MOB RULES (James Harris Book 2) Page 21

  “And so will Don Antonio Franco.”

  The cigar sagged slightly as Scalaro’s face dropped into a scowl. Harris noticed and continued.

  “I will be saving countless more lives than you can ever begin to repay me for. If anything, you will still be in my debt.”

  Scalaro, interlocked his fingers and placing his elbows on the hard desk, leaned forward. His expression had grown dangerous.

  “Are you trying to piss me off, Captain Harris?” He spoke in a low register.

  “No, Mr. Scalaro, I’m not,” Harris answered as he held the man’s icy stare. “I’m just getting tired of this game and neither of us has the time to fuck around anymore. If the Fed’s decide things are getting too hot and this man goes into witness protection then that’s game over. Game over for you and game over for me. Because I don’t have any other way to save my family.”

  Harris went in for the kill.

  “And neither do you.”

  The underboss listened. He made no attempt to interrupt Harris.

  “And for all I know, this scumbag in Colombia has already found another hit team to kill me and my family.”

  Scalaro softened slightly. He grabbed his cigar with his right hand and extended his arm forward to the ashtray. He ground the cigar slowly against the porcelain bottom of the receptacle and finally extinguished it. He then interlocked his fingers again and lay his hands across his stomach as he leaned back in his chair.

  “The time for action is now, Tony. So do we have a deal or not?” Harris asked with finality as he stood. He extended his hand.

  The Franco family underboss allowed the man to hold his hand out for several seconds. Finally he pushed back from his chair and stood. He reached out and grabbed Harris’ hand and the two exchanged a firm handshake.

  “I cannot make any promises, you understand? Because as I’ve told you, I don’t engage in such things,” Scalaro added craftily. “But keep your eye on the news coming out of Bogota. I have a feeling that perhaps something might catch your interest in the near future.”

  “Understood.”

  “Now as you said, time is of the essense,” the underboss was dismissing him, “If you don’t mind, I have a few phone calls to make.”

  Harris nodded and turned to walk towards the office door. He stopped suddenly and pointed to another door at the back of the office. It had large, steel lock bars at both the top and bottom of the frame.

  “Where does that lead?”

  The question surprised Scalaro and he grinned.

  “It’s leads to the back alley. You planning on robbing me, Captain?”

  Harris chuckled. “Nope. I’m just starting to wonder why I kept coming in through the front door.”

  “Because, Captain” Scalaro replied with a smile. “That’s what friends do.”

  Harris gave a soft chuckle as he twisted the knob and pulled the door open. He was halfway through when Scalaro stopped him.

  “Captain.”

  Harris leaned back into the office and looked to Scalaro. He waited for what he knew was coming.

  “You double cross me and I’ll have you chopped into a hundred pieces. And it won’t matter if I’m in prison or not. Capice?”

  Harris nodded.

  “No,” Scalaro said. “I want to hear it. Tell me you understand.”

  “I understand.” Harris said calmly.

  “Okay,” the underboss said as he took his seat. “Take care of yourself, Captain.”

  Harris walked out of the pool hall and into the cold air.

  Bogota, he thought to himself. I never told him Castillo was from Bogota. How much did Scalaro know this entire time? Was the man really smart enough to plan this out from the start? As Harris walked towards his car, he realized that it didn’t matter. Whether or not he’d been played just didn’t matter. Very shortly he would know that Bonnie and Danny were out of danger.

  That was all that mattered.

  Mob Rules

  56

  The black Chevy Suburban drove south on I-91 through Connecticut. Having been on the road for a few hours now, the SUV would soon need some gas before making the final push into New York.

  Bonnie and Danny were in good spirits, having finally left their stunningly beautiful mountain prison. Bonnie was smiling and upbeat because she was finally feeling in control of her life and Danny was pleased just to see his mother happy. The radio was tuned to a classic rock station out of Hartford and both mother and son sang along with Bohemian Rhapsody.

  “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for meee, for meeeee, for meeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

  The two tried in vain to hit Freddy Mercury’s high note and both burst out laughing.

  Danny looked to his mother as the moment passed. He turned down the radio.

  “What do you think Steve and Mike are doing right now?” He asked with a chuckle.

  “Uhmmmm, they’re probably a hundred miles behind us in a rental car if they were lucky enough to find a company to come and pick them up.” Bonnie answered unapologetically.

  “I hope we didn’t get them in trouble,” Danny responded. “They were just doing their jobs.”

  “You know what?” Bonnie said as she looked over to her son. “I really don’t give a damn.”

  The previous night, Steve had run to the nearest convenience store to stock up on some provisions. Upon his return, Bonnie, while helping to put away groceries, had noticed that he tucked the keys away on top of the refrigerator. He thought nobody had seen him. Since neither Danny nor she was tall enough to see that high, it must have seemed like a good hiding spot. Bonnie pretended she hadn’t noticed and began hatching her escape plan then and there.

  She whispered her scheme to Danny as she said goodnight to him that evening and the two were quickly packed and ready to go before the sun came up. When the front door opened and the chime sounded through the house, Mike had called out, questioning who it was. Danny answered and said that he was just stepping out on the front porch to watch the sun come up over the mountains. Then he and his mother tip-toed out, put their bags in the back seat quietly and started their getaway.

  By the time, the men heard the SUV fire up it was too late. Bonnie tore down the long driveway as both bodyguards dashed out of the house. The gate opened automatically when a car approached from inside the complex and Bonnie pleaded for the thing to move more quickly as the two men sprinted towards the back of the Suburban. The gate seemed to be moving in slow motion and for an agonizing moment, Bonnie actually thought that the men were going to catch her. She locked all the doors. Just as Steve, the faster of the two, had almost reached the back of the vehicle, Bonnie had enough access to squeeze through and she floored the accelerator. It was a close call and both mother and son looked at each other in disbelief and started cheering. That was roughly three hours earlier.

  Bonnie looked over a second time to see the concern on her son’s face.

  “Stop worrying about them, Danny. They’re big boys.”

  “Yeah,” Danny said. “I know. But I still don’t want dad to get mad at them.”

  “They’re not cops, Danny. Your father can’t do shit to them.”

  “That’s true,” he said. “I forgot about that.”

  “Now Sylvia Blumquist on the other hand,” Bonnie said with a laugh. “May just have them skinned.”

  “Mom!”

  Bonnie chuckled loudly.

  “Stop worrying, buddy. Try taking a nap.”

  “Okay,” Danny said as he leaned his seat back and curled up against the door.

  The mile markers flew by and just north of New Haven, Bonnie pulled off on an exit to get gas. She would call her mother from a pay phone and let her know to expect them. She was feeling a thousand times better than she did just a couple days ago. It was now in her hands to determine the course of her future. She did not mourn the end of her marriage, in fact she realized that she had been in mourning the past few months. But that was behind her. Now all she felt was relief an
d even a touch of excitement. Her mind kept drifting back to the corny old saying and somehow it had never rang so true.

  Today was the first day of the rest of her life.

  Mob Rules

  57

  Harris poured himself a second cup of coffee and then walked back to take a seat at his kitchen table. It promised to be an unusually warm day and through the lone window above the sink, morning sunlight bathed the room in a hazy, spring-like feel.

  Harris alternated between sips and reading as he transferred the newspaper and coffee mug to and from his right hand. He was forced to do most things with his right hand for the time being. He had access to the thumb and three remaining fingers on his damaged left hand, as the gauze and wrap over his severed pinky finger allowed those to stick out, but to use the hand was extremely painful.

  Laying on the table to the right of Harris was his CZ .40 caliber handgun. It was a powerful, Czechoslovakian gun and it was also extremely small. It could almost be hidden in the palm of his hand. Although the safety was on, the chamber was loaded and the hammer was cocked and ready to go. He doubted that Castillo would have had time to find another hit team so quickly but he wasn’t taking any chances.

  After his conversation with Anthony Scalaro the day prior, Harris realized that there was little he could do except wait. Aside from keeping his attention to the news coming out of Colombia, there was nothing more he could contribute.

  Harris wondered if Scalaro could actually pull this off or was he just posturing for him, hoping to curry favor and therefore the name of the informant? Either way, it didn’t matter. There was so much dishonesty and subterfuge involved that it would be difficult to understand the complete truth if confronted with it. He was lying to Scalaro and in turn, the mob underboss was almost certainly lying to him. But Harris realized that none of it mattered. All that mattered was whether the Franco family could extend its reach twenty-five hundred miles and manage to take out a man who most likely had presidential-like protection. It was no simple task.

  Harris had no second thoughts about his decision. If the gangsters did manage to rid the world of Rafael Castillo, then he would also die. Because there was one thing of which he was certain, if he did not come through for the Franco’s after they did this for him, then he was a dead man. Scalaro had not been vague in pointing that out. One hundred pieces, he’d said. Nothing ambiguous about that. Hopefully they wouldn’t actually make that much of a fuss about it. Two in the head and done. That would be ideal.

  And Bonnie and Danny would be safe. And that would be that. Over.

  He already decided that he would leave a note for Bonnie because his body, most likely, would never be found. A dead police captain raises way too much heat. But a police captain who simply disappears could be explained in so many ways. Especially with a divorce coming up. People might speculate that he had just taken off. That he’d had enough. That it was all just too much and he’d bailed, leaving his wife and kid to go live in obscurity in Fiji.

  He had to let Bonnie know after the fact that he would never do that to her. That he was gone, but they were safe. It was the last thing he could give his wife and child. Closure. He also realized that he could not tell her beforehand. He just couldn’t.

  But all that mattered was that they live.

  It was all that mattered.

  The doorbell rang loudly, interrupting his train of thought.

  Harris balked and whipped his head towards the front of the house. His hand went instinctively to the loaded gun. Just as quickly, he relaxed.

  “Get a grip, Jimmy,” he spoke softly to himself. “They wouldn’t ring the doorbell.”

  Yesterday, he had the police presence pulled from his house. He didn’t want it anymore. It would all be over soon enough and he was sick of seeing the NYPD on his porch. Blake had bitched of course, but he put his foot down. With the Loco’s in disarray and Rabi securely locked down in county jail awaiting arraignment on a slew of serious charges, the initial danger had passed.

  Harris walked to his front door. There were two long, rectangular windows that ran the length of the door on both sides. He pulled the curtain back from the window on the left and peeked out onto his porch. There, alone, stood Sylvia Blumquist. Harris quickly opened the door.

  “Sylvia,” he spoke in astonishment.

  “Hello Jimmy,” she answered. She held her hands low in front of her and clutched a newspaper.

  Harris looked behind her to the street. He checked to the left and then to the right.

  “Where are your bodyguards, Sylvia? Where’s the limo?”

  “Nobody knows I’m here. I drove myself,” she answered curtly. “I thought it was best that way.”

  “Come in,” Harris said as he stepped back from the door.

  “No, Jimmy,” she spoke somberly. “I won’t be staying.”

  Harris noticed her reserved demeanor and immediately adopted it as he stepped back into the doorway to address her.

  “What’s wrong, Sylvia? Are you okay?”

  “No Jimmy, I’m not. I haven’t been okay since you left my home yesterday.”

  “I’m-I’m sorry about that. Really. I am.” Harris looked at her sympathetically.

  “No, Jimmy,” she replied. “It is I who should apologize. You came to me in a time of dire need and I was not there for you.”

  “That’s not true. I was out of line. I should have never-“

  “Stop,” she cut him off with a shake of her head. She struggled to control her emotions and her face contorted in an effort to keep from crying. “Please just stop.”

  Sylvia turned her head away, unable to hold his gaze. She took the time to survey the bullet holes and the smashed windows covered with cardboard and then breathed deeply and gathered herself. Harris remained silent, allowing the woman to regain her composure.

  “Oh Jimmy,” she sighed with a discernible rattle. “Your house.”

  “It’s okay, Sylvia. That can all be fixed.”

  She nodded. “Yes. Hopefully something else can be fixed as well.”

  Harris furrowed his brow in a silent inquiry.

  “Here,” she said as she suddenly thrust the newspaper at him with both hands.

  “What’s this?” Harris asked. He took the paper from her.

  “Uhmmm,” she began slowly. “Christi wrote a good article. I thought you might want to read it.”

  “Sylvia,” Harris spoke gently with a small laugh. “I get the Gazette delivered every day.”

  He smiled at her and watched as she fought back an approaching grin, as if giving in to it would bring discomfort.

  “Well I didn’t know that.” She finally let out a chuckle.

  “Please come in, Sylvia. I have coffee made.”

  “No, I have to go, Jimmy,” she said as she leaned in and grabbed his face with both hands. Rising up on her toes, she gave him a soft peck on the lips.

  “What in the world is going on, Sylvia?” Harris asked as the woman released him and turned to go.

  Sylvia stopped short and stared into his eyes. She smiled.

  “What you did for me, all you risked for me three months ago,” she said with sincerity. “Was so very much more than you asked me for yesterday. And I said no.”

  Tears sprung into her eyes and this time she made no effort to hide it.

  “Sylvia,” Harris tried to comfort.

  “No. You were right. I know what you did for Emily. What you did for me. And I’m just as culpable as you are. I had no business saying what I did yesterday and I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Harris comforted her. “All of this is insanity. It’s hard to make sense of any of it.”

  Sylvia wiped a tear away with her hand.

  “Inside the newspaper you will find what you need.”

  The words struck Harris like a sledgehammer.

  He felt his breath leave his chest and for a moment doubted whether or not he’d heard her correctly. He immediately looked down at the paper
in his hand and only then did he notice the manila envelope sticking out.

  “Sylvia…” his words failed him and he looked back up to simply stare at the woman. His face bore a blank expression.

  “You could ruin me with that,” she said as she took a step off the porch. “And you know what? I don’t care. I simply couldn’t imagine this world without you in it.”

  Harris stood rooted in place. He tried to say something but could not find the words. Finally he spoke in a strained voice.

  “Thank you, Sylvia.”

  “No,” she said. Her back was to him as she walked towards her car. “Thank you.”

  “Do you really have to run?” Harris asked.

  “Yes. I want to be at that psychopath Rabi’s arraignment myself. Making sure he gets life is a personal mission to me.”

  “Tell him I said hello,” Harris joked. He suddenly felt a hundred pounds lighter.

  Sylvia walked down to the street and circled around an old, maroon Chevy Malibu that was parked against the curb. Opening the door, she noticed the quizzical look on Harris’ face.

  “It’s the maids,” she said with a grin. “I let her use my Maserati today.”

  “Seems like a fair trade,” Harris responded with a slight smile that had found its way to his face.

  “Thought I should go incognito today,” Sylvia continued with a grin.

  “I get it,” Harris replied.

  Taking a seat in the car, Sylvia fired up the engine. With a wave, she drove off.

  Harris looked down at the newspaper in his hands. He quickly scanned the street again. There was nobody.

  Shaking his head in stunned disbelief, he turned and walked back inside his house.

  The door locked with a loud click.

  Mob Rules

  58

  As always, two of the bodyguards entered the restaurant first. The other two remained outside, flanking the armored, stretch limousine. Each man had an Uzi 9mm submachine gun just under his jacket, tucked out of sight. The small but powerful firearm could fire ten rounds per second and was an extremely effective close combat weapon.