I move real slow. Try to think of another way to turn this situation upside down. Come up with nothing.
‘The table, now,’ Cabressa says. He’s looking twitchy, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
I take my time. Step down from the chair. Move to put the knight onto the table. Watch Cabressa, waiting for him to look at the chess piece, to lower his guard and give me a chance to make a move. But he keeps his eyes on me, doesn’t look at the knight, even when I set it down and let go.
‘Turn around and face the wall, Herron,’ Cabressa says.
My heart accelerates. I know what this means, how it goes. And how it goes is real bad. I shake my head. ‘I’m not Herron.’
‘Another lie,’ he says. ‘I said, turn around.’
I stay where I am. Play the only move I’ve got – a last chance all-in bluff. ‘You want me to face the wall because you can’t even look me in the eye as you shoot me.’ I shake my head. Act like I’m disgusted. ‘What kind of a man are you?’
‘This is the kind of man I am, Miss Anderson,’ he says, jabbing the barrel of the gun into my side. ‘I’m the man who’s neutralising the Miami Mob’s attempt to take over my city. Your body will send a message to Old Man Bonchese and Carlton North that Chicago is my city, and if I find anyone from Miami trying to take over my business I will eliminate them.’ He thrusts the gun into my side again. Pushes me back against the wall.
Pain spikes through me, but I don’t let him see. Like a cow horse on a dude ranch, I’ve had enough of getting dug in the ribs. It’s time Cabressa got him some manners. Instead of moving away, I grab the gun and pull it hard towards me. Wrong-footed, Cabressa loses his balance and steps towards me.
Keeping hold of the gun I step to the side and swing my other elbow, jabbing it hard into his nose. He reels away from the blow, but keeps hold of the gun. I move with him. Lock both hands over his and try to turn the gun away from me, towards him.
Fail.
Keep trying.
Beneath my hands, I feel his fingers move.
The gun bucks beneath my grasp. The noise of the shot is real loud.
I feel it like a punch to the stomach.
I hunch over, the breath knocked out of me.
The heat spreads through my hands. I smell the cordite.
But I don’t let go. Won’t let go. Cannot give up.
I launch myself at Cabressa, slamming my head into his nose. Feel the impact; bone on bone. Hear a crack, and he cries out in pain. He loosens his grip on the gun, and I snatch it away. Aim it at him. Grab some plasticuffs from my go-bag. ‘Turn around. Hands behind your back.’
‘You’re going to regret this, you—’
‘Shut the hell up,’ I say, jamming the barrel of the gun into his ribs, just like he’s done so many times to me. I get no pleasure in it though. The asshole deserves a hell of a lot worse. I imagine how it would feel to put the gun to his head. To press it against his skull. And pull the trigger. I remember all the people he’s killed tonight and figure it’d feel pretty good to serve a rough kind of justice. But I don’t. Because then I think of JT, and how he’d look at me if I shot an unarmed man, and the disappointment I know he’d feel that I let this mob boss take the easy way out. And he’d be right. Cabressa needs to pay for his crimes. A bullet in the head is too good for him.
I repeat the command, slow and firm. ‘Put. Your hands. Behind. Your back.’
Cabressa doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move.
I brace myself. Get ready for him to fight back. ‘I’m the one with the gun now. Don’t you make me use it.’
He’s silent for a long moment, then he cusses, a stream of bile and anger, calling me all kinds of names. He smacks his hand against the table, and the knight jumps, toppling over and falling. It hits the ground and rolls across the carpet, disappearing under the table.
If it was an attempt at diversion, it doesn’t work. I keep the gun pointed at him. Slowly he turns around and puts his hands behind his back.
I snap the plasticuffs into place. I’m not gentle. Sharp pain shoots through my ribs, joined with another throbbing, deeper pain in my side from the movement, but I pay it no mind, stay focused on the job in hand. When it’s done, I take a step back, keeping the gun pointed at Cabressa, and say, ‘Turn back around.’
As he starts to move my vision swims and he becomes blurry. All of a sudden I feel real lightheaded. The pain is getting worse, the throbbing intensifying. I put my hand against my side and wince. Feel dampness.
Fighting back the urge to throw up, I look down.
That’s when I realise I’m bleeding.
65
They run from the L station. JT doesn’t know how long it takes – five minutes, ten, more – it doesn’t matter. His lungs are heavy, his stride faltering, but he will not rest until he’s found Lori.
Carmella’s right beside him as he throws the door to the hotel open and hurries inside. They sprint along the dark corridor with only the ghostly green-tinged emergency lighting to guide them. JT navigates the familiar layout and heads to the stairwell.
He takes the stairs two at a time. Carmella’s breathing is laboured, the wheeze of her inhale becoming more pronounced. JT doesn’t slow down; he can’t wait for her now. They’re too close to stop. He has to get to Lori.
Carmella’s still a flight of stairs behind when he reaches the fifth floor. He pushes open the door. Calls over his shoulder, ‘Room 514.’
‘I’ll find you.’
He sprints down the hallway. Stays light on his feet, keeping his footfalls muffled. Makes it back to the room he’d left hours earlier, at the start of the night, and stops.
The door’s closed. There’s no noise from inside.
He shoulders the door. Puts all his bulk into the movement. It flies open and he lurches into the room. Behind him, back in the hallway, he can hear Carmella’s footsteps getting closer.
He stops inside. Sees Cabressa, half turned against the wall. His hands are cuffed and he’s cussing a stream of obscenities as he wrestles against the cuffs. Lori has a gun pointed at the mobster’s head. ‘I said turn around.’
‘Lori.’ JT feels relief flooding through him. She’s okay, she’s alive, and she’s gotten Cabressa restrained. Everything is good.
Then she turns towards him.
Lori smiles, but her eyes are dazed, unfocused. Her gun-free hand is pressed against her side. It’s covered in blood, and there’s a gash in her dress, the skin beneath is stained crimson.
‘Lori, oh Jeez.’
‘JT?’ She drops the gun. Raises her bloody hand towards her face. ‘I feel so…’
He races to her. Tries to grab her as she loses consciousness but fails to reach her in time. She falls. Her head hits the edge of the table on the way down.
In the doorway, Carmella whispers a prayer.
There’s a click as the bathroom door unlocks. Special Agent Monroe – all cockatoo hair and gangly limbs – hurries out; he’s got his gun in one hand, his badge in the other. ‘FBI, everyone stay where you are.’
Cabressa cusses again. Wrestles harder against the cuffs.
JT wrenches his gaze from Lori to Monroe. Frowns. Doesn’t understand. ‘You were here? What the hell happened?’
‘He wasn’t here,’ says Cabressa. ‘I’ve never seen him.’
‘Shut up,’ Monroe says to Cabressa. ‘Eyes to the wall.’
JT notices movement by the door.
It’s Carmella reversing away from the room. There are tears on her cheeks. Sorrow in her eyes. As she meets JT’s gaze she mouths the words, ‘Forgive me.’
And then she’s gone.
66
I wake up on the floor. The carpet is prickly against my face, and the room seems to be moving, revolving. My vision’s blurred, but ahead of me, underneath the table, I can make out the golden colour and shape of the knight. It comes back to me then – Cabressa, the gunshot – and immediately a throbbing pain explodes in my side. It takes my breath a
way, and I gasp, try to turn over, to see where Cabressa is, whether he’s going to shoot me again.
‘It’s okay, Lori. I’ve got you.’ It’s JT’s voice, strong and gravelly and all kinds of soothing. I can’t see him but it feels good to know that he’s there.
‘Cabressa?’ I croak the name, the word scratchy in my throat. ‘Did he…?’
‘You got him.’ There’s pride in JT’s voice, but it’s mixed with something else I can’t place. ‘Monroe’s read him his rights. He’s going into custody.’
My mind feels mushy, like I’m on go-slow. I try to think on what happened, but my memory’s fragmented, like a movie that’s skipping scenes. I remember removing the vent, Cabressa taking the knight, and wrestling him for the gun, but nothing more. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ I feel JT’s hand on my shoulder. He slides his fingers upward until he’s caressing the back of my neck. ‘None of it matters.’
I try to turn towards him, wanting to see his face, but the pain kicks into my side harder, like a bucking horse on a last hurrah. I cry out. Can’t help it.
‘Medics are on the way,’ JT says, his voice more urgent. ‘They’re taking longer because of the chaos, but they’ll be here real soon.’
‘Then we can go home to Dakota.’
‘Yes we can.’ I hear it now, the fear laced into his voice.
That’s when I know I should be worried.
‘How’s she doing?’ It’s Monroe’s voice, more distant – seems like he’s a million miles away to me.
JT’s voice is hushed. Harder to make out, but I catch some of the words. ‘…lot of blood … where the hell … if I lose her you’ll never…’
My memory starts to return; the last twelve hours replaying on fast forward across my mind’s eye. Playing poker, the blackout, the electronic voice saying one of us in the penthouse was Herron, and the decontamination procedure – all the people who died. Then I remember the micro camera and the SWAT team that never came. All the chances I gave Monroe to find us, to help us; and the fact that no help arrived. Anger courses through my body. I want to know why he didn’t come. Why he abandoned us. ‘Monroe…’
‘He’s here too.’
I try to shake my head, but can’t get it to move.
‘It’s okay, just lie still,’ says JT.
I want to hold his hand, but again my body won’t obey me. My teeth start to chatter. Coldness spreads through me – my skin, my flesh, my bones – and I feel tired, so very tired. ‘JT?’ I say. My voice sounds weak, alien.
‘I’m right here.’
‘I feel … weird.’
‘You just need to rest,’ he says. His voice cracks. I feel his fingers leave my neck. Sense that he’s moving away. Then I hear his voice again, further from me now; a fast, angry whisper. ‘Monroe, get the medics here, now. She’s going into shock.’
‘They’re on their way.’ Monroe’s drawl seems laid back, relaxed, compared to JT’s. ‘Things are tricky out—’
‘You said that before. Get them here now. Use a chopper. Anything.’ JT’s tone is granite hard and laced with fury. There’s a bang, like a fist connecting with a wall. Then JT growls, ‘I won’t lose her.’
That’s when I know something’s wrong for sure. JT never panics. He never loses his cool.
‘JT?’ The word is hard to force out. My throat’s dry. My lips cracked. The weakness of my voice makes it sound as if it belongs to someone else.
Footsteps hurry towards me. I feel his hand on my shoulder again, and the warmth of his body next to mine. ‘I’m right here.’
I smile. Even that seems like an effort. ‘I’m tired.’
‘I know, baby.’ He takes my hand in his. Strokes my palm.
‘Tell me it’ll be okay.’
He squeezes my hand. Doesn’t hesitate. ‘It’s going to all be okay.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, my voice barely a whisper. And I mean it.
His words give me comfort, even though I know they can’t be true.
67
He won’t lose her. Can’t lose her. She’s slumped in his arms. Unconscious. Her pulse is barely there. He knows that without medical attention she’s not going to last much longer.
‘How far out are they?’ JT yells at Monroe. ‘Tell me that.’
Monroe barks something into his sat phone. Gets a rapid answer back. ‘Five minutes, could be ten,’ he says to JT.
‘Wrong answer.’ JT looks down at Lori. She’s so pale she looks dead already. ‘She doesn’t have that long.’
He hears Monroe barking more instructions into the sat phone. Tunes out from the conversation – concentrates on Lori. He checks her pulse again. It’s getting slower. Pulls off his jacket and puts it over her. Needs to try and stop her falling too deep into shock.
‘Five minutes,’ Monroe shouts. ‘They can make it in five.’
JT can’t bite back the anger any longer. He wants to grab the scrawny asshole and give him a beating he’d never forget. But he doesn’t. He can’t. He cannot leave Lori’s side.
‘It’ll be okay,’ says Monroe.
JT glances over at him. He’s standing over Cabressa, who’s now lying face down on the carpet. The mobster’s hands are still cuffed behind his back, and Monroe’s added ankle cuffs to be sure. He looks like one of those bastard big-game hunters with their trophy kill. Except in this case he didn’t even bag the trophy. Lori did. And it’s gotten her killed.
JT scowls at Monroe. ‘You did this.’
‘She was perfectly fine. In control the whole way, I was watching on the micro camera feed and I could—’
‘Where were you before I arrived?’ JT’s voice is getting louder, his fury rising higher. ‘Hiding in the goddamn bathroom, that’s where. You could have stepped in. You should have stopped this—’
There’s a flurry of words from the sat phone. Monroe turns away. ‘Yes. Yes. We will.’
‘They’re landing on the street out front. They won’t be able to stay there long – it’s crazy out there. We need to hurry.’
‘Okay.’
Monroe lunges towards him. Grips his arm. ‘Don’t tell anyone what happened here, okay? You let me do the talking. Stay quiet.’
JT stares at Monroe. Can’t believe even he could sink so low. Shakes off his hand.
Monroe acts like it’s no big deal. He moves towards the door, pushing Cabressa, shuffling, in front of him. Monroe turns. ‘They’ll be landing any minute. Are you coming?’
‘Yes.’ JT scoops Lori’s limp body into his arms and gently lifts her. Cradling her head against his chest, he strides to the door. Glares at Monroe. ‘But know this: if Lori dies, I will hunt you down and I will kill you.’
68
I wake up to the sound of beeping. It’s cold in here, and the air smells of antiseptic and bleach. My eyelids feel heavy, and my mouth is real dry. Every bit of me aches.
I can guess where I am. These sounds and smells are familiar from all the treatment Dakota had to endure. But things were different then. I wasn’t the one in the bed. I force open my eyes. They feel scratchy, itchy. And I see that I was right.
I’m in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines; there’s a heart-rate monitor, an IV pump, and some other thing I don’t recognise. It’s bright in here – it seems unnaturally so – with the white walls and floors, and the lights on full.
Lights. They could be from a back-up generator, I guess, but maybe the blackout is over.
JT is slumped in a chair to the side of my bed, his head is bowed, and his stubble-covered chin rests part on his shoulder and part on the headrest. He’s asleep. I watch the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing. Notice the cuts and bruises on his face, his arms and his knuckles. He’s frowning in his sleep, and every few moments his eyelids flicker and his fists clench. I wonder what he’s dreaming about.
There’s a dull throbbing in my side. I try to sit up, to see what’s going on down there. I’ve only moved a fraction when the pain spikes
deep inside me. I gasp. Drop back down to the pillows. Fight back the urge to be sick.
‘Lori?’ There’s concern in JT’s voice. Relief too. He rubs the sleep from his eyes. ‘You’re back.’
‘Sure am.’ I manage a small smile. My face feels odd, rubbery somehow. I glance down at my body. ‘I was trying to check out the damage.’
‘Ah.’ From the look on his face I can tell he doesn’t think that’s a good idea.
‘You going to help me?’
‘Sure.’ Getting up, he steps over to the bed and gently pulls back the covers.
Although all I’m able to do without pain is raise my head a little, it’s enough. I see the thick white compression bandage wrapped around my torso, and I know things are serious. ‘What happened?’
JT shakes his head. ‘That asshole Cabressa shot you.’
I try to remember. Everything seems hazy, like I’m seeing the memories of last night play on a movie screen covered in a dark veil. I close my eyes. Focus harder – trying to cut through the drugs that are dulling my senses. But I can’t recall what happened. I keep my eyes closed. Keep trying. After what seems like forever the veil drops and I remember everything, as if in HD.
Opening my eyes, I meet JT’s gaze. ‘We both had the gun. I was trying to disarm him. He pulled the trigger.’
Deep Dark Night Page 25
