David Wolf series Box Set

by Jeff Carson

  Tito’s face paled and his arms went limp by his sides.

  “Good. Now tell me. What did Rossi just say?”

  “He wanted to know if I had seen you yet.”

  “Yeah? And what did you tell him?”

  “I said I had not.”

  “Okay, and what did he say?”

  “He was angry, and said to call him when I saw you.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why? He did not say why, just to call him.”

  Wolf eyed him. “Remember what I said. I’ll be watching you, so stay here.” Wolf smiled. “We’ll have a laugh about this someday, I promise.”

  Chapter 44

  Wolf walked briskly away from the piazza against the flow of traffic, sure that Tito was already running for help. Wolf took one random turn after another, making his way downhill.

  He searched the phone contacts and dialed a number. The long tone rang against his ear as he walked.

  “Pronto?” Paulo’s voice was distant sounding.

  “You in front of a computer?”

  “Tito? What? Who ees thees?”

  Wolf stopped walking. “It’s David Wolf. I’m here with Lia and Tito. But, listen, we have a few favors to ask, well, Lia has a couple favors.”

  He proceeded with one of the best acting jobs of his life, and hung up with a spark of hope.

  Wolf continued walking and scrolled through the phone contacts, and finally found Lia’s phone number under Tenente Parente.

  The phone rang unanswered, and then cut out with a rapid beeping noise.

  Wolf cursed and looked at the phone. The reception bars were gone, a dashed line in their place.

  “Shit.” He backtracked his route, keeping his eyes on the reception bars and the people around him. As he turned a corner, the reception came back.

  He dialed again, and pressed the phone to his ear, listening to it ring for a full thirty seconds. His stomach sank. He hadn’t thought of the simple fact that Lia would probably screen Tito’s calls at all costs.

  Wolf ended the call and exhaled. He stared up, pleading to a higher power for another idea. A swarm of huge insects clouded around the lights along the tall walls of the surrounding buildings.

  Shit. There was no other plan.

  The phone vibrated in his hand. Wolf looked at the phone, the illuminated screen displayed Tenente Parente. “Hello?”

  There was silence on the other end.

  “Lia? Is that you?”

  “Yes, who is this?”

  “It’s David. I’m on Tito’s phone.”

  There was silence on the other end, then a group of 50 cc motorcycles revving loudly into the phone. A split second later, Wolf heard the same sound in his free ear, though much fainter, coming from the direction of the piazza.

  “How’s the surveillance coming?” Wolf asked.

  There was silence for a second. Wolf looked back at the phone reception. “Where are you, David?” she asked.

  “I’m near.”

  She stayed silent.

  “I didn’t do it,” he said.

  “Didn’t do what?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. Vlad. I didn’t kill him.”

  She exhaled into the receiver.

  “Look, I need to meet with you,” he said. “I’ve figured everything out. I need to meet with you and Rossi. Get hold of him, and you two meet me at John’s apartment in one hour. Okay?”

  She paused a beat. “What’s going on, David?”

  “I’ll tell you when you show up, all right? All I ask is that you make sure you answer each and every phone call you get tonight. All right? It’s important.”

  He hung up and headed back down the street and around the corner. There he stood and smoked another cigarette in a dark alleyway, for no other reason than he was getting used to the vile things once again, and he needed to kill time.

  After watching the thin stream of people walk by for ten minutes, he walked out of the alley and headed downhill again. He went a block and took a right at the next corner, and straight into a pistol pointed in his face.

  Chapter 45

  Behind the sound-suppressed pistol was the now familiar tiny smiling mouth of Cezar. “Don’t move.”

  Wolf didn’t move.

  The pistol didn’t waver, and Cezar’s knuckle was white with tension on the trigger. He wondered just how fast Cezar was. If there would be any hesitation in shooting him. The sound-suppresser said no.

  “I said, don’t move,” Cezar repeated, reading Wolf’s thoughts.

  Wolf slowly raised his hands out to his sides. Just then a shuffling came up behind him, and hands dug into his waistband, pulling out the Beretta tucked into the back of his jeans.

  “Ciao,” Rossi’s husky voice said behind him. “Let’s go.” He shoved Wolf on the back.

  They walked for three or four minutes to the soundtrack of Cezar’s long stride and his energetic throat clearing, and Rossi’s shorter stride and heavy mouth-breathing.

  Down and down they continued along twisting and turning narrow streets, through pockets of open-sewage smell. Of the few people they saw this far from the piazza, only a few noticed what was happening as they passed. Those that did let out hushed whispers and turned with interest to watch the strange procession.

  They came around a slight bend to Rossi’s parked carabinieri Alfa Romeo.

  They reached the door and Rossi turned to Wolf. “Put your hands behind your back.”

  Wolf stopped and looked around, putting his hands on his hips.

  Rossi raised his hand in a fluid motion, pointing his own suppressed Beretta at the side of Wolf’s face. “I said, put your hands behind your back.”

  Wolf narrowed his eyes. “It was you who killed my brother.”

  Two gargantuan hands gripped his wrists and shoved him up against the side of the car. Steel handcuffs clamped hard and tight.

  Wolf lashed his right heel up and back with as much strength as he could muster, connecting hard with the tall man behind him. Wolf looked over his shoulder to check the damage.

  Cezar was doubled over on the ground, grabbing at his crotch with both hands.

  Wolf smiled, and then all went black.

  Chapter 46

  Cold water slammed into Wolf’s face, forced itself underneath his eyelids. He sat up straight, sucking in a hard breath, blinking and wincing in pain.

  “Ancora!”

  Another cold explosion hit his face, knocking his head back and shocking him into a wide-mouthed inhale. He shook the water away and opened his eyes, then shut them against the blinding onslaught of light.

  A bright halogen light on a pole stood in front of him, shining directly in his face. He tilted his head down and squinted. The first thing he saw was a man sitting cross-legged against a wall to his right.

  The guy had a bloody towel pressed against his nose. He lowered it, revealing a rueful grin.

  Wolf nodded a greeting. It was the guy he had tackled in the garage earlier.

  Next to the man were clipboards hanging on the wall, and a door. Wolf realized he was back in the Albastru Pub’s garage.

  The light shifted upwards toward the ceiling, and Wolf turned to look straight ahead.

  Rossi was lounging in a chair with his foot on his knee, smoking a cigarette.

  Wolf coughed lightly, lungs itching from the smoke. “Jesus, everyone’s always smoking in this country.”

  Rossi took a long drag and smiled, but it was a different smile than Wolf was accustomed to seeing on the man. His face had changed. His eyes had changed. A cold stare replaced his usual friendly squint.

  “You should have stayed home, Officer Wolf.” He didn’t blink.

  Wolf did a double take to his left. A dead body, a man, lay on a sprawled-out piece of clear plastic. Nose to chest, he was caked with dark maroon blood. There was a neat hole in his head, and he lay in a large pool of brighter red blood. A pool that, upon closer study, was still spreading slowly. Wolf
recognized the man, but couldn’t recall from where.

  Wolf’s head ached. He looked back at Rossi, a movement that sent a pulse of pain bouncing through his skull. “It’s Sergeant Wolf, dickhead.”

  Rossi’s eyes widened with amusement. “Oh, I am sorry.” He pointed to the body on the floor. “The man you murdered tonight.”

  Wolf looked again at the body, then back to Rossi.

  “The man who also murdered you, I’m sorry to say.” He took another drag of his cigarette. “You two shot each other.”

  Wolf leaned forward to sit up, to shake the cobwebs. He went dizzy and fell forward. Subconsciously, Wolf had assumed he was somehow fastened to the chair, but there was just a pair of steel cuffs on his wrists behind his back, so he kept plummeting forward.

  Rossi caught him and pushed him upright again. “Whoa, attento, Deputy Wolf! I guess I should not have hit you so hard. You are not doing so well.”

  Wolf remembered the pistol in his face. The side street. Being escorted out at gunpoint by Cezar. The walk. Kicking Cezar in the balls. The phone calls. Wolf smiled at the memory of Cezar buckled over on his side on the damp alley street.

  Rossi sat back and returned the smile with a tilt of his head. “What is it  ...  Sergeant Wolf?”

  Wolf’s smile vanished and he glared into Rossi’s eyes. “I’m going to kill you, Rossi. You were the one who killed my brother, and I’m going to kill you for that.”

  Rossi inhaled sharply and sat back, launching into a lazy overhead stretch with his arms. “I don’t think so, Mr. Wolf. Just a few more minutes now, and you’ll be dead.” He smacked his lips and crossed his arms.

  Bouncing light filled the space beyond Rossi, and Wolf realized that the door to the garage was wide open behind him.

  Rossi got up slowly, turned around and poked his head out the garage. “Ah, here is your ride right now.”

  A white truck emblazoned with a blue Albastru International Shipping Co. logo slowed at the door then rumbled past. Reverse lights lit the rear of the truck and a loud continuous beep split the air.

  Rossi slapped the back of the truck. It stopped, and he lifted the rear door.

  Wolf noticed the metal patchwork on the door of the truck, covering the bullet holes from the night before.

  Cezar stepped into view from the driver’s side of the truck, and the thick-necked rhino of a guy stepped into view from the other side.

  Wolf watched as Rossi launched into a speech, gesturing to the guy on the floor, Wolf, and the other man sitting against the wall. Cezar and Thick-Neck-Tattooed-Bartender nodded their heads, and then sprang into action. They set down a fresh sheet of plastic, moved the dead guy onto it, and then wrapped him up like a burrito. Then they carefully picked up the old blood-soaked sheet of plastic from each corner and folded it without spilling a drop.

  Cezar and the bartender moved the body and plastic into the back of the open truck, and then unfurled a fresh piece. Rossi leaned against the wall and lit another cigarette, watching with a hint of a smile on his lips.

  Wolf flexed his feet up and down. Blood was circulating poorly in his legs. Through the numb tingling, he could still feel the pressure of the knives tucked into his socks.

  Wolf eyed the plastic sheet with indifference. “So, do you want to know why you’re killing me too late, Rossi?”

  Rossi took the cigarette out of his mouth and narrowed his eyes at Wolf.

  Wolf had his attention. “I know about your dad.”

  Rossi rolled his eyes and tilted his head back. “Please, Mr. Wolf. Die with dignity, why don’t you? Your brother did, you know. He died with dignity. Of course, he was unconscious when I strangled him, but—”

  “In fact, I’ve already told other people about your dad,” Wolf said. “People in the carabinieri. Your days are numbered. Hell, your hours are numbered.”

  Panic flickered for a tiny moment in Rossi’s face, and Wolf knew he’d hit home.

  Cezar saw it too, because the tall man paused in the middle of cutting the sheet of plastic and stared imploringly at Rossi.

  Rossi gave him a sideways glance and glared at Wolf. “What exactly are you talking about, Mr. Wolf? What do you think you know?”

  “It’s over, Rossi. It’s just a matter of time before they tie you and your brother with the activities going on here. A good forensic accountant will find you out in no time.”

  Rossi stared hard and then shook his head, laughing. “You don’t know what you are talking about, Mr. Wolf.”

  “You’re laughing, but you’re going down, and you know it. It’s over. Your life is over. I know that your father didn’t leave you an inheritance three years ago. And now other people, your fellow carabinieri officers, do too. Tomorrow your job won’t be waiting for you, Rossi. But a jail cell will be.”

  Rossi nodded. “And a coffin is waiting for you, Mr. Wolf. Goodbye.” And with that, Detective Rossi turned and walked out of the garage.

  Chapter 47

  Cezar and the bartender followed Rossi out the door and out of sight into the alley.

  Wolf looked to his right. The guy whose face Wolf had smashed into the floor earlier was just a few feet away, still slumped against the wall. He sat looking eagerly toward the garage door, gently patting the bloodied towel against his face.

  Wolf leaned forward, slid off the chair, twisted one hundred and eighty degrees, and rolled along his back to his shoulders, all the while wondering what was happening to that man leaning against the wall. Was he not in any better position than Wolf right now? Was he going to be shot in the head like his buddy in the plastic wrapping?

  Wolf brought the handcuffs over his feet in a swift soundless move.

  The man stared as Wolf rolled back to his feet, twisted, and stood.

  The guy dropped his towel and stared at the three-inch kitchen blades Wolf held in each hand. Then he looked up at Wolf and closed his gaping mouth.

  Wolf nodded, then kicked the man in the temple with a steel-toed boot.

  The guy slumped over, out cold.

  Wolf snuck to the open garage door, sticking to the wall to minimize his shadow outside. He listened as two men spoke in the guttural tones of Eastern Europe, not the staccato of Italian. Rossi had apparently left.

  He wanted Rossi. That was the only objective he cared about. There was no sense flicking the ear of fate with two very big guys. The carabinieri, the real ones, could bust this place wide open later.

  But fate had other plans.

  Just as he began making his way to the door to the kitchen, it swung inward. The nose-ringed waitress stuck her head out, asking a loud question in her native tongue. She was looking straight ahead to a blank spot on the garage wall, as if consciously averting her eyes to any goings-on outside.

  Wolf froze.

  When no one answered her, she turned and saw him. She looked at the unconscious figure on the floor, then back to Wolf, who stood with his two knives pointing at her.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Ciao.”

  “Cezar?” She panicked. “Cezar!”

  Wolf turned away from her, rushed to the edge of the garage and put his back to the wall. He tensed and listened for footsteps.

  The bartender came into the garage first, flying past Wolf with animal athleticism. Wolf jumped out an instant later with arms chest high, blades sticking out from the pinky side of his fists, thumbs hooked on each knife handle. Cezar didn’t have time to stop or put his hands up as Wolf planted his feet and drove his arms forward. Both blades pierced Cezar’s chest plate with a thump, and Wolf knew the right blade had hit the heart directly.

  Two hundred pounds of dead weight smashed into Wolf, along with a warm spray of blood, pushing him back into an uncontrolled fall. Wolf pulled the blades out and twisted, bracing for impact. As he fell, he caught a glimpse of the bartender pulling a pistol from his waistband. Wolf hit the floor hard and frantically tried to get under the falling body for protection. A warm gush from Cezar’s chest relentlessly pulsed
on his face. The last thing he saw was the bartender bending toward him with his pistol extended. There were three pops of gunfire, and then he went still.

  …

  There was no pain, just the warm flow of blood soaking his neck and face. Suddenly, the weight of Cezar’s body was lifted off him. He sat up as fast as he could, shaking his head and blowing air out his nose to expel the blood that had flowed into it. He wiped his face with his arm and held the knives in front of him, trying to see through the red liquid.

  “David, it’s me!” It was a female voice. “It’s me!”

  “Lia?”

  “Yes, it’s me! Put down the knives!”

  He dropped the knives and wiped his face with his hands properly. He pointed at the door in the back of the garage.

  “Be careful—that girl in the door. Where did she go?”

  Lia stood and turned. As his eyes finally refocused, he saw she wasn’t in her carabinieri uniform. She was in civilian clothes—jeans and a sweatshirt. Her gun was still smoking and the bartender was motionless on the ground, a pool of blood growing underneath him.

  She walked low with her pistol aimed at the door.

  “Wait a second,” he said. “Unlock me here.”

  Lia took out her handcuffs key and unlocked him.

  Wolf pulled the pistol from the bartender’s stubby hands. It was an Eastern European-manufactured CZ-99 ready to go, safety off and round in the chamber.

  He went to the door and turned the knob, opened it a fraction, then gently let go, careful not to let it slide closed. Then he kicked and aimed his gun.

  The door opened, banging against the inner wall and revealing a vacant hallway.

  He pushed aside the rebounding door and Lia followed right on his heels. The lights inside the kitchen were turned low, the space shut down for the night.

  Commotion and mayhem resonated from down the hallway. The bar was going nuts—people screaming, glasses breaking, wood chairs bouncing off hard floors.