Chapter 8: A King’s End
I felt the tears falling before I had a chance to stop them. I sat in my car weeping like a child, my body wrecked with fatigue and anxiety. The adrenaline had faded. The spotlights dimmed. The show was over. All that remained was the mess it had left behind: me. I was a murderer. The label felt alien. I couldn’t relate to it. It was a term you tossed around the dinner table while discussing vile people you read about in the news. It was not something you woke up one day and classified yourself as. I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes and trying to disappear from the world for a moment. But reality returned and with an unforgiving jolt I realised my situation. I had to get home. The police had probably arrived at Will Harding’s house. Sarah would know about his death. And that meant she’d call me. I had left my phone at home.
I brought the engine to life and gunned it, burying my torment and driving as fast as I possibly could. I was lucky that it was late and I had the liberty to drive. The only thing I had as an alibi was that I had sunk into a depressed sleep after seeing the body of the little girl. Sarah would have been able to believe that, but I wondered with each day how much patience she still had left for me. She couldn’t spend her days babysitting me. I needed to make sure that I was home. I wiped my eyes, trying to fill my mind with thoughts of Jess and that all of this was for her. I drove recklessly, no doubt putting my life in further danger.
When I finally reached my home I was on the verge of having another attack from the stress. I turned off the car and got out. I almost sprinted to my front door. I entered my house and locked the door again, leaning against it and exhaling heavily, my heart hammering so hard I could hardly get any air into my lungs. When I had calmed enough to move, I retrieved my mobile phone. Sure enough there were two missed calls from Sarah, and checking my home phone revealed another. There was also a text message from her which informed me of what had happened in a short sentence. It had come a few minutes after the missed calls so I expected that she had assumed I was out of action. I reassured myself that if my mobile phone was being tracked then I had an alibi to say that I had never left my house tonight and could not have had anything to do with the murders. I found it curious though why she didn’t mention anything about Hal Edwards, but I chalked that up to her placing obvious priority on Harding and his family. And of course Sarah couldn’t be in two places at once.
It was time to destroy the sainthood of Will Harding. I took out the spare phone I had, copied Sarah’s number from my main mobile phone and began typing a text message to her. I went out of my way to make it sound dramatic; almost like the way the mob had communicated with me thus far. I’d be an anonymous source. I observed my words after I had finished typing: “Will Harding was an insect. An informant for the mob. He sold you out the night of the warehouse raid and leaked information on all of your men. He had to be eliminated. Think on that before you mourn his passing.”
I nodded to myself satisfied. I hit send. As soon as the message was delivered I tore the back panel of the phone off, removed the SIM card and snapped it in two. I’d have to get a new card or better yet a couple of disposable phones. I sank down into my preferred living room seat and rubbed my temples as I contemplated my next move. The only thing I had to go on was that Will Harding had brought up Victor Salvatore’s name. He was my biggest suspect for this. After all I still could not shake the fact that Nathan Kenway had used the exact same words to me that Victor had back in the restaurant. It seemed like forever ago, a different lifetime, but the connection remained. I’d bet all my chips on Victor being the man behind my family’s murder.
The only problem was that he was one of the city’s biggest crime lords. That made getting to him difficult; confronting him for a chat implausible. I could always get to him out in public, but I wanted my talk with him to have a more private touch. That way I would be able to kill him if he was responsible. But only after he gave me Jess. My daughter was the priority. I figured that I’d have to spend a day tailing him, working out his routine and deciding on the opportune windows to get to him. My best bet would be when he hung his cape at night. Everyone knew where he lived; it was just a matter of finding out when he was there, and where else he went on a day-to-day basis. I needed to scout out his place and take a look at the level of security as well as map out some kind of routine. That could take more than a day or two.
I tiredly placed my Beretta onto the table in front of me. I had to replace the two bullets I had used. I eyed the gun deep in thought. If I was to go after Victor Salvatore I couldn’t do it with the weapon making enough of a racket to draw the entire street to me. As soon as I fired the gun anywhere near Victor I’d be surrounded and shot down before I could drop a witty one-liner.
I’d need a suppressor. Unfortunately real life wasn’t as simple as the movies. Only special forces units were given suppressors, commonly referred to as ‘silencers’, and the rest of us ordinary people, police or not, had to buy them. I acknowledged that most people weren’t aware that it’s actually legal in many states to own a suppressor. But it was expensive. In addition to needing a license and having to go through the necessary paperwork, which could potentially take months, each suppressor bought was taxed with a once-off payment. I didn’t have the patience or the money to waste on that. The other option was to obtain one illegally, which was obviously still pricey, perhaps more so, and I didn’t know where to look to find the markets around here. Not to mention that anyone who read the newspaper knew what I looked like, so if I showed up to some dodgy vendor and made a purchase the mob would know. They weren’t stupid. People, especially police officers, didn’t usually buy suppressors unless they were going hunting - and not just for animals. I was left with only one option: I had to make one.
The beauty of the world we lived in was that any idiot could watch a YouTube video these days and learn something they shouldn’t. I contemplated what I’d need. PVC pipes, rubber, duct tape, wood, glue or PVC cement, sand paper, a drill and what else? I could probably find a use for a bicycle clamp. There were many ways to go about it depending on the gun, with varying degrees of efficiency. I’d have to take proper measurements of my Beretta’s barrel first. The issue could be that if the design wasn’t good enough, I possibly would end up being forced to make more than one. It went without saying that a flawed design might not lead to good enough suppression. I instinctively smiled to myself as I thought about the common myths behind suppressors. I always enjoyed a private laugh whenever I watched those spy and action films where ‘silencers’ reduced the gunshot sounds to little more than an inaudible phut you’d hear from a BB gun.
As was genuinely the trend real life didn’t obey the rules of Hollywood. The reason us officers, and the gun fanatics, insisted on the term ‘suppressor’ over ‘silencer’ was because of the fact that the latter wasn’t wholly accurate. Suppressors reduced, but not eliminated, the gunshot sound. Many people were also under false impressions that it’s just the actual gunshot - the noise from the pressure wave as a result of rapidly expanding propellant gases - that produced all the noise of a firearm. But it was only one element of it. The other primary source of noise came from the sonic crack created by the bullet, as most exceeded the sound barrier. There did exist modified subsonic bullets, which were much quieter - almost Hollywood quiet if used with the right suppressor and gun - as they were slower than the speed of sound and didn’t break the sound barrier. But these bullets dipped quickly and as a result were not effective at range, and they also packed a lesser stopping power. They definitely were worthless for any automatic or even semi-automatic weapon. If you were caught in a fire fight in a large open space, subsonic bullets were not your friend. Other sources of gun noise, usually minor, was the mechanical action of the weapon itself, the sound of the bullet travelling through the air and the bullet actually striking its target.
It’s common that once you started explaining these complications to the layman their natural question would be: what is th
e point of them then? That’s usually the easy question to answer. A suppressor, in addition to its obvious noise reduction, could be invaluable as it removed the bright muzzle flash of the firearm. That meant that during covert operations, or for snipers, your position wouldn’t be revealed each time you made a shot. That served me pretty damn well since I’d be acting at night, and without a suppressor each shot from my gun would show the world where I was. A beacon of my own foolish bravado.
The next benefit was that, due to the noise reduction, you stood a much smaller chance of causing damage to your ears if they were unprotected. Another myth of Hollywood movies was how people could endlessly fire unsuppressed guns, without ear protection, in enclosed spaces and avoid any pain or injury to their ears. An unsuppressed gunshot was usually around one-hundred and forty to one-hundred and sixty decibels, which meant in the worst case scenario you could permanently damage your ears by hearing that sound close to you in a bad environment, most particularly one that enhanced noise; a place that produced an echo. A suppressor significantly reduced that to around one-twenty or one-thirty decibels, which was the kind of noise reduction you’d get from wearing typical ear protection gear. However the gun would still produce a mighty audible pop.
Another useful advantage was that suppressors slightly reduced recoil, which improved accuracy and made it easier to avoid firing fatigue. And for my immediate purposes, perhaps the greatest asset would be that due to the drastic change in what a suppressed gun actually sounded like compared to an ordinary firearm, most people wouldn’t recognise it as a gunshot, especially in lively areas. They’d assume it was nothing significant. In these ways a suppressor would change the game.
It looked like I was going shopping tomorrow. I yawned, feeling the weariness of everything that had happened over the last two days wash over me. It was time to call it a night. There was little else I could do but wait to face the aftermath of my actions. But my mistake was to bring down my barriers. As soon as my mind calmed, entertaining the idea of sleep, I felt a sudden bout of anxiety take hold over me, crushing my focus and driving me to an immediate panicked state with a jolt. Jess’ phone call played in my head. My defences crumbled to dust, and then I could not stop my mind from worrying about her.
My little girl was out there and I didn’t know where. Was she hurt? Was she okay? Did she have food and shelter? She’s just a baby. Did someone have her? I wasn’t sure what I had heard on the other end of the line, but something had frightened her into ending the call and she had not tried to contact me again. Did that mean she’d been taken? I shook my head and forced the thought out of my mind. I had no guarantees. All that I had was knowing that she was alive. And I’d do anything to get her back. I thought about her being frightened and alone. I couldn’t concentrate. I started to choke up. I thrashed, my face getting hot and my breathing becoming strained. The stress was unbearable. I wondered how long my body or mind could continue to take this. I just had to be patient. I had to be calm. I had to keep it together. Jess needed me. I closed my eyes and tried to avoid sinking into a nightmare long enough to fall asleep.
Morning came and I rose early, feeling worse than I did the previous night. There was no rest for people like me; only a tinge of gratitude at having made it through the night. I stretched and headed towards the bathroom. I woke myself up and showered while still half asleep, and once I was done I swiftly made myself breakfast while consulting my shopping list. I poured myself a glass of orange juice. As I got to the end of the list, ensuring that I had not forgot anything, I took a sip of the juice and immediately spluttered. I spat out what little I could. It was off. Stupid me. Obviously it was, having been left in my fridge for more than three weeks. I rinsed the glass and filled it with water instead. I gingerly drank then, trying to drown the foul, sour taste of the juice. I emptied the carton of orange juice in the sink. I’d have to pick up a few things for the house as well.
On top of having to worry about Jess, I now had a new stress to face each day and that was wondering how long it would be before the police discovered what I had done. I had no intention of stopping and it was only going to get worse. I was playing time. And sooner or later the safety net would fall. But there was no use in dwelling over it. I had to focus. I snatched up a long coat and headed out into the morning chill. I contemplated the task at hand. I figured that I’d need hours to craft the suppressor. I could take sick leave for a day. I smiled to myself cynically. With all the days I had taken off after my family’s murder would that even be allowed? Alternatively I could work through the entire night. The first option seemed safest. I alerted Sarah via text message and set to work, hoping she’d believe that I really was sick. She didn’t respond so I assumed she was busy or had not seen it yet, and that gave me some time. But she didn’t reply for the entire duration that I was out, and I eventually returned home with my car full of the things that I needed. I sighed. It was going to be an effort, but it would have to be worth it.
Once I had created a suitable working space for myself in the house I got down to business. I first measured the length of the barrel, and then cut the ten-inch PVC pipe down a bit. Although not too much as the suppressor needed to extend over the barrel. I used a black marker and ruler to mark the dots I’d need to drill through on the pipe. I groaned and leaned back, reaching for my glass and taking a long drink of water. Perhaps I should have bought a flashlight and used it to make the suppressor. But it was too late to change the plan now, so I mentally prepared myself for what was to come and set out to work.
Hours later I was weary and famished, but I had done it. I admired my handiwork. It appeared sturdy enough on my Beretta, and gave it a rather menacing appearance. It would have to be tested of course, as I couldn’t just fire and hope for the best. Once I was satisfied with what I had produced I could finally concentrate on going after Victor Salvatore.
I heard a sudden rap on my door. I jolted and turned my head, panic building as I realised all of the equipment was laid out in the spotlight right on my table. I heard Sarah’s voice call out. What was she doing here? I looked around hurriedly, my mind racing through my options on how to conceal all of this. Precious seconds had gone by when I realised that, luckily, I already had a black bag beside me which I had used for excess garbage. I snatched it up, clumsily piled everything into it, grabbed my gun and took the load to my bedroom. I held my breath and closed my eyes as I entered, not wanting to see anything that could trigger the nightmares. I threw it all onto the bed, rushed out and closed the door. Sarah’s knocking grew insistent. I answered her and reached over for the doorknob. I took a deep breath and opened the door.
Sarah stood on my porch shivering in the cold with her hands shoved deep into her pockets. The look she gave me matched the weather, and I felt nervous. I almost smacked myself. I just realised I must have looked like a mess from all the work I had been doing. I hoped no evidence was visible on me, but at least I could chalk up most of it to being ill.
“Are you going to let me in?” she asked.
If that was the greeting I was getting, then she couldn’t be here with good news. I stepped back inside, greeted her as she passed me and closed the door again. I waited awkwardly for her to speak, but it took a long while before she did.
“You know, I’ve had a thought in my mind lately. About you. It’s just there, every day, and I don’t know why. All I do is worry about it more. I swear I feel like a damn mother.”
I frowned, trying not to appear alarmed. What did she know?
“I worry that one day I’m going to look for you and you’re going to be gone.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, Jack,” she said, taking a few steps towards the couches, “I don’t know if you’re okay. I don’t know where your head is at anymore. I feel like we’ve drifted to opposite ends of the field here.”
“I’m fine,” I said, going to her and putting my hand her shoulder, “And we haven’t drifted.”
; “Are you really?” she said with a hint of bitterness.
“Sarah, what’s this about?”
“Where were you last night?”
I froze.
“What?”
“You heard me. Where were you?”
“I was here,” I stammered, but then renewed my faith in the lie, “You saw how that girl’s death upset me. I came back here and just slept the whole night away.”
“I’ve been going over it in my head, Jack; what you said to me the day you saved that girl, and had the run-in with Hal Edwards. You told me that you wished you had killed him.”
“Sarah...you’re-”
“And then what happens? He turns up dead, the very next day, and I can’t reach you. You won’t answer your phone. I don’t know where you are. But he dies and you’re missing the entire night.”
I remained silent.
“Explain to me, Jack. Tell me that I’m crazy. That I’m seeing things that aren’t there.”
Could I really tell her the truth? I opened my mouth to speak, but only the lies came.
“I swear to you Sarah, I was here at home. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t with you.”
Her face fell, and in moments her entire expression had changed as if she had realised what she had accused me of. She choked up. I had never seen her like this in my entire life. If I didn’t know any better I would have sworn that she was on the verge of tears. When she spoke her voice was unsteady.
“I swear to you, I was here at home. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there.”
I moved toward her and put my arms around her. Even though I was trying to make her feel better, I probably took more comfort in the embrace than her. It felt good. She took some of the pain away.
“Edwards was killed outside of a bar,” I said gently. The lies came easier now, “For all we know he got into a fight with some other moron he shouldn’t have. Plus he’s bound to have many people out there with reason to kill him. The world won’t miss him.”
She didn’t say anything, and after a while she slipped out of my arms.
“I’m not sorry about Hal Edwards. I’m sorry about this,” she said. She took out her phone, navigated using the touch screen and handed it to me.
I looked down already knowing what I was going to see. It was the text message that I had sent to her, but reading it again now made it feel like a stranger’s words; the words warning Sarah that Will Harding was a mole for the mob and had to be taken care of. I purposefully frowned and pretended to be surprised and to think deeply on it.
“I got that shortly after Will was killed, Jack. Some guy wearing a black ski mask barged into his house while they were having a poker night with friends and took his wife hostage. He forced all of them upstairs while he killed Harding. Shot him three times.”
“What are you saying? That someone is taking the law into their own hands here?” I quizzed, playing my part yet feeling terrible for it.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know what to do; what to make of this. I don’t know how to feel about Harding’s death if he really was a mole for the mob. I’m just lost.”
I reached for her hand, but stopped as she looked up at me, and I could truly see that she was a wreck.
“I feel so guilty, Jack. If this is true...I was the one who picked Harding for the team that night. I did. It’s my fault. You probably hate me...”
“No Sarah,” I said, taking her hand and holding it tightly, “You couldn’t have known. None of us did. This is not your fault. This is theirs. You’ve done nothing but help me through all of this. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. I could never hate you.”
She was quiet then. I could tell that everything we’d been through since I took the promotion was finally taking its effect on her. I realised then that I hadn’t been fair to her. I had always held her up to a higher standard than everyone else; thought of her as unbreakable. I had just always assumed that she could handle anything and didn’t need anyone. She was the strongest person I knew but even she had her limits. She was only human. No one could face what she did on a daily basis alone. She needed help as much as I did. We needed each other right now. She was the main reason I had survived all this.
I reflected then on how much closer we had got in recent weeks. We’d always been good friends but we’d never relied on each other like this or really opened up to each other. I sat her down on the living room couches and took my spot next to her. To my surprise she rested slightly against my shoulder. It felt nice, but at the same time it felt strange. For a second it was as though my wife was back. And that almost brought back the pain. I didn’t expect something like this from Sarah. It seemed out of character.
“Do you think there’s ever going to be a way that we can win?” she asked eventually.
“I don’t know about that,” I answered, my mind worlds away, “But we do the best that we can with what we have.”
“I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you, Jack. God knows you’ve been going through enough without me adding more to your plate. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Sarah it’s fine,” I laughed then, “Come on, it’s us against the world right now isn’t it?”
She gave me a small laugh then, “Feels that way.”
We sat like that for a while, enjoying each other’s company as well as the silence. There were a few moments where I felt guilty; my irrational mind telling me that I was cheating on my wife. Would I ever be free of this pain? Or would it chase me around like a rabid dog never knowing peace? Sarah interrupted my thoughts then, letting me know that all good things came to an end.
“I should get going,” she said.
“You can stay the night if you’d like. I’ll sleep on the couch,” I offered, genuinely meaning it, forgetting about what I had to do in a moment of weakness.
She smiled, “It’s okay. Don’t worry.”
She got up and walked over to the door. She stopped just before she stepped out.
“Jack?”
“Yes?”
“I appreciate this. Thank you.”
I smiled and nodded.
“I mean it, okay?” she added, and then she was gone.
The pit laughed at me as it returned, sucking all warmth from this place. I forced thoughts into my mind then in an attempt to distract myself. I considered when I’d test the suppressor. It would have to be tonight. There were still a few hours until evening. I’d have to risk it in order to know how loud the weapon really was. And so I waited, doing anything that I could to pass the time and drown out the pain. I aimlessly paged through some magazines, flicked through channels on the TV, depleted my phone battery with browsing and aimless games, exercised and even tried catching a nap. Almost two hours had passed by the end of all of that. I shook my head and swore as a burst of anger made me hit the arm of the chair. For the millionth time, I fought for calm.
I realised then that prior to recent events I had not used my Beretta in a long time. Relieved at having something to do I dismantled and cleaned it out completely to remove the risk of it jamming on me. I put it back together again, and was once again left without aim. And so I sat in my chair and stared out of the window, reflecting on what I had done. Life had a funny way of making even the most horrifying and shocking events seem less significant as time went by. Murdering Hal Edwards and Will Harding seemed like events that had occurred a long time ago, and were barely worth thinking about anymore.
Had I lost so much of myself that I could shrug off murder as though it was just taking care of business? Was I that out of touch already? I didn’t know. My rational mind argued that I didn’t feel remorse or particularly torn up because the men I had killed had deserved it. Some would probably say that Harding didn’t, but any man who could betray friends, colleagues and everything he had sworn to uphold for money, and sit idly by while families were destroyed and animals walked free wasn’t any measure of a decent human being in my books.
He should hav
e been a better man for his family. He could have come to us. He could have told us his position. We could have done something. We could have pulled him out and cut a deal, or used him as a double agent. Hell, sent him in with a wire once or twice. He could have helped put some of those bastards away and saved so many lives without endangering his family. I grit my teeth as I thought about the price that my family had paid. Will chose a nice house, a generous stack of cash and blindness to the truth. The choice was his. He fed the mob my family and he didn’t care. I had the right to kill the men who had killed my family. It was rational. It was only fair. And it was for Jess.
My mind had drifted so much that I had not noticed the sun was down and early evening had set in. It figured; if I wanted to get lost and leave the world behind I only had to venture into my own head. I took a peak out of the window. There were just a few people out, all clutching themselves or their partners to battle the cold. The rest had already retreated to their homes and hidden away for the night. This city slept early, while its monsters roamed free in the night.
I needed to test the gun outside. I stepped out and went around the back of my house. It wasn’t the best of cover but it would have to do. I aimed the gun at the wall. I’d have to make sure I remembered to take the bullets out and dump them. I inhaled. This was the moment of truth. I pulled the trigger. A vicious pop burst from the gun and echoed in the night sky as the bullet struck the wall hard with a distinct thud. The sound died in seconds, but it echoed in the open air.
It had been loud. Louder than I had thought it would be. I cursed. My skills probably weren’t good enough to get the noise down further, so I rationalised that when things weren’t as deathly quiet as they were now the noise would be far less audible. It was as good as I was going to get, and it was a big improvement over the gun in its normal state. It would have to do. I waited around for almost half an hour, waiting to hear if the police were on their way or if any good citizen would come over to check what had produced the noise. My waiting proved to be a waste of time. No one came and nothing happened. That was the thing about the city. People were too scared to get involved and, for once, that worked in my favour. I went back inside to rest.
I woke from another nightmare. In it my wife had been crying out for help, and I had heard twisted laughter as a shadow plunged a knife into her again and again. I tried to save her, but the more I ran towards her the more the hallway stretched on. I never got any closer. I just heard the screams, and the ugly sound of the knife piercing flesh. I sat up, stretching my muscles. I waited until my heartbeat slowed down. I was in a cold sweat again and I felt sick. I was starting to get used to the nausea. I tried to put the nightmare out of my mind, but I knew that it would be another souvenir that I’d carry with me, unable to forget.
I got up too quickly and felt a full wave of nausea set in. I leaned against a nearby wall and steadied myself, shielding my eyes from the morning glare. It wasn’t even six yet. I was about to curse but a sudden realisation dawned on me. If I got out of here quickly I could get to Victor Salvatore’s home before he left and tail him from there. Everyone knew where he lived. It was just a matter of finding out when he returned to call it a day, and where he went in between. I needed to familiarise myself with his routine over the next two days and discover when the best time to get him alone would be. I knew that he lived on his own already, as he was divorced from his wife and estranged from his children. That made things easier. There was no chance of innocents getting involved - if they really even were innocent.
I swiftly went through my usual morning routine, threw on the first set of clothes I could find, pulled my coat over my shoulders, retrieved my gun, badge and secondary phone and charged out of the house. My stomach grumbled with hunger but I ignored it. I got my car started and drove, heading towards Victor’s mansion. It wasn’t too far away. I thought about the man I was on my way to see. He was one of this city’s oldest mobsters; a generation old. Some would say he was outdated. I pulled up onto the street across from his place, and let out a relieved sigh about ten minutes later when I saw his expensive car pull out of the driveway. Security didn’t look too tight. I only saw one guard at the door and one operating the gate. But just because I didn’t see any security did not mean that they weren’t there. Then again in this city I guessed criminals didn’t need protection. No one was stupid enough to try anything against them, and if they were they usually ended up dead or worse. In a way, that gave me an element of surprise to work with.
I started my car again and accelerated very slowly, making sure to stay at least two or three cars behind him. It was the standard rules of tailing. I rolled my tongue over my lips. I was inexperienced at this. I should have packed food. It was going to be a long day. I followed Victor for most of the morning as he ran errands, met with people I didn’t know, smoked cigars and took a browse at a vintage car shop. He was the portrait of the TV mobster. He didn’t do anything of significance. At least not until lunch time. He pulled up at a fancy restaurant and sat himself down in the outdoor area. I watched from afar. I at least had had enough sense to put my binoculars in the car. A waiter brought a wine to him seemingly without being told, and I had no doubt that it was expensive and that he was a regular here. I didn’t know my wines. I never drank the stuff. I was going on assumption and image.
About fifteen minutes later a man walked up to his table and sat down. I didn’t know if he was late or if Victor was early, but I focused my lenses on him to try and get a good look. I stiffened. I recognised him. His name was Reece Donovan. He was the son of Gregory Donovan, another one of this city’s most fearsome crime lords. Not as big a player as someone like Anthony Cornero, who was in no small way an emperor, but definitely up there. What was he doing meeting with Victor?
I decided against taking an interest in this. I’d store it in my memory for now. Maybe I could quiz old Greg about it if I had to have a chat with him too. For now my priority was Victor. I watched the two of them and studied their demeanour. The meeting seemed like it was about business, as neither men were in particularly jovial moods. Salvatore himself appeared to have a no-nonsense attitude from where I was sitting. I wished I had some kind of idea regarding what they were talking about, but I continuously reminded myself that getting too deep into this crap was exactly what had been my mistake the last time. And now all that mattered was Jess. It wasn’t about the mob.
It took roughly half an hour for their little meeting to end, but once it did and Reece had left, Victor remained in his seat for another ten minutes, taking his sweet time to finish off another glass of wine. He dropped a few notes onto the table and rose. He walked straight, and I peered through my binoculars with a frown. He was not heading back to his car. Did he have something to do inside the restaurant itself? I didn’t have much choice but to wait and see. A slight edge of worry began to seep into my mind. I scanned the area and waited for him to return. But the minutes stretched on and he didn’t re-emerge.
I was toying with the idea of driving around to the other end of the restaurant when I heard the passenger seat door open. Shock travelled through my system, jolting it as I dropped the binoculars onto my lap and swiftly turned, already reaching for my gun. Victor Salvatore climbed into my car with little but a bored expression. His old snub-nosed revolver was already levelled at my chest. My heart hammered. I glared at him in anger; partly directed at myself and the rest at him.
“You didn’t send your boyfriends?” I jeered against my better judgement.
Victor sighed, “Jack, I’ve been dealing with this shit for thirty years now. I know when I’m being tailed. And you...to call you an amateur would be an insult to their kind.”
I said nothing but my ego took the hint.
He gave me a once over, “Still I hate to admit that I’ve seen worse. You managed almost fifteen minutes before I noticed you. I call that my negligence. Once I spotted you I figured I’d let you have your fun. For a while anyway.”
> I shrugged, “So what now? You’re going to shoot me or did you just come here to insult me?” I didn’t know where the arrogance kept coming from. Anxiety flooded my veins, and I could not shake it off.
“You’re still a hothead despite everything. I don’t know whether to praise you or pity you for that.”
I clenched my teeth and toyed with the idea of attacking him right now. He was old. I was in my prime. But he had the gun.
“Listen if you want to talk then come see me at my house tonight. My door’s always open, especially to cops. And as I said before, I like you. I don’t know what it is you want or what you think is going to happen here, but I’m busy now. So you can accept my offer and meet me tonight or you can keep following me. But that would be foolish.”
I looked away from him. He lowered the gun.
“Go home, Jack. Haven’t you been through enough?”
I turned around to curse him, but he had already opened the passenger door and had left my car. I watched him as he walked around the front and headed back to his own vehicle. I had half a mind to run him over. It would be so easy. So simple. But I needed to ask him about Jess. When I had a gun on him and not the other way around. He’d invited me to his place tonight. That saved me the trouble of tailing him. He didn’t know my true intentions. I figured I’d never be able to enter his home with a gun; not unless I took out his guards or found a way in that didn’t require the front door. Or maybe, for once, being a cop might actually help. Perhaps the best plan was to simply enforce my right to wield a firearm. I doubt Victor cared either way.
If they did end up taking it I’d have to improvise. A knife worked fine for Hal Edwards. I started up my car and drove to meet Sarah. I couldn’t keep bailing on her and it would help pass the time. I sighed. Sometimes I wished that I could just leave the force. There was nothing there anymore that I wanted. But the guilt of leaving Sarah alone would haunt me. I knew that I was living on borrowed time. I wasn’t naive enough to think that I could play silent assassin forever. Building the suppressor had taken up more time than I had wanted and so I had to act tonight. I needed to get Victor to talk by whatever means necessary.
Most of the time I didn’t know how I kept myself together. I was afraid and worried every minute of every day for Jess. I didn’t even know if I was too late yet. But I couldn’t bring myself to entertain that possibility. I couldn’t bring myself to think about the logic behind it. I could only focus on what I had to do. I could only focus myself on the illusion that I would save her. That she was okay.
Getting lost in my mind made the journey feel brief, and before long I had arrived at the building. I took a look at my watch. It was going to be another long day of police work I didn’t care about and wanted nothing to do with, especially if it involved the murder of Hal Edwards or Will Harding. Only Sarah knew the truth about Harding, and the official story was that he was a cop who was assassinated in his home. It was suspicious; many suspected mob involvement. And on top of there was extra tension, as everyone knew what the force made of cop killers.
I closed my eyes and rested, trying to let the anxiety that arose every time I reflected on what I had done fade way. I slipped my hands into my jacket pockets to stop them from shaking and walked ahead. With each step I fought the urge to turn around and leave.
It was finally time for my meeting with Victor Salvatore. I drove fast while feeling restless and uneasy. The day had been a chore. I felt like an outsider the entire time as I looked over the case files of murders I myself had committed. There was an emotional disconnect in me. I didn’t know how to feel about it. It had felt as though I was looking at the case file of some other killer. Someone who was not and could not be me. But reality didn’t feel like home to me anymore, and I took solace in the dark. I realised that when the sun set I now breathed easier. Before it meant I’d suffer the nightmares, but now it was a calling to act. The night gave me strength as much as it did torment me. It was a parasitic relationship. And I needed it now.
I dismissed my paranoid mind telling me that Victor planned to harm me tonight. Of all the mob bosses I knew he was the only one I’d even think about attaching the word ‘civilised’ to, and that would be on a day I was feeling generous. He was scum like the rest of them, but he wasn’t in the same class of monster. My mind flashed back to that incident I had had with him at the restaurant. I knew based on that conversation that he wasn’t exactly a mindless thug or a psychopath. That was the side I’d appeal to tonight when I spoke to him.
When I pulled up at his gate, I felt a sudden burst of anger flood my veins. I had so much anger, and no matter what I did I could not contain it. I could not stop my mind from planting itself in the moments where I had been damned. Don’t be a hero. That’s what he had said to me. Nathan Kenway had said those exact same words. It had to have come from Victor. I could possibly be here to meet the man who had ordered the murder of my family. He may not have been a psychopath, but he was no stranger to murder. He wouldn’t have got to his position without tyranny and respect brought on by the fear of his power. He had said it himself back in that restaurant to whatever goon he had been talking to at the time. He had threatened to blow the man’s head off without a care in the world, and without fear of suffering any consequences for it. He had been right. That was the power of fear. Something money could not buy.
I closed my eyes and drew deep breaths, trying as hard as I could to calm myself. My anger subsided gradually. The bursts came frequently and uncontrollably these days, and they were always brief and immense. It frightened me at times. But in other ways it felt necessary; like a comforting friend. I exited my car and felt for my gun. The suppressor was not attached, but was in my jacket pocket. It would be too risky to keep it on as it would extend too far past my holster. I adjusted my badge so that it was clearly visible at the slightest movement of my jacket, and advanced towards the gate.
I shoved my hands into my pockets and braced against the cold as I approached the guard. I told him I was here to see Victor Salvatore, showed him my badge and held my breath. But reality never matched your expectations, and the guard looked bored as he opened the gate and waved me in. I continued on towards the front door of Victor’s mansion, and here too there was just a single man standing guard with a bottle of cheap alcohol in his hands, of all things. He lazily let me in without so much as a pat down or second glance, all the while looking intoxicated. Either Victor didn’t care, this was a practical joke or I watched too many crime movies.
I reassured myself. I had my gun. And I was inside. I had strained my mind trying to think of how I could do this subtly, but this was working out to be so convenient to me; so contrived that I almost thought I was at the heart of a joke. But life had not gifted me with much luck lately. Maybe right now I was just ascending the rollercoaster. Although Victor himself was making things easier for me. I could not rule out his error. He thought that he was untouchable. He didn’t fear me at all. That was his mistake. The thing about living in euphoria was that there’s only one direction you can go from there: down.
I hardly paid any attention to my lavish surroundings. I wasn’t here to admire the wealth of a man I despised. I was directed by a servant to Victor’s dinner table, which could have easily seated a few families. He was already there, and waved me over once he saw me. If he was surprised that I actually showed up he didn’t let me see it. I could hear faint music in the background that sounded like the opera. He was certainly old fashioned; almost a living cliché. I could have laughed, but he would have taken that as disrespect.
“Have a seat right here. I don’t want to shout.”
I looked him directly in the eye as I took my seat near his and kept my hands in my lap. I would have to be cautious not to leave any traces of fingerprints. I made a mental note to acquire gloves.
“Isn’t this much better without guns and threats? There’s no reason we can’t discuss whatever it is you want over dinner.”
&
nbsp; “I’m not hungry.”
Victor sharply inhaled, “I’ll ignore your ill manners. You’re still a kid.”
“I came here to talk,” I stated.
“Always right to the point aren’t you?” he said, tossing his utensils onto the table, “Alright then. Speak.”
I looked around. There were a few servants in sight. I knew that his bodyguards were outside. And I had no idea who else was here. This was too open.
“Look I hate to interrupt your dinner plans, Victor,” I said with a forced politeness, “But-”
“Drop the bullshit, Jack. We both know you don’t have any respect for people like us. Never learned it. That has always been your problem.”
I gritted my teeth. He was frustrating to deal with. But to-the-point seemed to work.
“Can we discuss this somewhere in private? It’s a police matter and I don’t trust your men or want them to hear anything I have to say. Is that to-the-point enough?”
“You’re lucky I’m a father, Jack. I learned patience a long time ago. Let’s talk in my office.”
I tensed. It was almost too easy. I figured that when people didn’t spare you any thought or view you as any threat it was that much easier to play them. The paradox of being untouchable: you weren’t. It was an illusion of comfort. Living life too easy made you get used to it. Then you weren’t exactly prepared for when things didn’t work out for you the way you thought they should. As we approached the room I could hear the opera music coming from it more clearly. He seemed to like listening to it at a high volume. Perhaps he thought it gave him a touch of class. I jolted as I suddenly remembered the suppressor. I cursed myself, but my mind worked fast.
“Could I use your restroom? I’ll only be a moment,” was the first thing that came to mind.
“Down the hall and first door on your left. Make it quick,” he replied.
I briskly walked over to the correct door. I exercised caution to not touch the handle with my fingertips, and once I was in I shut it and locked it behind me. I used a towel to rub off the fingerprints. I would definitely need a pair of gloves. The worry of fingerprints would drive me mad, and an easy mistake could cost me dearly. I swore at myself for not having the elementary level of sense to have got gloves. It would be entirely ordinary to wear them in the cold weather too.
Fear crept into my system then. Paranoia caused me to check the restroom thoroughly for some unknown eyes on me. Once the irrational part of my mind was satisfied I drew my Beretta. I took measured breaths and slowly placed the suppressor I had made over the barrel. The weapon now looked like an instrument of fear. I used the mirror to help me best conceal it in my jacket. I left.
“I’ve tried to be as accommodating to you as possible, but since you came here to talk business let’s get on with it,” Victor said when I returned.
I briefly surveyed the room. In this small, confined space firing the gun, suppressor or not, would be loud. It would have to be a last resort. I eyed the music player. That could be a good cover. I casually walked over to it.
“Do you mind if I turn it up?” I said.
“You a fan?” Victor asked, smiling with surprise and sitting down behind his desk in a comfortable black leather chair, “I thought I was the only one. By all means.”
I cranked it up. I was at a slight disadvantage now because I couldn’t hear anything happening on the outside of the room, but at least now if I had to fire the gun there was a good chance no one out there would hear it. It was time to take control.
“I lied to you, Victor. This isn’t a police matter,” I said as calmly as I could manage. I turned the lock on the door. It was just me and him now.
“Then what is it?” he answered unperturbed.
I drew my Beretta. He didn’t move as I aimed it between his eyes. The suppressor did what I wanted it to and the threatening sight of it startled him. For a moment he did not speak. But as if reminding me who I was dealing with he sighed in a way that felt condescending before he addressed me.
“What the hell is this, Jack?”
My hand tightened around my gun and it shook slightly. I could almost feel the angry tears form in my eyes, and I let the rage take hold. I let all the emotions I had dulled since the moment he had entered my car this afternoon rise to the surface. I allowed the memory of my wife’s body and the thought of Jess cloud my thoughts; destroy whatever it was that held me back. I was no longer weak.
“My family,” I growled, “I want you to confess to murdering them.”
Victor narrowed his eyes; his hands were calmly laid out on his desk.
“Bullshit. I didn’t kill your family, Jack.”
He had the nerve to lie to my face?
“Don’t lie to me! You gave the order! Admit it!”
Victor’s shoulders slumped and he sighed as though I was merely being overdramatic about something obvious. Right then I loathed him.
“You seem to have some kind of impression in your head about what kind of man I am. Let me tell you something, Jack. I don’t kill innocent women or kids. I never have. Call me old fashioned, sexist or whatever the hell you want but I don’t do it. And neither do my men.”
I stared.
“Then who did?” I half-shouted.
“Jack, this here, what it is you’re doing...this is unacceptable. It’s disrespectful. You don’t know your place. That’s always been your problem! You stick your nose into things you don’t have the slightest damn clue about. You’re a hothead! For God’s sake you’re entering a world you don’t understand. The mobs of this city...they’re not from your goddamn movies. There’s no honour, respect or rules. There’s only power and something about this city that drives them all mad. They’re not people like you and me, Jack. They’re fucking animals. Now you listen when I tell you that I didn’t kill your wife and kid. I’m not like that.”
I could barely comprehend what I was hearing. I refused to believe it.
“You speak as though you’re not one of them. Like you’re not just as bad-”
Victor waved me off, “I’m from the old times, Jack. A big fish in a place I don’t belong. This is their world. The new goddamn generation. I have a name, I have authority and respect, but I’m not them. My time is fucking over, kid.”
His eyes turned hard and he glared at me then with contempt and unshielded rage.
“And who the fuck do you think you are? Up until now I’ve tolerated you. But this is a mile over the goddamn line. Them? They wouldn’t put up with this shit they’d fucking destroy you. Killing you would be the last thing that they do. You think because your family died that you’ve lost everything? You haven’t, Jack! You haven’t given this enough thought. You haven’t thought about Sarah Blake, her family and all the families still connected to you in whatever fucked up way - they’d kill them all you stupid prick! Haven’t you learned enough from your ego? From your cowboy bullshit-”
“Shut up!” I yelled. I still had questions. Victor wasn’t in the clear yet. The look he gave me then was like I was a total fool.
“What do you know about the weapons shipment? Guns that look like they came out of a Special Forces unit just hauled right in by boat? I want you to tell me why.”
Victor looked perplexed, “Do I look like fucking Scarface to you? I don’t know anything about those damn weapons. Surprised the hell out of me when I read about it in the papers. I was trying to find out at one point before I remembered to respect others’ privacy.”
He was talking about the other crime lords. I prepared myself for the most important questions I had yet to still ask.
“What about Nathan Kenway?” I said through gritted teeth.
“What?”
“He used the exact same words on me that you did when he threatened my family! ‘Don’t be a hero’. He told me that the day he killed that cop. He used the same words, Victor! The same words you said to me that night-”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Victor i
nterrupted, genuine surprise spreading across his face. “Haven’t you been listening, Jack? I don’t deal in that shit. I work with professionals. I’d never use some nutjob like Kenway to do my fucking laundry.”
My resolve dimmed for a moment. Was he telling the truth? Could I believe him? Did he truly have nothing to do with my family’s murder? But there was still Jess. He had to know where she was. I had to find out. I had to.
“Where’s my daughter?”
“What did you say?”
“Where’s my daughter!” I shouted.
Victor stared at me as though I’d gone mad. He opened and closed his mouth, and for the first time he looked completely unsure of himself.
“I don’t understand. Isn’t she dead?”
“No! I got a call from her. She asked for me to come get her. One of you bastards knows where she is! And I’m going to get it out of you no matter what I have to do!”
I could not get a hold of myself. There was visible fear in his eyes. The fear of a man who did not know what he was dealing with. He thought I was insane. That made me even more angry. They were all mocking me. They were bullshitting me; messing with my head. I didn’t know where my mind was. I didn’t know how to take back control. I could only watch as the anger took the stage.
“Are you all in on this joke?” I accused, “Are you all laughing at me? Where’s my daughter? I know she’s alive and one of you has her!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I told you I don’t kill kids. I don’t fucking kill kids. I’m no liar. You don’t get to come into my house and accuse me!”
The anger blew over; I went backstage.
“Now I know you’re looking for some big bad guy you can pin this all on. You’re looking for some asshole to blame and you got all this anger and guilt that you’re holding onto. But let me tell you something. It takes some balls to deny the truth. Your daughter is dead. Accept it. This is your shit! Don’t come into my house and lay it all on me. I didn’t do a damn thing. As a matter of fact I warned you! I fucking warned you to know your place! What did I say that night? I told you clearly. Don’t be a hero. Stay out of the way. Go home to your family. That’s what I said! But you didn’t listen. And still you don’t! You don’t realise that you still have a lot of shit left to lose!”
My mind was a mess. How was I going to walk away from this now? My instincts had been completely wrong. I had the wrong guy. I was making a fool of myself. Again. But that didn’t mean Victor was innocent. He could bullshit all he wanted to but he was just like the rest of them. They were all scum. They were all parasites. But this wasn’t going to help me get Jess back. Jess was supposed to be all that mattered. I couldn’t keep doing this. I couldn’t go on vendettas and keep kicking down doors and demanding answers. I needed to be smarter. I needed to make them all talk. They were liars. I knew that Jess was alive. I knew what I had heard. Her voice still echoed in my mind long after dark.
I lowered my gun. Victor instantly reached into his drawer, for his. But he was a fool to think that I was soft - that I was the same man I had been back in that restaurant. I had only dropped my gun to his knee cap. As I heard the metallic click of his pistol I pulled the trigger.
The bullet spat out of my gun and struck him in the knee blowing a bloody hole in it. The crackling pop from my gun climbed over the music fighting to be heard. Victor screamed out and toppled out of his chair, his gun clattering across the floor. I walked over and kicked it away. It had all happened so fast that my mind couldn’t register that he had just tried to kill me. Victor clutched his knee; his face revealed the depth of his agony.
“You have to understand, Jack. I may be from the old times, but my men would never respect me if I let you live after this...”
My insides turned cold. He was going to kill me because of power? Because I had disrespected him? And here he had tried to convince me he was different from the other dogs. The anger returned. This time it changed me.
“Their respect won’t mean a damn thing when you’re dead,” I spat.
Victor looked dizzy from pain. Blood poured out of his knee and stained the carpet.
“Do what you have to. You’re a pawn to these people...you’re less than nothing; a plaything. You don’t stand a fucking chance.”
I had to kill him now. What little was left of my emotions deadened as I contemplated the thought. If he lived he’d set the entire mob on me. I would be dead before sunrise. I had to do this. Jess needed me to. I had already gone down this road for her twice before. I didn’t have a choice. He had drawn his gun on me. My hands were clean.
Even a pawn can topple a king, my mind told me.
The thought gave me the strength to do what was necessary. I squeezed the trigger. I barely paid attention to what happened after that. I just heard the noise and then I heard it disappear. I was afraid that I had gone into shock. Blood dripped off the bottom of the desk and the wall. Victor was gone. And I was done here. I took the suppressor off. I holstered my weapon. I unlocked the door, took the key out and stepped out of Victor’s office. I closed the door, looked around to see if anyone was watching and once I was in the clear I locked it and put the key into my pocket.
I quickened my pace and walked out. I had bought myself time by locking that door. His men would assume he didn’t want to be disturbed. Standing out here I could hear that the music was actually louder than I thought it had been. There was no way they would have been able to identify the gunshot. All I had to do now was make sure no one had a good look at my face. I raised the collar of my jacket and snuggled into it. I should have brought a scarf or something. The servants weren’t here anymore. The drunk doorman was only just managing to stay on his feet when I emerged out the door. I made my way to the gate. The man let me out without a care in the world. It would be a while before they discovered the body. I was free.
I was back home now. Only now did the magnitude of what I had done register in my mind. Once that body was found there was going to be an uproar. The mob would be shaken. Hell the entire city would be shaken. There wasn’t a person living in this city that didn’t know who Victor Salvatore was. The stories would say that he had been assassinated in his own home. And the world was about to ignite. I only had to wait for Sarah’s call. But that was out of my control now. I only had one objective; the rest was just collateral damage.
I was so tired. I had come no closer to finding Jess. But I couldn’t let that stop me. I wasn’t playing this smart. But at least I was scratching animals off of the list. I sat in my couch swishing juice around in a glass. I didn’t even know what I had poured. I just needed a cold drink. I had to think about my next move. Someone in the mob knew where Jess was; or someone had her. What was the logical thing to do? Who were the people to interrogate?
With Victor Salvatore gone I knew that there were four major crime lords left in the city. The men who controlled large-scale empires. A mob could not follow without a leader. And one of them had to know where Jess was. It made sense. Collectively they controlled this city. There was nothing in it that they wouldn’t know about with their connections and reach. My family’s murder had been a warning to back off. The order would have had to have come from someone. It wouldn’t have been thugs playing their own game. Only a true animal could order the death of a child.
Anthony Cornero. Gregory Donovan. Paul Castellano. Luis Kane.
Four men. I knew that they were the biggest criminals in this city. And they weren’t as old fashioned as Victor Salvatore. I didn’t know exactly what they were like. Perhaps Victor had really been telling the truth about these men - that they were monsters and nothing like him. If that was the case I couldn’t deal with them the way I had the others. If these men were what Victor said they were then me and my gun wouldn’t scare them in the slightest.
They had been at this a lot longer than me. I couldn’t match their savagery. I had to be smarter. I wouldn’t have the element of surprise or the bene
fit of being underestimated on my side for much longer. I was on limited time. And the clock was ticking. I sat back in my couch and let the names dance around in my mind as I waited for the call to come and reality to return.