by Gary Ponzo
Nick saw steam wafting upward from under the hood of Kharrazi’s truck. The horn still pierced the air. He was able to unholster his gun with his right hand. His left arm and shoulder were useless. Liquid dripped down the side of his neck and when he touched it with the back of his gun hand, he came back with blood. He looked up to see himself in the rear view mirror, but it was gone. He pulled the side view mirror from his lap and saw lacerations streaking the left side of his face. They were already beginning to coagulate down to a slow ooze.
The truck’s engine was still running, but when he stepped on the accelerator, nothing happened. Everything looked real promising.
He was a sitting duck if he didn’t force himself out of the truck. First he unsnapped his seat belt harness and rolled to his right onto the bench seat. His legs seemed to be working properly, so he boosted himself up and, using only his right hand, he opened the passenger side door and hobbled outside of the truck.
Nick scoured the perimeter. He didn’t see or hear anything, but the truck’s horn dominated the sounds of the night. He wondered if Kharrazi had purposely managed to leave the horn blaring. It would cover up any peripheral noise Kharrazi might make from the woods. It was precisely the kind of thing Kharrazi would do.
Nick found himself favoring his right leg as he limped toward Kharrazi’s truck. He worked his way there from a wide semicircle. Keeping his attention on the cab of the truck, he slithered between trees and undergrowth. It was an older model truck and didn’t appear to have air bags. When he was even with the driver’s side door, he saw something move inside the cab. An arm maybe, or maybe a branch moved from the other side of the cab. He stood motionless and saw it again. An arm seemed to be banging against the dashboard. No, not the dashboard, the steering column. Kharrazi was pounding his fist against the horn, trying to get it to stop. Nick watched cautiously, trying to evaluate Kharrazi’s condition before approaching him.
A moment later the horn stopped.
It left a sudden void, which was filled with an eerie silence, like just before a hurricane was about to hit. Only the hiss of the torn water hose remained. Kharrazi simply sat there, his left hand pressed up against the side of his neck. Nick thought he heard moaning. It was an older, foreign truck and he noticed the windshield was smashed. Kharrazi didn’t appear to be wearing a seat belt and there was no air bag. He must have catapulted through the windshield, then rebounded back into his seat.
Nick thought about firing a couple of rounds at Kharrazi. He was close enough. The man didn’t deserve a warning. Not Kemel Kharrazi. Finish it.
Hesitation, doubt, indecision: these were all things that got FBI agents killed. Nick had to decide, then commit to the decision. Slowly, he stepped out of the woods and approached the truck. His right arm was fully extended, his left arm was limp by his side. His gun seemed yards ahead of him.
“How did you find me?” Kharrazi said, without turning his head.
“You even scratch your nose, I’ll blow your head off,” Nick said through clenched teeth.
Kharrazi finally turned his head and Nick got a good look at his damaged face. His right eye was swollen. Streaks of blood ran down his face like a map full of rivers marked in red. Kharrazi’s left hand kept constant pressure against the side of his neck, yet blood still seeped between his fingers.
“Get your right hand up on the steering wheel,” Nick closed in.
When Kharrazi didn’t move, Nick fired a shot directly across his face and through the broken windows of the cab of the truck. Kharrazi quickly placed his hand on the steering wheel.
“I’m going to kill you, Mr. Bracco,” Kharrazi’s voice was raspy.
Nick had a million questions, but he was so relieved to be alive, he shivered. His teeth were actually chattering. He noticed the blood saturating Kharrazi’s left shoulder. Kharrazi must have nicked his carotid artery when he went through the windshield. He needed attention soon, or he would bleed out.
Kharrazi gave Nick a deadly stare. “You have just condemned your wife to a life of fear and ultimately a painful death.”
“You’re going to prison for the rest of your life, Kemel.”
Kharrazi seemed appalled at the accusation. “You think for one minute that I don’t have the funds to acquire the best team of attorneys money can buy? You think I left fingerprints, or any trails that lead back to me?”
Nick considered this for a moment. What evidence did they actually have that Kharrazi was the one who was giving the orders. Everyone in the Bureau knew it was him, but how much physical evidence did they actually have? Who in the KSF would ever turn on Kemel Kharrazi?
Kharrazi sneered, “You don’t think I can get to you from prison?”
That was the clincher. Yes, Kharrazi could reach Nick from prison. Unmistakably, unequivocally, and with little effort.
Nick wasn’t about to live the rest of his life with that hanging over his head. Before he knew it, he was leaning into the cab of the truck and pressing the tip of his 9mm against Kharrazi’s head.
Kharrazi didn’t flinch. “You don’t expect me to believe you’re going to shoot me.”
Nick pressed hard enough to force Kharrazi’s head back. “You don’t think I can?”
Kharrazi’s face was cool, but his eyes had difficulty leaving Nick’s gun. “I have to give you credit,” Kharrazi said. “You surprised me back there with the head-on move. It took a lot of courage to do what you did. But that was a spontaneous act. This is different. Now, you have a prisoner under custody. I am no longer a danger to you. You are too honest, Mr. Special Agent. You are not me. You play by the rules. Rules that I have no need to abide by. But you’re not about to lower yourself because of me or anyone else.”
Nick actually smiled. His face hurt when he did, so he stopped. He lowered his gun and watched Kharrazi’s expression grow smug.
“That’s better,” Kharrazi said.
“What I’m wondering,” Nick said, casual, non-threatening, an inquisitive tone.
“Why you?” Kharrazi finished for him.
“Yeah?”
“Because of Rashid.”
“So, revenge.”
“Oh, no, it’s much deeper than that. Rashid was much closer than a brother. When you were able to chase him down and arrest him, I took notice. The FBI is a large, sluggish, political system that moves at a snail’s pace. There is always one person that finds their way around the obstacles in a massive entity like the Bureau. You were that person. And I knew if you were clever enough to capture Rashid, you were clever enough to thwart our operation.”
Nick waved his hand at the crumpled truck that enclosed Kharrazi. “Your logic was obviously flawless.”
“Don’t be so arrogant, Mr. Bracco,” Kharrazi scoffed. “You haven’t even begun to see the extent of my control. There are people I can contact who would gladly finish my chores for me. Your beautiful wife will not put up with the restrictions you’ll require in order to protect her. She will be more of a prisoner than I will ever be.”
Nick didn’t need to hear any more. He pulled his handcuffs from his belt and quickly snapped one around Kharrazi’s right wrist, on the hand that was gripping the steering wheel. It took Kharrazi by surprise.
“You have a Constitutional right to remain silent,” Nick said.
This seemed to relax Kharrazi. He was being arrested and it didn’t appear to faze him.
Nick pulled Kharrazi’s left hand from his neck and tugged it through the opening in the steering wheel, under the left side of the steering column. He then snapped it together with the handcuff on Kharrazi’s right wrist before Kharrazi knew what was happening.
“What are you doing?” Kharrazi said.
Nick continued. “Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law.”
Kharrazi tugged on the handcuffs. He found himself hunched over the steering wheel. Both hands were on the opposite side of the steering column, which was bent upward from the collision and tight against the dashboa
rd. He desperately tried to get his left hand to his neck, but couldn’t manage. When left exposed, the carotid artery in Kharrazi’s neck began flowing freely. Each pulse of his heart sent a surge of blood squirting from the gash like a fireman’s hose.
“You can’t do this,” Kharrazi searched for a threat, a command, a plea. When he realized there was nothing left to draw from, he repeated, “You can’t.”
Nick stood back and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “You’re right about me, Kemel. I always go by the book. So before I call for backup, I want to make sure you understand your rights.”
“I need medical attention,” Kharrazi demanded.
“Did I mention your right to an attorney?”
“This is not the way you treat a prisoner,” Kharrazi’s voice was cracking. He tilted his head down against his left shoulder, futilely trying to slow the blood loss.
Nick folded his arms. “You asked how I found you. Do you still want to know?”
Kharrazi looked like a circus animal, hunched over, squirming. “What do you want from me?”
“I found you because a very brave man by the name of Don Silkari gave his life to plant a tracking chip on you. He was courageous. Not the type of man who would bail out in a game of chicken.”
“All right,” Kharrazi’s voice was diminishing. “You made your point. This Silk guy was gutsy. He went down fighting. Is that what you want from me? Now get me help, like we both know you will.”
Kharrazi’s eyes met Nick’s and right then he knew his fate. Kharrazi lifted his head and tried to look dignified, but he was fading. His mouth moved to speak, but nothing came out. In just a few seconds, Kharrazi’s face was bleach white. The blood leaving the artery was down to a gurgle. His eyes lost clarity and became distant.
Nick came close and leaned into Kharrazi’s ear. “You picked the wrong guy to fuck with, Kemel,” he whispered.
Kharrazi turned toward Nick’s voice, but couldn’t possible have seen him. His head collapsed onto the steering wheel and the horn began to blare again.
In the distance, Nick heard the thump of a helicopter’s rotor. He reached into the cab, unlocked the handcuffs from Kharrazi’s wrists and returned them to his belt clip. He stared at Kharrazi; a crumpled heap of flesh and bones and nothing else. Nothing that could ever threaten him or his family again. He could almost see the malevolence dissipate from Kharrazi’s corpse.
“You have the right to remain silent,” Nick said. “Forever.”
Chapter 41
The line of parked limos stretched over the horizon down Pinewood Lane adjacent to the cemetery. In a black-clad semicircle three hundred friends and family members stood around the casket that held Don Silkari. The casket was draped with an American Flag. A priest in a dark silk robe recited nuances of distinction fit for a war hero. A distinction Silk had earned. Behind the priest were enough flowers to fill an Olympic swimming pool.
Nick stood front and center, Julie clutching his left hand, his cousin Tommy to his right. Tommy still wore a large, flesh tone bandage across his cheek, while just a trace of gauze wrap could be detected under Julie’s black hat. The remainder of the front row consisted of stern looking men with practiced steely glares. Occasionally one of them would glance over at Sal Demenci, who stood to the right of Tommy Bracco. Sal was holding it together, but as the ceremony progressed, so did his temper. He kept looking at the priest as if he were speaking a foreign language. He’d shake his head and stare out over the casket, seeming to be searching for an answer.
As the casket was lowered into the ground, the men formed a line and one by one they dropped playing cards, dice and other paraphernalia into the grave. The most common item dropped was a single bullet that was palmed just before it left the donor’s hand to remain with Silk for eternity. Apparently Silk’s slight of hand act was more popular than he suspected.
Matt and Jennifer Steele dropped flowers into the opening, while Julie passed by the coffin and broke down. She caught up with Silk’s mother and the two of them shared a convulsive hug.
When it was his turn, Nick looked down at the box and tried to come to terms with his judgment. He felt the need to pray and purge his soul full of remorse. It seemed like just last week they were teenagers and Silk was showing Nick and Tommy how to sneak into Pimlico Race Track from the backside stables. The three of them risking capture so they could save two bucks for the daily double. He whispered, “Forgive me, Silk.”
Nick reached into his back pocket and slid out a folded copy of that days Racing Form. He held it over the grave and was about to drop it when he felt an arm drape around his shoulder and a second Racing Form appeared next to his. He looked up to see Tommy duplicating Nick’s ritual. Tommy winked at him. They both looked down and let go of the Forms at the same time.
Tommy probably sensed Nick’s composure about to get away from him, so he patted his cousin’s back and encouraged him to move on and allow the line of mourners to progress.
As the ceremony wound down, the crowd spread out in different directions, heading towards their cars or limos, shaking their heads.
Matt took Julie’s arm and directed her toward an open limo door where Jennifer Steele waited for her. He looked over at Nick and gave a silent nod.
Nick then nodded to Sal Demenci and the two men headed for a separate limo. A group of Sal’s men fell into step behind them. As they approached the limo, a large man pulled open the back door and Sal offered Nick the honors. Nick slid down the long bench seat and watched Sal do the same directly across from him. Tommy sat next to Sal and chewed on a red toothpick. It only took a few seconds for the rest of the seats to fill up. The door closed and the silence began. Nick hadn’t smoked a cigarette in fifteen years, yet he craved one right now.
Sal broke the silence. “So, how was dinner at the White House?”
“Yeah,” Nick said, “it was good. Julie’s still buzzing over it.”
“Good, good,” Sal said, his hands clasped over his stomach.
More silence.
Finally, Tommy said, “Look, Nicky, you gonna tell us what happened?”
Nick knew he should tell them the story. So he did. Everything. Even the part about him sending Silk into an ambush. When he was done, his elbows were on his knees and his head was down. He could hear Sal sigh.
“Of all people,” Sal said. “You’re the one.”
Nick stared at his shoes.
“You’re the one who insults Silk,” Sal said.
Nick looked up.
Sal sat upright with his arms folded. He turned to Tommy next to him. “You buying it?”
Tommy shook his head. “Nah.”
“What are you talking about?” Nick said. “Those are the facts.”
Sal flipped his index finger back and forth between Tommy and Nick. “You two grew up the Three Musketeers with Silk. Was there ever a time one of you pulled the wool over Silk’s eyes? Ever?”
Nick made eye contact with his cousin. Without either of them saying a word, Sal had made his point.
Sal leaned forward now and was only inches from Nick’s face. “I’m gonna tell you something, Silk not only knew it was an ambush, he walked into the damn thing just awkward enough to be taken lightly. If he didn’t, that Kharrazi character would’ve picked him off with a night scope and Silk wouldn’t be able to plant that chip thing. He knew exactly what the fuck he was doing.”
Sal leaned back to murmurs of support from his crew.
“C’mon, Nicky,” Tommy said, disappointed. “You know better than that, huh?”
Nick was beginning to understand it now. If Silk was simply ambushed, it makes him look slow, which is not exactly how these guys want him remembered. Neither did Nick.
“There is one other thing,” Nick said, and he went on to tell them Silk’s last words, that Nick should track Kharrazi down if he screwed up.
This opened up a chorus of, “See that,” and “Exactly what Sal’s trying to say.”
Nick was actually
beginning to feel better. This was worth twenty sessions with Dr. Morgan. He was at Silk’s funeral and was finding himself almost happy. Talking with Sal was practically cathartic. Why did he suddenly feel so blissful? Maybe it was the relief of confessing his sins. Maybe it was the document he had tucked in his jacket pocket. Maybe it was the fact that they were right. Silk could be many things, but slow wasn’t one of them.
“Does your boss know you’re telling us all of this?” Tommy said.
“I don’t have a boss right now,” Nick said. “I resigned from the Bureau yesterday.”
“You shitin’ me?” Tommy said.
“Nope.”
“What’re you gonna do?”
“I’m looking for a place up in the mountains. I think Julie and I are going to take it easy for a while. Get rid of some stress.”
“Good for you,” Sal said. “I always thought you were wound up a little tight. You’re doing the right thing.” He paused and thought for a moment. “So, we all square with the feds?” He looked out the window at Silk’s grave, “I mean, we pay enough of a price for them?”
Nick glanced at each man, one by one. When he got to Sal, he said, “You overpaid.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Sal grunted.
Nick reached into his inside jacket pocket and came out with a black leather case. It was a document holder the size of a large checkbook. The case gleamed in his hand and Nick could smell the fresh leather.
“What ya got there,” Tommy pointed his toothpick.
Nick handed the leather case to Sal, then watched.
Sal’s face brightened as he reviewed the document inside.
Nick waited to let the concept sink in before he hit him with it. Finally, after a minute, Sal looked up at Nick. “What does this mean exactly?”
“It means you’ve been selected to be an Honorary Consulate of the United States of America.”
Sal smiled and held up the shiny leather case to give everyone a good look. When they were all done gawking at the official document inside, Sal looked back at Nick, “Okay? What exactly does a, uh, Consulate do?”
