by Nova Rain
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ava
“Drive safely,” Michelle advised as the SUV rolled away from her house. I watched it get smaller, until it turned right and out of the neighborhood. I could still smell the diesel fumes when she picked up her suitcases.
“I don’t understand you,” I complained, crossing my arms. “I thought you’d insist more on tagging along with them. You barely said a word. Why?”
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Michelle’s question along with her cunning smile added to my frustration.
“What?” I squinted. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I did say a word. Actually, I said plenty of words back in the house. You just weren’t there to see it,” she claimed, heading to the open entrance of her garage. “Then, I realized I should follow a different approach. I’d seen those plane tickets. They fell out of his jacket last night when he took off to go to the bathroom. If I’d kept on bugging him about coming with, he would have driven us to La Guardia. That’s where the flight to Barcelona leaves from.”
“Let me guess.” I suggested, two dozen cars spreading out in front of me. “We’re not going to be on that flight.”
“Nope.” She offered me a sarcastic smile, before striding off across the garage. “Go get your suitcases, sweetheart. We’re going to Vegas.”
Luckily for me, I just had to cover five or six yards to satisfy her request. Once I got back into the garage, I found Michelle standing behind a red Golf GTI.
“We’re not staying in Vegas, are we?” I asked, trotting near her. “I hate to admit it, but the guys had a point. It could get dangerous.”
“No, we’re not staying in Vegas,” she replied, easing her last suitcase into the trunk. “It’s either Henderson or Indian Springs. I’m debating.”
“Thanks a lot for this, Michelle,” I told her with a smile, handing one of my suitcases to her. “I don’t know what I’d do if we ended up in Barcelona.”
“Here are some not-so-much-fun facts about that city,” she began, pushing down the trunk lid. “It’s the capital of Catalonia, an autonomous community within Spain. If you’re an arts lover or you’re interested in strange religious structures and soccer, that place is for you. Camp Nou, the biggest soccer stadium in Europe, is the home ground of FC Barcelona. It’s a lot more interesting in the summer because it’s got some great beaches, but since it’s March, I’d rather stay in the US.”
“That makes two of us,” I agreed, entering the car. A sense of relief came over me as I seated myself. I had avoided a long flight to Spain, and the angst that would follow upon landing there. I would have been in a foreign country, thousands of miles away from Donny. I had nothing against it, but I wanted to be closer to him. I didn’t believe it would be that dangerous if Michelle and I stayed out of the city. That way, he wouldn’t have to worry about me, and I would remain a safe distance from casinos.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Donny
Two hours after we’d left Westchester, Joe, Bryan, Jimmy and I were en route to Las Vegas. Unlike in the summer, when Bryan and I couldn’t shut up about the heist, none of us were in a talkative mood. Maybe we had all realized that this was much, much bigger and harder than a simple heist. Stealing that money had taken about thirty minutes. Our lives had not been endangered. The only real risk was failing to steal that money. One of the security guards could have alerted his company headquarters, or a witness could have called the cops. In both cases, we would have run. We would have gone back to New York empty-handed but alive.
What we were about to do though, would not last minutes. It would be a full-on battle that could cost injury or even death. And one of the things that worried me, was the fact that I wouldn’t be able to choose my battleground. It wouldn’t be an alley. It wouldn’t be a hotel room or a restaurant I’d been to hundreds of times. Instead, we could find ourselves fighting for our lives in the hills outside of Sin City. Inhospitable, filled with dust and sharp rocks, and most of all, unknown to all of us.
As we approached a diner on the I-80, Jimmy left the front seat and joined us in the back of his van.
“I had a tough time singling out a dirty cop, I’ll say that much,” he stated, picking up the case of his laptop.
“How come?” Joe wondered as Jimmy scooted over beside him.
“Because there are a lot of dirty cops over in Las Vegas,” Jimmy explained, the brightness of the screen illuminating the back of the van.
“Why am I not surprised…?” I groaned, bringing my knees to my chest. “Vegas is the city of degenerate gamblers and filthy-rich casino owners. Why wouldn’t the cops want a piece of the shitload of money that’s being made?”
“This is our target, gentlemen,” Jimmy continued, the picture of a chubby man in his fifties coming up on the screen. “Steven Pope, fifty-seven, divorced, father of two. He’s been accused of bribery twice, once in 1999 and once in 2008. He was acquitted in both cases. No wonder he’s spent half his career on the Force as a Detective. He doesn’t get promoted due to those allegations.”
“Why did you choose him?” Joe posed the question, a touch of disapproval in his tone. “Okay, he’s dirty, but he’s probably made lots of money on the side by being loyal to Howard. We need someone hungrier than a cop who’s just a couple of years away from retirement.”
“Oh, he’s hungry alright.” Jimmy giggled, hitting keys on the keyboard. Before long, Pope’s picture was replaced by an image of a large apartment building under construction. “Pope bought the land back in 2016. He started building this baby with side money, but rumor has it that Howard pulled the plug on the funding when he found out that the FBI had launched an investigation into him. That was three months ago.”
“Good job, kid,” Joe praised, flashing him a glance of appreciation.
“Pope might be pissed at Howard, I get that,” I interjected. “But what happens if he doesn’t turn on his boss? Did you think about that?”
“I will if he turns down our offer,” he uttered in a calm tone.
“Joe, we’ve got enough C4 here to bring down a fucking high-rise,” I emphasized, raising my voice. “He blew up your mall. Why don’t we give him a taste of his own medicine?”
“Tell me you don’t mean blowing up a casino,” he groaned, pursing his lips.
“No, man, you know I wouldn’t do that. There are people’s lives at stake,” I remarked and then looked down at the boy’s laptop. “I bet Howard owns more than just a casino. Am I right, Jimmy?”
“He does seem to be a major shareholder in ‘Chateau De Triumph,’ a chain of French food restaurants in Nevada, Utah and Arizona.” Jimmy’s answer wasn’t what I needed to hear. We couldn’t hit crowded, public places, because that would mean endangering innocent people’s lives. “Other than that, his business ventures are quite shady. I’m sorry, guys. I would have dug up a lot more on him if I’d had just a little more time.”
“It’s okay, Jimmy,” Joe attempted a mellower tone. “You found out enough.”
“I agree, but we need another candidate in case Pope doesn’t accept our offer,” I pointed out. “And we still haven’t decided what to do with him if he says ‘no.’”
“He dies,” Joe’s response came fast, as if he anticipated the question. “We can’t risk him tipping off his boss, no matter how bad their relationship is. Now, I know what you’re going to say. Killing a cop means war with the local police department. We won’t shoot him in the head. We’ll just…” He paused. “Mess with his car a little.”
“I can do that,” Bryan said, looking down at Joe through his rearview mirror.
“Candidate number two: Eddie Mitchell,” Jimmy announced, the picture of a young man in uniform coming up on the screen. “Twenty-four years old, single. He saw Shane Dallas, a valet at ‘Red Rock Casino,’ buying cocaine from Kenny Scott, a notorious drug dealer known to work for Howard. Mitchell arrested them both, he filed a report, but, two days later, the report was de
leted from the system. Dallas and Scott were released, and Mitchell took a ten-day leave to recover from a non-work-related injury.”
“They roughed him up,” I concluded. “Is it me or does this guy sound better than Pope?”
“He does, but he doesn’t sound dirty,” Joe spoke his mind, his gaze on Jimmy. “Why him? You said there were a lot of dirty cops in Vegas.”
“Because it seems that Mitchell has motive to take down Howard,” Jimmy began his explanation, his voice gaining volume and speed. “When he returned to active duty, he was busted down to patrolman. Apparently, Howard pulled some strings in the local police department to get rid of him.”
“That son of a bitch runs pretty much everything over there,” Joe’s conclusion came in an angry tone as he stared into nothingness. “Forget Pope, boys. That’s our guy. He’s perfect.”
“I hate to sound like a broken record here, but what happens if he says ‘no’?” I wondered again, my tone steady.
“He won’t.” The confidence in Joe’s voice should have reassured me. It didn’t. This was typical Joe. He thought something would happen because he believed it would. Although I wasn’t one hundred percent sure about this, I chose to keep my opinion to myself. Why? Because Joe had already proven himself as a leader. He had made the right calls in the past. I just had to have faith in him like I always did, hoping that he had reached the correct decision this time as well.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ava
“You’re in love with him.” On the I-95, far away from the Big Apple, Michelle’s comment made my heart skip a beat. “You wanted to follow him to Vegas, you were on the verge of tears when he told you to leave town… Should I go on?”
“That won’t be necessary,” I assured her, lowering my gaze down to my lap. “I think you made your point.”
“What do you have to say about it?” She asked, her voice rising in intensity.
“What if I am?” I rolled my shoulders. “What’s so wrong about that?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head sideways. “I just don’t understand how it happened. I mean, you guys didn’t like each other. You avoided each other; at least you avoided him. What did he do to change the way you look at him?”
“You seem to have forgotten what I told you back at your place the other day.” I remarked, tightening my tone. “He was there when I needed him. He helped me see he wasn’t a dick. Anyway, you’re not the one to talk, honey. You changed the way you looked at Joe, didn’t you?”
“I sure did,” she admitted, tossing a sideways glance at me. “That was different, though. Joe had been a regular at my bar for over a year. I liked him. I just couldn’t work up the courage to ask him out. When we kissed…” She paused and took a deep breath. “He suddenly became irresistible to me.”
“Looking back, I’d have to say Donny caught my interest when he found me crying my eyes out outside his apartment building, the day you fired me.” I spoke in a soft tone, recalling his gesture. “He could have told me to get the hell out of there. He didn’t owe me anything. Instead, he took me up to his apartment, he offered me a drink and heard me out. I’m not used to guys being nice to me. You know that.”
“I bet paying off your debt helped, too,” Michelle presumed, a big smile gracing her face.
“Yes, it did,” I said with a nod. “Oh, God…” I sighed and leaned my back against the headrest. “Those morons I owed money to were laughing at me and insulting me, until he showed up and scared the living crap out of them. I got so turned on that night…”
“Hey, relax, will you?” She requested, her smile staying on. “I don’t want to have to roll down the window, but I will.”
“Oh, come on!” I groaned, my eyes snapping open. “Are you telling me you didn’t get just a little bit aroused when Joe beat up those dicks who tried to rob you?”
“Aroused?” Michelle snorted in amusement. “Hell no, honey. Disgusted? Yeah. I can’t stand the sight of blood. By the time he was done with them, their blood was all over the counter. And the curb. I was turned on when he finally told me a few things about himself. The minute he mentioned he’d grown up in an orphanage, I said to myself: ‘Pin him up against the nearest vertical surface and go wild with him.’ That’s why I kissed him.”
“Which reminds me, Donny pulled back the first time I kissed him.” I pointed to myself. “He got pretty upset and yelled at me. Why would he do that?”
“I’m sure you’ll find an answer to that if you remember how you used to treat him,” Michelle spoke, her voice going down an octave.
I looked up at the white car ceiling, tapping my index finger on my chin. “I was ironic with him, I gave him nasty innuendos, I took off within minutes, every time he showed up at your place… I’m actually judging him for not calling me names that night.”
“Now, you’re following him across the country with me.” Michelle’s last statement robbed me of the will to speak any further. All of a sudden, I had no desire to go on about my relationship with Donny. If anything, it reminded me of how my life had been turned upside down. He was responsible for that. He had gotten me back on my feet, but he was on his way to Las Vegas, ready to gamble the most precious thing he had on this Earth: his very life.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Donny
Forty-two hours on the road.
Forty-two hours of long periods of silence, discomfort, questionable food and an overnight halt at a sleazy motel, fifty miles outside of Chicago.
We discussed stopping at another motel in Nevada before reaching Vegas. We were all exhausted and desperate to catch some shuteye. Still, it was midnight. We needed another hour or so to get to our destination. Furthermore, if we needed to have a word with Mitchell, we couldn’t do it in broad daylight. The cover of darkness was an absolute must. But the most important reason for us to keep going, was Maltese’s ultimatum. We had less than five days left, and a ton of work to do. In that time, we had to pick out targets and come up with plans to hit them.
Was that possible? I had no idea.
It didn’t sound easy; I knew that much. We were short-handed. Big hits required lots of manpower, something we didn’t have. Our determination brought us over two thousand miles away from home, but we needed more than that to prevail in this war. I could find hope in the fact that we were carrying enough firepower and explosives to take out a small army. The back of the van was full of shotguns, rifles, handguns, a special something and more than a hundred pounds of C4. We wouldn’t be outgunned, but then again, this didn’t guarantee anything. Our M4’s wouldn’t be effective against two or three dozen men armed with pistols. We would just take out a handful of them, before the rest of Howard’s crew overwhelmed us.
To my liking, Eddie Mitchell’s address wasn’t anywhere near Las Vegas Boulevard. He lived in Eastern Heights, about eight miles away from the world-famous road.
With Jimmy’s van rolling down Anderson Lane, I realized that this neighborhood didn’t look or sound at all like Sin City. It seemed like a typical neighborhood in Queens or Brooklyn. Either side of the road was almost full of parked cars. I could hear car tires rolling in the distance, along with the occasional dog bark. The narrow road was illuminated by light poles, the one across from Mitchell’s house flickering in the dark.
“Boys, let me do all the talking,” Joe requested, shoving his gun into the waistband of his jeans. “Don’t lay a hand on him. Remember: We need this guy.”
“Whatever you say,” I groaned, casting him an angry glance, while Bryan slid the door open.
I couldn’t believe this. We were just about to visit a cop in the middle of the night and ask for his help? What was next? Setting him up with a date? I swallowed my anger, crossing the curb with Joe and Bryan. We headed for the arched front door, the snarl of a stray cat to the left catching my eye. He pounced on another cat and rolled along the curb, convincing me to shift my focus to what mattered.
Joe slammed his fist against the door three t
imes, his breath getting heavier.
“Are you trying to wake up the whole damn neighborhood?” My question went unanswered. He didn’t even glance at me and preferred to pound on the wood some more. At his second knock, the door was yanked open. Mitchell emerged from his living room, in light-blue pajamas, his brown hair messy and with a drowsy look in his eyes.
“Who the fuck are you people?” He groaned, his gaze on Joe.
“Hi, Mitchell,” He croaked. “My name’s Joe Mancini; I’m from New York. Dennis Howard blew up my mall a few weeks ago. I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I need your help to make him pay for what he did.”
“Right,” Mitchell smiled in irony. “Did the guys at the precinct put you up to this? Because if they did, I’m giving them hell tomorrow. It’s not funny.”
“Well, we’re not laughing, are we?” I interjected, clenching my jaw.
“Get the hell off of my property,” Mitchell commanded, pushing his door shut.
“Damn…” Joe grumbled, thrusting his arm up. He stopped the door just a couple of inches from the doorframe and shoved it back, before stepping inside. With two, long strides, I brushed past him and whipped out my gun. Holding it by the barrel, I thrust it forward. The metal struck Mitchell in the jaw, sending him staggering back across the living room. As he struggled to find his footing, I reached down and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.
“Listen up, asshole!” I growled, lifting him up. “We’ve come a long way and we’re all tired, so don’t fuck with us!”
“What do you want from me?” Mitchell uttered, his voice coming out hesitant as he raised his hands.
“Sit,” I commanded, tossing him to the couch on my left.
