by Jason Winn
About time.
The caller ID said Kessler, another customer. He ran an executive protection business, an old white man who always seemed to be judging the immature girl on the other end of the phone.
“Hello, Mr. Kessler.” Madison tried to sound as calm as possible.
“Where the hell is your man? I’ve been waiting for two hours and he’s not here.”
That was odd. Hugo was usually punctual, professional and never had any trouble.
“I’m sorry. I’ll find out what happened to him and get him over there right away.”
“Don’t bother. I’ve got a meeting in half an hour. I’ll send you another drop-off time tomorrow. Try to see if he can be bothered to show up for the next one.”
The phone went dead.
Worried, Madison dialed Hugo. It went straight to voice mail.
“Shit. Hugo, where are you?”
She couldn’t wait anymore; she dialed Cedric. The voice mail picked up.
Madison growled. “Shit, shit!”
“You all right?” asked Dana.
Madison shrieked. “What? Yes, I’m fine. I thought you left.” Tension and anxiety coiled around Madison, crushing her. Something was happening. Hugo always answered his phone.
“I heard you say Hugo.” Dana looked frightened.
“What do you care about Hugo?” Dana’s concern for Hugo was absurd. Madison couldn’t remember the last time Dana even mentioned his name. And she looked more surprised than concerned.
Dana stammered. “Nothing, I...”
“You what? Do you know what’s going on here?” Madison’s tone was accusatory. Everything seemed to turn red.
“No, I, no, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Hugo just said...”
“Said? Said, what? What the hell are you talking about, Dana? Were you and Hugo talking about me?”
Dana paused, eyes darting all over.
Madison pressed her attack. Dana knew more than she was letting on. She took a step toward Dana and stabbed a finger into her sister’s chest. “Spill it, now.”
Tears welled up in Dana’s eyes. “He just said you were stressing out and to let him know if you were okay. That’s it. I swear.”
“He asked you to spy on me?”
Madison’s fist flew, catching Dana on the shoulder.
“Ouch!”
A thud came from the floor and Madison looked down to see a cell phone. Dana went for it, but Madison snatched it first. The contacts list was open, and only one name was on the list: Hugo.
“What the fuck is this? Some burner phone from your friend Hugo?”
Dana wilted and morphed into a sobbing wreck. Her chin quivered, tears ran down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. Her words came through gasps. “He gave it to me to call him, and let him know you were okay.”
“As opposed to just telling you his number? Go to your fucking room, Dana! I’ll deal with you later.”
Dana turned and ran out of the library, wailing. Madison raised her arm to smash the phone against the floor, but thought better of it. Maybe Sean could make something of it.
Madison dialed Cedric again. This time he answered the phone.
Chapter 31
The Flying J Motel looked like it hadn’t seen a customer since the Reagan administration. A note about hourly rates was still visible under the logo. The few cars in the parking lot looked like they had been abandoned sometime around the Clinton administration. All of Maryland Route 191 was pretty much the same thing, at least as far as Contessa could see. The area was nothing more than a strip of scrub pines, county dumps, and trailer parks interspersed with the detritus of post-war America: motor lodges, diners and the occasional used car lot.
Contessa waited patiently in the car, parked on the back side of the motel, providing some degree of privacy from anyone who might be driving by. She wasn’t a fan of driving all the way down to southern Maryland, but this was necessary. Fireflies flickered in the twilight and a gentle breeze blew in the smell of dead skunk.
Car tires crunched on gravel, signaling Cedric’s arrival. They pulled to a stop about twenty yards away from Contessa and her group. Doors slammed. Cedric got out and said something into his cell phone, before stuffing it into his pocket.
“Cedric’s greedier than I thought,” Contessa said. Corrado grunted in agreement. She’d put his coming to the meeting at fifty-fifty. Watching a man crushed to death by a cloud of cigarette smoke tended to push people away.
A heavy leather bag, carrying a quarter million in cash, sat in Corrado’s lap. Cedric’s payment.
Cedric. Contessa was glad she’d never put her trust in the little traitor, like Nancy had. What a fool she was. The plan was unfolding perfectly, filling Contessa with the stillness of certain victory.
With the clink of her lighter, the car filled with smoke and the two got out to face Cedric and his men.
She counted eight men on the other side of the parking lot, standing next to three cars. They were old and raggedy-looking, yet confident. Weapons bulged from windbreakers. She didn’t recognize any of the goons, save for Cedric.
Two of Contessa’s people, Tommy and Carmine, stood by the car, trying to look bored. They were thick, street-wise killers, veterans of Philly turf wars and loyal to the death. Trained psychopaths were the best kind of backup muscle.
Contessa walked about ten paces and stopped. The power move would make Cedric and his gang have to walk over to her. These people needed to know she was more important.
Cedric waited for a moment, measuring her with his eyes, perhaps reconsidering his decision to come. He finally walked over. His hands were empty—no Moonmilk—making her a little suspicious there could be trickery afoot. A cell phone chimed from Cedric’s pocket. He ignored it.
“Why so many friends?” asked Contessa. She watched his body language, picking up on any movement that might indicate a lie, the twitch of an eyelid or pulsing vein in his neck.
Cedric smirked in response. “Boss told us to be cautious.”
“Does your boss know these men?”
“Most of them.”
“Will they be missed?”
“Probably.”
“Good.” Contessa blew a huge cloud of smoke, which drifted between Cedric and his men. “And what about the other couriers?”
Feet shuffled against the gravel on the other side of the dense cloud.
“Well,” said Cedric. “Hugo Durden isn’t going to be a problem anymore.”
“Oh?”
Cedric whipped a finger across his throat.
That was excellent. Stripping away Madison’s layers of protection was essential. Contessa could only imagine what he’d done to Hugo. She hoped he’d been careful, but in the end it didn’t really matter.
“Cedric, dear,” said Contessa, “you may want to get out of the way.”
He did what he was told and moved off to one side.
“Boss? You okay?” shouted one of Cedric’s men from the other side of the dense smokescreen.
“Yeah! I’m fine,” shouted Cedric. “Just stay there.”
Contessa turned and nodded to Tommy and Carmine. The two brutes drew machine pistols from their jackets and proceeded around the smoke.
Automatic pistol fire and shouting broke out. A car alarm went off. Headlights blinked like distant orbs in fog. Several stray bullets hit the smoke. Upon doing so, they slowed and drifted through the cloud, like snowflakes.
Contessa caught Cedric looking at one of the spinning bullets, as if he wanted to pick it out of the cloud and examine it.
Someone cried, “Don’t shoot, please.” That was followed by three quick gunshots. The car alarm stopped with the chirp of a key fob. And then it was quiet.
The wall of smoke dissipated, revealing Tommy and Carmine inspecting bloody heaps next to smoldering, bullet-ridden cars. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the warm air.
“Tell me, Cedric, did you find out where the Moonmilk is made?”
&nb
sp; He stared at the heaps that a few seconds ago had been his entourage, running a hand through his hair, mouth agape.
“Yeah, uh, the...”
He just stood there, as if he was actually shocked by the death of the men. Tendrils of smoke rose from a bloody head. Cedric’s weakness at the sight of violence disappointed Contessa. He had talked big on the phone, like he was fine with the idea of bringing Madison’s foot soldiers to a hit, but now, as he struggled to speak, Contessa was not so sure he had the balls for this line of work. For a moment, she considered telling Tommy and Carmine to shoot him.
Instead she shouted at him. “Cedric!”
An invisible force snapped Cedric’s head back to look at her. “Madison owns the Blue Dreamz bakeries around D.C. Here’re the addresses.” He dug a piece of paper from his pocket and with a trembling hand, gave it to Contessa.
“Come here, Corrado,” she called to him. She handed her son the paper. “Call Santino and tell him to go to work. I want the Bulldogs to take care of this. They should make it quick and painful, but under no circumstances is Madison to be touched.”
Not yet, anyway.
Corrado nodded and glanced at the paper, before taking out his cell phone and walking away.
Contessa turned back to Cedric. “And, is the storm brewer in one of those bakeries?”
“No. I’ve seen them all. They’re just fronts for the Moonmilk business. Probably a tax thing.”
“Well, where is it? We need to find that.”
“I don’t know. She won’t tell me.”
Damn it. The little worm might be lying, only to resurface in a few weeks asking for more money in exchange for the location of the storm brewer. Contessa calmed herself with another drag on her cigarette, letting the smoke drift up from her nostrils. Cedric’s eyes remained locked on hers. “What about where Madison lives? Maybe it’s there.”
“I don’t know. Look, she never meets me at her house and she drives that sports car of hers like a maniac. You’d have to have a death wish to tail her.”
“What about her sisters, or close associates?” Smoke tendrils formed up around Cedric’s feet. He looked like he wanted to run away, but held his ground.
Cedric thought for a moment, and when he finally answered, his voice shook. “There’s a girl named Sarah. She’s a teenager with long blonde hair, never far from Madison. Maybe she knows something.” His eyes flicked back to the bag over Corrado’s shoulder.
A smile crept across Contessa’s lips. “You get that after you’re dead.”
Cedric let out a sigh and his shoulders drooped. He pulled out his pistol. It hung loose in his hand. Carmine appeared instantly, pointing a machine pistol at Cedric.
Good boy. She waved Carmine off.
The buzz of a cell phone from Cedric’s pocket cut through the silence.
“Is it her?” Contessa asked.
Cedric sighed and flipped the screen for Contessa to see. It read “Madison Mosby.”
He started gasping before he answered the call. “Madison.”
Contessa could hear a young woman shouting at him on the other end. She recognized the voice from their talk, through her coin a few days ago. Madison sounded absolutely frantic, which gave Contessa a warm, almost serene feeling.
“Ambush,” said Cedric in a shaky voice. “I’m sorry, Madison.” He made a gargling sound before firing two rounds into the air. The phone slipped from his hands and landed on the gravel with a cracking sound. The screen shattered, showing the call still connected.
“Cedric!” shouted Madison. “Cedric, talk to me! What happened?”
Contessa smiled and nodded to Cedric in admiration of his performance. She wondered if he’d ever done something similar to the Rose Widow. Was that why she disappeared? Did you kill her, or was it that Langston I’ve heard so much about?
Corrado reappeared. “Santino is on his way to deal with the bakeries,” he said. “We should get going.”
“Pay him,” said Contessa as she tossed her cigarette on the ground and mashed it out with her toe.
The leather bag fell on top of the cell phone, muffling Madison’s screams. A stack of hundred-dollar bills spilled out.
She’d go find Sarah, perhaps. It was another option, and assumedly put her way ahead of the other cartels. If Madison wouldn’t cooperate, then Sarah would have to be coerced. Tommy and Carmine completed their inspection of the corpses and returned to their posts by the cars. Carmine carried the plastic case of Moonmilk Cedric brought. As Tommy passed Contessa, he stooped to retrieve her cigarette butt. He placed it in his pocket as if it were a stray penny.
This was all too easy, Contessa pondered, the impetuousness and inexperience of youth, would lead to Madison’s downfall. Once the couriers were all dead and someone else blamed, Madison would crawl to her, give up all her secrets and customers and then, well, what use would she have for Madison? None.
Cedric looked at the mangled cars he’d arrived in and back to Contessa with a pleading look in his eyes.
“Oh, Cedric,” Contessa cooed. “We’re going back to Philadelphia. And you’d best disappear.”
Tommy and Carmine loaded the case of Moonmilk into Contessa’s car and they all drove off, leaving Cedric in a swirl of dust and fireflies.
Chapter 32
Madison kept shouting into the phone as if it were going to revive Cedric. She gave up after her voice went hoarse. Her hands shook. She hadn’t been this scared since the Preens had her cornered in their shop. Her legs started trembling and the room seemed to tilt. The gravity of her fear drove her to the floor in a cold sweat.
She wondered if whoever shot Cedric was coming for her next. It was the only thing that made sense. A needle-like pain throbbed in her chest with every beat of her fluttering heart. She felt completely alone. Her thumbnail dug deep into her palm, almost drawing blood.
Langston! Langston, Langston. I can’t do this alone anymore.
She needed to talk to him right now. Like he’s going to answer. Langston made it clear that he was “off the grid” and would call her when he needed to talk, not the other way around. Asshole. For a moment she was glad she’d sold his Moonmilk, but that decision had gotten Cedric shot or—god forbid—killed.
The others. Were they okay? She tried their phones in succession. With every voice mail, the pit in her stomach grew.
Fight. Fight, you stupid bitch. You can do this. Get up. GET UP!
A few deep breaths later, the world snapped back into focus and Madison pushed herself back to her feet. She bolted to the window of the front foyer and stared out onto the dark front lawn. Fireflies blinked lazily between the trees.
I’m next. Jesus, I’m next.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head violently. Finally, she called Jane.
After one ring, Jane answered. “What’s up?”
A shower of hope began to wash away the fear.
“I think something’s happening. I think Cedric was just killed. Nobody’s answering their phones.”
“Are you okay?” Jane’s voice was cold and almost soothing.
“I’m fine. He was on a job. He called me,”
“Try to calm down. Take a deep breath.”
Madison sucked in air and held it, before exhaling. Her heart continued pounding. She took another breath and another. She felt a little better. “He called me and there were gunshots on the other end, and I think he’s dead.”
“So you weren’t there. You just heard this?”
“Right.”
“Sounds like someone just fired the first shots in a war.”
“A war. I don’t want a war, right now.”
“Then you’ve already lost.”
“Fuck. Jane, don’t tell me that.”
“In a way, this was inevitable. The question is who did this.”
“Probably that little Preen fucker.”
“The one whose parents you put out of business?”
“Yeah.”
“Anyon
e else in trouble?”
Madison hadn’t considered that. Her other people could be in danger.
Oh, shit. This is exactly what Joey warned me about. More people are probably going to die tonight. I don’t want this anymore.
Hot tears streaked down her cheeks and stung her eyes.
“Hey, you still with me?” asked Jane. “You try Sarah?”
Oh, no. The thought churned her stomach and she thought she might wretch.
“Yeah, I’m here. I haven’t tried her. She’s over at the warehouse, I think.” Madison tried not to sound like she was crying, but Jane wasn’t stupid.
“Well, call her. I’ll go check on the others. And, go check on Vincent. He’s closest to you. I’ll call you back in a few hours. In the meantime, get on the phone with everyone and tell them to get to safe places. Anyone doesn’t get back to you right away, let me know and I’ll go put eyes on them.”
“Okay.” Madison hung up.
Sarah picked up on the first ring. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.
Madison gasped hearing her best friend’s voice. “Some bad shit is going down.” Madison recounted everything up until that moment.
“Goodness, Maddy, are you all right?”
“No, I’m a fucking wreck. Where are you?”
“The bakery. We just finished. I’m about to send everyone home.”
“Is everything okay there?”
“Quiet as can be.”
That was a relief. Maybe the whole thing was isolated to just Cedric. Maybe the others were fine and Madison was just overreacting. That had to be it.
“Maybe I’m just going crazy,” said Madison. “Jane thinks something bigger is going on, but you know how she can be paranoid.”
Sarah didn’t say anything for a moment. “Well, just to be on the safe side, get a gun in your hand and I’ll be right over.”
“No, meet me at Vincent’s place.”
Sarah hung up, without saying good-bye.
Madison bolted to the study where the gun safe sat in a corner. She punched in the lock’s code and was greeted with the smell of Break Free gun oil. Out came her grandfather’s .357 Bulldog pistol. A small but powerful revolver for concealed carry. Madison checked it—five rounds rested in the cylinder—and snapped the pancake holster into her belt, and under her loose shirt. She felt a little safer.
