by Dave Daren
“What about Kroger and his guys?’ I asked.
“They have guns,” Anthony said. “They can take care of themselves.”
I noticed that the Serbs in the lot where I was parked had started to drift towards the restaurant. Ostensibly, it looked like they were exchanging greetings with their fellow Serbs, but there was a tension in the air that belied that.
“Yeah, that sounds like good advice,” I said as I started the Volvo.
If only I’d reached that conclusion a few seconds earlier. I could have been down the street, away from the gunfire and the bloodbath. But as it was, I had just put the car into reverse when the first shots were fired. I ducked as the back window on the Volvo exploded, and then all I could hear were more shots, a car alarm, and Anthony’s voice screaming at me to get the fuck out of there.
Chapter 32
“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered as my cell phone clattered to the floor of the car and the Volvo lurched backwards. I slammed on the brakes, then shifted into park while I tried to figure out if I could exit the parking lot without ending up in the middle of the shootout.
I risked sitting up far enough to peer out the back window, and I saw at least three bodies on the ground, including Kroger’s guard who looked like he’d been hit as he tried to get out of the car. The 300 was still parked in front of the restaurant, which didn’t bode well for the driver. The few other non-Serbians seemed to be trapped behind one of the SUV’s and were exchanging shots with about half of the Serbians. The rest of the Serbs were heading towards the doors to the restaurant, though I could hear the muffled sound of gunshots from inside the place already.
I opened the door to the Volvo as slowly as I could and rolled onto the packed dirt. No one fired in my direction, so I worked my ways towards the street in a low crouch with the other cars as my shield. I wasn’t entirely sure what my plan was, but I felt I should at least check on the Febbo men, and maybe, somehow, find a way to get Kroger out of this mess. I wasn’t really sure why that seemed important, other than the need to get some answers from him.
I made it the edge of the lot without being spotted, though the sound of gunfire still ricocheted around me. The restaurant owner must have locked the doors, I realized, because the Serbs were still stuck outside though one of them was shooting at the lock on the front door. I wasn’t sure how long the wood would hold up, but if the chunks of debris I saw were any indication, it probably wouldn’t be long.
I took a deep breath and ran as fast as I could across the street while still in a crouched position. I’m sure I looked ridiculous, but I nearly made it to the Febbo car before anyone spotted me. I heard someone by the front door yell something in Serbian, and then I dove the last couple of feet just as a bullet kicked up a large chunk of tarmac near the spot where I had been.
I landed next to the Febbo guard, a guy named Saul who liked to bowl on Saturday nights. He was pale, his chest little more than a pulpy mess as he labored to take each breath and a pool of blood spread out from his body. His arms were splayed against the road, the palms turned upwards to the sky like a supplicant. His gun was near his right hand, the grip now a dark red color.
“Saul,” I said quietly as I placed a finger on his throat. He still had a pulse, but just barely.
“Help…” the Febbo guard whispered as his eyes darted around for a moment.
Saul gurgled and blood frothed at his mouth. Thick red ooze covered the lower half of his face as his body spasmed. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and his back locked into an arched position. It looked incredibly painful but I had no idea what I could do to ease his pain. And then, his whole body went limp and Saul finally went still.
“I’m sorry, Saul,” I murmured.
I didn’t have time for any more regrets. A couple of angry voices shouted, and then a bullet hit the road about a foot from Saul’s body. They must have believed I was armed, or they would have charged me, and when I saw Saul’s gun, I decided that I didn’t need to disappoint them.
I grabbed the gun as another bullet pinged off the top of the car, then peered through what was left of the driver’s side window. There wasn’t much left of the driver’s head, just a great deal of blood, a blue eye that had popped from its socket, and a puff of white-blonde hair that made me think I was looking at the remains of Dieter, a young German-American kid who had started taking flying lessons so he could fly Kroger wherever he needed to go when driving wasn’t practical.
I swallowed the bile that threatened to spill into my mouth and focused on the dark shapes on the other side of the car as more shots pinged against the 300. Apparently, they weren’t sure where I was and they were running out of time to get inside because somewhere in the distance, I finally heard the sound of a siren. There were some shouted instructions, and then I heard a pair of feet move towards the edge of the car.
I waited until I saw a torso appear, and then fired at what I hoped was the heart. Just for a moment, the world seemed to move in slow motion. I felt the gun kick in my hand and saw the flash as the bullet cleared the barrel. I registered a pair of angry brown eyes, a scruffy beard, and a pale blue polo shirt that exploded in a shower of red a moment later. The Serb jerked backwards as a spasm rocked through his body and the angry look turned to one of surprise. A fountain of blood blossomed from his back as the bullet exited and a trail of thick red liquid followed in its wake. He stayed upright for another second, and then his body seemed to collapse in on itself.
There was a soft thud as he fell onto the road, but I didn’t have time to register anything else. The second man uttered a curse, then fired around the edge of the car without exposing himself. I pressed myself against the car as two bullets smashed into the road. One hit the pool of Saul’s blood and sent a spurt of red ooze into the air.
The second Serbian must have thought he’d hit me because I heard him give a triumphant yell and then he stepped around the car, gun at the ready, but pointed wide of my hiding spot. His eyes widened when all he saw at first was Saul and as his head swiveled to find his target, I aimed my own gun at the center of his chest. He finally spotted me practically under the car, but I pulled the trigger before he could do much more than register my location.
My gun boomed as he tried to shift his aim, and then the man’s torso exploded in a red bloom. Blood geysered from his chest for a second, and then everything from his neck down turned red. Somehow, he still had the gun in his hand, and he had enough energy left to look down at the hole. He hung on for another second, then toppled forward with his face buried in the blacktop.
When no one else fired at me right away, I slid out from the car and sat up enough to risk another peek through the driver’s side window. The door had finally been opened and it swung lazily on its hinge. There was a body just inside the door, and another at the foot of the stairs just behind the podium where the hostess would normally stand. I sent up a fervent prayer that there hadn’t been any employees in the restaurant, then scuttled to the edge of the Febbo car.
I heard a pair of shots from the parking lot again, but none were apparently aimed at me. With the sound of the sirens drawing closer and an eerie stillness settling over the scene, I took one last look for gunmen, then darted for the door to the restaurant. A single shot hit the planter by the door, and a second shot responded, so I threw myself past the body in the doorway and lunged for the stairs.
It definitely wasn’t the smartest thing I had ever done, especially given the gunfire I had heard earlier, but I ran full tilt up the stairs, past two more bodies, and burst into the room with a sign above the door that said ‘Pietro’s Taverna’. The room was silent now except for a wheezing cough from beneath a tangle of chairs. I stopped to take in the scene, then stepped back from the door and closed my eyes for a moment to try to block out what I had just witnessed.
There had been a tangle of bodies in the room, mostly on the floor but some were draped across tables or still sitting in their chairs. Blank eyes stared at no
thing as the tang of blood suffused the room, and lifeless limbs dangled at unnatural angles. I shook the image from my head, then forced myself to open my eyes and step back into the room.
I tried to block out as much of the scene as I could and focus instead on finding Kroger. I spotted a familiar felt hat on the floor near the windows and started towards it. My shoes made a sucking sound as I trod across the floor, and I glanced down long enough to realize I was walking through puddles of blood. I wasn’t the only one, though, as there were plenty of bloody footprints scattered around the room. Not to mention the blood that plastered the walls and soaked into the tablecloths. I tasted the bitter bile at the back of my throat again and forced myself to focus on the hat and not the red oozed that seemed to coat everything.
I found Kroger along with another Febbo man about a foot away from the hat. Salvatore’s second was on his side, his knees drawn up near his chest, his fists still clenched tight. I knelt down next to him and nearly jumped in surprise when one eye opened to peer at me.
“Fuckin’ lawyer,” he mumbled.
“Christ, Kroger,” I replied. “What happened?”
“You should be happy,” he wheezed. “Serbs started shooting…”
I looked around the room and realized that the Serbs were clumped together near one wall. They must have waited until all of the family representatives were in place, and Kroger had called the meeting to order. I could picture the scene, with Kroger preparing to issue his warning while the rats stood nearby. I wondered if he’d had his chance, or if the Serbs had started firing as soon as he stood up. No, I decided, Kroger wouldn’t have given them a chance to shoot first. Even if he knew it would cost his life, he would make sure that he took down as many Febbo enemies as he could before he died. Kroger would have pulled his gun and pointed it at the rats, no long speech necessary
“You knew this would happen,” I said in an accusing voice as I took in the damage to the other families.
“Guessed,” he murmured. “Hoped, maybe. Told you… I was loyal.”
And Kroger was. I understood that now, as well as the lengths he had gone to to protect the Febbo interests. The man with the perpetually red face and the angry sneer had kept Salvatore’s interests safe, preserved the life of Salvatore’s son, and, at least for a while, decapitated Salvatore’s biggest threat. And if the Febbos were now the only remaining Mafia family with any real power, so much the better. Kroger had been loyal, almost to a fault, but I still had Anthony as a client because of him.
The sirens were on top of us by then, and I heard several police cars screech to a halt outside the restaurant. There were more gunshots, and then the sound of someone revving an engine. I heard the vehicle shift into drive and turn onto the road, and a flurry of shots from what had to be the police.
“Help is here,” I told the loyal lieutenant.
“Too late,” Kroger wheezed.
Everything was quiet for a moment, and then I heard someone with a bullhorn order someone else to throw down their weapons. I hoped the survivors would listen, but another round of police gunfire put an end to that. I glanced down at Kroger again, but the light was gone from his eyes and his body had gone slack. I glanced around the room again, then realized I still had the gun in my hand. I laid it on the floor, near Kroger, then walked back across the floor to the stairs. I sat down on the top steps with just the bodies for company and waited for the police to burst through the door.
It didn’t take long, and I already had my hands over my head as the first tactical officers, all dressed in full SWAT gear, appeared in the doorway and swept into the restaurant. I stayed seated until one of the men ordered me down the stairs, where I was patted down and then turned over to one of the detectives. I was led to a police car and placed in the back seat, though without cuffs, and without anyone saying anything besides stand, raise your hands, and go with the detective.
“Wanna tell me your name?” a female detective asked as she slid into the front seat.
She left her door open and sat with her legs dangling out of the car so she could watch the police officers that moved in and out of the restaurant, but I could tell her focus was entirely on me.
“Hunter Morgan,” I replied.
She nodded, then scratched the top of her scalp for a moment.
“So what were you doing out here, Mr. Hunter Morgan?” she asked.
“I was supposed to meet someone,” I said vaguely.
“At the restaurant?” she pressed.
“No,” I said a moment later. “Well, sort of. At the corner, actually.”
“Bad day to set up a meeting on a street corner,” she observed. “Especially when you’re the only one who isn’t armed. Who were you meeting?”
“A client,” I said as more ambulances appeared.
I’d only seen two people leave without a sheet pulled over their heads so far, and I didn’t imagine that there was anybody else who would be making the trip to the ER rather than the morgue.
“A client,” she repeated. “Was your client at the restaurant?”
“No,” I assured her.
“Then why did you go in there?”
“The shooting had stopped,” I said. “I guess I wanted to see if anyone was still alive.”
“Really?” she asked skeptically.
“Really,” I replied.
“Did you know any of the people that were involved?” she asked as she scratched at her scalp again.
A few flakes drifted from her frizzy brown hair and settled on the shoulder of her polyester jacket. When I didn’t say anything right away, she finally turned to look at me.
“You can ask me more directly,” I finally said. “Yes, I recognized many of the people I saw entering the building. Capos from the Mafia families and their ilk, and it wasn’t hard to guess that they were having some sort of meeting. And yes, I’ve seen all the news reports about the coming Mafia war, so maybe it was stupid not to get in my car and drive away as fast as I could, but I didn’t think anything was actually going to happen.”
The detective’s lower lip jutted out, and I could see her try to decide how truthful I was being. I certainly didn’t look like I was part of one of the crews, and they hadn’t found me with a gun in my hand. There was probably camera footage somewhere that would show me darting towards the Chrysler, but it would also show me picking up Saul’s gun and defending myself. I shifted my gaze back to the restaurant while the detective decided what to do, though I could feel her still staring at me.
“My phone is still in my car,” I finally said. “It’s the Volvo in the lot across the street. Is there any chance I can get it back?”
“Later,” she said. “After they’ve processed the scene. For now, we’re going to take you to the police department and ask you some more questions. You’ll have to sign a witness statement.”
“I know the drill,” I said in a tired voice.
Another detective, also a woman, strode towards the car. She was taller than the woman I was talking to, and probably younger. She had wavy blonde hair that hung over one eye and a commanding voice that had the SWAT team running to follow her orders.
“He say anything?” the blonde detective asked as she plopped into the driver’s seat of the car.
“His name is Hunter Morgan,” the frizzy-haired detective replied. “He was supposed to meet a client here. Didn’t meet the client, but did recognize a lot of the guys at the meeting. Says he went inside after the shooting stopped to see if he could help.”
“Uh-huh,” the blonde said as she turned the key and the car came to life. “Well, why don’t we just head back to the station and talk about it some more.”
I slumped back in the seat and watched the city roll by. It was a nice looking place, I decided, when there weren’t police squad cars spread across the road and gunshots being fired from every direction. We passed a public library, a small park with a duck pond, and even a group of moms with baby strollers standing in line at an ice cream
shop take-out window. It was all so peaceful that it was hard to believe that I had just left a horrific scene of blood and carnage.
The police station was a nondescript building in the midst of other nondescript government buildings, none of which looked particularly busy. We drove past a television camera crew that was already setting up in front of a Smithtown sign and turned into a fenced in parking lot around the corner. The blonde parked the car in the spot closest to the door, and then the two detectives stepped from the vehicle, stretched and chatted for a moment, before the one with frizzy hair finally opened the door and invited me to step inside the building.
I followed the aggressive blonde to a group of desks arranged in neat rows in a long room without windows. The blonde detective pointed me to a chair set next to one of the desks, then stalked away towards one of the office doors. I sat there for several minutes before I wrinkled my nose and sniffed the air which smelled like the backroom of a butcher shop. I was about to comment and then glanced down at myself. I was still covered in blood and I realized that I was the one that was starting to stink.
“You’ll need to turn your clothes over to evidence,” the frizzy haired detective said as she slipped into the desk chair. “And we’ll need to take samples.”
“Not without a warrant,” I replied.
“Just because they do that on TV--” she began.
“I’m a lawyer,” I cut in. “I know my rights.”
That brought her up short, and I saw her look towards the closed office door where her fellow detective had disappeared.
“I’m surprised you haven’t asked for your attorney yet,” she said.
I felt a laugh bubble up from somewhere but I managed to keep it to a snort.
“My attorney is in London,” I finally replied. “Though if I could have my phone, I could bring in the backup.”
“We’re still processing the scene,” she said.
“Uh huh,” I sighed as I slouched back in the chair. “Look, if you aren’t going to charge me with anything, I’d like to leave.”
