I mean. I know there’s probably nothing you can do, but if you ever cared about her....”
“I did care. I still do. I tried to go out and see her today but no one was home.”
Christine sat back. “Well, don’t let Vincent catch you—he almost killed a man last year for looking at her. I think they were at the grocery or something. Anyway, you know his family better than anyone,” she said, nodding. Clearly she remembered the trial and everything that had happened.
After a long moment of Gary not responding, she bit her lip again and continued. “But she’s trapped out there in that big house,” Christine said. “If you can help her at all, it would be good. Just be careful.”
Christine stood and walked away, leaving Gary sitting on the bench, confused.
Chapter 52
Tony saw them coming. It didn’t look good—they were walking calmly down the ramp of the parking structure, five of them, and they weren’t being opposed. That meant all the members of his security detail were dead.
Tony realized they would come for him first—surely they knew where Vincent had gone with the money, and he was trapped on the boat. Tony had the best chance of escape, so they would eliminate him first.
Tony slid the doors closed and looked around, not sure what to do.
This wasn’t really his specialty—if someone in the familia needed a favor, Tony was the right man for the job. He could organize anything, or work out a problem, or arrange for financing of a new business venture. He looked good in a suit, and he could hold his own in a boardroom. But a gunfight was not something he had any experience with.
He could hide, but he didn’t think Lucky Luciano would have hid. And Vincent wasn’t hiding—he was probably figuring out a way off the Margaret, or calling in his crew to help him, or trying to hole up in a defensive place on the boat for when the gunmen came aboard.
Vincent wasn’t panicking, Tony was sure, or hiding. But Tony had come up with a plan, and after that he had two Uzis with full clips and he would be going out the back of the warehouse, heading for the Margaret.
But before that happened, he was going to try and eliminate a few of Shotgun’s men.
Tony finished rigging the Oldsmobile. He’d put a heavy brick on the gas pedal and now the car engine was idling loudly, the car pointed at the double doors that led out into the parking lot. Tony assumed Shotgun and his men would come through there, and he wanted to be ready. The barrel of gasoline took up most of the trunk, and the lid of trunk stood open.
Inside the enclosed warehouse the smoke and carbon monoxide from the roaring engine was starting to make him lightheaded, but Tony waited, watching the door.
------
“It’s a trap,” Willie B. said quietly.
Shotgun nodded at Willie B.
“I know,” Shotgun agreed. “But it’s the only way in on this side, and we don’t have the manpower to go around—we have to keep an eye on the boat. When I signal, you guys approach the doors from either side and try to pull them open. Watch out for more dynamite.” Shotgun and his men now had some dynamite of their own, but Shotgun had a better idea than just blowing out the doors.
He directed his men to either side of the door, and when they were in position, he opened fire. Some of the shots ricocheted off the metal, but many pierced the heavy doors, taking out anyone right inside.
------
Tony could hear gunfire from outside, and holes appeared in the closed doors. He reached in and pulled down on the gearshift on the steering column, throwing the car in drive.
The Oldsmobile lurched forward and sped toward the doors. It actually picked up speed as it raced forward, and just as the car neared them, Tony opened fire, aiming for the barrel of gasoline sticking half out of the car’s trunk. He walked the line of bullets up the concrete floor of the warehouse, trying to stay between the rubber streaks left by the car’s tires, and finally, just as the car hit the closed doors, one of his bullets found its mark.
Shotgun heard the car engine and the gunfire from inside the warehouse and immediately knew what it meant, but his recognition of the threat wasn’t quick enough. He stopped firing and waved his men back, but they were already reaching for the handles of the closed metal doors.
It was too late. The large metal doors exploded outward, and Shotgun dove for cover.
The car smashed through the doors, plowing into Shotgun’s men and exploding with the force of a small bomb. Men flew through the air, thrown by the power of the explosion or the impact of the car. Shotgun watched for a horrible moment that seemed to go on forever as the upper half of Willie B.’s body flew through the air and landed near the Mustang.
The explosion threw Shotgun ten feet into the side of parked car. Heat and flames licked toward him, and he crawled behind the car, pulling his rifle and Uzi with him. His left leg had gone numb.
Shotgun’s men were decimated—only one of them even appeared to be moving, and he was rolling around on the pavement, legs on fire.
If this had been a war, Shotgun would be losing, badly.
------
Tony couldn’t believe how well his plan had worked—he peeked out into the parking lot and saw the bodies of several men scattered around the opening he had blown in the doors. He didn’t see anyone else—surely anyone within fifty feet of the blast would be dead.
The flaming hulk of the Oldsmobile had continued across the parking lot and crashed into another car, and both were on fire.
The plan had worked, except that the doors of his warehouse were on fire as well. He grabbed the guard with the leg wound and dragged him out through the burning hole in the warehouse doors and leaned him up against a car.
The fire was spreading. There was valuable inventory in the massive warehouse, and he’d answer to the authorities to keep the contents from burning. Tony pulled out his cell phone and made a quick, anonymous call to the East St. Louis Fire Department, giving the location of the warehouse, and then started toward the Princess Margaret.
------
Shotgun crawled out from behind the car and looked over the hood at the warehouse.
The doors were burning, and fire was running up the sides to the roof—it looked like the whole place was going to go. Good. Hopefully, Tony Luciano was still in there and would burn up himself.
He glanced at the gangplank leading up onto the larger riverboat and saw the older Luciano brother running aboard.
Damn!
Shotgun shouldered his guns and stood painfully—his leg was broken. But Shotgun ignored the pain and started toward the riverboat, getting out his dynamite.
Chapter 53
“I’m heading back to the motel,” Gary said when Mike returned from the Ferris wheel. He noticed that Tina kept a respectful distance—she probably thought he was crazy. He’d been yelling Mike’s name, over and over, and people around him were looking at him strangely.
Gary was smoking, hoping to calm his nerves.
“What happened, Gary? Did someone recognize you?” Mike asked, joking, but then the serious look on Gary’s face must’ve made Mike realize that he wasn’t joking.
Gary looked around at the rest of the people enjoying the fair, but he couldn’t share their buoyant attitude—after talking to Christine, he just wanted to leave.
“No, I just want to get out of here. You stay—I don’t want to spoil things for you,” Gary said, nodding at Tina.
Mike turned and looked at her for a second, then shook his head.
“No, man, this is more important. Let’s head back to the room.”
Mike started to walk over to Tina but Gary grabbed his arm.
“No, it’s okay,” Gary said. “I ran into a girl I graduated
with, and she said my name a couple of times. And...and her name, too. Now I’ve got a splitting headache and just want to lie down. You stay and have a good time,” Gary said, nodding at Tina again. “There’s nothing here that I haven’t done a dozen times before,” he said, glancing around at the booths and rides that came to O’Fallon every May.
“This place is fun,” Mike agreed. “And everyone just seems so...nice here. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
Gary smiled. “That’s the Midwest, Mike. I told you people in LA are rude, but you never listened. People are just nicer here. And I’ll be fine. I’ll head back to the motel, maybe grab a beer.”
Mike stopped and looked him, serious. “Now, don’t do that.”
“Don’t worry—I think I can handle it.” Gary nodded, taking the keys as Mike handed them over. “I’ll probably be asleep when you get back, anyway. And I think we can get out of here tomorrow and get back to LA—it was probably a mistake to come here at all. We’ll go talk to her tomorrow and then head out of town. I think I know enough about my past to know that I should just leave it there. There’s no way I can go back, and coming to this Fair tonight just proves that—I remember having so much fun here once, and now all I want to do is leave.”
Mike nodded, and Gary could tell he was working out whether or not to agree.
“Okay, one beer, and then off to bed,” Mike said. “And don’t do anything stupid. I’ll see if I can catch a ride with Tina, or else I’ll grab a cab. Do they have cabs here?” he asked, serious.
Gary shook his head and walked away, giving Tina a little wave.
He hoped she didn’t think he was crazy—maybe he was. Dr. Myers had used the word “insane” in their discussion, which felt like it had taken place hours ago. Myers said that if too much happened too quickly, it might push Gary over the brink.
If I can’t talk to her tomorrow, he thought, then this trip will have been pointless. The place was full of people that remembered him—how long until he ran into someone in this town who hated his dad, and hated him because of what his dad had done? Would the anger still run deep enough to cause trouble, or get him or Mike hurt? Gary wasn’t sure one way or another, but it didn’t seem wise to risk it.
It would be better this way, anyway. He could let Mike have a good time and not worry about running into any new ‘old’ people that might trigger more memories—at this point, all he wanted to do was just forget the past.
He walked slowly through O’Fallon Park, enjoying another cigarette, and found the rental car parked on U.S. 50, the main east–west road through O’Fallon. Across the street he saw the Animal Hospital of O’Fallon, where he vaguely remembered taking a pet—a little dog, he thought. It had been a long time ago, and the dog had been a stray. He remembered that his mom had made him take the stray to this vet and get him checked out before she would allow him to stay overnight inside the house. Gary remembered that he had paid for the examination out of his own pocket rather than kick the dog out.
Next to the animal hospital was a Pizza Hut, and he remembered dozens of visits there—pleasant times with friends and family.
This place held too many memories, all wanting to get to him and force him to acknowledge their presence. It was just too much. Ignoring them was like trying to ignore the roar of the ocean when you were standing on the beach—it was always there, no matter how hard you tried to shut it out. The lapping of cold water against your feet only served to remind you that trying to forget was pointless.
No matter what you did or how strong you were, the memories would come, like the tide. You couldn’t hold them back—no one could.
Gary Foreman climbed into the car and left, heading back to the motel.
Chapter 54
Tony knew the drug buy was a bust, but the brothers still would be able to come out of this on top. They had the drugs in Vincent’s trunk and all the money they were supposed to give to D.W., now dead in the parking lot.
“Vincent?” he yelled, walking into the main casino area. Someone had tipped over a number of the roulette and poker tables, facing them all toward the door. Thousands of black and red poker chips littered the floor around Tony’s feet.
“Vincent? I got them all,” Tony called. “You can come out.”
There was no response.
“You here?” Tony called again.
A moment later, he heard his brother’s voice come back to him. It sounded strange, metallic and amplified. “I’m here, brother. Can’t you see me?”
Tony wasn’t in the mood for games.
“No, I can’t,” he answered. “Come on out of the security room—the warehouse is on fire and the cops are going to be here soon. Shotgun and his men are dead, but we need to get the cash and the coke out of here, now.” Why was his brother acting so strangely?
“I can see you on the cameras,” Vincent’s voice carried through the ship. “This is a pretty cool setup—I can see almost every room.”
Over the speakers, Tony heard a small chuckle from Vincent that raised the hair on the back of his neck.
And then Vincent asked another question. “Are you worried people are going to cheat on you?”
Tony knew that Vincent was in the security office on the second deck, the middle deck of the ship that held the offices. The bridge and outdoor restaurant were on the third, or top, deck. Tony turned and headed for the stairs.
“Don’t, brother,” Vincent said.
Tony stopped. “What’s wrong, Vincent? Why are you acting like this? We need to get out of here, and now!”
The chuckle, again.
“Don’t bark at me, Tony,” Vincent said slowly. “I don’t know if I can trust you anymore, brother. Would you have really asked me to ride along with D.W. as proof that the money was good?”
So, that’s what this was about.
“Yes, Vincent, I would have,” Tony answered, standing his ground. “D.W. needed to trust us to complete the deal. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but it doesn’t really matter now, anyway, does it? They’re all dead. I couldn’t have volunteered to go myself —I’m in charge of the familia.”
There was a long silence and then Vincent replied.
“Ah, but there’s the rub, isn’t it?”
------
Shotgun cautiously approached the gangplank, dragging his broken left leg. He wasn’t really worried about that—they’d taught him in the military how to ignore pain, how to sublimate it beneath the needs of the task at hand.
Whatever the mission was, it had to be more important than the blood or the pain or the loss.
And now, Shotgun was on a mission.
The Princess Margaret was a good defensive position—the Luciano boys obviously had the advantage. If he could get up the gangplank and on board, he’d be lucky. Shotgun needed an advantage of some sort, something to even the odds a little.
Tony made his way through the casino floor, stepping on poker chips strewn on the carpet, and found the stairs up to the second floor. He passed the signs that said “Employees Only,” still talking to Vincent, but his brother wasn’t answering anymore. Tony made his way toward the security office—he’d shown it to Vincent on a tour just a week before. There had been a lock on the door, but Tony guessed that Vincent had shot it off.
Tony rounded a corner and saw his brother, standing in the hallway. He had a large machine gun out, pointed down the hallway at him.
“Whoa, Vincent,” Tony shouted. “Don’t shoot, okay?”
Vincent looked at him coldly.
“You would have sacrificed me to make the deal, right?” Vincent asked. The gun moved slowly in his hands. “You offered me up as a bargaining chip. Your own family.”
Tony put his hands up slowly. “Now, just calm down, Vincent. You didn’t say anything after, when we were counting the money or loading—”
“I loaded the coke, Tony,” Vincent yelled. “You and D.W. stood and watched me and that lackey load the coke. You didn’t help or lift a finger.”
Tony wasn’t sure what to say.
“And I couldn’t say anything,” Vincent yelled. “I wanted the deal to go through as much as you. Maybe more. But I would never have offered you up to make the deal, Tony. Never.”
Tony nodded, understanding.
“Okay, Vincent, I understand why you’re angry,” Tony said. “Put the gun down—we can talk through this.”
Vincent shook his head. “No, brother, I don’t think so. I know where you’re going with this whole drug business—this is our last buy, and then you’ll end it. You’re much more interested in your casino boats and your less ‘distasteful’ businesses than you are in making real money. And when you get the familia out of the coke business, you won’t need me anymore, right? Or was that the whole plan tonight—get the coke and get rid of me at the same time?”
Tony shook his head.
“No, that’s not what I’m planning,” Tony said. “But you’re right—I do find this whole business distasteful. Just look at all the problems tonight—we’ve got at least a dozen dead men out there, and the big warehouse is probably already half gone. But you were right about the money. We can do this right, and believe me, we can do this together.”
Vincent was looking at him. “What do you mean?”
“I was going to tell you after the buy,” Tony answered. “I think the best thing to do is let you run this side of the business, make the buys and sell the product. You can run it however you want—I don’t even want to know about it. And I’ll worry about the other businesses.”
Vincent seemed to think about that for a moment. “Humph. How can I trust you?”
“Trust me? Trust me? I’m familia, Vincent. There’s no one else you can trust more than me—I want this to work. And I want the familia to be successful.”
