Storiesonline.net ------- Civility by Jay Cantrell Copyright© 2009 by Jay Cantrell ------- Description: Michael McPherson is a decent man in a brutal business. His life doesn't lend itself to companionship but he longs for an end to his loneliness. Is it possible to find a person who can fit into his unorthodox life? [The "violence" code does not reflect sexual content.] Codes: MF rom violent ------- ------- Chapter 1 I inherited the family business. But I try to keep from letting the family business define me. The business defined my father — and that definition was the death of my mother many years too early. I believe the official term is "organized crime." But my business is known by many names: La Cosa Nostra, The Mob, Mafia, The Syndicate. But it is a new era. Many of my interests are legitimate. My portfolio includes investments in restaurants, auto parts chains, grocery stores and manufacturing plants. My charitable contributions include donations to low-cost health clinics, no-kill animal shelters and safe havens for domestic abuse victims. In short, I'm trying to be the man my father never was. I firmly contend that any single selfless act I commit is one more than he ever considered. Simply put, my father was not a nice man. There is a portion of my domain that are somewhere on the south side of legal. As with many illegitimate concerns, those interests consume a large portion of my time. I have tried delegation with little success. The men and women who populate my profession are, to a person, immoral, greedy and power-hungry. I can delegate my legitimate business far easier despite the fact that many people I deal with there are exactly the same: immoral, greedy and power-hungry. If the manager of a grocery store oversteps his bounds, I fire him. If the manager of my bookmaking business oversteps his bounds, I'm forced to take more drastic steps. I'm really not cut out for the drastic portion of the business. I do have a human side and it is the side of me I prefer. To that end, I have divested myself of any drug interests. I abhor drugs and their users. Drugs are the single largest thief of dignity in the world. I have seen drug dealers sell their product to 10-year-olds. I have seen drug users sell their 15-year-old daughters for their next fix. It is appalling. There was no end to the offers when I made the decision to rid myself of my drug-funded holdings. Although drugs are the scourge of humanity, they are a cash-filled industry that requires very little skill except ruthlessness. If you are young, stupid and not afraid to kill someone, the drug trade is for you. I am not quite young, educated and value human life so I avoid it. It really is that simple. Although I am respectful of humanity, I do possess a touch of my father's ruthlessness. Unfortunately it is a necessity in my line of work. When I find physical confrontation necessary I generally handle it myself. I believe it was my father's decision to delegate the parts of the job he found distasteful that made him such a bastard. My father was a coward when it came to confrontation. He could sit back and order a man's death without batting an eyelash. He could pick up the phone and order the destruction of an entire family between the dinner and an aperitif. He lost his grasp on humanity. That loss of humanity was the reason I found it necessary to kill him. His decisions and lack of valor led to my mother's death and, thusly, his. But there is no reason to dwell on the unpleasant. I believe that it is in my long-term best interests — mentally, physically and spiritually — to hold myself to the same standards of those I employ. It keeps me grounded in reality and it allows me to maintain my civility. It is that civility that is at the root of my story. ------- One of the portions of my life I like least is when it is necessary to "brace" someone. It rarely happens that I have to get involved personally. While it is true that any action more severe than a beating requires my intervention, it also is true that more often than not the threat of a beating is enough to convince a deadbeat to pay his debt — especially if it comes directly from me. But alas, more often than not is not always. So there are times when I find myself where I found myself that rainy Monday night: outside some poor bastard's house because he had exhausted my patience. In this case, the man was Leo Gomez. He had borrowed $25,000 from my agents and his payments had stopped arriving. He had been continually late. I often forgave late fees for one simple reason: if you're dumb enough to borrow money from a man who makes his living the way I do, you probably didn't have many other options. Still, it is a matter of personal pride that I pay my debts. At the very least I expect to be notified if you can not pay your debts. Leo Gomez failed on both accounts — which meant my personal involvement in the matter. I rang the doorbell of the small split-level house and waited. I was certain that I would wind up breaking down the door to gain entry so I was somewhat startled with the door flew open. It is rare that I enter these situations alone. But I had met Leo Gomez personally and I wasn't worried about him. Instead of Leo, I was face to face with a small, blonde woman of about my age. There was a fire in her eyes. I was glad that I had my hand on my gun in my overcoat pocket. There was a younger version of her standing discreetly behind her. "Good evening, Ma'am," I said politely. "I'm looking for Mr. Gomez." The woman's gaze never flickered. "If you're a bill collector you're just going to have to take a number," she said. I smiled. I have been told my smile is disarming. I hoped it was true because disarming is what I was going for. "I suppose you might say that I am a collection agent," I said noncommittally. "But Ma'am, people like me don't often wait in line to be paid. I have been very patient with Mr. Gomez. May I assume he is your husband?" While she was processing the information I noticed a scent. "Mrs. Gomez, could you and your daughter please step outside the house," I said. "I believe you have a gas leak." "I told you I smelled gas, Mom!" the girl said sharply. The woman glared at her. "You're here to break my legs!" she said. It appeared as though my disarming smile had failed. "There is no way I'm stepping outside with you." I decided honesty was the best answer. "Actually Mrs. Gomez, we are past the leg breaking stage," I said. "I am willing to wait in my car while you and your daughter leave safely. I have no quarrel with you or her." The woman laughed in my face. "Yeah," she snarled. "We'll just make a break for it on foot in the rain while you chase us down. Look, pal, he's gone. He left us high and dry. He took all the money and the car and left me all the bills." "Mrs. Gomez, at this point I care more about your safety than the return of my money," I said. She certainly wasn't expecting that reply. "Eventually, I will find your husband and I will get my donation back. Now please, the smell of gas is very strong. If you promise to vacate the house immediately, I will leave for now. Is there anyone else in the house that we need to get outside?" The woman motioned for her daughter to follow her outside. I admit that I felt a sense of relief. "If you would like, I will give you the keys to my car," I said as I pulled the keys and my cell phone from my pocket. "You can lock the doors or drive it to any place you need to go to feel safe. Right now, would you be so kind as to contact 411 and get the number to the gas company so you can notify them. I'm going to go around back and look for an emergency shut off." The woman was still staring at me. But she took my keys and my phone and headed with her daughter in tow to the safety of my Mercedes. The backyard was lit only by moonlight when I came around the corner. I am a naturally cautious man — in my business, it only makes sense — and my caution was rewarded. There was figure sneaking through the neighbor's trees toward the Gomez house. I didn't need a second glace to recognize Ricky Scudaro, a relatively small-time criminal born without the sense that God gave to geese. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me and immediately high tailed it in the other direction. As I watched his retreating back, I reached for my cell phone only to curse myself for giving to the Gomez woman. However, I was certain that Marcus, my aide, would be able to locate Mr. Scudaro in short order. The man was too stupid to bother to hide and I was certain he would be found at the nearest bar or, eventually, his mother's house. I shut off the gas to the house and went back around front. I was somewhat surprised that my car was still in front. I smiled when I heard the heater motor kick on. Mrs. Gomez lowered the window slightly when I knocked on it. "The gas is shut off for now," I said. "Did you notify the gas company?" She nodded that she had. "Very well," I said. "Do you and your daughter have somewhere else to go?" For the first time I saw something other than anger in the woman's eyes. I wasn't certain but I thought it was pain. "No," she said sadly. "Will you drop us off at a shelter? The gas company can't come until tomorrow or the day after. I'm supposed to call them and let them know if you managed to shut it off. Can I use your phone again?" I smiled warmly — a coup since I was freezing my rear end off in the cold rain. "Of course you can," I said. "Mrs. Gomez, I told you. I have no problem with you or your daughter. I will assist you however I can." The woman finished the call and I asked for my phone. I called a local hotel in which I held a vested interest and spoke quietly to the owner. He assured me it was no problem to house the Gomez women for a day or two in one of the suites to which I have access. "Mrs. Gomez, my name in Michael McPherson," I said and women's eyes widened in horror. I'm sorry to say it has the effect on many people thanks to my father and namesake's irrational urges. "The Second," I added hastily. My father's disappearance had hit the news a year or so earlier but I had tried to maintain a low-key persona in my role as his successor. Of course only Marcus and I were certain that he wasn't coming back. "I have made arrangements for you and your daughter to stay at the Watkins Inn," I continued. "I believe it will be best for you to stay there for a few days, perhaps until this weekend. Will it present a major problem for you?" "Other than the fact that I would have to sell a kidney to afford one night at the Watkins Inn, no problem at all," she said sarcastically. "It is my treat," I said. "I believe that you should go there as soon as possible. Perhaps it would be better if you simply picked up some clothes and toiletries for the next few days rather than try to get anything from the house until we're certain it is safe." I peeled off $500 from my money clip. The woman refused to take it. "There is no way I'm taking money from a mobster," she said. "I take the money and in two days I owe you twice as much. I'm sure that's how Leo got in over his head." "Mobster is passé," I replied nicely as I handed her my business card. "As you can see, I prefer the term 'private lender.' Mrs. Gomez, your husband got in over his head because he likes to lie and gamble and he likes to drink. I am asking for no interest on the money I loaned to him. I believe it was a mistake to do business with him and I want to conclude that business. In your instance, however, the money is not a loan. It is necessary for you to stay elsewhere. You have no place else to stay. It is necessary for you to have clothing and shampoo and toothbrushes. I would doubt you have the expendable cash for those items. It is necessary that you eat. I doubt it is in your budget to eat out for a few days." The girl looked up at me across her mother and smiled. "It's really not in our budget to eat in for a few days either," she said gamely. "Mom wasn't kidding. Dad took every penny. He waited until her paycheck was deposited and split." I upgraded the girl's age from my initial impression of around 12 to a more accurate range of mid-teens. I smiled back at the girl. "Unfortunately, your father preyed on one of my weaknesses to secure the loan," I told her. "He led me to believe he had a very sick child at home and he needed the money for treatment. Mrs. Gomez, I am not a monster. I am willing to help because I can help and, frankly, you need help." The woman grudgingly took the money from my grasp. "It is a loan," she said. Then she smiled. She was a very pretty woman. She seemed much too young to have a teenaged daughter. "Although I hope we can work out some long-range repayment plan. I like my legs." I lowered my head in self-deprecation. "I'm sure you have very nice legs, Mrs. Gomez," I answered. "If you insist on repayment, I will not deny you that. We'll simply say that you may pay it back as you see fit. There is no interest and no terms attached." I hoped she understood what I meant. "Thank you," she said. "I was worried about terms, too." She seemed to realize that she was sitting in my nice warm car while I was standing on the sidewalk in the rain. "Oh," she said suddenly. "You're getting soaked. I'm so sorry." I heard the locks pop and she started to get out. I shook my head. "May I have your house keys so I may lock it up?" I asked. I had noticed the front door still stood open. "I didn't even bring them," she said. "It took all the courage I had left just to come outside. Thank you, Mr. McPherson." "Please, call me Michael," I replied. "I'm going to go inside and open a couple of windows to allow the gas to dissipate. I'll grab your house keys. Is there anything else you need?" "My purse is upstairs in my room," the girl said. "Would it be too much trouble for you to grab it for me?" Mrs. Gomez shot her daughter a harsh look. "No," I replied. "It will be no trouble. Mrs. Gomez, is there anything you need?" The woman shook her head. "Shoes, perhaps?" I mentioned. She glanced down at her bare feet and sighed. "I suppose that would be best," she said. "I have a pair beside the door." "If you would prefer, you can take my car to the inn," I said before I headed inside. "I can call my assistant to pick me up here. You can use it until you can make alternate arrangements." "Cool," the girl said before she could stop herself. "We can not possibly do that, Mr. McPherson," the woman said. "You have done too much for us as it is." "Michael," I corrected her. "And you certainly can do that. I'm positive that you have places you need to be. Your daughter has school to worry about and the inn is not really within walking distance of this district. I assume from your scrubs that you work at a hospital. There is not one located close to the inn, so that is a problem. Additionally, I have done nothing that any decent person wouldn't do." The woman was shaking her head, not in a motion of negativity but as if the words she was hearing did not make sense. I decided to clarify. "Although I am in the same general line of work, Mrs. Gomez," I said. "I am not my father." ------- Chapter 2 In the end, Mrs. Gomez and her daughter agreed to accept my hospitality for a few days. I jotted my personal number on the back of my business card and told her to call if she needed anything. Marcus and I took a quick walk through of the house to ensure Mr. Gomez wasn't hiding and to try to determine the cause of the gas leak. It was evident when we opened the door to the basement that it was there from which the smell emanated. We found a coupler to the hot water heater disconnected. The tank held 50 gallons so it was doubtful anyone would notice the loss of hot water until the morning. By which time both female occupants would likely be incinerated. "This makes me very angry, boss," Marcus said. "Scudaro skulking around; this gas leak; something is going on." I nodded. "It seems pretty evident that Mr. Gomez is still nearby," I said. "Find Scudaro and ask him some questions. You know what we need to know." Marcus agreed. "Should I call you when I find him?" he asked. "Do you need to handle this one personally?" I considered his questions. "Marcus, I believe in this situation it is best if I am not involved," I said. "You may use whatever means necessary to secure the information. You also may handle the disposition in any fashion you deem appropriate." Marcus' white teeth shone in the darkness. "Boss, there is no electricity in the house," he said. "Did you notice that?" I had noticed. "Try the water," I said. It was turned off, too. "So the only utility that Gomez kept on was the gas?" I wondered. "Marcus, once you have secured the information from Ricky, please find Gomez and bring him to me. The only condition I have on his physical state is alive and alert." "You got it, Boss." ------- As I predicted it took only four hours to locate Ricky Scudaro. He was scared to death because he knew I had seen him on the premises. He also knew that my justice was usually swift and sometimes painful. He gave Marcus the answers we wanted in very little time. For his candor, Marcus broke only Ricky's left forearm and three of Ricky's ribs. Marcus was somewhat disappointed that Ricky was so forthcoming so quickly. I reminded him that Leo Gomez would soon be sitting in the same chair where Ricky Scudaro had so recently pissed himself. That mollified him somewhat. Leo Gomez had, according to Ricky Scudaro, paid to have his wife and daughter killed. The fact that Ricky had more than $9,500 stuffed into various hiding places on his person made me believe him. I was doubly angry now. First, I was highly perturbed that Leo Gomez had sought to avoid his own financial irresponsibility by murdering two people innocent of wrongdoing. Secondly, according to my records, Gomez had used a portion of the money I lent to him to pay Scudaro. The serial numbers on the bills were conclusive to that fact. I felt no remorse in the fact the Leo Gomez would never reappear. Ricky Scudaro was supposed to meet Gomez in two days at a rest area off the interstate to secure the rest of the money. Ricky seemed certain that Gomez would appear — although I certainly wouldn't have. "I gotta give him some papers out of the house," Ricky told Marcus. "That's the last part of the deal. There are insurance policies in the desk — taped under the second drawer. He had to leave quick and forgot them. That's what I was going to do tonight. I was waiting for the bitches to pass out then I was gonna get the shit and open the basement door." It was only the fact that Marcus had once worked in the murder-for-hire trade that saved Ricky's life. Well, that and the fact that Ricky was borderline retarded. I'm sure that played a part in Marcus' decision to spare him. I hatched a plan with Marcus and two hirelings to secure Mr. Gomez's cooperation in however Mrs. Gomez wished to handle the situation of her wayward husband. It was with trepidation that I phoned the Watkins Inn Tuesday and asked the clerk to ring the family's suite. The girl answered immediately. "Good evening, Miss Gomez," I said politely. "May I speak to your mother, please?" The girl repeated her answer just like I'm sure she was instructed. "She is in the shower," she told me. "May I please take your name and number and have her return your call?" I had to smile. With bill collectors calling the house constantly and visiting the house with regularity I'm certain that the girl had said that to many people in the past couple of months. Yet she was careful not to leave the impression that she was alone in the house. After all, the Gomez woman also had to deal with people such as me. "Of course," I replied. "This is Michael McPherson. Your mother has my number, but I'll leave it with you anyway." I started to read off the digits when she announced unceremoniously, "Oh, it's you. She's here. Hold on." I heard her yell, "Mom, it's him." There seemed to be special emphasis on him. A few moments later, Mrs. Gomez was on the receiver. "Good evening, Mrs. Gomez," I said. "How are things at the inn?" She gushed about the accommodations and amenities and we exchanged generalities for a minute before I got to the reason for my call. "I have some good news and some horrible news," I said. "Do you think it is possible for us to meet and discuss portions of this privately?" Honestly, I wished I knew what thoughts went through the woman's head at that moment. "Mr. McPherson," she said but I interrupted. "Could you please call me Michael," I said. "Really, my father insisted upon Mr. McPherson. If you had ever met him, you would understand why I am reluctant to be called that by most people." Mrs. Gomez was silent for a moment. "Of course, Michael," she said. "I apologize. And I apologize for what I was thinking when you asked to meet privately. I am positive I misunderstood your intention." "Privately as in without your daughter," I said quickly. "But publicly if you would prefer." "I understand," she said. "Yes, that would be fine. Is it something that you are unable to discuss over the phone or is it something that would simply be better discussed in person?" "The latter, I'm afraid," I said. "The good news is pretty good. But the horrible news is really rancid." "Is tomorrow soon enough?" she asked. "My daughter and I were just sitting down to dinner. Perhaps you and I could have lunch at the hospital." "That would be fine," I replied. "Which hospital and what time is good for you, Mrs. Gomez?" The woman told me where she worked and we agreed to meet at 11:30 a.m. "By the way, my name is Janet Conroy," she said. "I've been divorced from Leo for about five years. But we've lived together off and on since but not as husband and wife. I generally take him in when he has no place else to go. I apologize for not introducing myself. You really have been very kind." "Thank you, Ms. Conroy," I said. "I am very happy to help you. I will see you at 11:30." The fact that she was already divorced from Leo Gomez made my decisions so much easier to make. ------- Sitting across from a freshly scrubbed, well-rested Janet Conroy was a treat for me. She was bright eyed and perky. I hated to ruin that but I knew that the news I had to impart would do exactly that. I decided to start with the horrible news and get it over with. "Your husband paid a man $10,000 to kill you and your daughter," I said without preamble. The fire I saw in her eyes the first night I met her returned with vengeance. "And you got this information how?" she demanded. "I searched your house after you and your daughter left," I admitted. "When I went around back, I saw a low-life with whom I am familiar sneaking around. My assistant and I found a gas coupler disabled on your hot water heater. It hadn't broken; it had been sawn apart. "The man I saw in your backyard was questioned and he admitted that your husband, I'm sorry, Mr. Gomez had paid him to create the gas leak and steal some insurance papers from your desk. He planned to wait until you and your daughter were overcome by fumes, open the basement door and wait for the gas to reach the pilot light on the stove. I'm sorry, Ms. Conroy, but I thought you should know the truth." "Fuck," she swore. "That filthy no-good son-of-a-bitch cock-sucking mother-fucker." At least she wasn't keeping her anger bottled up. "Let's go outside," she insisted. "I assume there is more." I nodded, stood and helped her put her coat on. She looked at me like I was insane. I waited until we were outside in the relative solitude of the hospital courtyard before I continued. "Mr. Gomez used the money he borrowed from me to pay the hitman," I stated. "I have $10,000 in my car for you." "Put it toward the fucking loan," she said. "You don't owe me money," I insisted — again. "Well, outside of the $500 you insisted was a loan. Mr. Gomez owes me money. I will recoup it full, I can assure you that. The money is his responsibility but I will be damned if I give it back to him. I figure it is rightfully yours for the shape he left you in." Janet Conroy turned to me and asked me a question I didn't want to answer. "Do you plan to kill him?" she asked. I looked up at the sky. Raindrops fell into my eyes. I was silent. "Stupid question, sorry," she said. "Not a stupid question," I replied, "but perhaps an unnecessary one. So far, I have managed to conduct my business without killing anyone. I would like for that to continue." OK, I hedged a bit there. But my father was little more than an animal in my eyes and hunting rabid prey was legal in our state. And Leo Gomez was dead. He just didn't know it yet. So, while I would like for my non-killing streak to continue, I knew it likely would end. Technically, I didn't lie. I'm not a big fan of liars, either. "The money would go a long way in getting us back on our feet," Janet said. I knew she was talking to herself and not to me. "You're certain he was going to kill us?" she asked. I nodded. "Lila, too?" "Is Lila your daughter?" I wondered. Janet told me she was. "Then yes," I replied. I reached into my raincoat and pulled out an envelope. "He took out a half million dollar policy on you with double payout for accidental death. He has another hundred thou on your daughter with the same clause. By the way, the name on the second policy isn't Lila. Is there another child?" "She hates the name Penelope," Janet said with a slight smile. "I don't blame her. It was Leo's grandmother's name. Penelope Gomez, what the hell sort of name is that, anyway?" "I can understand the Lila then," I said. "Is that her middle name? If so, it's worse that just Penelope. I mean, Penelope Lila Gomez?" "It would be Penelope Lila Conroy now," she corrected me. "But thank God no. She has no middle name because Leo's grandma didn't. So when she was about four, I let her pick her own name. She chose Lila and it stuck." "Good thing my folks didn't do that," I replied. "I would have been stuck with Space Cowboy or Monkey Man or something." "And I would have been Princess Moonbeam," Janet said with a laugh. The stress lines around her eyes had receded some. "Ms. Conroy, Leo might be in the wind," I said. "If he can't be found, I don't want you to think I was involved in his disappearance." Again, technically true. Although I was hoping that I would be involved in his disappearance, I didn't want Janet to think that. "I don't care if you are or not," she said flatly. "If I ever see that fucking asshole again there won't be a piece of him left. In fact, if you want my consent to set aside your practiced civility and off the bastard, consider it given. If you want the 10 grand to do it, take it. If you want to just find him, call me and let me do, that's OK to. He was going to kill my daughter." Well, if nothing else, I was certain that the police hadn't caught wind of my aid to the Conroy family and convinced Janet to wear a wire. It had been a consideration when she blurted out her initial question. "I don't think that will be necessary," I said. "I've made some calls. Leo owes a lot of money to a lot of different people. Someone else is likely to take care of that small detail." "I'm sorry you're out your money," she said. "Was it a lot?" "Relatively speaking? No." I said. "However, it was enough that I could not allow Leo to continue dodging payment. That is why I was at your door the other night." "I know full well why you were there," she said. "Well, actually, no I don't. I don't imagine the president of a credit card company shows up at the house when you're overdue. In fact, I know they don't. They send some smarmy, weasely guy in a cheap suit to badger you. So why were you at my house?" She stressed the word "you." "Sometimes I have found a little personal contact makes repayment negotiations go smoother," I said tactfully. Janet laughed. "Are you an attorney?" she asked. "Because you sound like a lawyer. Personal contact ... I bet I know what that entails." "I am not," I said. "Nor am I a thug, Ms. Conroy. But in the business world, reputation is everything. My father had the reputation of a cold-blooded killer. He literally would have you killed if you cut him off in traffic. I want my reputation to be as different from his as possible. I have an MBA from a very nice university and I am doing my best to legitimize all the business ventures I am attached to. Obviously some, such as the reason I was at your house, are taking longer than others. "Loan-sharking and bookmaking are somewhat difficult to legitimize. But they are not going away, either. I happen to think that I am better able to run those operations than the two-bit thug who inevitably would take them over if I were to abdicate them. Unfortunately, I learned that lesson the hard way. As soon as I took over the business, I released all interest in drug running and prostitution. "My advisers cautioned against it but I was adamant. I didn't want to be associated with either of those enterprises. I was wrong. Well, I wasn't wrong. I don't want to be associated with them. But I went about it poorly. Instead of changing the businesses to fit my moral structure, I divested interest in them. If anything, the people who assumed control have worsened the problem." I wasn't sure why I was discussing my holdings with a perfect stranger but I somehow felt a connection to Janet Conroy. "And how are you modernizing loan-sharking and bookmaking?" she asked. "I wouldn't necessarily call what I'm doing modernization," I said. "The bookies I employ have strict guidelines. Each person is given a limit according to his credit score. When you reach your limit, you can't place a bet with us any longer. If you have had difficulty in paying your bills in the past, you are never allowed to place a bet with us in the first place. Also, I have started to require collateral in most loans. If the collateral is sufficient, I usually send the person to a bank after I make a personal introduction. Some people who could secure a legitimate loan are unaware of sometimes how easy it is. Also, if the reason is an emergency I sometimes will offer to co-sign the loan. If the collateral is insufficient, I usually lend the money myself." "What collateral did Leo offer?" she wondered. "I mean, he didn't have shit." "That is true," I said. "But, as I mentioned previously, he told me he had a very ill daughter that required immediate experimental treatment. He brought a recent bank statement that showed a relatively normal balance. I thought he could repay the loan and even if he couldn't it would be worthwhile if it aided his daughter. I really should have checked the story more closely. But as I said it was a relatively small sum of money." Janet shook her head and smiled. "A mobster with a heart of gold," she said. "What's next? Do you plan to build an orphanage?" I knew she was being facetious but I replied anyway. "I donate quite a bit of money to foundations I find worthwhile," I said. "You might be surprised to know that I gave a donation to the pediatric unit here last year." "For the new wing they're planning?" she asked. I nodded. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" she asked. I shrugged my assent. "Why did you take over your father's business?" she asked. "I mean, it seems like you hate the very prospect of running it. But yet, you do." I pursed my lips. "There are two reasons, actually," I said. "Publicly, it is because I am best suited to maintain control over the various aspects and I present a pleasant face as the organization tries to move into more socially acceptable business ventures. Many of my father's associates believe that I am retooling the business and he will reappear shortly and take control of the assets. I also have no criminal record which helps in securing financing for various projects and for avoiding several LEO traps." "Leo?" she asked. "Like that asshole? What does he have to do with trapping you?" I laughed. "L-E-O," I spelled out. "As in law-enforcement officer. Not Leo as in dead man walking." "What is the second reason?" she asked — purposefully ignoring the fact that I had just admitted that her ex-husband soon would no longer be among the living. "The second reason is personal," I said. "But I don't mind telling you. It was never my father's business. He married into it. My mother's father was the driving force behind it back in the 1930s and 40s. When my mother married my father he became my grandfather's de facto successor because, God forbid you have a woman in a position of power. Although she was the brains behind the operation, I can assure you." Janet seemed to be surveying me carefully. "Do you have women in your upper-level hierarchy?" she asked. "Upper-level? No," I replied. "But that is not because I am opposed to it. A large portion of my enterprise is silent partnership in businesses — some small, some large. About 50 percent of those businesses are run by women. I really just sit back, collect on my investment and wait for them to become successful enough to buy out my interest. On the other side of the coin is the part that requires me to be more, uh, hands-on, let's say." Janet grimaced at my double-entendre. "There are no women in the management of those particular facets," I said. "I would not be opposed to employing a woman in some portions of it. But most women have too much common sense to become involved in it. Why? Are you looking to change jobs?" Janet didn't miss a beat. "Only if you move back into prostitution," she said. "I'd love to run a whorehouse. That's why I divorced Leo. He screwed a hooker and brought home a little present. It was the last time I let him near me, that's for damned sure. At least I could make sure no other woman had to go through the embarrassment of telling a complete stranger she caught Chlamydia from her husband." I stammered a reply. "I'm joking," she said, "About the whorehouse at least. Although depending on the salary, it might be worth it. Like you said, that portion of the world isn't going away. Someone is going to do it and someone is going to be willing to pay for it. I still think it's outside of my interests, though. But I'm not joking about Leo and the STD. He's tried several times to get back in my bed but I kept that asshole on the couch. He could pay for anything like that he wanted." "It's been said that all men pay for it eventually," I joked. "Only in most cases the payment isn't due up front." I suddenly realized how offensive and sexist my statement was. Janet didn't seem to mind but I did. "My apologies, Ms. Conroy," I said. "It seems you are a very easy person to talk to." "You are too," she said. "And if I'm to call you Michael, would you please call me Janet? I have to head back inside. When do you think Lila and I could move back home?" I blushed. "Uh, tomorrow actually," I said. "The gas company came and fixed the leak. I'm going to go over this afternoon and check the pilot lights on the stove and water heater to make sure nothing else is wrong. The electric, water and telephone are back on." "Michael," she said sharply. "Why did you do that?" "Why wouldn't I?" I asked. "I'm sure you get paid pretty well here. But you were in a pretty big hole. I just gave you a head start on digging out. I mean, the cable is still off. I didn't check your credit card statements. I just got the necessities back on. I did it for Lila as much as I did it for you." Janet touched my hand gently. Even though my hand was almost numb from the cold, damp weather, I felt the warmth in her touch. "Thank you, Michael," she said. "If you're serious about the money from the loan, just take what you paid out of it." "I don't want you to think you owe me anything, Ms. Conroy," I said. "Janet, I mean. You don't. Use the money to get people off your back. Use it get your life back on an even keel. If there is anything left over, I would prefer you put it in a scholarship fund for your daughter." She smiled through pursed lips. "If you're sure," she said. "I don't like charity." "Charity is when you give and never hope to see the dividends," I replied. "I'm making an investment." "Michael," she said solemnly but I waved her off. "Not like that," I insisted. "I'm investing in your future and in Lila's future. I know a person like me can't be a part of those futures. But it doesn't mean that I don't want those futures to be the best they can be. Do you want to take the money to the bank or do you want me to hold on to it until you're off work? I'm not sure it's the best idea to leave it in your car." "Your car, Michael," she said. "The car," I said. "I have two others and I can only drive one at a time. As far as I'm concerned you can use it until you make other arrangements. Actually, I still have a Honda Civic I bought while I was in college. I was going to see if you wanted it for Lila but I wasn't sure she is old enough to drive." "She's not," Janet said. "But she's close. Really, though, you've done enough." "I figured you would say that, too," I admitted. "Which was the other reason I didn't get it inspected or anything." Janet shook her head. "I will admit that I enjoy the fact that I am driving a nicer car than most doctors," she admitted with a laugh. "You should have seen the looks of jealousy on their faces the first morning I pulled into the garage. Then they saw me get out and I thought they were going to cry. Particularly because the car Leo walked off with was a five-year-old Saturn." "Then we should trade today," I said. "I have a brand new Jag that I drove over. Imagine their jealousy when they see you have the choice between a Mercedes or a Jag." "Hah," she said. "Lila already wants you to adopt her. If I drove her to school tomorrow in a Jag she'd bypass adoption and go straight to marriage." "Hey, that might work," she said as an afterthought. "You marry Lila then you can pay for her schooling — she wants to be a veterinarian — and you could support your poor destitute mother-in-law, too." "I'm pretty sure we would have to move south of the Mason-Dixon Line before it would be legal to have a mother-in-law younger than I am," I said. Janet looked at me. "Just how old do you think I am?" she asked. "And how old are you? 27?" "I'm 34," I answered. "And I would suspect you are around 31 or 32 simply from Lila's age. But you could pass for 25 or 26." "I'm 33," she said. "I really thought you were younger and thank you for your compliment. There are some days I feel about 80." "When I first saw Lila I thought she was 11 or 12," I admitted. "I wondered if she were your stepdaughter until I noticed the uncanny resemblance." Janet let out a full laugh. "If you ever piss me off, I'm going to tell her you said that," she said. "She would have your balls in a vice if she heard you thought she was 11 years old." I grimaced at the very thought. "Sorry, Michael," she added quickly. "I guess you're pretty easy to talk to, too. I distinctly remember saying five minutes ago that I needed to get back inside." I nodded. "And I'm sure there are a few things that I need to attend to," I replied. "By the way, what do you do here?" "I'm a registered nurse," she said. "I was an LPN until I finally wised up and divorced Leo. Then I went back to nursing school. I've been here a couple of years. I like it. I don't have a set department yet. I'm still rotating between them." "It sounds like a great job," I said. "Where are you working now?" She groaned. "Oncology," she said. "I hate that one the most. Well, that and pediatric oncology. Both are really difficult to adjust to." We started walking back toward the entrance. "Call me when you get things straightened out and I'll collect the car," I told her. "And call me if you need anything. I mean that, Janet. You seem like a really good person. There aren't enough of them in the world." She smiled sadly. "Thanks, Michael," she said. "I'm glad I met you. I mean that. Even if you were coming to break my legs." ------- Chapter 3 I settled back into a routine that I had hoped I would never be in. We caught up with Leo Gomez exactly where Ricky Scudaro said he would be. Leo was quite disappointed when Marcus and I were waiting for him when he arrived. Leo wasn't one to do things halfway though. He showed up with a hunting rifle and scope and appeared to be planning to set up shop about 200 yards from where he had arranged to meet Ricky. Sadly, my mind worked the same as Leo's. Marcus and I had scouted out the area earlier in the day and we heard Leo tromping through the brush from half a mile away. He hadn't even cleared the last of the trees before Marcus shattered his kneecap with a retractable police baton. Leo let out a wail like a wounded animal before I could silence him with a sharp jab to his throat. In fairness though, Marcus had swung the baton like he was planning to drive a sinkerball over the Green Monster at Fenway Park. The sound when it hit Leo's knee was sickening. By the time Leo came around, he was strapped into the chair that only two days prior had held Ricky Scudaro. "Fancy meeting you there," I said as I stood inches in front him with a straight razor in my hand. "Marcus and I were out doing some asshole hunting and it looks like we bagged the biggest asshole of the herd." Marcus let out a loud guffaw at my joke and I saw Leo shift his eyes in Marcus' direction. I saw his bruised windpipe expand when he saw what Marcus was holding: a fireman's axe. "Yep, Leo," Marcus said as he ran his finger over the blade's edge. "It looks like you are in for a pretty long night unless you start talking." I would bet Leo's eyes were two-inches wide by this point. "I still got the money," he said. "I'll give it back to you. All of it. Just let me go to the bank and I'll get it." I shook my head at Marcus. "All of it, Leo?" I asked. "I mean, you have the $25,000 you borrowed and the $12,000 in interest?" Leo gulped again. "I can get it," he said. "Just give me a few weeks. I'll have a lot of money coming in the next month or so." "I don't think you will, Leo," I said. "You see, Ricky was sitting pretty much where you are right now when he called to tell you that Janet and Lila were dead." Leo's eyes watered. When I used the name Lila instead of Penelope, he knew I was telling the truth. "You'll never get the money back if you kill me," he cried. Marcus laughed at him. "Damn, Gomez, you don't get it," he said. "Boss here took a liking to your ex-wife and daughter. Fact is, he's the one who saved them. Now ol' Janet is driving around in a Benz and Lila is trying to figure out if she wants a new Jag or a Beamer when she turns 16." I saw anger in Leo's eyes and I knew Marcus had hit a tender spot. "It's a shame about that STD you picked up a few years ago," I said. "You probably would still be tapping that hot piece of ass instead of sleeping on the couch if you hadn't fucked around. Damn, what were you thinking? Maybe he's retarded like Ricky." "Might be, Boss," Marcus said. "Must be a retard to pick a tired old piece of whore ass instead of going home to a fine lady like Miss Janet." Jesus, Marcus was laying it on thick. "It's a shame I'm such a gentleman," I said. "Or I would mention how Janet gave me a blowjob in the car this morning on my way in or how she let me bang her tight little ass last night. Lila is certainly glad my house has 5 bedrooms, that's for sure. She started out upstairs with us but now she's moved a bit farther away. She said she had trouble sleeping with the sounds that were coming from our room. But I'm too much of gentleman to give details. Hey Leo, did you know that Janet got a tattoo. Yep, right above her snatch. A butterfly. Man, can she spread those wings." Marcus let out another guffaw. "That Lila is gonna be a hottie in a few years," he said. "How you like a big buck like me for a son-in-law, Boss?" I saw pure rage enter Leo's eyes, so I drew the straight razor across his thigh. The rage was replaced by agony as the pain quickly set in. "Old Leo here doesn't like the thought of that one bit," I said. "I'm not sure if it's because you're black or because he wanted to knock a slice off Lila his damn self." Leo tried for anger again but his resolve was broken. Shortly thereafter, most everything else was broken, too. In the end, Leo Gomez died much like my father had: whimpering, begging and covered in his own urine and feces. By the time Marcus and I finished, it was almost 3 a.m. and both of us were covered in sweat and Leo's blood. We both knew it would be a while before we felt clean again. ------- I slept most of the next two days. I knew Leo deserved to die for what he tried to do but I felt a sense of remorse for the savage pleasure I took in taunting him before killing him. Marcus was somewhat immune to guilt but he was not immune from wondering if days like Leo Gomez's last were all his life would ever be about. I am reluctant to say Marcus was a good man. I can say without reservation that he was a loyal, faithful man. In his own way he had a unique sense of right and wrong. I suppose I was no different. In each of our minds there were certain transgressions that were unforgivable. Marcus knew the list in my mind was considerably smaller than the list in his. Marcus believed a betrayal of trust was significant enough for the ultimate penalty. He believed — as I did — that those who harmed children (or who tried to harm a child) forfeited their right to breathe. He believed — as I did — that those who preyed or the frail or harmless should suffer death for their penalties. That's pretty well where my list ended. I had few qualms about the execution of murderers, rapists and child molesters — even if it was necessary that I do it myself. Rapist and child molesters were absolutes. There could be no redemption for them. There is nothing anyone could say; there was no act of contrition the offender could offer that would allow me to spare their lives. I felt differently about murderers. Perhaps because I am — technically — a multiple murderer myself now that Leo Gomez had joined the ranks of the non-living. Some murders are justified. Some people deserve to die horrible deaths for the acts they perpetrated on others. I wonder if the way I had killed my father — and now Leo Gomez — put me in that list. I had no doubt that if either man had a single living soul who cared about him, my torture and mutilation of the still-living men and my careless disposal of their remains would put me in someone's cross-hairs. But I was equally as certain that neither man had left anyone like that behind. Men like my father and Leo Gomez burn every bridge they cross. My father ruled by fear. Those who served him were not respectful; they were terrified that the slightest transgression would result not only in their deaths but in the deaths of their loved ones, too. Of course, the death of the loved ones would happen before the very eyes of the transgressor. It usually would come after my father — or his minions — had forced humiliation and degradation upon the family members. Men like Leo Gomez lived by deceit and manipulation. He took advantage of whoever might offer aid and he gave nothing in return. He stole from the rich and poor alike and he felt no remorse for his selfish actions. Leo believed, to the very end, that he was justified not only in taking advantage of his ex-wife and daughter's generosity but in having them killed so he might live a better life. I should be quick to point out that I would not have had Leo Gomez killed for failing to repay my money. I would have had him beaten and battered — possibly more than once — but I do not believe theft and deception are capital offenses. Leo died because he was willing to sacrifice others for his goals — much the same reason at the heart of the matter that had cost my father his life. Marcus had unknowingly (or perhaps knowingly) hit the nail on the head with his taunts to Gomez. His decision to murder his wife and daughter had moved this from business to personal. ------- When I finally returned to my office on Friday no one mentioned my absence. There was the usual stack of correspondence that needed my attention from my legitimate assets and the usual coded tally sheets from my illegal interests. I spent most of the morning poring over the messages and returning calls to the ones that were urgent. It was about 10:45 a.m. when my cell phone rang. A very shaken Janet Conroy was on the other end of the line. "Michael," she said softly. "Did you mean it when you said I could call you if I needed something?" "Of course I did, Janet," I replied. "If I can assist you, I most certainly will." "Can you come to the hospital?" she said. "Quickly?" I wondered if perhaps Marcus' employees had been less careful about hiding Leo Gomez's remains than they had my father's. "I'll leave right now," I said. "Shall I meet you in the cafeteria in say, 10 minutes?" "Not in the caf," she said hastily. "Oncology is on the fourth floor. Tell the nurse at the station that you're here to see me about a private, confidential matter. She'll show you where I am." My early-detection radar in my head sounded urgently. Was Janet Conroy trying to set me up? But she sounded frantic. I agreed to be there and hastily left my office. I looked carefully for police officers as I drove to the hospital and again as I entered the building. Either the police undercover agents were getting better or there were none on the premises. There were the usual cops lurking around the ER, investigating the events that placed someone there. Of course the hospital employed guards at various stations. But I saw no one who looked like an FBI or ATF agent. When I didn't see police I was worried further. Janet had sounded terrified on the phone. Even when she was face-to-face with me she had managed to maintain her steely resolve. I was certain that she had been called down to identify the remains of her former husband. The shape I had left him in was a gruesome sight and it wouldn't have been a pleasant task. But the more I thought about it, the less likely that seemed. There was little remaining to ID the man with. Unless Marcus' men had buried his hands with the rest of the body, there would be no fingerprints. Regardless of what CSI: New York might lead you to believe there was no way they would have DNA back in less than several weeks. Still, something had spooked Janet to the point that she felt I was the only person who could help her. No one noticed me as I slipped off the elevator and walked casually to the nurses' station. The older woman behind the desk nodded in my direction and I told her want Janet had instructed me to say. I wasn't prepared for her response. "And just what might be that personal and confidential matter, sir?" she said archly. I thought for a moment. "Actually, I don't know," I said. "Perhaps you should inquire that of her. I'd be happy to wait while you verify my identity." I pulled out my wallet and prepared to hand her my driver's license. "She is the last exam room on the left," the woman said. "Down that hallway." The door was locked when I reached it so I knocked quietly. Janet looked out the window then flung open the door. Her eyes were red and tear-stained. She launched herself into my arms and clung to me tightly. She let off a serious of seemingly unconnected statements that I couldn't follow. So I just patted her back in a soothing manner. Finally she composed herself. "They threatened me and Lila," she said. I still didn't follow. "They know where she goes to school. They showed me pictures of her walking there this morning." "Janet, I couldn't keep up with what you were saying," I admitted. "Please, start over and go slowly until I put it all together." She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. "Can I explain while we go pick Lila up from school?" she asked urgently. "Of course," I answered and Janet took my arm and led me through the door and back down the hallway. The older nurse was blocking the path. "I don't like fellas like that coming around here," she told me crossly. "Whatever you have to do to keep them away, you do. You understand me?" I nodded firmly as she turned to Lila. "I told you that he was no good, girl," she added. I assumed she was talking about me so I didn't speak. The story that poured out of Lila as I drove to Lila's school had my temper overflowing again. It was all I could do not to phone Marcus and have the situation removed. Leo Gomez had furthered endangered his family. He had run up a serious of gambling debts — to the tune of almost $40,000 including juice — and skipped town. The enforcers of the bookie in question had tracked down Janet and Lila then showed up at the hospital and threatened unspeakable acts. "They said if we didn't have the money they would take it off Lila's ass," she said through tears. "They said they knew a lot of guys who would pay to see Lila take on six or seven guys. Then when they were through with Lila, if we still owed the money, they would use me." My hands gripped the steering wheel of the Benz tightly. "Not going to happen," I said firmly. "Not in my lifetime." "They were serious, Michael," she insisted. I had no doubt they were. It sounded like the way my father had done business in the past. If the borrower doesn't pay, rape his wife and children repeatedly until he gets the message. Or just for fun if he already had gotten the message. Although my father never participated in the harming of the guilty, he had no qualms about joining in on the torture of the innocents. "I'm going to handle this," I said. "I can't owe you any more money," she wailed. "I used the $10,000 to pay off the bad debts. I don't have that kind of money and I can't get it." "I said I'm going to handle this," I said crossly. "I didn't say I was going to pay anyone off in your name." Janet's response was so quiet I almost didn't hear it. "Oh," she said meekly. "Janet, I need you to describe the men," I said. "It may take me some time to track them down and see who they work for." She told me what the men looked like and I recorded the information on my PDA. "They gave me this number to call," she said with disgust holding out a slip of paper, "if I decide I want to party with them." Janet was back in control when she walked in the school to retrieve Lila. I stood outside and surveyed the area for threats. It didn't take me long to notice the blue van parked down the block. I called Marcus and asked him to drive over and have a short discussion with the occupants. Even if they weren't the ones I was looking for, it was still creepy to have a van with three idling occupants sitting a half block down from a junior high school. I stepped into the entryway of the school, careful to stop before the metal detectors so not to alert anyone of what I carried beneath my suit coat. I chatted amiably with the security guard until Lila saw me and came running out. "Michael," she said. "Thank you so much for letting us stay at that awesome place. And your car is fantastic." The guard just smiled at me. He obviously had no idea who I was and I was grateful for that. "No problem, Lila," I said. "I was surprised when your mom said you were in junior high. I figured you were at least a sophomore or junior in high school." I shot Janet a look to let her know that I had scored a coup. She smiled and started to relax. "So what are you doing here?" Lila asked. "Mom said I get to take the rest of the day off school. Are you taking us some place?" "I thought I might," I said. It seemed like a reasonable explanation of my presence. "Right now I'm just waiting until the rain slacks a little so we can make it back to the car." Actually I was waiting until I saw Marcus drive past the schoolyard — which he did seconds later. In the meantime, Lila had whipped out a folded golf umbrella from somewhere in her back pack. "Got you covered," she said with a giggle. I glanced to my left as we exited the building. The van was still parked in its spot but the occupants were no longer visible. I wasn't sure if they decided to hide or if Marcus had decided they needed further questioning. Either way worked for our escape. I checked the rearview mirror from time to time to make sure no one was following us. Someone was, but it was Marcus in his Lincoln Navigator. "I need to stop by my office for a few minutes," I said. "Do you mind?" Janet had been remarkably silent since we picked up Lila. Of course the girl was filling in the space. "No, Michael," Janet said. "I know you have a business to run." "The businesses run themselves," I replied. "Otherwise I'd be bankrupt. It won't take but five or 10 minutes. I had an associate check on some things and I need to wait for his answer." Janet knew what I was talking about although she didn't know about the van outside Lila's school. I figured that was for the best. I showed Janet and Lila to an unused office — and set Lila up on the computer to surf the Web. "Janet, would you like to see what I actually do?" I asked. She seemed hesitant — as if I was going to show her to the dungeon where Jimmy Hoffa was still hanging. "I mean my office," I said quietly. She nodded with an embarrassed look on her face. Marcus was waiting in my office. I'm certain it didn't help my image that he had blood on his right sleeve. Janet noticed and she was instantly nervous. I put my hand on her arm to calm her. "Who was in the van, Mark?" I asked. He glanced toward Janet and waited for me to nod before he spoke. "Federici's guys," he said. "Two punks. They saw the error of the ways. I didn't have approval to go further." I nodded. "There was a van outside your daughter's school when we arrived," I said and I saw Janet's face go white. "Marcus, did you take a picture." "Afterward," he said. "Is that OK? I didn't think about it earlier." I chuckled. "I'm sorry, Janet," I said. "This is Marcus. He is my assistant. Well, that is his title. He is my friend and he helps when I need it — no questions asked." I saw the large black man blush. "I called and asked him to investigate the men inside the van," I added. "Even if they weren't the men who bothered you, they shouldn't have been hanging outside of a school. Can you take a look at this picture?" Janet looked at me and nodded as Marcus handed me the cell phone. It looked as if he had broken the man's nose. I felt that was justified. "That's one of them," Janet told me. I clicked to the next picture. "That's another one." There was no third picture. "There were three of them," she insisted. I had also seen three in the van. I nodded at Marcus who shrugged. "There were two when I got there," he stated. "Boss, you didn't OK anything more so I didn't question them too hard yet." I smiled at Marcus warmly. "Marcus, you've done extremely well," I said. "I figured it would take most of the weekend to figure out who these guys were from. Now I will have it attended to by lunch time. Janet, would you mind waiting with Lila for a few minutes. Then, with your permission, I'll take you to my home to stay until I get this resolved." Janet seemed unsure. "You'll be perfectly safe there," I said. "And I have 250 channels on TV for Lila." Janet laughed gamely. "If you have the internet she'll be satisfied," she said. "I told her that would have to wait a month or two and I think she is going through e-mail withdraw." "If you can set up parental controls, I don't mind if she uses the computer in my office," I said. "I'll set up a separate account for her remotely and you can put whatever safeguards you want on it from the office she is in now. I should be finished in about a half an hour or so." I motioned for Marcus to stay behind and I told my secretary — I know, another sexist term, but it's her title and she refused to change it — to set up an account for Lila and to give Janet access to download whatever needed to be downloaded on my personal computer. Then I turned my attention to the matter at hand. First, I dialed the number that was given to Janet. A man answered, so I asked for Mr. Federici. "He is unavailable to take your call," the man said sarcastically. "Why don't you try back in say, I don't know, a year or so." He laughed at his own wit. "Then Mr. Federici needs to make himself available," I said. "Because if am forced to come down to backroom of Louie's, neither you nor he are not going to have a good day. So, either put him on the phone or let him know that Michael McPherson will arrive in 10 minutes." The line was disconnected. "Marcus, get Rob and Eric," I said. "We're going to have to do this the hard way." ------- Chapter 4 I stopped in to inform Janet that I would return after lunch. "Have whatever you and Lila want ordered in," I said. "Mo has menus from about a million places." Mo — don't you dare call me Maureen — was my secretary. She was perhaps 240 years old. She had been old when I was a child and that was 30 years before. But she still was going strong. She had been my caregiver as a child (Mo hated the word babysitter, too). She was my caregiver as an adult. I filled the muscle I brought along about why I was visiting Mr. Federici. I didn't begrudge him his attempt to collect upon a debt. That was his right as a businessman. But the debt belonged to Leo Gomez. Federici had crossed the line when he authorized his agents to threaten harm to Janet and Lila. He had perhaps sealed his doom when he authorized them to stalk and potentially abduct and rape the Conroy women. Marcus has a soft spot for women in peril. I think it is part of a hero fantasy in his head. I'm no psychiatrist — although I am certain that I could use the services of a dozen or more — but I suspected it was because his mother was killed by his father when Marcus was in his teens. He had been unable to save his mother, so he wanted to save others he met. It made as much sense to me as anything because I was pretty sure that is why I was involved as deeply as I was. Eric and Rob were hired muscle. They had their uses but there seemed to be no deep-seated reason for their actions. They would rough up a 90-year-old man if I paid them to or they would act as bodyguards to the same man a week later if it needed to be done. They were functionaries. But they were good with their fists — and with various other items as the case might be. Louie's Supper Club was Enrico Federici's home away from home. It was rumored that he was at Louie's more often than he was at home, so maybe my theory was flawed. Perhaps Louie's was simply his home. I had met his first wife — an absolute shrew of a woman — when I was in my teens. I had heard he had remarried but I had yet to meet his second wife. Enrico Federici was too far down the food chain for me to notice. I didn't dawdle in the front room of Louie's. With Marcus, Eric and Rob with me, no one dared to say a thing when I walked through the kitchen and into Federici's private office. He looked up quickly when I entered. Surprise registered on his face. "Mr. McPherson," he said. "To what to I owe this honor?" Enrico Federici was one I expected to call me Mr. McPherson. "Perhaps you should discuss that with the owner of this cell phone number," I stated as I handed the slip of paper Janet had given me across to him. I could tell he recognized the digits. "Here are the facts, Mr. Federici," I said. "You allowed a man with no money to place bets with you. He lost and you want that money. That money is not forthcoming because, quite frankly, Mr. Gomez no longer exists." Federici slapped his palms on the table in anger. "Fifty fuckin' Gees," he said. "I'm not finished, Mr. Federici," I stated tonelessly. "The agents you authorized to collect this debt have offended my sense of moral decency. That cannot and will not go unchallenged. You will make reparations." The man before me paled. He was a small-time player and I was not. "Mr. McPherson," he said. "I beg your indulgence. It was not I who allowed Gomez to place wagers. I have, uh, outsourced some of my holdings." "You are responsible for those you hire, Mr. Federici," Marcus said. It was rare for him to become involved in such matters. He generally left the talking to me. "Just as Mr. McPherson must authorize any action I or my companions take. Surely you must know Mr. McPherson would hold you to the same standard." I saw the look on Federici's face and I realize why Marcus had interceded. The man was a racist. He was appalled to be spoken to in such a manner by Marcus. "My associate, as usual, is correct," I added. Federici looked at me. "I believe if I am given the chance, I will offer the proper response," he said firmly. "I doubt that highly," I said. The man's eyes widened. "Your agents threatened the rape and torture of a 14-year-old girl and her mother this morning," Marcus said with venom. "They stalked the girl and were waiting outside of her school when I intervened. What restitution do you plan to offer Mr. McPherson?" Federici didn't get the chance to answer before his office door banged opened and a young man and woman barged in. Eric and Rob were on their game though and any threat from the newcomers was neutralized. I recognized the man from the description Janet had provided. "Ah, the main culprit has arrived," I said. "May I assume you came to inform Mr. Federici of my impending visit?" The man gulped but nodded. "As you can see, there is no need," I added unnecessarily. "Mr. Federici, this is the piece of shit that threatened to rape a teenaged girl this morning," Marcus said. "This is the piece of shit that followed the girl to school and took pictures of her as she walked. I should mention, sir, there were several close up pictures of the girl's rear end in the van when I intervened outside the school." The young man found his voice. "What did you do with Sean and Todd?" he insisted. I glared at him. "You are in no position to ask questions," I said. It was true, his arm was pinioned behind his back and Eric had a beefy arm across the man's throat. As if to prove my point, Eric tightened slightly and man's face got redder. "But I'm certain Marcus kept them safe," I replied. "Now, Mr. Federici, do you understand why I am here. Janet Conroy and her daughter are under my protection. They were under my protection when this thing paid Janet a visit at her place of employment this morning." "You worthless piece of shit," he screamed at the man. "You and your worthless cunt of a mother are going to get me killed." I realized who was standing with Eric's arm across his throat. "Your son?" I asked. "And may I assume your heir?" "Neither," the man spat. "He's the boy I raised as my own but he is not my son." "Unfortunately, raising him meant the morals he has — or rather doesn't have — come from you," I stated. "The punishment is still the same. Would you like to hear how you can keep your family alive, Mr. Federici?" The man paled but nodded. "Your son comes with me," I said. "That is not open for debate. Marcus has already secured the other two." I wasn't certain of this but I was almost sure he had. "They will be re-educated," I continued. "I will teach them firsthand the value of life and family — lessons it is obvious to me that you failed to instill. By noon Sunday, you will pay me $50,000 in cash. If you fail to do that, I will have the horrors your son threatened on Janet and her daughter perpetrated on each of your wives while you watch. Oh, and on this one over there, too, I think." There was a young red-haired girl who Rob was holding on to. She looked maybe 18 or 19. It was hard to tell beneath the heavy make up and the slutty clothing she wore. I assumed she was the son's girlfriend. I assumed wrongly. "Leave my sister alone," the man huffed. Eric's vice-like grip made the last syllable more of a whimper. "Oh, your sister," I said. "Even better. Yours, Mr. Federici, or did your wife have a donor for this one, too?" Mr. Federici was silent. "You know my family," I said. "I will release your son and his companions when I feel their training is complete. If they can not complete the training..." I let the sentence trail off. Strangely the girl had stood completely motionless during the exchange. Her expression had not changed from the look of bemused boredom since she walked in the door. Marcus noticed this, too. I could see he was watching her closely. "Are you Michael McPherson?" the girl asked as we prepared to leave. I shifted my eyes to her and nodded. "May I speak with you privately?" she asked. "I don't think so," I said. "I am certain there is nothing you can say that I would want to hear." "Your bodyguard can come with us," she said. "I give you my word that I intend you no harm." Federici was livid. "Amelia, you stay the fuck out of this," he screamed. "It sounds as if Tony has already put me squarely in the middle of this," she said. Her voice was younger than I had expected. "Along with my mother and his mother. If I am to be raped repeatedly, at the very least I should be able to have a short conversation and try to come to my own arrangement." There was a look of nonchalance on her face. It was as if she made this sort of pronouncement every day. "Fine, Ms. Federici," I said. "We can speak. Eric, would you and Rob escort Tony to the vehicle. You know what to do and where to take him." Eric nodded and herded the young man out the door. "Mr. Federici, I will require your office," I said. "Marcus can assist you out the door if you require it." It was another insult heaped upon him. He was certain that I intended to take liberties with his daughter. But he had no way of stopping it short of committing suicide. Even then, it probably would only delay it. He stormed out of the door. "Mark, would you wait outside?" I asked. "Please ensure Mr. Federici is out of earshot." Marcus was wary but he nodded. When he left I was alone with Amelia Federici. She smiled and opened her purse. I immediately snatched it out of her hands. "I don't think so," I said firmly. She blushed beneath the caked-on make up. "Sorry," she said. "At least you didn't shoot me. I wanted to get something to get this crap off my face. Would you hand me the Wet Wipes." I complied and she spoke as she removed the make up. She was younger — much younger — than I expected. I would suppose she was younger than Lila Conroy. "My brother is a lunk head," she said. I couldn't argue. "But he is very protective of me, for some reason. I just cake this crap on to piss him and Enrico off. I don't really enjoy looking like a street tramp. I'm really not, you know." I tilted my head but didn't speak. "My mother speaks very highly of you," she continued. "So I know that what you threatened to do to us was just for my brother's benefit. Honestly, I'm ashamed of him. I mean, he's creepy as hell but I never thought he would rape someone. His buddies, though, they would in a heartbeat. They give me the willies when they look at me." "Ms. Federici," I said. "While this is enlightening, there is nothing that required us to be in private. What is your point?" I was trying to keep my tough-guy persona in place. "He doesn't have $50,000," she said. "There is no way in hell he does. If he can get at all, he sure as hell can't get it by Sunday." "And you know this how?" I asked. "And it is my concern for what reason?" "Because, as I said, you know my mother," she said. "Intimately is the correct word, I suppose. Linda Cardelli? She went to high school with you. She said you took her to the prom. She also told me that you are one of the nicest men she has ever known." A smile creased my lips unbidden. "Yes, I remember your mother fondly," I replied. "I also remember that she dumped me shortly thereafter. Again, what is the reason behind your need for privacy?" "How old are you, Mr. McPherson?" she asked suddenly. "I'm 34," I said. I saw no harm in answering. She nodded. "I am 15," she said. "Subtract nine months and 15 or so years. How old were you then?" "I suppose I was 18," I answered. Then a light went off in my dull brain. The girl looked triumphant. "I believe that you are my father," she said. I knew for a fact that I was not. Linda Cardelli and I were intimate but not that intimate. She was a good Catholic girl who was saving it for marriage. Her father was also my father's most bitter rival. We had gone to prom and snuck out on dates for the same reason Amelia Federici dressed like a hooker: to piss off the parents. My mother had found it humorous. My father — and Linda's father — not so much. "I am not your father, Amelia," I said even. "If I am certain of nothing else, I am certain of that." "How can you be certain?" she insisted in the tone of voice that teenagers have used for centuries. I widened my eyes at her. "As you might have heard, there are certain activities required to produce birth," I answered sarcastically. "Failure to participate in those activities would therefore preclude pregnancy." She looked crestfallen. Why the girl would be disappointed that I was not her father was beyond me. "You and Mom never, uh,... ," she said. I shook my head. "Now that you have all that junk off your face, you resemble her greatly," I said. I knew there was a wistful hint to my voice that I wished were gone. "But, no, we never, uh." There was suddenly something else in her eyes: fear. "Amelia, you were wrong about your mother and me," I said. "But you weren't wrong about the other things. I would under no circumstance harm you or your mother for anything your brother did. I don't operate that way. However, it is urgent that your father believe me." "Please don't call him my father," she said and there were tears in her eyes. "My mother loved you." "Your mother was not in love with me," I replied. "Your grandfather and my father were enemies. Your mother dated me to get back at him." "You should hear how she speaks of you," she said. "And my grandfather was a bastard." "So was my father," I replied with a small smile. "It doesn't change the facts." "But I was so sure," she said. "I was born in March. That means Mom would have gotten pregnant in June." "Amelia," I said and I put my hand on her shoulder in what I hoped was a comforting manner. "Your Mom and I went to prom in early May. She broke up with me a week or so later. I graduated and went to Europe at the end of May. I'm sorry." I was surprised that I meant it. I had never considered having children because of the way my upbringing had been. Amelia shook her head. "Grandfather basically sold my Mom to him," she spat. I knew she was talking about Federici. "He is a decent guy and he took us in. I mean, he tries to be a dad to me but I can tell Mom wishes she would have run off with you when she had the chance." Again, the history I remembered was different but I chose to remain silent. "What are you going to do when you don't get the money?" she asked. "I'm sure he already knows he can't get it." "I would suspect Mr. Federici has more money than you realize," I said. "I would suspect you're mistaken," Amelia said. The petulant teenager was back. "Mom went to college. She handles his books. Between what Tony's Mom extorts from him, the business your guys have taken away and from internet gambling, he barely clears enough to make due. The people who place bets with him are deadbeat losers. They never pay on time and they're always short. If you take IOUs he can probably pay you. Tony's mom convinced him to bring Tony in to try to get some of the deadbeats to pay up. I wouldn't be surprised if the way he chooses to do it isn't her idea." From my memories of the woman, I suspected she was correct. "So, here's what will happen Sunday," I said. "Federici will fail to make the payoff. I'll pick you and your mother up and we'll go for dinner and catch up on old times. Then you two can stay at my house for the night and I'll deliver you home safe and sound the next day." "Are you going to kill Tony?" she asked. "That will really piss his mom off and she's crazy as hell." "Tony will be harmed," I replied honestly. "Quite frankly, he deserves it and I want to do it. But he will be alive when I turn him back over to your father." Amelia's face took on a grimace. "I apologize," I said. "When he is returned to Mr. Federici. I will determine how I deal with Tony's mother after I consider the problem for a day or so. But you must never speak of this. Not even to your mother. I need you to at least pretend to be mortified at the prospect. Can you do that? Otherwise, I'm going to have to take you with me as insurance." "He already thinks I screw anything with legs," she said. "I'll put on a good show. But if you take me with you, can you take Mom, too? I worry that he'll do something stupid or worse, that crazy bitch will do something horrible." "Is your mom in danger?" I asked. "No," Amelia said. "He's too scared to try anything. Mom can be a hard ass and she rules the house. The other one isn't allowed at the house." Amelia put on a thick coat of lipstick and smeared it garishly across her mouth. Then she planted a kiss on my cheek and rubbed it in. "There," she said. "It looks like I went down on you. At least that's what Tony's mom's lipstick looks like every time she leaves here." Another interesting tidbit to store for personal use. She took my arm and led me to the door. "You promise you won't hurt Tony too much," she said loudly. "I swear, if he comes back in one piece, I'll let you do my ass next time." Federici was stewing. I patted Amelia on the butt and leered at him. "At least your daughter knows how to keep your family safe," I said. "But if your father doesn't have my money by Sunday, you won't have any choice about where I put it next time." I felt disgusted when I left the building. ------- Chapter 5 Janet and Lila were waiting for me at the office. Janet was nervous but Lila was humming away while updating her MySpace page. I pulled Janet out of Lila's earshot. "Things will be under control by Sunday," I said. "I would still like for you two to spend the weekend at my house." I could tell Janet was about to object. "If you're uncomfortable with me there, I will stay elsewhere," I said. "I met with man who held Leo's marker. It is gone. You won't be bothered — at least on this matter — again. But there is a loose end that I need to tie up." "What is that?" Janet asked. I decided to tell her. "The mother of the man who threatened you and Lila," I answered. "From what I've heard and from what I remember, she is somewhat unstable." "I though you said there were no women in control of this shit," she said hotly. "I said there were no women in high-level positions," I affirmed. "That is different from lacking control. The woman in question is the ex-wife of the man who runs the betting syndicate Leo Gomez was involved with. She is firmly in control of her ex-husband and therefore firmly in control of his operations." "She's his ex-wife for fuck's sake," Janet bristled. "How is she in control of her ex-husband?" Janet was tired and she had been through a lot. I was still getting irritated. "Exactly," I replied. "From what I've heard, she controls him by fuck's sake. Or by at least suck's sake." Her face reddened. "Now, if you don't want to stay where I know you're safe, I can post guards in your neighborhood," I answered. "Or you can tell me to leave you alone and I will. But Janet, you called me and asked for my help in keeping Lila safe. I am trying to do that as best as I can." Janet's face relaxed. "I'm sorry, Michael," she said as she put her hand on my arm. "I really am. I'm just tired. The past four months I've gotten threatening phone calls from banks and collection agencies. As if that wasn't bad enough people like you started showing up." I guess the look on my face gave away my thoughts. "No," Janet said. "Not people like you. People in your line of work started showing up. Then Leo cleaned out my bank accounts, maxed out my credit cards and fled like a thief — which is exactly what he is. Two days ago I learned he planned to kill us. Today, three hoods show up at my work and threaten my family again. I just want it all to go away." She still had her hand on my arm so I gently took it in mine. "I'm trying, Janet," I told her. "But it took Leo a while to get into all this crap. You can't expect to be out of it in a week. You got the legit companies off your back, right?" She nodded. "I've got people looking into anything not-quite-so-legit that Leo might have been involved in," I said. "Jesus, I just wish he would turn back up and I could force him to tell me everything he did before I killed him," she huffed. Her eyes met mine. "I just said that out loud, didn't I?" she asked with a slight blush. "You did," I said with a smile. Leo and I had gone down his list of accounts payable before I had cut out his tongue on Wednesday night. I had been aware of his dealings with Federici but Leo said the amount he owed wasn't much — maybe $3,000. And he wasn't really in a position to lie to me. The problem my people found when trying to track down Leo's debts is one that is often faced when tracking deadbeats: the markers had been sold to "collection agencies" whose means and methods varied far and wide. Because the dealings were illegal, it wasn't like a person could sue for relief in court. If you owed money and went off the grid, there were enterprising men and women who would purchase your debt for a fraction of the cost from original holder and then pursue you to the ends of the earth. My father had employed these groups periodically. They were essentially mercenaries. A man with expendable means would hold the debt and pay the cost of finding the truant. When the person was found, he was responsible — in one form or another — the entire amount of pursuing collection, plus costs, fees and penalties. It was the same system Citicorp and your local bank used if you defaulted on your credit cards or a car loan. But the people in my world were a lot less scrupulous about the way they found you and extracted the money. "We've made progress," I told Janet. "You got the heavy hitters taken care of." She smiled. "I got one heavy hitter taken care of and he seems to be taking care of the rest for me," she said. Actually that wasn't what I meant at all. "I was speaking of the credit card agencies and such," I replied. I was sure I was blushing. "They can sue you and wind up garnishing your wages in perpetuity. I, uh, well I'll just say this and you can be offended if you want to be. I've also gotten word out on this end that I have a personal interest in any account that involves you or Lila. The guys who came to your work are so low-level that it hadn't filtered down to them. But you can be sure that word will be around after today." Janet was silent. In fact the whole room was silent. I turned around and Lila was had stopped pounding away on the keyboard. Instead she was watching her mother and me intently. I became acutely aware that I still had Janet's hand in mine. I let it go as smoothly as I could. "I think once I have Federici's ex-wife contained you can go on about your business," I concluded. Janet nodded a little and looked down at the floor. "I hope you know I didn't know what Leo was involved in," she said. "I don't want you to have the wrong impression of things." I assured her I didn't. "Leo was always a bit wild," she said. "When I was younger it was what I liked about him. I got pregnant when I was 16. It was a huge mess. I had to finish high school by correspondence — after my dad forced Leo to marry me. The fact he really wasn't interested in being married complicated things. He never seemed to accept that he had a wife and child to support. "We made the best of it for almost 10 years," she continued. "Well, I guess I should say that I turned a blind eye to most of his crap and hoped to hell he would change. Then the hooker thing came up. It wasn't a one-time deal. I mean, it was the first time he brought me a present home but..." I nodded to show she didn't need to continue if it made her uncomfortable. "I kicked his ass out of the house," she said hotly. "I tossed all of his clothes out with him and told him I never wanted to see him again. He disappeared for nine or 10 months. I filed for divorce but could never find him to serve the papers. He never tried to see Lila. He never paid child support. He was just gone." Janet continued to stare out of the window of the office. "Then he showed back up," she said. "He had about $12,000 that he gave me for back child support and disappeared again — after I forced him to sign the divorce and custody agreements. A year later, the same thing. He said the money he gave to Lila was all he had and he asked to crash on the couch for a couple of weeks. I came home one day about 10 days later and Leo was gone again. The next time he stayed about a month and then two months. This time it was going on four months and he didn't bring any child support payment. He just needed a place to stay. I mean, he hadn't pulled any of this shit the other times, so I let him. I was getting tired of his freeloading and I was about to put him out again when he disappeared. "A day later, I found out he took every fucking cent we had. I mean everything, Michael. I had maybe 50 bucks in my purse and Lila had $200 from her birthday money left. He even took money out her college fund. It wasn't much — I mean it wasn't much to you — but it was $6,000. A day or so later, the electric company came and shut off the lights. Then the water company and finally the phone company. The phone company I didn't mind because at least it stopped the annoying calls." I chuckled a bit. "I couldn't qualify for any help because I make too much money," she said. "No one seemed to care that my ex-husband had stolen everything. All they cared about was my gross income. They took one look at my tax returns and denied my applications. Hell, if you hadn't shown up at my door that night I probably would have shown up at yours the next day. I didn't know Leo owed you money but I was about willing to try anything to get out of debt." There wasn't much I could say. "I hope you know that if I had known how he left you, I would have shown up earlier," I said. "I believe you would have," she said with a slight smile. "Michael, you are a good man. I want you to know that I firmly believe that. But once this is done, I can't have Lila around what you do." I had known that from the start. Despite the numerous times I had tried to deny it to myself, I had known. I tried to paint a placid look on my face before I spoke. "It was never about anything like that," I said. "You are a very pleasant person to talk to and I do enjoy your company. But my life doesn't lend itself to companionship anyway." "That's the shitty part, Michael," she said through a smattering of tears. "I enjoy your company, too. That day, at the hospital, and again now, I feel a connection to you. I really do know that the person you pretend to be isn't who you really are. And I like it that you don't pretend to be some hard-ass when you're with me. You didn't from the start. You have treated me and Lila with nothing but kindness and respect." "I treated you the way I try to treat everyone," I answered. "Janet, there is a part of me — a large part — that wishes I could just chuck this whole thing and become a normal person. But this is what I've been groomed to do my whole life. The only thing that keeps me safe is the fact that everyone is scared to death of me. They know — or at least they think they know — that if they take a run at me and fail, which they likely will, it will mean the end of everything they hold dear. My father was that sort of man so everyone suspects that I am, too. "The ones who know I'm not as I appear have stayed silent on the matter," I added. "I don't know if they do it because they think it's best that I keep my persona unchallenged or if they hope to exploit me later but they still stay silent." "Perhaps it is because they know you and respect you for who you are," Janet said quietly. "I'll admit that I have heard stories of you. Well, not of you, per se, but of your family." "I saw it in your eyes when I first mentioned my name to you," I told her. "But I would never put you at risk by betraying you," she told me. "I wouldn't have done that because of the courtesy you've shown to me. I was desperate, Michael. Desperate enough you probably could have named your terms — both Monday and most certainly today. Instead you insisted that there were no strings attached. I'm not sure what happened today but I suspect you scared the crap out of some people and made it well known that you weren't a man to be fucked with." I looked at the floor. "I threatened to rape the man's wife, his ex-wife and his 14-year-old stepdaughter," I said. "Oh," Janet replied. "You threatened or you will?" A harsh look crossed my face. "Exactly," she said. "You threatened them. I know you found it distasteful. But you had them over a barrel and you illustrated your point. They had me over a barrel and they thought I was helpless. They would have done it, Michael. You know that, right?" "They would have," I said evenly. "It was what made me angry enough to threaten to harm a girl who thought she was my daughter." Janet shook her head. "Excuse me?" she said. "Oh, the man, Federici, he married a girl I dated in high school," I said. "I guess she got pregnant right after we broke up and the girl had believed she was mine." "I'm certain there is more to the story than that," Janet said. "Could she be your daughter?" she asked in a voice that sounded sad. "No more so that Lila could be," I answered before I thought. "There is a certain requisite act required that we failed to perform," I added quickly. "Or so I told Amelia." "There is always the turkey baster," Janet said. "Yuck," we heard from across the room. "Way too much information, Mom." We both turned to see Lila sitting on the edge of the desk. "Eavesdropping," Janet said, "is not a very good practice." "Especially in this office," I added. Lila looked confused. "She really doesn't know what you do," Janet whispered. I turned my back toward Lila and lowered my voice. "I thought I was pretty clear that first night what I did," I said. "I told you were a debt counselor," Janet admitted. "I mean, it's what your business card says." I laughed out loud. I glanced back at Lila and I could see she was straining to hear the whispered conversation. She blushed at my glance. But she didn't move until I raised my eyebrows at her. Then she plopped back down behind the computer. "Ear buds, too," I said. She stuck her tongue out but complied. "Impressive," Janet told me when I turned back around. "I would have had to threaten her with grounding." "She heard you call me a mobster," I said. "She's probably afraid I would have her offed if she disobeyed." "So many misperceptions," Janet said. "I've been meaning to ask you, does anyone call you Mike?" "Mac," I said. "That is what everyone in college called me. I went to Princeton for undergrad and NYU for graduate school. No one knew my father there or if they did it was only rumor and innuendo. So I got six relatively normal years out of 34." "It might be a higher percentage than most people," Janet rejoined. "It's probably twice as many normal years as I've had. And I'm not sure Lila has had a normal year yet." "Good point," I replied. "Do you mind if I call you Mac?" Janet asked. "If you like," I said. I knew that whatever name Janet used I would only hear her use it for a couple of more days. Then she would go back to her life and she would leave my world behind. "Do you have a nickname?" I asked. Janet shook her head. "Leo called me a cunt last month," she said and I saw the same fire in her eyes the first night I'd met her. "And I kept letting him come back. I allowed him back into my life and back in Lila's." "He was wrong," I said, "when he called you that." I paused for a moment. "He'll never call you that again," I added. Janet looked up at me. I had expected a host of questions but I wasn't prepared for what she asked. "Did you make sure he suffered?" she wondered. When I didn't answer she continued. "I've worked in the burn unit," she said angrily. "I know exactly how much pain fire causes. I can't imagine a more horrible way to go. He didn't care if he killed us and he didn't care we suffered before we died. I hope to God you made him hurt for what he wanted to do." "It was not pleasant for him," I replied. "Thank you," she said and she smiled. "Thank you from me and from Lila. He would have come back. And even if he didn't come back I never would have gotten over the feeling that he eventually would." She was silent for a minute before face lit up in a huge smile. "I guess I finally realized that this will all be over with someday," she said. "Soon," I said. "Probably by the end of this weekend." ------- Chapter 6 Janet and Lila were impressed with house. OK, that is an understatement. They were in awe of it. Lila took one look at the indoor pool and raced off to see if she had brought a swimsuit. I could figure no reason in the world why she would have packed one but what did I know. I am just a man. "This seems a bit ostentatious for you," Janet said. I told her that I had inherited it. "I'm surprised after what you told me about your father," she said. "I figured that you would be reluctant to live in a house where he lived." "It was my grandfather's house," I said. "He was a hard man but he had gentleness about him." "I can see that you come by that trait honestly," Janet replied. "It's hard for me to picture the Mac I know with the Michael McPherson the rest of the world does. If I didn't know that it was an act, I would think it was schizophrenia." "There probably is a touch of mental illness," I said honestly. "I'm sure I come by that trait honestly as well." I got a half-smile from Janet before Lila raced in to see if there were any swimsuits in the house. "Why would I have swimsuits?" I asked honestly. "On MTV cribs they always have extra suits for guests," she insisted. "I mean this place could be on that show totally." "Unfortunately, I am neither a rock star nor a matinee idol," I said. "Jesus, Mac, she has no idea what a matinee idol is," Janet said with a laugh. "Next you'll be talking about your 78s and what a great TV show 'Gunsmoke' was." I almost flipped Janet the bird before I caught myself. She saw the motion, knew what it intended and burst out laughing. "It's really nice to see you relaxed," she said. "Hon, give me a couple of minutes to sit here and then we'll go find you a suit. We passed a mall on the way here, didn't we?" I nodded. Lila pouted for a minute and stood looking intently at her mother. "I believe 'a couple of minutes' was generic, Lila," I said. "What your mother should have said was 'cool your jets and find something else to do for a while.' Is that more accurate, Janet?" Janet was still half chuckling over her "Gunsmoke" comment and simply nodded. "OK, but I'm going skinny dipping in 25 minutes," Lila said. "So just be warned." "Skinny is about right," Janet chimed in. "Do you really want to know what Mac said to me about your age? He said he thought you were 11 or 12. You sure about that skinny dipping thing? Mac might have a pair of boys swim trunks you can use." Lila shot me a glare. I knew she was kidding. "Really, don't listen to your Mom," I said. "I swear, I said 17 or 18. Maybe 20. That sounds right. You look like a 20-year-old. College junior, no younger." Lila smiled. I noticed she would probably need a retainer or braces in the next few months. "OK," I said. "Rest time's over. Let's go find you two swim wear." "Oh, I don't need a suit," Janet said. "It's too cold for me to even consider it." "The pool is inside," Lila reminded her. "It's really warm in there. You could probably just get a tan from sitting in the room." Janet rolled her eyes. "There is a Jacuzzi downstairs you might want to use," I added. "But it's up to you. You have the run of the whole place. But you have to clean up after yourselves." Janet gave a mock groan. "So much for hospitality," she said with a laugh. "The next thing you'll tell us is that our evening meals won't be catered." "Not catered," I said. "But almost assuredly delivered. I'm not much of a cook." "Let me take a look at the pantry before we go out again," Janet said. "I'm a pretty good cook and if you're going to put up with us for a couple of days I can at least feed you." "You really don't want to look in my cupboard," I said to Janet's retreating back. "I can list what's there. There is beer and leftovers in the fridge and Ramen noodles and things like that in the pantry." Janet still was determined to prowl around in the kitchen. It was a space I rarely used. "You're not kidding," she said when she returned. "You have nothing in there. Lila, we got our work cut out for us." I could see Lila was not excited about the prospect of an extended shopping trip if it meant delaying her pool time. "OK, give me a list of stuff you need from the store," I said. "You two can run to the mall and pick up a suit or two and I'll do the grocery thing." Janet was shaking her head. "No way, pal," she said. "I would ask for vermicelli and you would bring back spaghetti. Any man who thinks Ramen noodles are a food group is not getting anywhere near my kitchen." "Mom," Lila whined. Janet turned to her. "Mac and I will go shopping," she said. "If he doesn't mind you can just stay here until we get back. I don't want you swimming alone but you can use the hot tub for 10 minutes at a time. Just wear your underwear. Do you mind if she stays here by herself?" I didn't mind if Janet didn't. "I'll leave my cell with her," I offered. "That way if she needs us she can get in touch with us." I knew that Janet had delayed picking up cell phone service for another month, too. Still, she stared at me. "Are you an idiot or am I missing something?" she asked. "Honestly, there is a pretty good bet that both are right," I said. "But I will need more specifics." "If you leave your phone with her what will we use when she contacts us?" she asked. "I mean it won't do her any good to try to call your cell when she has it." "I have a personal Smart Phone that I will leave here with Lila," I said. "I have a business cell that I will take with us. Just give me a moment to program the speed dial." It took me much longer than a moment and in the end I wound up handing the phone to an impatient Lila to allow her to do it. I hate to admit that it only took her four seconds. "OK, you can't cook and your worthless with electronics," Lila laughed. "By the way, if I really wanted to I could get past that software Mom added to your computer in a heartbeat." "But you really don't want to do that, do you?" I asked in what I hoped was a suitably stern voice. Lila didn't seem impressed. "My personal computer is on a server network," I replied. "Each and every web site you hit or e-mail you sent will be logged. If I need to, I will have no problem accessing that list and forwarding it to your mother and I also will have no problem locking up my office and denying you use of the computer." Now Lila was impressed. "No, Mac," she said. "I won't go past the software Mom put on there." "Thank you," I said sweetly. "Are we ready to leave?" Lila pulled Janet aside for a hushed conversation that included much head shaking from Janet. I stood patiently for as long as I could remain patient. Have I mentioned that patience isn't a strong suit? "Uh-hmm," I, well, I didn't actually say it but I certainly sounded it. "Are we ready or is it Ramen noodles and beer all around tonight?" Janet concluded her conversation with an emphatic head shake and we were off. "Ramen noodles and beer all around," she said as she slapped my arm. "I don't think so, Mister. Lila and I had a month's worth of Ramen noodles. And I probably would have given a lung for a beer to go with it." Ouch. "Sorry," I said. "I didn't think of that. You're awful eager to give up a body part. First it was a kidney to stay at the Watkins and now it's a lung for a beer." Janet just slapped me on the arm — a little harder this time. ------- I was given strict orders to disappear while she went into the sporting good store looking for a swimsuit. I tried to hand her my credit card but she declined. "I still have some cash," she said. "And Lila will need a suit for next summer. So might I, come to think of it." I didn't want to think much past the weekend. It had gotten off to a great start. Lila and Janet both seemed comfortable at my house and I was enjoying having them there. Janet came out of the store 20 minutes later carrying a pair of bags. "Do I get a look?" I asked eagerly — perhaps a bit too eagerly. "They're bathing suits," Janet said. "Although by the price of them you would think they were more than that. You're springing for groceries." The grocery shopping went really well. Janet took my arm as pushed the cart down the aisles. We were laughing and joking about everything from Lila's skinny dipping to my paltry food knowledge. "You should see the suit I got her," Janet joked. "Well, you will but I got her another one off the sales rack. It's a one-piece with dolphins on it. It's in a young adult size but she is gonna shit when she sees it. It was on sale for $7 and I couldn't resist. I'm not going to show her the other one I bought until after she goes ballistic. Just make sure you're around for it." "I will, I promise," I said. "I mean, really where would I go?" "In that house?" she asked incredulously. "You could have a roommate that you only saw twice a year. I don't know if you have an ex-wife or anything but if you did you could split the house and still live alone." She was a bit more serious after that. "Have you ever been married?" she asked. "No," I said. "I've never married. I have had very few serious girlfriends. None since I've moved back here. My life is somewhat awkward." "Any one who dated you would be in danger," Janet said. "Not really," I said. "I mean there is probably some potential danger. But probably less than with a federal prosecutor or a DEA agent. The people with enough reason to come after me know the risks far outweigh the rewards." "You've said that before," Janet said. "I didn't understand then and I don't know." "What reason would someone have for trying?" I asked. "He couldn't hope to take over what I have. It would be impossible. In addition, he would have to take out pretty much everyone who works for me. "Even if he got me, he'd have to get Marcus. If he got Marcus, he would have to get a dozen others. Plus he would have to be completely anonymous to keep the fallout from claiming everyone he cared about. Another reason is that anyone with the ability to cause me harm knows that I would be an extremely difficult target. They also know that if they were to target someone I cared about, my vengeance would be swift and it would be brutal." Janet hadn't let go of my arm but she was farther away from me. We were no longer walking hip to hip. "But you threatened that guy's family," she said. "Doesn't that make you a target for him? I mean, he's got a motive now to hate you." "It's quid pro quo," I said. "He understands. The man who threatened you was his son. His son committed the initial offense. As soon as he found out that you were under my protection — essentially that I was extending an umbrella of family over you and Lila — he knew his son had put his family at risk. He is a bit player and his son overreached. Federici knew that I would ask for retribution from him." "But his wife and daughter must be terrified," she said and she released my arm. "His daughter knows it was an idle threat," I explained. "I don't scare children. Her mother would know it to. She told her daughter that she remembers me fondly. The girl promised to play along. I believe she will. I mean, she thought she was my kid, for God's sake." I shook my head. "I think you'd be a good father," she said. She put her arm in mine again. "I think you're probably insane," I returned. "The way I was brought up ... well, I wouldn't want to have another person have to live that way." "The way you were brought up is why you would be a good father," Janet replied. "Don't take this the wrong way but I see the way you interact with Lila. She feels safe and protected around you and she knows she is free to joke and even make fun of you. Honestly, she never had that relationship with Leo. He was always distant, withdrawn around her. I know he saw her as a detriment to his life but he could have shown more interest in her." "You've done a nice job with her," I replied. "Believe me, I understand distant parenting. My mother wasn't so bad but my father was an asshole. He was a complete tyrant in the house. He ordered my mother and I around like his personal slaves until I was about 14. It was awful." "What happened to make it stop?" she asked. "Did your mom threaten to leave? Did your grandfather step in?" I was reluctant to answer. "I beat the hell out of him," I said. "He started ragging Mom about something and I finally had enough. I hit him and kept hitting until Mom finally dragged off of him. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't have stopped." I hadn't stopped the next time. Well, I hadn't stopped until he was dead. "My father was terrified of physical confrontation," I added. "I mean he would have you killed but he would never do it himself. He was too much of a coward. So when I showed him that I was no longer willing to put up with the way he treated me or my mother, he stopped. He knew how lucky he was to be alive. He knew that only my mother's intervention saved him. He became even more distant — and more ruthless to others. I guess he felt if he couldn't control his own house, he wasn't much of a man. He was right but it had nothing to do with subjugating my mother. "He simply wasn't much of a man." Janet had returned to hip to hip. "What will you do if he comes back?" she asked. My single sideways glance was enough. "Oh," she said and covered her mouth. She pulled away from me again. "When I finished grad school, I didn't come back here," I said. "I got a job with a legit company in Baltimore and I worked there for almost five years. I was an assistant vice president when it happened." "When what happened?" Janet asked. I could tell she didn't want to ask but she was transfixed by how I became what I am. "My father lost all sense of reality," I said. "I'm not certain when it happened but I certainly know it happened. He started to see conspiracies everywhere. He worried that the CIA had tapped his phone. He refused to leave the house and he ordered mass killings of anyone he considered to be a rival. I'm sure you remember those if you lived here about five years ago." "I do remember," she said and shivered. I nodded. "My mother begged me to come back and take over her father's business and eventually I relented," I said. "I made a subtle effort to push the old man aside and rework things. It wasn't difficult. The people who worked for him were tired of his irrational behavior. They were tired of his refusing contact sometimes for a week at a time then blaming them when he missed something. They were ready for a change." I paused in the story while we paid for our groceries. I handed Janet the keys to the Jag when we walked outside. "Your turn to drive," I said. Once we were inside, Janet was like a kid in a candy store. "Finish what you were telling me," she insisted. "That's really the end," I said. "Except my father thought my mother was conspiring against him and drugged her wine to get her to confess. Instead, she drowned in the bathtub. When the toxicology report came back with barbiturates in her bloodstream — which my mother didn't take but my father took by the handful — it didn't take me long to piece things together. "He eventually confessed," I added. Of course he had just watched me sever his left pinkie beforehand. But I didn't think that was germane to the story. "So... ," Janet prodded. "So I killed him," I said without emotion. "The same way you killed Leo?" she asked. "Similar," I concluded after a moment's thought. "Are you worried about getting arrested?" Janet asked. "I mean you say your rivals won't tangle with you and I believe you. But what about the cops?" I could only shrug. "There is sort of a tacit agreement with the police department, at least locally," I said. "The crime rate is down since I took over. I divested myself of the things the public cries rivers over — namely drugs and prostitutes. And I expect a higher level of personal responsibility from those who work for me than most in my business. In addition, I really do give a lot of money to worthwhile causes." Janet seemed upset. "So, because you keep your subordinates under control — and keep the rape and mayhem to a minimum — the police just let you skate?" she asked in a shocked voice. "Essentially," I admitted. "It's like what we've agreed to. The things I run are going to be run by someone. Would you rather have someone like me at the helm or someone like my father? That's essentially what it boils down to. They can't stop loan-sharking and bookmaking. If they shut down one place today two more pop up tomorrow. Just like despite hundreds of billions of dollars being spent, 'The War on Drugs' has produced a net gain of zero. There are more drugs on the street now than before and more people using them. All the police managed to do with all their enforcement efforts is to drive the price of the product up to the point where mothers are selling their kids to get high. Oh, yeah, and a bunch of poor black kids are willing to kill a bunch of other poor black kids for the money associated with selling the shit. But that's OK because the cops really don't care about poor black kids anyway. So long as they keep the rich white folks safe and sound, they're happy as hell." Janet had tried to avoid shifting her eyes off the road but she hazarded a glance in my vicinity. "I've met a lot of cops during my ER rotation," she told me. "I really don't think they view things that way." I shrugged. "Perhaps not," I said. "But you've met foot soldiers in the war. They have very little say in policy. They don't decide where resources are allocated and they don't decide how much manpower is put on each case. Do you think it is a coincidence that every time a middle-class white girl goes missing somewhere CNN is all over the story? There are a dozen poor black girls — and poor black boys, too — who simply disappear each week. They either make a break for it or they get killed and dumped somewhere. When you get a chance, look in the morgue. Check to see how many unidentified bodies are there and then see how many of them are younger than 25 and black. You'll see I'm right." "You feel strongly about this," Janet said. "Why?" "I'm against inequity in all of its forms," I answered. I was on a roll. "Do you think it's racial?" Janet wondered. "I think it's economic," I replied. "I think it would be the same if it white people were poor and the rich people were black — only it would be in reverse. Look at it this way: poor people don't own property so they rarely pay much in taxes. The city gets less in revenue from them so they feel it is appropriate to provide fewer services. The services they do provide to the poor generally fall into the category of housing criminals and taking away children." "I had no idea you were so cynical," Janet intoned. "But are you a hypocrite, too? I mean, how many minorities do you employ?" I looked at her in wonder. "I am the head of one of the largest criminal organizations in this portion of the country," I said with a hint of incredulousness in my voice. "I would guess half my staff is black, Hispanic or Asian. Poor minorities are about the only people I can get to work for me." Janet shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mac," she said with a laugh. "I forgot what you did for a moment." "Hey, do you think we should call the kid so she's not running through the house butt-assed naked when we pull up?" I asked to change the subject. Janet looked at me with a small grin. "Yes," she said. "Why don't you call the kid and alert her to our arrival." ------- Chapter 7 I spent a leisurely Friday night and Saturday with the Conroys. It was as pleasant an experience as I've ever known. We lounged around the house, watched a movie and took a short walk around the property. We had settled down to a board game — which Janet and Lila had the foresight to bring with them — Saturday afternoon. I was in the process of getting abused in my third consecutive game when my cell phone chirped. At the time, I viewed the interruption as a welcome respite from my losing streak. The relief was short. "Mr. McPherson?" a voice asked. It seemed familiar but I couldn't place it. There were very few people who had this number and I didn't recognize the caller ID. I answered that she had reached the right person. "It's Amelia," she said. "Amelia Cardelli." As if I had a list of Amelias to choose from. "Hello, kiddo," I said cheerfully. Amelia's reply was tearful. "We need your help," she said. "Mom and me. Enrico's gone and Mom is really worried. I'm scared, too. I didn't know who else to call. Can you come here? Please?" "Let me speak to your mother for a moment, if I may," I said. I wasn't certain that Amelia had a firm grasp on the situation. Seconds later, my long-ago girlfriend was on the line. "Who is this?" she asked as if I had called her. "It's Michael McPherson," I replied. "What do you want?" she asked with venom dripping from each word. "Actually, your daughter called me," I said. I heard a familiar plaintive cry of "Mom" from the background. I assumed that Amelia was trying to explain the phone call. "Linda, is everything OK there?" I asked. I heard a deep breath from the other end. "Why would you care?" she asked harshly. "May I assume that your daughter exaggerated when she said you remembered me fondly?" I asked. "I care only because I wouldn't want harm to come to either you or her." "Violet went on a rampage when Rico told her about Tony," Linda Federici hissed. "I could hear her screaming through the telephone. This morning, she called Rico and he went to visit her. He hasn't returned and he is not picking up his cell. She's crazy, Michael. Do you remember how she is?" I did remember Violent Violet's temper. But I also remembered what Amelia had told me the day before. "Are you certain that something is amiss?" I asked trying to be tactful. "Or is there perhaps another reason Mr. Federici is away from his phone?" "I know about the sex, Michael," she said harshly. "You don't have to be coy. And no, I have no doubt that is the reason he went over but he's never been gone this long. She comes to his office or he goes to her house, they do their thing and one of them leaves." She was matter-of-fact in her assessment. I couldn't imagine the Linda Cardelli I remembered putting up with that. But it was a long time ago that I knew her. I would imagine that she couldn't imagine that I would disembowel my father, either. "Something has happened," she continued. "And I will admit that because of Violet's temper, I worry that Amelia and I might be in some danger." "I'll be there in 20 minutes," I said. "Can I have your address?" "Michael, there is no need for you to get involved in this," she said. But she gave me the address anyway. I turned to my house guest and told them I need to go out for a little while. "We might have a couple of other guests," I said. "I hope that won't create a problem." "Your house," Janet said with a smile. "Your rules," Lila chimed in. "Besides, if we don't like them we can always go to the next county for the night," Janet said. "I mean, you call it a part of your house but I'm certain it has its own ZIP code." I decided that I would definitely miss these two when they left. "I'll call if I'm going to be past 9 or so," I said. "I don't really have time to show you how to set the alarm, so I'll do it before I go. That means you can't go outside. Is that a problem?" "It's cold and crappy," Lila said. "I'm in for the night." "Me, too," Janet added. "Unless you want for me to come with you." "No," I answered quickly. Janet seemed to get the wrong impression from my statement. "Oh, work stuff," she said frostily. I wanted to salvage the situation but I didn't have a lot of time. "Do you remember the girl I told you about yesterday?" I asked. "The one who thought she was my daughter?" "Oh, turkey baster girl," Lila said before Janet could answer. "She called and said her stepfather is missing," I continued. "She is worried for her safety and that of her mother." I was pulling on my coat as I uttered the last sentence. Janet followed me to the door. "So she called you?" she asked quietly. "The man who threatened violent acts upon her if he wasn't paid off?" Janet held my arm tightly. "Mac," she said. "Be careful." I nodded and Janet surprised me by kissing me softly on the cheek. "Call Marcus on the way," she insisted. "Please?" I nodded. I knew Marcus was unavailable until Sunday afternoon but I knew it would make Janet feel better. Like Janet, I worried about being set up. I had pushed the Federicis pretty hard without knowing how a variable might react. That variable was Violet Federici. I knew Enrico would know the score. I knew Amelia would probably tell her mother that my threat was idle — if she hadn't originally, I was certain she had conveyed the information by this time. But I also knew that $50,000 would put Federici out of business. I hadn't anticipated it when I told him the amount but after a little research I had confirmed that Amelia's assessment was correct. Enrico Federici was losing control of his operation — to his son and his ex-wife. Violet and Tony didn't have enough leverage to force him out yet. They also didn't have enough capital or influence to force or buy their way back in again if I shut Enrico down completely. Both would be left on the outside looking in as someone more powerful took over — most likely me or someone I designated. Amelia and Linda would be left outside, too. But I was certain that I could find a job for Linda to keep the money rolling in. In fact, the job I would likely offer her would be more lucrative than the paltry amount Enrico had been clearing the past few months. Yet I wondered if Enrico could face the prospect of having his lifestyle determined by his wife's earnings. His reaction to Marcus on Friday let me know of his racial bias. It isn't a far stretch to guess he held strong gender-bias issues as well. The fact that he flaunted his affair with his ex-wife in front of his current wife (who was far up the food chain in the looks and personality departments unless she had changed dramatically in the past 15 years or so) led me to believe that he would cringe at the thought of being supported by a mere woman. Somehow I was OK with that — so long as it didn't create issues for his wife or stepdaughter. The more I thought of Amelia the more I wondered who her father was. Linda's abrupt departure from my life wasn't extraordinarily traumatic. She was a year behind me in school and she had known from the start that I had no intentions of returning to take over my father's business. In hindsight, it would have been more of a surprise if she had chosen to stay with me instead of breaking up with me. But it bothered me that she had given up the one thing she denied to me within weeks of letting me go. The sight of flashing blue lights in front of the address I was given brought my thoughts back to the present. I probably should have driven past and left it — and Linda and Amelia — behind me. I hadn't seen Linda (Cardelli) Federici in 15 years and her daughter wasn't my responsibility. And still I pulled in behind the cruisers and go out. ------- Amelia Cardelli and her mother were standing on the porch of the house taking to three officers. Amelia spotted me walking up the sidewalk and raced to me — wrapping her arms around me and burying her head in my shoulder. Linda Federici watched with a mixture of disdain and horror and the officers watched with interest. I patted Amelia's back gingerly. She gazed up at me with tear-stained eyes. The whore-face she had worn Friday was replaced with youthfulness and sadness. "They're dead," she said. "They're both dead." "Both of them?" I asked. There was no question in my mind that Violet was capable of killing her ex-husband. From the little I knew of their tumultuous relationship I wondered that it hadn't happened earlier. But she hadn't seemed like the suicidal type. The lead officer had followed Amelia down the steps and heard my question. "Sir, may I get your name and why you're here?" the man asked. "Are you Mrs. Federici's attorney?" "My name is Michael McPherson," I said. The officer jotted the name down with no apparent recognition. "And I'm here..." "Because he's my father and I called him," Amelia said. "I was scared. That woman is crazy. When Enrico didn't come home I was scared. So I called my Dad." The officer viewed me with a renewed interest. I saw Linda standing on the porch. She had a look of horror and sadness over the death of her husband. "Amelia," she said but then cut off whatever was supposed to come next. "Do you mind if I ask you some questions, Mr... ," the officer said before glancing at his notepad. "McPherson?" I shrugged my shoulders. Amelia still hadn't released her grip around my neck. "How well did you know Mr. Federici?" he asked. "Barely," I said. "In fact, before yesterday I hadn't seen, heard or thought of him in years." The man glanced toward Amelia. "So you're saying you've had little part of your daughter's life?" he asked. "Until recently I was unaware of her existence," I answered. So far I had not lied. I mentally patted myself on the back. "You said you saw Mr. Federici yesterday," he continued. "May I ask about the details of that meeting?" I started to be a smart ass and reply that he was free to ask about them. Instead I just gave him the answer. "The details of my conversation with Enrico Federici were private," I said evenly. "Suffice it to say that I had an issue with his son. I addressed it and departed." "So there was no ill will?" the officer wanted to know. "Your problem was with, uh, Anthony and not Enrico Federici?" "When I left Mr. Federici yesterday, I had no problem with either of them," I said. "The situation was concluded to my satisfaction." "Sir, it is hard to believe that it is a coincidence that you had words with Mr. Federici on Friday and he is dead on Saturday," the man stated. He seemed somewhat proud of himself. "After all, the man was raising your daughter. Are you aware of his business activities?" "Acutely," I replied. "Are you aware that his ex-wife is known less-than-affectionately as Violent Violet? Amelia, dear, would you go up to your mother, please?" She complied after tightening her arms in another hug. "Officer, how long have you worked here?" I asked him. The man pondered the question before answering. "Three years," he said. "I fail to see the relevance in my tenure at the police department." "And you're not from here originally, are you?" I continued. "Sir," he said, but I persisted. "If you'll indulge me an answer to that question, I will show you the relevance," I said. "No, I'm not from here," he replied. "I moved here three years ago when I got the job." "Sir, I am Michael McPherson The Second," I said. "My father was Michael McPherson, head of the McPherson Crime Syndicate. I know that name probably doesn't mean anything to you. But I'm sure it does to your colleagues if they have lived here longer. Since my father's disappearance, I am in charge of his company." "So what are you saying?" he asked belligerently. I noticed his hand had gone down to the butt of his service weapon. "That you're untouchable? Because, buddy, I can assure you that you're not." "I am not your buddy," I said. "If you wish to continue this conversation, you will address me as Mr. McPherson and speak to me with respect. What I am saying, Officer, is that if I wanted either Enrico Federici or his ex-wife dead, you and your collection of Keystone Kops would be the very last to know about it, let alone find a body. Now we both know what happened at Violet Federici's house. She killed him and then killed herself. Right?" The officer had taken a step back from me during my initial tongue-lashing. "I can't comment on an ongoing investigation," he said dryly. I rolled my eyes and pulled out my cell phone. "Hi, Detective," I said when a voice answered. "I'm sure it's not a good time but I got Barney Fife here playing 20 Questions with me and he's starting to find his way onto my bad side. Let me check." "What's your name, Officer?" I inquired. I repeated it to Detective Kay. "I'm sure he is a decent sort," I replied to her statement. "But he is laboring under the impression that I was somehow involved in the deaths of Enrico and Violet Federici." I held the phone away from my ear so the officer could hear the laughter emanating from Detective Second Grade Susan Kay. "Would you like to speak to him?" I asked. "I really want to check and make sure Linda Federici is doing OK." I listened to Detective Kay for a moment longer. "I suspected as much," I replied. "Ongoing investigation, my ass." I handed the phone to the officer with the instructions that he was to return it to me when his ass-chewing was concluded. Then I joined Linda and Amelia on the porch — the latter of whom latched onto me again as soon as my foot hit the top step. "I'm sorry for getting you into this, Michael," Linda said while she alternated glances among Amelia, me and the two remaining officers. "It's no trouble," I said. "Amelia sounded upset so I came over to see if you and she were safe or if you wanted to come to my house until Enrico showed up." "I guess that won't be necessary," she said. "I just got off the phone with the head of the Organized Crime Task Force," I said, mostly to keep the officers at bay. "What have you been told?" "Nothing, really," Linda said. "Only that Enrico and Violet were found at her home about 2 hours ago. They asked if I had seen Tony. I assumed they were looking at him in connection with this but I don't think he had anything to do with it." "I doubt he did either," I said. There was no reason to keep Linda in the dark. "Detective Kay said they are not treating this as a homicide," I said. "They aren't looking for anyone in connection with what happened." Linda glared at the officers, who shrank back noticeably. "The offer remains for you two to come to my house," I said. "It's a standing offer, though, if you need some time to process what happened." As Linda mulled things over, the officer with my cell phone returned. I was surprised that Detective Kay was still on the line. "Cut him some slack, McPherson," the woman said. "He was sent there to rattle some cages by an ass-clown ADA. I don't think he liked the idea of trying to shake up a widow and her kid very much either." There was a pause on the line. "Is it true?" Kay asked. "Is what true?" I wondered. "Is that kid your daughter," she said. "I mean, I never met the kid but Officer Nelis said she has to be in her teens. You musta been young." "No," I answered. "That statement is an error." I didn't say anything else for fear of Amelia overhearing me. In the space of two days she had lost one father — when I disabused her of the notion that it was me — and then another — when the man who raised her had been murdered. I wasn't about to heap on anything else. "I'll give you a full recounting later," I said. "Oh, OK," Kay said. "But it sounds like a doozy." I closed my phone and turned to the assembled group. "I have been informed by Detective Kay that there is no reason for us to stay," the officer I now knew as Nelis said. "My condolences on your loss, Ma'am." When everyone else had gone in separate directions, I pulled Nelis aside. "You tell that asshole in the DA's office that he made me a very unhappy man tonight," I said in as menacing a voice as I possess. "That cannot be a good thing." I thought I saw a shiver go through Nelis but he nodded silently. "I'll make sure that message gets delivered, Mr. McPherson," he said. Then almost as an afterthought he added, "It wasn't my idea to do this." "I know it wasn't, Officer," I said. "And I apologize if I was out of line earlier. I don't like getting jerked around and I don't like it when I see others getting jerked around. It is what makes me an unhappy man." Nelis nodded and headed back to his patrol car. I was left standing alone on the porch. I didn't know whether to try to speak to Linda and Amelia or if their absence was meant to inform me of their decision to decline my hospitality. I was pondering my options when Linda reappeared. "Michael," she said softly. "You're not her father." I chuckled. "Yeah," I said. "I know. But she's been through a lot in the past couple of days. If she wants to hold onto that for a little while longer, I don't see what it would hurt. But do you mind if I ask why she thinks that? I mean, you and I didn't get that far." Tears started to fill Linda's eyes. "I'm sorry, Linda," I said. "That was inappropriate. I know you must be in shock from what you've learned. I'm sorry about your husband." Linda shook her head. "It wasn't really a shock," she said. "It was more of a shock to see Amelia hug you. She's not big on affection. Then when she told that cop that you were her dad, I about lost it. Michael, I never expected you to come back. I never expected her to see you. It was supposed to be harmless. She thinks you're her father because it is what I've told her. I told her that you were her father." Tears were streaming down Linda's face at this point. I didn't know what to say. "You know the threats I made, right?" I asked. "I never would have done that. I hope you at least know that." "I know that, Michael," she said. "It didn't make it any easier to hear, though. You were always so nice to me. I mean, there were times I really wanted to do that with you. But you always respected me, Michael. You knew that I wanted to wait and you let me choose." "I'm not sure how much you know," I told her. "But I said what I said in direct response to a threat Tony made — at Violet's behest, no doubt — to two people under my protection. I said it before I knew you were married to him and before I knew Amelia was your daughter." "I know," Linda said with a trace of a smile. "I got chapter and verse from Rico yesterday — including the fact that Amelia had, well, she had given you a hummer in his office." "She didn't," I protested. "I know that, too," she said. "Although I seem to remember that you enjoyed them greatly." She added another shake of her head. "Amelia told me the truth later," she added. "Including her revelation to you. But I didn't tell her the real truth. I told her we could talk about it later." "She seems like a decent kid," I said. "She can be a pain in the ass," Linda told me. "She torments Rico and Tony by dressing like a whore — and acting like a whore. But it's just an act. I've tried to warn her that acting like that will have consequences. But she's like her mother. She won't listen." Fresh tears filled Linda's eyes. "I told Amelia that she was your daughter because I didn't want her to know the truth," she said angrily. "I didn't want her to realize that her father was a rapist. I didn't want her to know that the man she might remember as Uncle Bobby — a man my father continued to do business with even after he knew what happened to me — had two of his men hold me down and he took from me what you had allowed me to hold on to." I felt bile rising in my throat. My mind raced through all of Richard Cardelli's business associates named Bobby. "Your father took care of what my father wouldn't," Linda said. I guess she saw where my mind went. "After my dad forced Rico to divorce Violet and marry me, I told your mom what happened. I liked your mom, Michael. I think she forced your father take action. From what I heard, your father had all of them killed. It was the start of what the newspapers called 'The Great Purge.' After he had all of Robert Campbell's entire organization wiped out he, your father, had my father killed. I think that was more than your mother wanted. She was such a sweet woman. I can't believe what happened to her." "Me either," I said truthfully. "Do you know where your father is?" Linda asked. "Specifically, no," I replied. "Generally, yes." "Did he go into rehab?" she asked. "The last time I saw him, it had to be five or six years ago, he was so strung out. I mean looped out of his mind. He was popping pills left and right. So you sent him away, right? To get better?" "I sent him away," I stated. "I don't suspect he will see much improvement." Linda let the subject drop — thankfully. "I stayed away from your Mom's funeral because I didn't want Amelia to see you," she said. "But I went to church and prayed for her. I also place flowers on her grave every so often." I nodded my thanks. "I have to go to the hospital to identify Enrico," she said. "And I guess Violet, too. Unless you want to release Tony to make the ID." I shook my head. "I'll go with you if you want," I told her. "It would be best if you took Amelia home with you for a couple of days," she said. "I hate to ask, given her misconceptions, but I don't really have anything else to do with her. I have to get things in order here and get a wake planned — not that anyone will show up but I still have to do it. Is it OK if she goes with you?" "It's fine," I said. "There will be an autopsy. That means they won't release the body for three or four days. I'll make some calls and try to hurry things along if you would like. Linda, if there is anything I can do to help you through this, I will." Linda smiled. "Michael, my marriage was a business arrangement, pure and simple," she said flatly. "I didn't love Enrico. Most of the time, I didn't even like him. If I had any feelings toward him whatsoever I would never have allowed him to fuck around on me with that tramp of an ex-wife. Rico needed money — to pay your father and you know how that goes. My father needed to get me married off and quickly. My father told him that I was the repayment. He would divorce Violet, marry me and give his granddaughter a good home. I was ... After I was attacked, I withdrew. I mean, you know how much of a fighter I was. Well, I wasn't any more. It's like I went into a coma when it happened and I didn't come out for five years. "I didn't protest the marriage. I made sure Enrico knew it was in name only. Hell, he could have kept Violet in the spare bedroom if he wanted to. I never let him touch me. It was only recently that I could even think about sex and not cringe. And when I did crave sex, it certainly wasn't from a fat, bald, 55-year-old man." "It's fine if Amelia wants to come with me," I said to change the subject as much as anything else. "I'll do the best I can with her. I have two other guests — including a 15-year-old girl — so at least she might have a playmate." "God Michael," Linda said with a laugh. "Don't you dare let her hear you use that word. She would castrate you. Playmate, indeed." "Sorry," I said blushing. "Make sure she packs a swimsuit. I live at my grandfather's old place. Remember? It has that nice indoor pool." Linda and I had share some interesting times in that pool when my grandfather had first put it in. "I remember," she said as her cheeks colored a bit. "I remember it well." I offered a small smile. Linda's appearance hadn't changed much over the years. She simply looked like the adult version of the girl I had known. And Michael," she added. "It's part of what makes me remember you so fondly." ------- Chapter 8 I thought it prudent to call Janet to alert her to the additional guest we would have. And I sat in the living room of the Federici's home while Amelia packed enough clothes, accessories and toiletries for a month-long excursion to China. I put my foot down when she started back up the stairs for the fourth time. "Kiddo," I said. "Let's be realistic. I have a small car with limited trunk space. You're not moving in with me. You're staying for a couple of days." Amelia glared at me. "And, by the way, if the clothes you packed are anything like the ones you were wearing Friday, there is no way I'll allow you to wear them at my house," I stated firmly. "I don't care if you do think you're an adult. You're not and your Mom is leaving you in my care. Do we understand one another?" The glare turned into a smile. I will never understand teenage girls. "We do, Michael," Amelia said. "I did bring some of that stuff but mostly so I can sort through it. Mom said I could miss school Monday — if it is OK if I stay at your house." I glanced at Linda, who was taking in the scene with bemused inattention. She nodded her agreement. I pinched my nose tightly to stem the headache that I knew was waiting for me in the near future. "Michael," Linda said. "I've been thinking. Would it be OK for me to come there tomorrow? I might stay a day or two until things cool down. I mean, I could go see my brother but I would rather not." I remembered her brother, too. "Yep, he hasn't changed a bit," she said. "He's still a whiny little poof. He lives in L.A. now and the last time I saw him he had about two dozen piercings." "It's OK, Linda," I said. "There is plenty of room. I think my other guests are going home tomorrow." I sighed at the end of my statement. "You'd rather they stayed?" Linda asked. "I don't know," I replied. "It's been nice to hang out with someone who wasn't Marcus. Maybe that is what it is. I'm able to be myself around Janet and Lila." "Lila Conroy?" Amelia asked. I nodded. "We go to the same school," she said. "Did you let her know it was me who was coming? She and I don't get along very well." I had not informed Janet of the name of my incoming guest. "Well, I mentioned the Federicis few times and Lila's mother knows your name, so I would suspect that Lila has put it together," I said. The headache was moving closer and closer. "My last name isn't Federici," Amelia said. "It's Cardelli. Rico didn't adopt me. I'll just stay here with Mom if you want." The last was said with resignation. "It will be fine," I said. "You'll behave yourself. I'll make sure of that. If Lila has a problem, her mother can deal with it or she can stay in her room." "Do I get to pick out my own room, too?" Amelia asked excitedly. "I mean, I've never had a choice before. It'll be cool." "They all pretty much look the same, kiddo," I stated. "But you can have any unoccupied room in the house as your personal space — within reason, of course. You can't have the kitchen or the laundry room, unless you want to cook or wash the clothes." Amelia stuck her tongue out at me. I was expecting fireworks when I got to my house. But Lila was extremely nice to Amelia. A couple times I glanced at her when no one else was looking and I could see it was tough for her. I pulled her aside before everyone headed off to bed for the night. "I can't tell you how extremely proud of you I am, Lila," I said. "Amelia told me you didn't get along with her but you could have never proven that tonight. Your mother has done a wonderful job of raising you." I punctuated the sentiment with a small kiss on the top of her head. She seemed to swell with pride. "It's because of you," she said quietly. "Mom told me what happened to Amelia's stepfather. As soon as she said the name I was sure it was her. She's right, I really don't like her. But she's had a terrible day and I remembered how sweet you were that first night. It made things so much better for me because you were nice to us. You didn't have to be. I don't think anyone else would have been. I figured I could treat Amelia the same as you treated us." I felt a tear in my eye for some reason. "Thank you, Lila," I replied. "It means a great deal to me that you felt better and that I had a part in it." She gave me a kiss on the cheek and scampered up the stairs. I turned to find Janet watching us from the shadows. As I approached, I noticed she was wiping away a tear, too. "Mac, you may never know how much those few kind words you said to her will mean," she told me. "They mean a great deal to me, too." I patted her hand gently. "She is a good kid," I said. "You really deserve a great deal of credit for how well-rounded she is." "Amelia seems nice, too," Janet said. "Who knows, maybe they'll become friends." I didn't see that happening but I held my tongue. Perhaps if Amelia ever let the little girl beneath the façade peek though, there was a chance. But as long as she pretended to more worldly than her peers, there would always be issues with people like Lila — who rarely took crap from anyone and who seemed, at least to me, to be far more mature for her age than other teens I had met. "I'll certainly do whatever I can to facilitate that," I said. "Or, at the very least, I'll make sure that Linda has your number so you can facilitate it." Janet's gaze wavered for just a moment before she smiled, kissed my cheek and headed to her room down the hall. I sat alone in my study and pondered the future. ------- Sunday is my "sleep until I wake up" day. I am not a regular churchgoer and I see little use in waking up earlier than I have to — usually in time to catch the NFL game at 1 p.m., a Major League Baseball game or some other sporting event. I rarely make it to the shower before noon. This Sunday was an exception. Well, it was an exception in that everyone else in the household seemed to expect me to be up and about at 8 a.m. At least they were. And two teenage girls can make quite a racket — despite the fact that neither of them weighed 100 pounds. I pulled a pillow over my head and resolved to sleep for a little while longer when there was a knock on my door. Janet entered a moment later. "Can I use your shower, Mac?" she asked. "The girls have claimed the other two and I can't get my day started without one." I gazed through bleary eyes at Janet — wearing a ratty T-shirt and sweatpants — standing in my doorway. She looked amazingly cute. I smiled and grunted my assent. "Ah, not a morning person," she said cheerfully. "There is coffee downstairs. Do you want me to bring you a cup?" I shook my head. "I'll get one," I said. "I am just unaccustomed to awakening to such din. Then I roll over and see a beautiful women standing in my doorway. It has overwhelmed my senses. I think 3, maybe 4 more hours of sleep and I should regain my equilibrium." Janet smiled at my compliment. "The girls are making pancakes as soon as they're done getting ready," she told me. "So I would guess you can have maybe an hour. I can persevere until they're ready to get up. Sorry to wake you." "I was awake," I said quickly. "And you're welcome to the shower. There is nothing in there but soap and shampoo, so if you require a loofah or bath gel, you'll have to bring your own. I will make myself presentable while you gather what you need." Janet still stood in the doorway. "I'll wait for presentable," she said with a laugh before backing out and closing the door. I grabbed a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a baseball cap and found Janet standing in the hallway outside of my door. She had her clothes and toiletries wrapped in a towel. "See, I'm a quick-change artist," I said. "I just need to brush my teeth and I'll be ready to face the day." Janet looked up at me and I could see the whole world reflected in Janet's big green eyes. If had already introduced myself to a toothbrush, I'm sure I would have kissed her. Because I hadn't, I smiled and slipped back inside my room to the bathroom. I almost walked into Janet when I exited because she was right next to that door now. "You hang out around doorways all the time?" I asked jovially. Believe me, jovial is a tough thing for me to accomplish in the morning. "Some doorways more than others," she said as she stepped closer to me. I gulped down the fear that I was misreading the situation and wrapped my arms around her. She laid her head on my chest so I must have done OK. "Even with all that happened last night, it's been a good weekend, Mac," she told me. "It has," I said. I gulped again. I realized that Janet had no bra on beneath the thin cotton shirt she was wearing. "I'm going to miss having you here," I said. Janet didn't answer. I worried that I had overstepped. "It's just really quick, Mac," she said quietly. "You've ridden in like a white knight. You've charmed my daughter." She hesitated. "And you've charmed me," she admitted. "I feel so safe right here. After what you said to Lila last night, I had to fight not to come to your room and wait for you to come to bed. But then there is your other life. If I thought your life was as normal as it was Friday night and Saturday afternoon, I wouldn't be scared. But then there is Saturday night. And Friday afternoon. And whatever happened Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. That's what kept me in my room last night." "My life is more normal than you might think," I said. "Honestly, until you popped into it, I would come home every night at 5 p.m. Maybe I should be the one who is wary. You seem to be the source of the recent excitement." I was joking and I hoped my voice expressed that. "What about Linda?" Janet asked. "What about her?" I wondered. "Last night was the first time I'd seen her in years." "I overheard Amelia talking on the phone to her this morning," Janet admitted. "She was singing your praises. The mother seemed to be singing right along." I was shaking my head but Janet couldn't see me. "Would you like to get together sometime this week?" I asked. "Maybe a quiet dinner? Or a concert?" I could feel Janet smile against my chest. "How about we have a nice noisy dinner at my house," she said. "Just you, me, Lila and maybe some burned pork chops." I laughed. "That sounds like the best dinner I could hope for," I said. "Mac, I'm not sure it will work," she said. "I like you. I hope you know that. But I'm scared of what you do. I'm scared Lila will find out or, worse, want to join it. How far do you keep it from your real life?" "As far as I can," I answered honestly. "But there is no firewall between it. I can't promise that it will never interfere, if that's what you're asking." "I'm not sure what I'm asking," Janet said. "For all I know you're just a bit of excitement that I needed in my life. In a week or two, who knows? That's the biggest problem, Mac. I don't want to hurt you." I continued to hold Janet to me tightly. I couldn't believe how nice it was to have her in my arms. "I'm a big boy, Janet," I replied. "I understand the risks of being involved with anyone." I considered something else that might be bothering her. "You know that I would never, uh, do anything if you wanted out," I said. "Right?" Janet laughed and pulled my neck down to kiss me lightly. "Um, peppermint," she said. "Yes, Mac, I know that. Or at least I never assumed it to be different." She let go of me and set back on the edge of my bed. "You have to know that sometimes I forget what you do," she told me. "Well, I don't forget, really. It's just so foreign to the person that I'm around most of the time. But I know that I would have to do something horrible for you to cause me harm. "So, dinner this week? Say Wednesday?" I agreed. ------- Chapter 9 Even though I knew I would see Janet and Lila again in just three days, it was with trepidation that I watched them drive away on Sunday afternoon. Amelia seemed to sense my mood. "Do you really think she can live with what you do?" she asked. "People who aren't raised around this sort of life have trouble adapting to it." I looked over at her crossly. "People with any sense of decency would have trouble adapting to it — even if they were raised around it," I stated. Amelia blushed and looked down. "But you know what I'm saying," she said. "I don't want to see you get hurt, Pops." She had taken to calling me that — despite my protests. The first few times she would use the title, she and Lila would giggle manically. At least Lila had stuck with Mac. A little after noon, Linda called to say she would be out around 4. She wondered if she should plan to pick up Amelia or if she could bring some clothes to stay for a day or two. "It would take two days to load up the stuff Amelia brought last night," I joked. "You don't look like you've changed since you were Amelia's age. Just come as you are and share clothes with her." "Do you want to see me in what she was wearing Friday, Michael?" Linda asked with a touch of what seemed like flirting in her voice. She wasn't very good at or I wasn't very good at recognizing it. Amelia had been wearing a short miniskirt and a tight tank top under a leather jacket on Friday. "Uh, no," I said. "I remember you as a sweet, lovely woman, Linda. If I saw you in that get up ... actually on you it would probably look terrific," I said. "Maybe we could wet the tank top a little?" I wasn't very good at flirting either but I gave it a shot anyway. "There is always the pool," Linda said. I figured I should move the conversation in another direction. "So, what time should we expect you?" I asked. "Between 3 and 4," she said. "I'm meeting with Father Grayson about Rico's wake. Michael, what about Tony?" I have to admit that I had put Tony out of my mind. "What about him?" I asked. "Well," Linda said. "Does he know? I mean, about his Mom and Dad?" "He is incommunicado," I said. "I'll go take care of the notification while you're getting things together. Is it OK to leave Amelia here by herself?" "She is pretty self-sufficient," Linda informed me. "More so that I like. But Tony is going to be a problem." "Believe me, Tony is no problem," I answered. "In fact, if the cops close the case as a murder-suicide, he'll be in a homeless shelter in a month. Violet had very little money. She stood to inherit some from Rico; not much, but some. But she can't do that if she killed him. Tony was her heir but she doesn't have enough cash or assets to pay next year's property taxes, let alone the mortgage she has on the house." "That will make him even more dangerous," Linda stressed. "He will have nothing to lose. Just watch yourself, Michael." It was the second time in two days that someone had warned me to be careful. That made twice in my life. ------- I called Marcus to let him know I would be arriving shortly. "I was gonna call you soon, boss," Mark said. "I know never to bother before noon." "It could be 7 a.m. today, buddy," I answered. "What's up?" "I'll tell you when you get here," he said. There was an edge to his voice. "This is not telephone shit." I sighed. Will this crap ever end? "Half an hour," I said and hung up. I made sure Amelia knew the rules — and the ramifications of flouting them. She assured me that she would behave. She have been golden so far, so I cut short the lecture and headed outside. "That's it?" Amelia said. "That's all you're going to say? Don't break stuff and don't make a mess? What about staying out of the liquor and don't go in your office? What about making sure I don't use the pool while you're not here?" "Do I need to mention those things?" I asked. "You obviously know the rules attached to each of those items. I have no need to reiterate the obvious. You're not a child; I refuse to treat you like a child." I didn't expect Amelia's reaction. She latched on to me with a tight hug. "Thank you, Michael," she said. "I love you! I won't do anything bad, I swear." "I know you won't," I said sweetly. "Because you know I would find out and you know I would tan your butt." I was in a decent mood when I walked into the house where Tony and his cohorts were staying. Marcus was waiting for me and my mood evaporated quickly. He was holding several file folders in his hands. "Look at these," he instructed. But I waved him off. "I have something I need to attend to first," I told him. "I'll look at those in a minute or two." I could see that Marcus was anxious for me to see the files but I insisted. "Where's Tony?" I asked. Marcus pointed me in the right direction. The younger Federici was in good condition when I entered. He was bound — but loosely — and his face showed no signs of Marcus or his employees having done much more than a few slaps. I hoped that the evidence meant Mr. Federici was accepting my re-education program with grace. That hope ended quickly. "You're a dead man, McPherson," he hissed when I walked in the room. "My mother will never let you get away with this." So much for breaking the news to him gently. "You mother is dead," I said. "So is your father. If you open your mouth to me one more time, you'll join them." Rage, shock and finally confusion crossed his face. "You lie," he said. "I rarely lie," I replied. "And certainly not to a shithead such as you. I have no reason to lie to you. I own you. You only live because I allow it. What reason do I have to lie to you?" Tony had no answer — and the anger returned. "Your mother killed your father yesterday and then committed suicide," I said. "Tough break, kid. But I hope you realize it your fault. You were the person who set this chain of events in motion and you were the only person who could stop it." I turned and left the room with Tony hurling insults at me. It was becoming increasing less likely he would leave the building on his own two legs. It became an absolute certainty that he wouldn't when I sat down with Marcus. "These are six cases our guy inside got us," he told me. "I went through Federici's logs Friday night. All six owed him money. Christ, Michael, one was 14 and the other was 12. The descriptions match the guys we've got downstairs." A cold fury settled over me. Surprisingly, my mind was alert — just as it had been with my father and with Leo Gomez. "I want to do them, boss," Marcus said. "I want to bring the family's here and let them watch me kill those fuckers. They still owed the money after all this. God knows how many more are out there." Tony Federici and his crew had raped at least six young women because of their father's — or in one case, their brother's — outstanding debt in the past 9 months. Six families had reported the attacks — but none had admitted that it was over a gambling debt. I wondered if Tony had even told them why it was happening. Perhaps he just went back later and let them relive the gory details with a causal mention of what would happen if the money didn't come. "I made a promise to Amelia to send Tony back in one piece," I told Marcus. "I would recommend that you contact the families and let them know their debt is ameliorated but I would recommend that you do not invite them to the festivities. Of course, the choice is yours to make. I will deal with Tony personally." Dealing with Tony was of little problem. I severed the C1 vertebrae and left him paralyzed from the chest down. Explaining it to Linda and Amelia would be another matter. I made copies of the reports Marcus had shown me in case I needed them. Tony and his accomplices would be found a week later in a crashed stolen car on a remote highway. I knew the police would not investigate very hard and that Tony would likely do a long stretch in prison for car theft and vehicular homicide. I also figured the cops would be able to close their open rape investigations with the dumbass' DNA. I was certain it would not go very well for Tony. I knew Tony could reveal my involvement in his disappearance but I was equally sure that he couldn't provide details unless he dug himself a deeper hole. Even then, outside of Marcus and Amelia, there was no one around to corroborate his story. I was positive that neither of them would talk to the police. It was Sunday evening before I could pull Linda aside for a private discussion. She misread the situation and immediately folded her body against mine. "Private enough to relive some old times," she purred. I sighed and gently pulled away. "Private enough to explain what will happen with your stepson," I said. I laid out the facts as I had learned them and told her the police reports were available if she needed to see them. Linda was half-angry, half-appalled. "That worthless piece of trash," she hissed. "Violet had to have known. She would have to approve this action. She knew Tony would break. That's why she did what she did." "Tony will, in fact, break," I said. "He is alive as I promised Amelia he would be. He is in one piece, just as I said he would be. There will be but one broken bone in his body." Linda looked at me harshly. "You're setting yourself up for trouble unless you handle this now," she stated. "It is handled," I replied. "Tony will not be a bother to me — or you or Amelia again. In fact, I guess you could say that I have released him and I advised him it would not go well for him to stay in town. I would not expect him to try to contact you to say goodbye, however." Linda's look softened but I could tell she still had questions. "Everything will be clear by next weekend," I said. "Linda, I couldn't allow this to go unpunished. I want you to know that I never intended for things like this to happen." "I know, Michael," she said. "But it has happened. We just move forward. Honestly, I can't complain. I'm out from under things. Amelia's out from under things. We don't have Enrico's business to worry about. I don't have to worry any more. Do you have any idea how many times I wanted to make a run for it? I'll tell you: dozens. But where could I go? I didn't have the money to get away from here and I didn't have a place to go if I could." "You could have come to me," I stated. "I know that now," she said. "But I couldn't risk Amelia's safety by coming to you. I mean, your family killed my family. Your reputation is somewhat shaded. I thought I knew you and I thought I knew how you would react but with Amelia I couldn't risk anything." "I understand," I said. "But if you want to go somewhere else and start over now, I'll help you." Linda laughed. "I have no need to go anywhere now," she said. "I can start over right here. I can finally access the money that my mom left me." I shook my head. "You just told me you had no money," I said. "Or did I make that up in my head." "No, I had no funds of my own," Linda said. "My dad had my trust fund after Mom died when I was little. My father transferred that fund to Rico when we married. But he couldn't access it without my signature and I couldn't access it without his. Neither of us was willing to sign it. Believe me, it was a source of constant contention — not just between him and me but between him and Violet." "She wanted him to force you to release the funds," I stated. "She saw the way out. You're lucky she didn't have you killed." Linda laughed again. "If the trust would have reverted to Rico, it was a distinct possibility," Linda replied. "But it doesn't. It goes to Amelia and her trustee. The money would even be further from Rico and Lila if I was not longer around." "Good," I said. "That was smart planning." "I'm glad you think so," Linda said. "You were the trustee." My eyes widened. "Who better to care for her than her father," Linda said with a wry smile. "Michael, I had almost convinced myself that you were her dad. I kept my will separately from Rico's. I kept the trustee secret. Rico knew I was attacked but I didn't tell him who it was. He only knew that I knew who Amelia's father is — or rather was. I guess it would have been a crappy thing to do to you to make you explain it to Amelia but I would have been dead so..." She shrugged dramatically. "Maybe I wouldn't have explained it," I said. "Maybe I would have just accepted it. Did you at least leave me a letter explaining all of this?" "Of course I did," she said quickly. "Then maybe I would have left it until she was older," I said. "If she hadn't been so convinced during our initial meeting, I might have done it that way then. But she caught me off guard and, well, she was such a shithead about the whole thing." "She gets that from you," Linda laughed. "Actually, she thinks you lied to her last week. She thinks that you're really her dad and you just told her that you weren't. I've told her that you're really not but it hasn't taken. I mean, I told her for the last 10 years that you were. So it might take a while." "However it plays out, I'm OK with it," I said. "I won't expressly say anything either way. I'll leave the decision to you." "Gee, thanks," Linda said ruefully. "That's going to be a treat. I think I'll just let her keep thinking you're her father." "She calls me Pops," I joked. "I heard," she said. "I'll talk to her about it. Even if she thinks you're her dad, Pops is such a crappy name." "It does have an air of defiance to it," I stated playfully. "Of course, she became pretty obedient when I threatened to tan her hide this morning." "Hell, she might have liked it," Linda said. ------- Chapter 10 Dinner with the Conroys was the start of a roller-coaster ride that lasted a few months instead of a few minutes. As with the amusement park ride, I was left disappointed when the ride was over. I guess the analogy is pretty close, now that I think about it. We started out slowly. We ate dinner together and spend time doing things a normal couple would. He went to movies and the theatre; we took Lila to places that we all enjoyed; we spent quiet evenings at home. Janet rotated departments — and shifts — during the second month of our relationship. She went from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., Monday through Friday to 8 p.m. to 8 a.m. on a varying set of days. Lila became my houseguest during her mother's work days. She was old enough to tend to herself but neither Janet nor I felt comfortable leaving her alone overnight — especially not several times per week. It was nice having Lila at the house. She and I got along very well. I was respectful of her need to be a teenager — and a young adult. She was respectful that for many years I had lived by myself and I had a few idiosyncratic tendencies. I have to admit, it was fun having her around — most of the time. Janet joined her as my guest a few nights, too. It was nice having her around, too. But, as Amelia had warned, there are portions of my life that are not for everyone. After the reappearance — and the arrest — of Tony Federici, my professional life returned to its pre-Janet lull. The only problem was that I could never convince Janet of that. If I were 25 minutes late coming home, she thought I was out killing a family of five. If I had to cancel plans we had, she believed that I was out shaking down a convent. Honestly, I think she watched too much television. Certainly there were matters that required my attention. But they were few and far between and I'm almost positive that they never affected — or altered — the time I spent with her. Delays were mostly of the mundane nature. The sort any businessman with a host of interests might face during his daily routine. Janet's inclusion into my life brought another problem — one I hadn't foreseen. My increased visibility brought me to the attention of federal law enforcement officials. For the first few years after my return to the city I was content to come home for a quiet evening almost every night. I was anonymous, faceless. Sure, the local Organized Crime Task Force — under the helm of Det. Susan Kay — was aware of my existence. Det. Kay and I had a cordial working relationship. As I have said, I kept the mayhem to a minimum and I was working diligently to remove the stigma left by my father that had attached itself to my operations. Det. Kay understood what I was trying to do — and why I was trying to do it. Alas, not everyone was so enlightened. The RICO boys (that's the federal racketeering statute that the FBI uses an umbrella to chase guys like me) took a renewed interest in the McPherson family. After my father's disappearance, I think they assumed the family would fall into disrepair and eventually dry up and blow away. When I reworked the company into something stronger — and quasi-legal — it caught them by surprise. Law enforcement officials do not like being surprised. The fact that all their digging brought them no information left them frustrated. Law enforcement officials do not like being frustrated. Surprised and frustrated federal cops tend to do illogical things under the guise of protecting the masses. Their renewed interest in the McPherson family was one such instance. The LEOs failed to recognize that organized crime is considerably better than disorganized crime. They labor under the premise that disrupting my business was good for society as a whole. They refuse to understand that crime is not going away. To paraphrase Salinger, if you took the rest of your life you could not identify one-tenth of the criminals in the United States. The fact that I was now out and about on occasion — doing similar things probably as the cops were doing with their girlfriends — brought me back on their radar. Ironically, it was Det. Kay who alerted me to this when she called to ask for a sit-down meeting at her office. Again, I assumed that my father's remains or perhaps Leo's had popped up. Or even that Tony Federici's song and dance had caught someone's ears. Instead, it was a simple fact-finding tour for Det. Kay. "Are you up to something I should know about?" she asked me when we sat down in a private room. "I have a girlfriend," I said with smile. "So that means we can't date. Other than that..." I shrugged. "Tony Federici tried to cut a deal by implicating you in his parents' deaths," she informed me. "If you did have anything to do with it, you did good work." "If anyone killed those two it was Tony," I stated firmly. "He claims he was locked up in your dungeon at the time," she said with a laugh. "Do you really have a dungeon?" "Dungeon is so clichéd," I joked. "We prefer the term re-education facility. You know, like the 'internment camps' of World War II." "Nice euphemism," she said. "Just a child molester is now called a child sex offender. It makes it sound so much nicer." "You're not buying that crap Federici is spewing are you?" I asked. "I heard he crashed a car, killed a couple of his friends." "You heard right," she said. "That's not why you're here." "Then exactly why am I here?" I asked. "Detective, you know what I'm trying to do. I can't make it go away so I'm trying to limit the damage as much as possible." She held up her hands. "Something has the high-ups buzzing," she said. "I'm not sure what it is. Listen, Michael, I dealt with your old man and the guys who ran things in his stead. I also firmly suspect that your father is not returning — even if he is capable of returning, which I doubt. Sorry, but it is no great loss." "I don't even know where my father is," I stated with conviction. "I have not heard a word from him in more than 18 months." "I believe you," she told me. "That's not why you're here either. Listen, we're not friends. I know that. We're not confidantes. I know that, too. But if you're into something, don't make me hear about it from somewhere else. You were upfront with me about the way you planned to handle your family's assets. I appreciate that and it has made things easier for me. But I've been fielding an awful lot of questions about your activities." "Define activities," I said. "Listen, Detective, just be straight with me. I don't think I've ever lied to you. At least I have tried not to. I may not have answered the question in the manner you hoped, but I have tried to avoid an outright falsehood. I hope that means something to you." Again, Susan Kay raised her hands. "It does," she insisted. "OK, I'll just ask what I want to know. Does the fact you've been more visible in the past couple of months mean you're planning on expanding your operations?" I laughed. "No," I said. "I can state firmly and for the record that I have no interest whatsoever in expanding my operations in any fashion that is against the statutes drafted by local, state or federal officials." Det. Kay looked at me closely. "What does that mean?" she asked eventually. "It means that I do plan to grow operations," I said. "But the operations I plan to grow will not put me in conflict with you or your job. Look, you saw what happened when I quickly downsized certain cottage industries that my family had interest in." Susan Kay knew what I was saying without explanation. "It was chaos," I continued. "I am slowly shrinking the breadth and scope of several facets of my family's holdings. To shrink them quickly would create the same results that we have already seen. But I am increasing my investments into small business ventures and real estate holdings. I pay market prices and I charge the Federal Reserve prime lending rate for interest on the loans I make. "Truly, I would like nothing more than to rid myself of some of the assets I inherited. They are cost-prohibitive given the amount of time and energy I have to put forth for them. But I think you know what would ensue: a full-scale street war to claim what I leave. I believe it would be larger and bloodier than what happened two years ago. The assets that remain have a higher potential yield with less potential danger than those I divested of then. "You wouldn't get some low-level asshole running the show. You would wind up with somebody big — someone who does business like my father did. Do you want that? Does that serve anyone's purpose?" Susan Kay watched me during my monolog. "I don't want that," she told me. "As for serving anyone's purpose, there are people who justify their existence by going after men like your father. There are those ideologues who believe fervently that if you are out of the picture, the scene ends. We both know that's not true. Their father thought the same thing about your father. Their grandfather thought the same thing about your grandfather. The fact that things have changed for the better here doesn't keep them from thinking that you're a cancer." "Fine," I said. "I'll start divesting myself off anything that I feel uncomfortable with. The special-agents-in-charge can deal with the fallout. You and your task force can spend the next 10 years cleaning up bodies and dodging bullets. Because you know that cops aren't exempt to a bunch of these folks. If they have to take out an FBI agent — or a detective second grade — to earn their stripes, don't think they won't." I saw Det. Kay's hackles rise. "Do you think I'm kidding?" I asked. "Think again. And pass that little snippet of information along to those bastards who are making inquiries. This isn't some sort of game for the type people who generally run these things. Your life is of no value to these people. The only thing they care about is power and money." "What about you?" she shot back. "Like you give a crap if I live or die." I shrugged. "Believe it or not, I want no harm to come to you," I said evenly. "And I would do anything in my power to ensure it doesn't. I've treated you with respect and I've treated your department with respect." Det. Kay sighed. "If you have got something going on — and I believe that you don't but that doesn't mean anyone else will — cool it," she advised. "You might want to consider lowering your profile again." I might want to consider it but I didn't. I fully understood that certain portions of my business empire could land me in prison for a decade or more. But I felt justified in maintaining control of things. I guess it was arrogance on my part. Still, I believed I was better equipped to handle some of the elements of my life than anyone else. I also went to sometimes ludicrous measures to ensure several layers of protection between me and anything unsavory. Still, even if the FBI couldn't touch me, they managed to disrupt my life substantially. ------- It was six weeks after my visit with Det. Kay when a shaken Janet showed up at my house. "The FBI showed up at the hospital," she said. "What in the hell is going on?" "Nothing outside the norm," I said. "What did they want?" "To harass me," she said. "To tell me and everyone else around what sort of businesses you controlled. They showed me dozens of gruesome pictures of people you've killed." "They may have shown you pictures, but they weren't of people I've killed," I said as I tried to reign in my temper. "Janet, I've been upfront with you about what I do. I have tried to answer any question you have posed. If you have other questions now, I'll answer them — honestly." Janet was silent. "I'm sorry, Mac," she told me. "But this is not a life that I want. I can't take people staring at me. I can't take the FBI showing up and questioning me. I can't take it that every time I see a gunshot victim in the ER I wonder if you put him there. I can't risk Lila getting involved in what you do." "I wondered how long it would take you to come to that decision," I said. "I knew you were reluctant from the outset but I had hoped that you would get past it and come to realize that what I do is not who I am. I'm sorry, too, Janet. I care about you — very much — and I have enjoyed the time we shared. Please tell Lila that I'll miss her." I remained calm until I escorted Janet to the door and watched her drive away. Then I sat down and called Susan Kay. "I need you to contact whoever is charge of investigation me from the FBI," I said as reasonably as I could. "I want a sit-down meeting with him or her and I want immediately." "Michael, I'm not sure I can arrange anything," she told me. "You know the Feebies. They call us. We don't call them." "Then the gloves are off, Detective," I hissed. "I have been content to live and let live. But they overstepped their bounds. They showed up where my now-former girlfriend works and embarrassed her. They showed her several pictures and made wild accusations about me. Now you make the call and see what you can do. Because I promise you, if I have to track the son of a bitch down who fucked me over, it will not be pretty. They want to portray me as some wild-assed lunatic, I can make everything they claim come true if they want it to be that way." I heard silence on the line. After a moment, Susan spoke. "Please calm down before you do anything," she advised. "This is as calm as I'm going to be until I meet the fucker who showed up at the hospital," I insisted. "If they want to see who controls this city — me or them — they'll find out quickly. Now, Susan, are you going to do this and set up a meeting at their office or am I going to have to wait for them to come home one evening?" It was rare that I addressed her as anything but Detective or Ms. Kay. "I'll call," she said. "If it's the same one who visited me, I'll doubt I'll get anywhere. He's about as arrogant as they come." "When you talk to him, let him know that he's brought families into play," I said. "Maybe that will give him something to quell his narcissism." "You don't mean that," she said. "Do you?" "I mean it," I replied. "He couldn't find a way to me legally so he stoops to harassing my girlfriend — at her workplace, no less. He's God damned lucky he didn't bother her daughter at school or I wouldn't have given you this courtesy call. If I find out he did, all bets are off." "Michael, you can't threaten an FBI agent," she said. "We're not friends. God damn it, don't you put me in the middle of this. Now if that poor bastard wraps his car around a lamp post I've got to come looking for you." "You won't have to look for me," I said evenly. "If it comes to that, I'll find you. As you said, our relationship only extends so far. If it comes to that, all bets will be off, Susan. And your department will think my father was a fuckin' pussycat by the time I'm done. I'm far better organized and far better equipped than he ever considered. I have far more manpower than your entire workforce and a litany of people who owe me favors." I laughed grimly. "And I won't have to play by any rules but my own," I added. "Fuck," Susan swore. "I'll set something up — in my office — if I can swing it. That way I can play referee." "Tell him to bring the pictures he showed Janet," I said before hanging up. "And tell him he better lube up really well because I'm going to shove them up his ass." ------- It was less than a day later when I received a call from Special Agent-in-Charge Whitney Danvers. Since it was a woman, I knew it wasn't the agent who have visited Janet. "Mr. McPherson," she said after she introduced herself. "I understand you would like to meet with me." "You understand incorrectly," I stated. "I want to meet with the pig-fucker who interrogated my former girlfriend at her workplace two days ago." "There is no need to be crass," Ms. Danvers insisted. "Too fucking bad," I replied. "If you don't like it, join a nunnery. I assume you're in charge of the dipshit brigade in the city?" "I am the special agent-in-charge of the field office here," she bristled. "I assume that is what you're asking." "Good," I said. "Then you know who it was that visited Janet Conroy at Good Samaritan Hospital — or at least you should. I certainly know where all my people are and what they're doing. And I promise I have more under my command than you do." I heard a deep breath from the other end. Ms. Danvers was obviously trying to maintain her calm façade. "Did Detective Kay give you my message?" I asked. "If she did, you know where we stand." "I would prefer you allow me to handle this," Danvers said. "You had your chance before it happened," I answered. "The fact that you either authorized this harassment or allowed it happen without your knowledge makes me somewhat reluctant to believe that you would be the best person to administer discipline." "You have my word that Ms. Conroy and her daughter will not be questioned again," Ms. Danvers said. "Ms. Conroy was not interrogated," I stated. "Frankly, questioning her would be within your purview. She was harassed. According to her account and the accounts of others who were within earshot, outside of asking her if she knew me, there were no questions asked. Your agent was not there in an attempt to glean information. He was there for the sole purpose of making Ms. Conroy uncomfortable. That, Ms. Danvers, is not within the purview of law enforcement." I heard another deep sigh on the other end of the line. "Detective Kay says that you are not an unreasonable man," she said. "After our conversation, I find that difficult to believe." I laughed facetiously. "Detective Kay's assessment is correct," I replied. "I am extremely reasonable so long as I am treated reasonably. Your agent set the rules. I have no trouble playing by them. Ask him if he would like for me to swing by the day care where his wife works and show her some images of mutilated bodies." There was silence on the line. "Yes, Ms. Danvers," I said before she could ask. "I know who it was that appeared at the hospital. I know where his wife works and where his daughter goes to school. I know his credit score and the amount of money he owes on his house. Incidentally, the FBI should take a look at his finances. Something is a little fishy there. I could probably figure out who he's taking bribes from, but that's your job, not mine. His wife drives an awfully nice car and the private school his daughter attends is somewhat pricy for a combined household income of less than $100,000. So at the very least he has not paid taxes on his extra income in the past five years." "You're joking," she said. An instant later she said, "You're not joking." "If you can come at me legally, bring it on," I said. "If you want to stoop to that level, you'll find out in a heartbeat how easy it is for me to play in the mud. As I said to Ms. Kay, I don't have those pesky rules to bother with." "I'll look into your allegations," she said. "Actually, I'll forward you what I found," I answered. "Because these are not allegations; these are facts. Anyone else you want me to check out for you? No charge for the next one. After that, it'll cost you. Hey, before I forget, watch out for Art Helmick's step-father-in-law. He's mobbed up." "Bullshit," she said. "There is no reason to be crass," I chided her. "You should vet your agents a little more carefully, Ms. Danvers. Art Helmick is married to the former Ashley Whitfield. Mrs. Helmick's father is Dave Whitfield, who died almost 15 years ago. Her mother remarried two years ago — a man named Louis Grassley. His family's money comes from a little south of here. Seriously, do you guys even check out who works for you? Jesus, what a joke." "I can assure that the FBI vets its agents carefully," Danvers hissed. "I can see that," I said. "One of your agents has a conflict of interest with any organized crime case. Another is living about $50,000 above his means and has been doing so for the last four or five years. Bang up job. You're to be commended. Now, do I visit Agent Walker officially or unofficially? Because I will visit him. That is a promise." "Ten a.m. Monday, my office," Danvers said. "Do you know where it is?" "I can find it," I replied. "If nothing else, I'll just locate a sewer rat Saturday and follow him home." ------- Chapter 11 Jeremy Walker was as arrogant as Susan Kay said he was. At least he was arrogant until I produced photos — taken from public areas — of his wife entering and leaving her job and of his daughter walking down a street. Then his arrogance was replaced by anger. At that point, Marcus calmly handed him the copies of his financial statements. I didn't trust myself to come within arm's reach of him. What I had done so far was within the bounds of the law. Throttling the man would land me on the felonious side pretty quickly. "I gave a copy of those to Ms. Danvers on Friday," I said with a hint of a smile. "I guess you're going to find out what it's like to have your life turned upside down." "Fuck you," he said. "These are bogus. You couldn't have gotten anything like this legally." "Really?" I asked. "They are more genuine than the pictures you showed Janet Conroy last week. How I acquired them is shady but legal. Not that you could prove that I didn't locate them from your trash. It will be up to you to prove your innocence. Good luck on that. Even if you do, the stigma will always be attached to you. I'll make sure of that." Marcus was grinning broadly. "We play for keeps here, Mr. Walker," he said. "Your visit to the hospital cost Mr. McPherson something he held very dear. The loss of your career and possibly your marriage will suffice for your recompense." "My marriage!" he said sharply. Marcus held out another folder — of Agent Walker's wife entering a hotel on the arm of another man. It was pure luck that we got it. Marcus had stopped by the preschool to take a couple of more pictures and saw her leaving. He followed and took pictures. "Who in the fuck is this?" Agent Walker screamed. His voice was loud enough that Special Agent Danvers scurried into the room. "No problem, Ma'am," I intoned genially. "Mr. Walker has just learned the danger of introducing family into an investigation." I lowered my voice conspiratorially. "His wife if fucking around on him," I whispered. "The guy looks like he's old enough to be her father. She might have Daddy Issues." Agent Walker slammed the folder on the table and started to leave. "I'm not finished," I said. "Don't you want to see who your 14-year-old daughter is fucking? Probably takes after her mom. She likes to use the same hotel." Agent Walker's face was crimson. I was praying that he would strike me so I could mop up the floor with his ass. Instead, Special Agent Danvers led him out of the office. "Guess he didn't want to know, Mark," I said. "Too bad. I guess I can just mail them to his house." I got up to leave only to find Agent Danvers blocking the door. "What in the hell were you hoping to prove?" she yelled. I shrugged. "I just wanted him to know what it's like to have the shoe on the other foot," I said. "He had no problem with interfering in my personal life in his pursuit of what he considers justice. I felt no compunction about doing the exact same thing. The rules I live by are a little different from yours. You make sure — if you send someone else after me — that they better be air tight. Because I will tear their life down until they don't even recognize it any longer. Look at Agent Walker. He got up this morning with a loving family and decent job. Here it is 2 hours later and he has neither. "Hell, he'll probably kill his wife and maybe her boyfriend," I added. "His FBI psych profile was a little hazy about his mental stability." Danvers' eyes were slits as she stared at me. "Money buys a lot of things," I said. "In fact, it cost me less than I expected it would. Wanna hear what they say about you?" Special Agent-in-Charge Whitney Danvers turned and left the conference room without another word. I noticed Marcus was looking at me. "I made that last part up," I said — loud enough that I was certain that whatever listening device they had in the room could hear me. "You know I hate to lie but, damn, that felt good. The look on her face was priceless." ------- Although my exercise in humiliating the FBI brought me a certain amount of satisfaction, it did not get Janet back. I knew going in that it wouldn't. She did call me a few days later to tell me that she had gotten a formal apology — from Whitney Danvers herself — along with assurances that, as far as the FBI could prove, my business activities were entirely legal. Of course, Janet knew that they weren't so the fissure between didn't close. I couldn't blame her. I mean, I did blame her for bailing on me but I really shouldn't have. My teenage pseudo-daughter had been correct: some people simply weren't cut out for the life I led. I had very little contact with Linda Federici during the months since Rico's untimely demise. Amelia would call me every couple of days and she sometimes spent the weekends with me. It was nice to have her around but it didn't make up for the loss of Janet and Lila in my life. Janet and Lila had brought something different to my life — something positive. I was able to lead the life of a normal person for a portion of my day. I was able to leave the intense work world behind and live the sort of life I truly wanted. Now I couldn't. Well, I guess I could find someone else but the difference in our lifestyles would always create problems. As I mentioned to Janet, my life doesn't lend itself to companionship. At the time it was an off-handed statement. Only now did I recognize the truth in what I'd said. ------- I know the obvious suggestion was to reconnect with Linda Federici. That's not what I wanted. I wanted someone who didn't fit the profile of a Syndicate Wife. I wanted to be with a woman to whom my world was foreign, not to whom it was commonplace. Also there was the small detail that outside of a few flirtatious comments, Linda had never shown the slightest interest in me. Her life had always been predicated by the lowest-common denominator. Neither her father nor Enrico Federici were big-time players. Her father always wanted everyone to think he was my father's equal, but the reality is that he existed only so long as my father allowed him. The deal between Linda's father and Enrico sealed his fate and my father had acted swiftly and decisively and Linda's father was no more. My father had absorbed the Cardelli enterprises with little or no trouble. For perhaps the first time in her life, Linda had the means and the ability to control her own destiny. She was able to make decisions for herself and for her daughter without the need to consult with anyone else. She was enjoying the life of freedom, from what Amelia told me. In addition, Linda's brutal attack and her subsequent arranged marriage had left her somewhat jaded about the male of our species, I suspected. I didn't doubt that Linda might be willing to forge a purely sexual relationship with me — because I always was willing to allow her to set the boundaries and I respected them even when I didn't want to — but I was looking for more than recreational activity. I wanted to enjoy companionship and camaraderie. I wanted both halves of the equation. It was what I enjoyed during the few weeks that Janet and I were together and I was unwilling to settle for less. Which meant I was forced to settle for nothing. ------- I watched the snow falling outside the window and Det. Susan Kay spoke to me about the changes that were forthcoming in her department. She was being promoted (or demoted) to homicide. I say promoted because the prestige factor is higher. I say demoted because she would no longer be in charge of her own task force. Susan seemed to be taking the change with a grain of salt. "It's your fault," she joked. "The crime is so well organized now that there is nothing for us to do. We can arrest anyone we want but we can't get convictions because it's impossible to find evidence. Because our conviction rate is so low, it's impossible to get anyone to turn state's evidence against you. Not that I've really tried too hard, to be honest." "You've been a constant thorn in my side, Detective," I said. I said it to try to cheer her up but I also meant it. "If anything, you're being moved because you've done your job too well," I insisted. "There really is no organized crime in the city. You've done a good job of putting the small-timers out of business. Now all that's left is the few things in my family and you know the sole reason that they are still around." Susan nodded. "I'm trying to get out of those, too," I told her. "If you have any ideas how, I'd love to hear them." "Wait until your father returns and make a clean break," she said with a laugh. "You'll be out of the business and I'll be back in business." I chuckled. "I think you would dislike it greatly if my father returned," I answered. "In fact, you might be in for more work as a homicide detective than in OC." "Most likely," she said. "Do you realize that the murder rate is down almost 30 percent in the last year?" "It would have been down farther if I had any sense," I replied. She knew what I was talking about. My relationship with Susan was one of mutual respect, I think. She knew what I did but she couldn't prove it. I also think she appreciated the restraint my employees had shown when handling delicate situations. "You've said it before, Michael," Susan said. "Someone is going to sell drugs. Someone is going to run whores. Someone is going to take bets and give out loans. I took a look at statistics from other cities. Most of the men who do what you do are brutal, cruel and inhumane. You're none of the above. You literally run the Business like a business. I'm sure you're not losing money on the deal. But I'm equally as certain that you're not making as much money as you could. And when you downsize an operation it doesn't involve the coroner's office." She shrugged. "It's why I've left you mostly alone," Susan admitted. "It's why I've never dug too deeply into your dealings. It's why I've never taken much of a look into your father's disappearance." She looked up at me with her last statement. My face belied no emotion. "We have rotten cops who are doing a noble job," she continued. "You seem like a decent guy who is in a lousy business. But you always keep the decent side of you at the forefront." "I'd legitimize everything if I could," I told her. "I think you know that. But there are some things that defy legitimization. There are some things I can neither divest myself of completely nor remake into something I don't find distasteful." "Well, I just wanted to let you know that the Task Force is out of operation," she concluded. "That means that the Feebies will be handling everything from that end." I raised my eyebrows. "Is Agent Walker still around?" I asked. I had paid little attention to the workings at the FBI office. "No," Susan said with a small smile. "He's looking at several years in federal custody. He's got big problems. You kicked over an anthill over there. Whitney Danvers is making a name for herself by cleaning things up. I'm surprised she hasn't called you for more information." Susan smiled broadly. "You got anything for me?" she asked innocently. "I could use a boost up the promotion scale, too." "Not a thing," I told her. "At least nothing that I'm not already using to my advantage." My statement piqued her interest. "Really?" she said conspiratorially. "No, not really," I said. "Any information that I get from here is done the old-fashioned way. I either pay for it outright or charm a certain task force head into giving it to me." "Hah!" she said. "If this is charming, I'd hate to see obnoxious." I smiled my best smile. In truth, I was highly disappointed in Susan's move. She had always treated me fairly and she brought a pragmatic approach to her job. Most of the cops were ideologues more so than pragmatists. "Well," I said. "You know that I can sometimes get to places that you can't. I hold no allegiance to people who harm others. If you hit a wall, and you need my help, let me know. If I can help you, I probably will." Susan nodded. "And if anyone barks up your tree that you need to take care of legally, let me know," she told me. "I know that you have your ways of dealing with things. But if you think my way will work better, give me a ring." I agreed but I doubted seriously if I would be contacting Susan Kay to help me out of jam. It was less than 36 hours later that I found myself in handcuffs. ------- A ringing phone at 3:30 a.m. never brings good news. Good news can always wait. Still, I had to answer it. "Mr. McPherson?" a voice asked. I grunted my assent. "Mr. McPherson," the voice repeated. "This is Special Agent-in-Charge Whitney Danvers of the FBI. I have a warrant for your arrest on federal racketeering charges. There are several agents outside of your door. They have a search warrant for your home and vehicles. They will take you into custody." "What in the fuck?" I asked. "This is ridiculous." "Mr. McPherson, if you don't open the door, the agents are authorized to use force," Danvers insisted. As she was speaking, I was cutting the connection to my server at work and sending an urgent text message to Marcus. He would handle the rest. "Do you mind if I put some pants on?" I asked. "Or would you prefer I let them in with my cock out?" "You have three minutes to open the door," Danvers said. "Great, I got time to piss," I answered but she had already hung up. I pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. I pulled on socks and shoes and opened the door. The agents burst through immediately — as if their boss hadn't just spoken to me. I greeted their rough handling with marked disinterest. In truth, I had never been arrested. I was a bit frightened. But I also knew that unless someone inside my organization had turned on me — which I doubted because I vetted them carefully and kept close watch on their activities — I doubted anything the FBI had would stick. "My attorney is on his way out," I told the agent who was feeling me up. "According to Swanson v. U.S., I expect a fully itemized list of anything you remove from here. Any damage will require restitution. If you want access to any portion of the home, ask me and I'll let you in. There is no reason to force any door or drawer. I am willing to allow you access to anything in the home." The agent scoffed. "As if you have a choice, Asshole," he said. "We got a warrant." I ask to see the warrant and he waved it in front of my face. "OK, moron," I said hotly. "I want to read the entirety of not only the search warrant but of my arrest warrant, as is my right." The agent looked at another who shrugged. "No sweat off my ass," the first one said. "Read away — on your way to federal lock up." "Sure," I said. "I assume you have a copy for my attorney to look at when he gets here?" The agents exchanged looks again. "Call Danvers and see how she wants you to handle this," I suggested. "She's awake. If you don't have her number, use automatic redial on my phone." The man whipped out his cell phone and dialed. He listened for a moment then turned to me and offered the warrants. Because my hands were cuffed behind my back, I was unable to accept them. "Guess you'll have to read them aloud," I said. "Don't worry, I'll help with the big words." The agent punched me in the stomach. I doubled over like I had been shot. It hurt, but I was playing it up for the surveillance cameras I had activated. "I'll shoot you if you run," the agent said as he unlocked the cuffs. I took the papers and leaned my head close to his. "You better pray I never get out," I whispered. "Because if I do, your life will be worthless — not that it holds a great deal of value as it is." I was still reading the warrants when my attorney arrived with what appeared to be an army. "I have brought associates to assist the FBI," he announced as he was entering. "If you need to enter any room that is locked, ask one of them. As you leave the room, please leave a copy of the inventory with the associate." The FBI agents stopped dead in their tracks. "It's the law, gentlemen," my attorney said. "If you've broken anything in this place, you personally will be responsible for reimbursement. And believe me when I tell you there are several things you're holding cavalierly that cost more than you'll earn in a decade." Not two minutes after my attorney entered a haggard looking Whitney Danvers showed up. My attorney was on her in a heartbeat. "Your warrant is faulty on its face," he announced. "I'll have this quashed by noon and I'll have you up on official charges of harassment before you've had your lunch." I thought I should add my two cents. "That agent assaulted me," I said, gesturing to one with my forehead because I had been re-cuffed rather quickly. The agent quickly denied my charges. "Amos, you know where the surveillance tapes are located," I said to my attorney. "Please take Ms. Danvers in and show her what happened moments before you arrived." I shot a glance to the agent who was at this point trying to protest that his actions were justified. "I was handcuffed," I stated. "Perhaps you'd like to uncuff me and give it another try? I'll drop my complaint if you do." The man's mouth flapped like a goldfish. "Next stop, Northern Alaska," I said when my attorney led Whitney Danvers off to view the video. "You better start running now, Cowboy. Because my lawyer doesn't talk shit. I'll be out by noon and I'll know where to find you by 5." "Fuck you," the agent said. "You're never seeing the light of day again. We're here searching for your old man, you know. Dollar to a doughnut says he's buried here on the property." I laughed uproariously. "God, you're an idiot," I said to Danvers when she came back in. "Even if I did kill my father, it would lower the property value way too much if buried his hateful old ass here." Whitney Danvers was not in a good mood when she returned to the sitting room. My comment made her day even less cheerful. "Agent Charles, you are relieved here," she said. "But it was my snitch," he wailed. "Regardless, you're off the investigation," she said. "Agent Arnold, take Mr. McPherson to the Federal lock-up. Given that we have to inventory each room, this search could take a month." She shot me what I thought was a smirk. "That's OK," I said brightly. "Take your time. I have other places to live. I'm sure you and Cowboy there be in keeping each other company in the unemployment line soon enough." ------- The Federal building had six cells set aside for housing prisoners. I probably wasn't there a half hour — they were still processing me — when my attorney appeared with a writ of habeus corpus. "Destroy anything you've taken," he instructed the officer who was processing me. "The photos, the fingerprints, any DNA samples, anything. If my client touched a pencil, it goes with me. The warrant has been quashed and the arrest absolved. I'll wait and ensure your compliance while my client gets dressed." The officer stood mutely for a few moments then picked up the phone and dialed. He was not happy when he set the receiver down and began collecting any material related to me. "Computer, too," Amos Weatherly stated. "I want a confirmed double delete on Mr. McPherson's personal information. If you don't know how to do it, get someone down here who can." The officer was still silent. "Oh, no," Amos said sternly to the man when the officer tried to drop things into the trash. "All that comes with me. I hope your penmanship is good because it will be the lynchpin for our civil suit against Agents Danvers and Charles. Now scoop that out of the trash, put it in a file folder, sign your name to it and hand it to me. You will not be getting a receipt for it, however." "Jesus Christ," the officer grumbled. They were his first words since Amos came barging in. "This is fucking ridiculous." "What is ridiculous, young man," Amos admonished, "is the fact that my client is here at all. You are simply bottom turd on the shit pile." I was expecting anger from the junior officer assigned to process me. Instead I was greeted by laughter. "You're right on that one," he said. "But you are the only person I've met today who has done his job efficiently," I said. "You were even pleasant about it. I do appreciate it, Agent..." I stopped and hoped he would supply his last name. "Marcos," he said. "Julio Marcos. Thank you, I think." "Take praise where you can get it, young man," Amos said. "I apologize for my brusque behavior. I've had my fill of arrogance and incompetence today." Marcos rolled his eyes. "Welcome to my little world," he said. ------- The sunlight wasn't blinding but it felt good on my face. Prison can be hard on a man. I was surprised when Linda Cardelli was waiting for me out front of the Federal Building along with Det. Kay. "Ladies," I said by way of salutation. "What brings you here?" They exchanged glances. "I would think that would be obvious," Linda said. "Your arrest was all over the news. The only way I could get Amelia to go to school was to agree to come down here for your arraignment. I met Det. Kay in the hallway. It appears that she was here for the same reason." "Your daughter thinks I'm her father, too?" I asked in jest. Det. Kay shook her head. "I was here to argue for reduced bail or recognizance," she said. "I saw the bust on Channel 3 while I was getting ready for work this morning. I called around to find out when your arraignment was scheduled and I came down to see what I could do. Honestly, the FBI thinks you'd bury your father somewhere nearby. What a crock." I felt it prudent to remain silent. "Anyway, you're obviously free so I'll be heading to the office," she announced. "Stay out of trouble, Michael." "I should say the same to you, Detective," I replied. "I'm sure your superiors are not pleased that you took personal time to come to the defense of a notorious gangster such as me." Susan Kay stopped in her tracks and turned to me with a smirk. "They might be my bosses but I can assure you they are not my superiors," she said with a laugh. Then hailed a taxi and rode off. "Jesus, Mac," Linda said. "You've charmed a cop out of her panties. No wonder no one can get the goods on you." ------- Chapter 12 I consider the episode with the FBI as the point where my civility dwindled into complete and utter contempt of the law enforcement community. I suppose if Susan Kay was still someone I dealt with on a regular basis perhaps the slide wouldn't have been so quick and so complete. But with the Whitney Danvers of the world as my only point of reference for the police it was easy to let myself go. I am equally as certain that if the Conroys had remained a portion of my life I would have done my best to remain above the fray. But the shot of me being led from my home in handcuffs was enough for Janet to completely cut me out of her life. Lila was no longer permitted to visit me and it was only a few weeks later that I received an e-mail that thanked me for all the help I'd given but informed me that Janet had accepted a nursing position at a hospital in another city. I should point out that the e-mail did not mention which city that might be. I saw this as the last sign I needed to devolve completely. I am certain that there are other excuses I could use. But they would be just that — excuses. I was fully aware of the decisions I was making and I was fully aware of their possible ramifications. I simply didn't give a shit any longer. ------- There are portions of my empire that had troubled me since I took over. There were people who worked for me — directly and indirectly — that I didn't feel that I could trust. The Federal District Judge had given Danvers and the U.S. Attorney a dressing down that left them unwilling to even stand on the same side of the street as me. That, along with my newfound lack of remorse, freed me to clean up my organization without hesitation. I started with the loan-sharking industry. Although it is true that most of the usury had been stopped, there was always someone who refused to play along. I knew of three men like this off the top of my head. I had Marcus and his associates pay them a visit and relay my disappointment at their fees. I knew the warning would fall upon deaf ears. In fact, I was counting on it. A few weeks later, all three men disappeared. This time it was not for re-education. I filled the gap with trusted associates who were willing to play things my way. I used the disappearances as a bludgeon over the head of a series of low-level pimps who kept encroaching on my territory — without permission and without compensating my organization. I re-entered the whore business a month or two earlier, intent upon changing it. Thing had gotten out of control during my absence. Under my regime the prostitution industry had been revitalized. I was adamantly opposed to using street-walkers. It presented a bad image of the area and it served to depress the property values in areas that I owned. Instead we used the electronic marketplace. Our advertisement was done via word-of-mouth at several high- and low-end bars and hotels. Our out-call workers were routinely screened and always had a handler with them. The john was expected to use a condom unless the worker chose to allow him to go bareback. The handler negotiated the original fee — of which 65 percent went to the worker. Any "extras" could be negotiated with the worker. We also set up a series of brothels within the city. The clients were screened beforehand and we allowed no "walk-in" customers. Even regular clients had to call ahead before bringing a friend. In all, it made for a safer, more lucrative business for the workers. Almost all sex workers were screened monthly for STDs and illicit drugs and the "house" provided forms of birth control, including pills, patches, spermicidal foam and the "morning-after" contraceptive. But as with the drug trade, as soon as my people were off the streets, other people moved in. The $20 blowjob was alive and well in several inner-city alleyways and vestibules and for $75 you could find some poor heroin freak to fuck you in your car. It became necessary for my people to run the street whores and pimps off every few months. Not surprisingly, it was the same enterprising young men who had taken over the drug trade that attempted to corner the pussy market too — using girls who either owed them money or who were willing to fuck for meth in lieu of cash. I decided to kill — literally — several birds with several stones. I know, a poor analogy but it is perhaps more true than I care to admit. But, as with all good plans, there were complications. ------- Regardless of what you see on television, organizations such as mine are not omnipotent. We cannot and do not act with impunity. We cannot kill at will. Certainly it is easy to kill a man who is not expecting it and is not defending himself. Children have accomplished this feat. My personal security lay entirely in two facts: Everyone knew that I was on constant alert and minimized my exposure; and a threat to my life was very likely to be dealt with preemptively and harshly. A whispered word stood the possibility of finding someone who would find me and then the whisperer's life — and possibly his family's and friends' lives — would cease quickly. Of course the fact that other people reacted the same way and protected themselves similarly was not lost upon me. I was not under the illusion that I existed in a vacuum. Still, I was surprised how quickly word of the increase in organizational violence reached the ears of people I wished it hadn't. ------- The visits came within hours of each other. Det. Susan Kay was the first to grace my office. It was perhaps only the second or third time she had been there. Simply put, if she wanted to see me it usually was at her office. Her visit, however, was not of the professional nature. "Michael?" she asked once she had seated herself across from me. I felt like a 7th-grader called to the principal's office. I used some of the teenaged petulance I had witnessed from Lila and Amelia upon occasion. "Detective," I replied, choosing to greet her salutation as a statement rather than the open-ended question it obviously was. "This needs to stop," she replied. I set my mouth in a firm line and tried to remove all emotion from my answer. "If I knew what you were talking about I would tell you that it will stop when I decide to stop it," I replied. "But since I don't know what you're talking about I'll simply shrug." Det. Kay looked at me for a few moments. "You're getting sloppy, Michael," she said. "You're not watching your people closely enough and you've brought in some outsiders who can't be trusted." In my mind I knew she was correct. I had skated precipitously close to the edge and acted hastily. In my anger I had gotten hasty. Marcus had tried to warn me but a man such as I sometimes believes he knows better than anyone else what needs to be done. "Howso?" I asked. I wondered how much information Susan Kay was willing to provide. "If you take a step back from your mission, you'll see pretty quickly," she said. "There are others who are starting to take notice. You think you've gotten a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card and to a certain extent you probably have. But let's just say you've used that card up. Danvers and her crew are gone. The new folks at the Federal building are solid and they're good. "Washington put them there for the sole purpose of getting to you after you humiliated them. You're making their job too easy. I can tell you that a federal judge has twice turned down warrant tries that were valid. That was the Feebies punishment for the stunt Danvers pulled earlier. But I can also tell you that the timeout is over." I stared hard at Susan who sat silently. "Michael, the rumor is they have someone inside your business," she said while looking at her hands. "The rumor is that they'll be seeking — and getting — a wiretap warrant on the information the insider is giving them. "I don't want you to think that I'm talking out of school. The agent-in-charge over there is a pragmatist like I am. He understands the rules of the game and knows you understand them too. I think he sort of likes you, from what he's told me." Susan blushed and I wondered if it was perhaps pillow talk. "But you're way outside the rules, Michael," she said. "And you're way outside your element. You need to pull your head back in before someone chops it off." Det. Kay left without another word from either of us. It wasn't two hours later that Linda and Amelia Cardelli were ushered into my office. We exchanged greetings and Amelia took me by the hand and pulled me to my feet. "Let's take a walk, Pops," she said brightly. "I haven't been able to spend much time with my dear old Dad lately." I had a lot on my mind but Linda was nodding her head furiously so I acquiesced. We walked to a local park and sat down. "Your office is bugged, Mac," Linda said. I immediately wondered how she knew. I think the look on my face was evident. "Someone from the Feds got wind of Amelia," she said. "They have an agent on me and her." I rolled my eyes dramatically. "I'm serious," she said. "They planted someone at the bank where I work. He and I became friendly and started having lunch together every now and then. I've been around this business long enough to recognize a plant but it took me a week or so to figure him out. Everyone knows about Enrico. But only a few know about Amelia and you. Over the last couple of weeks, the conversation has turned to you eventually each time. It started out as innocuous comments about my daughter spending time with you. Then they got more pointed — pointed enough I knew the information was coming from inside. "I know how loyal your people are, Mac. The only way he could have known all the stuff he knows is a wire in your office. He knows about Marcus. That should tell you all you need to know." My association with Marcus was not a secret. Marcus' background and real name, however, were a strictly guarded secret. I understood immediately that it was of this Linda spoke. It was troubling on many levels. First, Marcus was very good at his job. His anonymity was paramount to the role he played. He was impervious to outside influence because the man people saw when they looked at him wasn't real — just as the man people saw when they looked at me wasn't real. Compromising his identity compromised his useful in the organization. More importantly, Marcus was my friend. Certainly he was my employee but I believe that was secondary. We had known each other for close to a decade. Far before I came to run my grandfather's business. I trusted Marcus with thoughts and ideas — not only of the business nature — that no one else knew. He alone was aware of how much Janet's and Lila's disappearance had hurt me. He alone was aware of many of the circumstances that led me to where I was. The opposite was true as well. I was one of a select few who knew Marcus' history, his dreams and the things that haunted his nights. My irrational acts had endangered a person of whom I cared greatly. Perhaps I was no different from my father after all. ------- My visits from three "angels" opened my eyes to what I had become. My sole goal in escalating the street violence was to prove to law enforcement that I could. I wanted to prove to them that I ran the show and they were only onlookers. It was ego. I was angry that someone had the temerity to seek to rein in my influence. I was angry that someone had tried to expand his influence. In my business one always has to be aware of others overstepping set boundaries. The lines are drawn by the most powerful but, as with growing children, the less powerful constantly try to move the line to a location more suitable to their wants. But my business was different from the real world. In my business I was a powerful entity. I could and did establish the guidelines. My subordinates were expected to and did follow the guidelines I established. In the real world I was an afterthought. The guidelines were established by people with far more influence and power than I possessed. I was expected to stay within the boundaries set by state, local and federal authorities — or at least to stay within the unspoken boundaries worked out through the years with the people who enforce the established rules. It was time to pull my neck back in before, as Susan Kay had stated, someone chopped it off. I hoped it wasn't too late to save Marcus' neck, as well. ------- The problem with over-extending myself as I so obviously had done was that it took time to move backward. A hasty retreat wasn't possible when you have almost your entire army behind the lines. My first responsibility was to Marcus. My decisions had placed him in peril. I wanted to get him to safety. "It's time for you to go, my friend," I told him an hour or so later in my office after I had it swept for listening devices. Marcus seemed unsure of my meaning. "Away for a while, Mark," I clarified. "It has come to my attention that you have popped up on the Feds radar." I believe Marcus' thought I was questioning his professionalism. "I've been extremely careful, Boss," he stated. I smiled warmly at my friend. "You have done your usual perfect job," I said. "It is I who has put you here. I have not been careful, Mark. You've warned me several times and several times I've disregarded your caution. You would think by now that I would understand the peril in doing that. But it is not the case. "In this instance it has proven to be disastrous once again. I have it on good authority that your identity is known to people we have taken great care to conceal it from. They know you as Marcus, my confidante and second-in-command, but they also know your real name and identity. Obviously if they had proof of that you would already be in Leavenworth. We cannot allow that to happen so I think, for now, you need to head to safety — until it cools down here." Marcus was resolute. "Who'll watch your back?" he asked. It was typical of him. He took his roles as my protector, adviser and friend very seriously. "My back is not going to need watching for a while," I said. "This was a stupid folly, Mark. You told me it was from the outset and you were right. I gained absolutely nothing except legitimizing the fear most people already had for me. "It seems I've lost far more than I gained," I said sadly. I was speaking of the prospect of no longer having my trusted friend by my side. Marcus' mind was on other things. "I found where they moved," he said. "I didn't think you were in a shape to know that. I, well, I was a little worried about how you might use the information and I knew if you did something rash you'd regret it, sooner rather than later." I felt a small tear in my eye. "They're gone, Mark," I said. "They would never have fit into this life. It was unfair of me to ask them to." I felt Mark's gaze upon me. "Has it occurred to you that you're not cut out for this life either?" he asked solemnly. I chuckled. "If it hadn't before it damned sure has hit home now," I said. "But I am stuck here. If I leave it will be anarchy. Right now the apple cart is only listing slightly to the left and the Feds are apoplectic. If I were to vacate it would tip completely and who knows who would pick it up." I heard Marcus sigh. "I know we had plans for when this happened," he said. "I know that I was not supposed to tell you where I was going or what named I planned to use. But it is Maxwell Barnes and I'll be in Grenoble. I'll let you know how to contact me." I wanted to plug my ears to keep the information from reaching my brain. I knew that if I had the information I would use it, if for no other reason than to just keep in touch. "I'll be ready to leave in about two hours, Mac," he said. "I'll keep tabs on this here. I'll be back if you need me." I shook my head slightly. I figured this would be my last order to my lieutenant. "You've been in hiding for almost a decade," I said. "I know your new identity will stand up well. You know more about than any person I know. I want you — no, I need you — to find a spot where you can be happy and live a good life." Marcus placed his palms on my desk and leaned forward. There was perhaps less than a foot between our faces. "And I need you to know that I am always a phone call or an e-mail away," he said firmly. "You watched my back the same as I watched yours. It was a two-way street. Without your help I would already be serving life in prison or I might already be dead — either on the street or from the state's needle. This was never about what I was paid or what you were doing. Yes, I liked the money and I usually agreed with your plans. It started out that I owed you a debt — my life — but I won't go if you plan to be too stubborn to ask for help when you need it." It was rare to for Marcus to stand up to me. In fact, I would wager it was without precedent. "Agreed," I answered. "But I hope you know that if I do call you, I'll need help desperately." ------- Chapter 13 Prostitution, it has been said, is a victimless crime. I disagreed even before I met Janet Conrad but I disagree more fervently now. Most women — and their male contemporaries — don't enter prostitution of their own free will. I doubt there are many little girls who think "I want to fuck slimy douchebags for money when I grow up." Most prostitutes are there because they no marketability beyond their orifices. Their young home lives sometimes precluded a formal education — and the societal education they received, at the hands of their step-fathers, uncles, brothers or neighbors — led them to believe their worth revolved primarily in the services they could offer to men. Drugs are rampant among whores. It is a fact. Some start using before they become hookers and use prostitution as a means to acquire more drugs. Others become hookers before they start to use. But, just as the supply of money is readily available to whores so is the supply of illegal substances. The ones who weren't hooked beforehand find themselves slaves to narcotics or opiates eventually. Then the cycle repeats itself. I've know very few old whores. The life expectancy is short and the job is dangerous. It is doubly dangerous in today's society. Janet Conroy is perhaps fortunate that it was a curable social disease that her wayward husband brought home. Despite what I know about the lifestyles of prostitutes, I still have a soft spot in my heart for the trench workers in the sex industry. It's why I started to re-exert myself in that side of the business. I put the wheels in motion even before my short-lived arrest. Over a six-week period during the summer, 9 women were found with their throats cut in various locations in and around our city. The police eventually identified 8 of them as known prostitutes and the 9th was likely someone who either was a one-timer or who was mistaken for a hooker. For the record, a "one-timer" is a woman — or even a teenage girl — who needs a little cash or excitement and decides to see if she can get some stranger to pay for sex. It happens more often than one would think. But as I mentioned to Janet, all men pay for it eventually. Pimps — or procurers — are responsible for the safety of their workers. It is a fact in my world. It is also a fact that few take the responsibility seriously. To pimps, whores are a commodity to be used and discarded. There are always new whores coming down the pipeline. One only has to look at the steady increase in teenage drug and alcohol abuse to understand that. There are always new johns in the pipeline. One only has to look at the lucrative internet child porn and BDSM industry to understand that. So pimps understand that the supply of future whores is almost limitless and they understand that to maximize their profits they can't place too many restraints on their clientele. If you want a girl who looks like a 12-year-old, you can find her. Hell, it is likely that you can even find an actual 12-year-old if you know where to look and have the funds to pay for her. If you like to beat and brand women, you can find it. So long as you understand it will be a costly endeavor. It is possible to even find a pimp who will sell you someone to use as you act out your fantasy of raping and killing a woman. This was especially true of the brand of pimp who assumed my father's assets when I divested of them. The same type of person — often the same person — who ran the drug trade ran the pussy trade. In the weeks before Marcus' untimely departure I had weeded out all but a handful of the pimps who preyed on their workers. The most dangerous was identified and dispatched first and Marcus and I had culled the list pretty well. The "Back Alley Slasher" had disappeared from the radar. I wasn't certain if I had killed the man himself or if I had killed the man who supplied him with victims. It was equally as likely that the attrition rate among pimps had caused the others to pull back slightly and rethink some of their practices. The fact that I had retaken a vast majority of the trade meant finding a whore was a little more difficult if you only wanted to injure her. We had women who were willing to play rough if that's what you wanted. But it was in a controlled environment — a strictly controlled environment. The thing about most serial killers — or so I've read — is that very few of them are interested in getting caught. Sure, the police always say that. Mostly, I believe, they are interested in taunting the populace and the authorities. They don't want to be caught. They want to be recognized and feared. I still contend that every man I've killed — or in some instances had killed — deserved it. If the "Back Alley Slasher" or his source got caught up in that, so much the better. ------- It was raining when I walked out of my office a few days later. Our parking area is private and guarded, so I felt there was little danger in being by myself. I had rotated a series of bodyguards in the days since Marcus' departure — all men I knew well. I knew most of my people were loyal to me but outside of Mark there was no one who held my absolute trust. I suspected that for many of them their loyalty extended only as far as my checkbook. A black SUV pulled in front of my car as I exited the garage and blocked me in. Three men in suits and short haircuts got out of the vehicle and assumed positions around my car. My Jag had bullet-proof glass and a reinforced frame. I would survive a shootout but it was not a shootout these men were after. A fourth man got out of the vehicle holding his wallet in front of him. Neatly stenciled on the ID card were the letters "FBI." I nodded my head and lowered the window about an inch. "Special-Agent-in-Charge Meadows would like a word with you," the man said solemnly. "Let me have your ID number to verify your identities before I agree to anything," I said. The man read off six digits quickly. I asked him to repeat them while I copied them down and then I asked for the numbers of his compatriots. One call to the local FBI field office verified their identities. Unfortunately. "You want me to follow you or do I ride with you?" I asked. "Your choice," he said. I asked if he would give me a ride back if I rode with him. "Probably not," he said and he sort of smiled. "I guess I'll follow," I stated. "We going to the field office or did he want to meet somewhere else?" In the end, I followed the SUV five blocks to the Federal Building where SAC Tim Meadows and U.S. Attorney Lisa Pellegrini were anxiously awaiting my arrival. I wondered if I should call my attorney and if I would be spending the foreseeable future in a small, locked cell. ------- Douglas (please don't call me Doug) Meadows was a likeable man. He reminded me of a male version of Susan Kay. He wanted to meet with me in his private office and I was allowed in there before he arrived. I noticed an undergraduate degree from Ohio Northern and a law degree from Capital University on his walls. There were pictures of his family displayed prominently on any flat surface in the room. His desk was somewhat cluttered but I refrained from looking at the files on his desk. Part of it was because I understood I probably was being watched. The other part is because his files were his business, not mine, and it would anger me to no end if I caught someone snooping through my things. When SAC Meadows came in to the room he didn't appear to view me as a piece of vermin or a sack of garbage that needed dragged to the curb. He smiled warmly and extended a hand in greeting. His voice held genuine sincerity when he spoke. I was somewhat taken aback. "It's nice to finally meet you," he told me as he directed me to a chair. "You're a bit taller than what you appear to be in pictures and surveillance videos." That was usually because Marcus was beside me in those same images and he stood a good 3 inches taller than me, but I didn't mention that. "Special Agent Meadows, I've heard some very nice things about you," I replied truthfully. "It seems as though you've done a good job with things here." The corner of his mouth turned upward. "I must say, you're not making it easy on me," he said. "But this is less about you and me and more about something else that has been handed to me. Do you mind if I cut to the chase, Mr. McPherson?" I shook my head. "Please, call me Michael," I answered. "I really don't like to be associated with the other Mr. McPherson." For a moment something other than charm flashed in his eyes. "I must say that I'm beginning to wonder about that," he said truthfully. I felt I should reply in kind. "For a while there, I was beginning to wonder about it, too," I answered. "But I think that has passed. Are we under surveillance here?" "No," Meadows answered. "I have the ability to record things in this room. Today is more about taking a few minutes to talk. I originally planned for it to be a time for me to chew your ass about what's been going on. But over the last week or so I've decided that isn't going to be necessary." "I probably still deserve it," I answered. "Probably," Meadows told me and again the warmth and charm returned to his face. "But then again we all lose our temper from time to time. Most people don't have the ability to wreak havoc like you do but I understand the rationale behind what happened. For the record, I don't agree with what Agent Danvers and her group did any more than I agree with how you responded to it. One event led directly to the other. I'm smart enough to realize that. And I think you're smart enough to realize that what was happening in this city can't continue to happen." "I am smart enough to realize that — but only just," I replied. "A smarter man would have found a more useful outlet for his anger." "Oh, what you've done has been useful," Meadows said. "Don't think that it hasn't been. We're pretty sure a serial killer got caught up in your wrath and we're certain some mid-level pimps and drug dealers did. But you understand that we — I — would prefer to handle those problems myself. However, there might be a time in the future when less official ways of dealing with things like that might be necessary." He waved his hand dismissively. "I've spoken to Det. Kay and I've reviewed her files on you and your family," he continued. "I believe that should that need arise you will be amenable. However, today is about Marcus Almond, aka Mark Wayland, aka Mark Lewis aka U.S. Army Sgt. Mark Anthony Lewis." From somewhere in his pile of folders he pulled out one that contained photos of Marcus though varying stages of his life. "I am aware of Marcus Almond," I stated. "Until a few weeks ago he was employed by my corporation." Special Agent Meadows nodded. "Mark A. Lewis killed his commanding officer during a mission in a place I can't tell you," he said. "Sgt. Lewis disappeared after the killing and the Army assumed he took up with some of the lowlifes in the region where the assignment took place. Are you aware of facial recognition software?" "Marginally," I replied. "Well, it is extremely slow and tedious," Meadows continued. "It is also not admissible in court. You say Sgt. Lewis is no longer employed in any capacity with your business?" I bristled. "Sgt. Lewis was never employed by my company," I said tersely. "Marcus Almond has been employed in one capacity or another for the last 3 years. He tendered his resignation last month. McPherson Group, I'm certain, paid taxes on his salary along with any other deduction that was necessary on the federal and state level. I'm positive we have a copy of his photo ID, his SSN and other qualifying documents on file. It is the way we do business." Meadows smiled again. "I know it is and I know you do," he said. "I didn't mean it the way it came out. I have copies of everything you filed with the IRS and they are valid for Marcus Almond — a man who never was. Marcus Almond disappeared from a Detroit suburb almost 30 years ago. He was never found nor was he ever heard from again. It took a great deal of digging before we could locate where Sgt. Lewis acquired his alias. But that is what he did in the Army. He was an intelligence operative. He set up those passports and IDs that would pass scrutiny if necessary for special operations. How did you meet Sgt. Lewis?" I rolled my eyes. "I have never met Sgt. Lewis," I said. "Special Agent Meadows, if the technology is not permissible in court it is obviously flawed. I don't believe for a moment that the man I know as Marcus Almond is anyone but who he says he is." Meadows continued unabated. "How did you meet Mr. Almond? And how did he come to be in your employee?" he asked. I thought for a moment. "We met in back in Baltimore," I said. "I worked as a financial analyst and Mr. Almond was assigned during a trip I had to take to Europe. He spoke several languages fluently and he was very good with numbers. I spoke no languages fluently — perhaps not even English — and it was my first trip for Innovative — that's the company I worked for, Innovative Financial Solutions or IFS. He was sent along to make sure I could get from the airport to the hotel and to make sure I didn't do something monumentally stupid." Agent Meadows started digging through his file folder. He appeared to come up empty. "Was sergeant, sorry, Mr. Almond employed by IFS or was he an independent contractor?" It was a question I didn't have to lie about. "I don't know," I said after a moment's pause. "I assumed he worked for IFS as a troubleshooter. But he could have just been hired on a case-by-case basis. It never came up in conversation." "Yet when you took over the McPherson Group — or rather when you organized the McPherson Group — you brought him along," Meadows said. "Why was that?" "Marcus and I traveled together a lot," I answered. "He spoken French, German, Portuguese and perhaps a few other languages fluently and he had rudimentary skills in maybe a dozen more. He also had what I consider street smarts or common sense. He had never been to college but he was knowledgeable in a wealth of subjects — ranging from international currency exchange to the best brand of perfume to pick up for my mother. I knew he was looking to move forward but in Baltimore the color of his skin was more important to some people than the size of his intellect. When I had to come back to take over things here I asked if he wanted to come with me." Almost every sentence in that statement was truthful. The only lies were ones of omission. "So he didn't get the standard background check others in your empire do?" Meadows asked. There was no anger or malice in his voice. "No," I answered. "I had known Marcus for a few years. I didn't feel a background check was necessary. Just as I hired my secretary without one." Meadows nodded sagely. "Did Mr. Almond know what your business entailed?" he asked. "Generically, yes," I answered. "Specifically, no. He figured it out pretty quickly, though. He had no moral issues with what I do. He believed, and I agree and I think you do, too — that it was better to have someone like me in charge of the operations. At least until recently, that is." Again Meadows waived his hand dismissively. "I've worked in New York, Boston and Los Angeles," he told me. "I've seen what unabated criminals do. There are portions of each of those cities where the last couple of months here are an everyday occurrence there. Just like here, the FBI and local officials are powerless to stop it. Sure, I probably could have gotten a warrant or two and slowed you down. But it wouldn't have stopped what was happening. I happen to be of the belief that it would have made things worse. "Don't take this the wrong way but you are a known quantity," he added. "What happened is an anomaly. It is not the way you conduct your operations. I know that and so do the people who make the decisions above me." "So you'll pull your plant out of Linda Cardelli's bank?" I asked. "And leave her daughter out of things?" Agent Meadows cocked his head. "I am not aware of any operation that involves Ms. Cardelli," he said. I could detect no duplicity in his voice. "And I certainly would never involve a child." The involuntary glance toward a picture that featured his own children lent credence to his words. "Are you certain of this?" he asked. "I'm not but she is," I replied. "She's been around the seamier side of things for a long time — hell, her whole life — she knows when something is up. The guy isn't careful." "Would you excuse me for a moment?" he asked but I knew he planned to leave whether I granted him permission or not. I took the opportunity to call Linda. ------- When Meadows came back his face was drawn and tight. "We now have someone on the bank where your friend works," he said. "I'm not sure if this is something Danvers set into motion or if it's something from your end of things. I'll have answers tomorrow." "It sounded as if it was more of a fact-finding mission than something that could be hazardous to Linda or Amelia," I answered. "But I gave her a heads up just in case." Meadows nodded. "Now, back to the point of your visit," he said. "Sgt. Mark Lewis, do you know his whereabouts?" "I could probably find out where his last paycheck was sent," I answered. "But I am uncertain as to where he went. His departure was somewhat sudden and unexpected." Meadows actually grinned at me. "Well, here is where we are and another reason why there is no record of this meeting," he said. "If anyone ever asks me I asked you here to discuss the recent upswing in violence in the city. Sgt. Lewis killed his commanding officer during a drug interdiction in South America. Lewis was the intel weenie. He set up the operation. He got the people where they were supposed to go and got them out when the job was done. The reason he spoke so many languages and had such a wide range of knowledge was because the Army — like you — pegged his intelligence from the start. He was so smart that he figured out his commander — a captain — was using dits and dahs to alert the smugglers. What seemed like random mike noise to the untrained ears of everyone else actually was Captain Buderman sending information to his contact. "We lost 8 Rangers down there. Lewis snuck back to base camp, caught the captain relaying information and killed him — rather brutally from what I've been told." "So if the captain was committing treason why is it so all-found important that you track down Sgt. Lewis?" I asked. "And how can you be certain that Marcus Almond is Sgt. Lewis?" Meadows glanced at his desk. "Sgt. Lewis did not return to Benning," Meadows said. "He is charged with desertion and nothing more. Most likely he is facing a dishonorable discharge. If he would simply have returned he would likely have not faced anything." "Bullshit," I said. Meadows looked startled. "You don't go to these lengths for a man who deserted," I said. "And Buderman isn't exactly a common name. He wouldn't happen to be related to Rep. Buderman would he?" "He was her son," Meadows admitted. "This has all been hushed up. You can imagine to what lengths the Congresswoman has gone to keep her name out of this. She got a hell of a lot of votes after the death of her son. She most certainly doesn't want Sgt. Lewis going to trial — especially given the district she represents. If it comes out that her son was tipping of drug runners she would never get elected again. If it comes out the she wants to hang a black soldier who even so much as claims her son was tipping off drug runners she'll never get elected again." "So she wants him found so she can have him killed," I said. It was not a statement. "Even if Sgt. Lewis is not Marcus Almond I will not allow that happen." "Nor will I," Meadows said quickly. "We got an anonymous tip that Marcus Almond was in fact Sgt. Mark Lewis. We ran the facial recognition software and it was a 95 percent match. So far, the two of us in this room are the only ones who know. Well, that and whoever tipped us off." "Do you suppose they tipped off Marcus, too?" I asked. "I mean it seems to be a bit inconceivable." Meadows shrugged. "I'll be honest with you," he said. "I don't know. And I hate not knowing. That's what I wanted to discuss with you. If there is a way I can reach Marcus Almond I would like to." I was positive he would like to. I was equally positive that I would do nothing to facilitate that. "Then we are at a dead end," I said. "Outside of getting you the address to where his final check was sent, I can't help you. With Marcus' language skills, he literally could be anywhere. It's not like what would happen if I disappeared. I would be stuck living in the U.S., Canada, England or Australia. Still a large area to search but with Marcus you have to add almost every country on the globe. I'm pretty sure he spoke at least one dialect of Chinese. If what you're saying true then I'm sure the documents he is using are valid and almost impossible to trace. It was his job, after all, and you said he was good at it." "Very good at it," Meadows assured me. "That is why he was able to exist in the open for so many years. He traveled through airports, updated his driver's license, applied for credit cards, the works, under the name Marcus Almond. It was a fluke that we found him in the first place and if he has ditched that identity and set up a new one, I doubt we'll ever find him again." "Could you just discharge Sgt. Lewis in absentia?" I asked. "I mean, if Marcus is really Mark Lewis it might make it easier for him to come back. And again, I am having trouble believing that the FBI is interested in this. I could see if it the Army wanted to see him but you guys are a little higher up the food chain." "We're looking at Buderman for kickbacks from the drug smugglers, OK?" Meadows said reluctantly. "Sgt. Lewis' testimony is integral to the case. We have the radio transcripts from Capt. Buderman. We have the testimony of foreign nationals who swear they funneled money to her through him. What we don't have is anything that links Capt. Buderman to what happened to those Rangers. What we don't have is a decorated U.S. Army NCO to sit in front of a grand jury and explain to them what the breaks in the transmissions mean — we have to have the man who figured out what was happening before anyone else had an inkling. That's why I need Sgt. Lewis to return. Hell, even if Marcus Almond isn't Sgt. Lewis I might be willing to dress him and have him pretend he is if it will nail that god-awful woman." It was starting to sound if Special Agent Meadows had a personal stake in this. "You and I are more alike than I care to admit," Meadows continued. "I hate the fact that Buderman sits there all prim and proper when I know she wallows in the shit with the best of them. I will do anything in my power to make sure that woman pays for what she did. In my opinion, Lewis deserves a medal for killing her kid. I hope to God Capt. Buderman knew why he was dying. I hope to God that Lewis took his good old sweet time with that fucker." Meadows took a deep breath. "Off the record, if you can contact Almond, please do," he said. "You realize that it might set off a chain of events that neither of us can control," I said. "Since we're off the record: If Marcus is Lewis and Buderman makes a play for him I'll kill her if I have to. Marcus Almond is the closest thing I have to a friend in this world and I won't put him in danger. I don't like Buderman any better than you do. But I have no doubt that she won't hesitate to do whatever it takes to keep her hold on power. She was absolutely relentless in grabbing the appropriations chairmanship." Meadows nodded. "If your man is Sgt. Lewis he can take care of himself," he said. "And he'll have you behind him and me behind you and my bosses behind me." I couldn't help it, I laughed. "Your bosses will sell you out in a heartbeat if it becomes politically expedient," I stated. "If you think any differently then you're out of your mind." "The President is no fan of Rep. Buderman," Meadows stated. "My bosses are political appointments. I'm aware of how tenuous their support is. But their boss is resolute. If he accomplishes nothing else in the White House, he'll bring down Buderman." I nodded. "Is there any chance of a pardon for Sgt. Lewis?" I asked. "After all, if even half of what you allege is true, then both Budermans were guilty of treason." "There is a distinct possibility of that," Meadows said. "But there is a real possibility that Lewis is somewhere we can't bring him back from. If that is the case, a pardon is relatively meaningless. We need him back here before the president will consider it. Mr. McPherson — Michael — we've been on this trail for four or five years. Buderman's trail not Lewis', I mean. What you've mentioned has been batted around a dozen different time but people with a hell of a lot more pull than you and I." SAC Meadows sighed deeply again. "Before I joined the FBI I was a lawyer," he said. "One of the people I represented was Charles Buderman — as a juvenile — for drug crimes. I managed to keep the case in juvenile court and Buderman's mother managed to keep the whole enchilada closed down. She was a state representative back then and, hand to God, I firmly believe she thought that the laws no longer applied to her or her children. She almost had an aneurysm when she learned that the prosecutor planned to go forward with the case — and what's more to try to move it to adult court. In adult court, Charles Buderman would probably have landed in prison for a very long time." "He was moving a lot of product?" I asked with I'm certain scorn in my voice. Meadows shook his head. "She was moving a lot of product," he insisted. "She bankrolled her run for public office through a series of loans from her 'personal accounts.' Those personal accounts were filled with money from drug transactions. She was pretty good at it. Before we had a real concept on global banking there were several places to do that sort of thing. Who am I telling? You probably know that, if not from McPherson Group then certainly from IFS." I nodded and he continued. "The money came in and, on the surface, appeared to be legitimate. In fact, until you dug through three or four cut-out companies, it appeared to be legitimate. If we hadn't busted a major cartel in Mexico and captured one of them alive, I doubt we would even be looking at her. But we did. After Sept. 11th we really cracked down on off-shore banking. You have to be really good to hide your accounts — which you are, by the way. Buderman was not so clever. Or, more likely, her arrogance simply allowed her to believe that even if we knew about it, we couldn't touch her." "Which, as it turns out, is accurate," I responded. Meadows smiled. "Her, true," he answered. "Her money? Not true. We feigned ignorance about the cut-outs but froze the assets under the new banking statutes. It hit her pretty hard — I mean, she might have $12 million in cash but you can't pay for TV ads with cash. That attracts notice. I'm not sure if you remember the meltdown she had in mid-2002. But the cash-flow problems and news of her son's death came right on the heels of one another. She pulled a bunch of strings to get Charles assigned to a Ranger company. She wanted him in Afghanistan to try to jump start operations there. We put a bug in the Army's ear about certain youthful transgressions and they assigned him to Iraq. Once again, Mommy screeched and screamed until he was moved to a Ranger unit that handled certain problems in Latin America. And you know the rest." There was very little information that Special-Agent-in-Charge Meadows imparted that was new to me. It was almost a year after I met Marcus that he took me into his confidence — as I had taken him into mine about my family and my reluctance to rejoin it. U.S. Attorney Lisa Pellegrini was the one who threw me for a loop with what she had to say. ------- Chapter 14 After we went through the "call me Michael" phase the starts each conversation with a new person, Ms. Pellegrini was to the point. "We have opened a file about the abuses of field office here that transpired over the past 18 months," she said. "I have been directed to offer you limited immunity should you provide testimony to the grand jury. You will be asked solely about the actions of FBI agents who raided your home and the actions that preceded that action. You will be granted immunity for any action that should come out during that discussion." I glanced over at SAC Meadows who had joined me at the conference table. "So, for instance, if I confess to the grand jury that I killed Jimmy Hoffa, I will not be prosecuted?" I asked. "That seems a bit far-fetched." Ms. Pellegrini laughed slightly but Agent Meadows smiled broadly. "I would imagine you were about 2 or 3 when Mr. Hoffa died," he said. "From my past experiences I can say that even if you were charged, I could get you off." The U.S. Attorney's answer was more serious. "Sir," she said because she refused to use my given name, "suffice it to say that this office and Agent Meadow's office is aware of almost everything you do." I knew she was exaggerating — quite a lot, actually. "But, as I'm sure you know — and count on — knowing and proving are two separate issues," she continued. "Your father has been missing for almost 2 years. He has not been seen or heard from since 73 days after giving you power of attorney over his assets. There has been no activity on several personal accounts that we monitor and there have been no sightings of him by people who would recognize the man if they saw him. There is no missing person's report on file and you have spent no money that we can trace in an attempt to locate him. "Your father is dead, sir." "I assumed as much," I answered. "But you can see that I am not extremely broken up over that fact." "Well," Ms. Pellegrini answered. "It certainly provided you with the opportunity to gain power over his empire." "Ma'am," I replied evenly although my temper was starting to rise. "You obviously have no idea of how I live my life. I wanted no part of his empire. In fact, I hoped the old bastard would live forever just so I wouldn't be asked to come back here to deal with it. I came back because my mother — whose father ran this business before my father — asked me to. The old man could have gone to hell as far as I'm concerned. Face it, he was crazier than hell. He believed the CIA, FBI, NSA and probably NASA had infiltrated his organization and were monitoring everything down to his microwave popcorn. "I'm agree he most likely is dead. But he most certainly didn't die so I could take over and run anything." "An informant told the FBI that your father was buried at your residence," she said. "That was the basis of the warrant that allowed them to search your house and to detain you." "And that warrant was quashed," I answered. "For two very simple reasons: my father is not buried on my estate and even if he were there is no way a low-level snitch like Al Giancarlo would have that information." I think I caught my audience off guard with my pronouncement. I turned to Agent Meadows. "Was there any mention in my file about what I was able to dig up on the previous occupants of your office complex?" I asked. "There were vague references but Det. Kay filled me in on the rest," he said. "Pretty impressive work. But with your resources and Mr. Almond's background, I would expect nothing less." "So it would seem child's play for me to gain access to the information that included the CI's name," I answered. "Once the warrant was quashed my attorney subpoenaed the original. The Justice Department forced this office to provide it. Ms. Pellegrini, you signed off on the warrant as well. Or at least an underling affixed your seal to it." "I signed it because I was led to believe it was valid on its face," she answered. "I was led to believe that Mr. Giancarlo was more than he obviously is and I did not do my due diligence in processing the warrant. My bosses came down hard on me and it is only by the most tenuous of threads that I am still in place here. There was talk of the administration asking for my resignation. Does that make you feel better?" "Not in the least," I said. "My point is that Mr. Giancarlo, unless something has befallen him in the past month or so, is still alive and kicking. So are you. So is Agent Danvers and the rest of her crew. I used legal means to secure any information that I possessed about them — and about you. I can recount my adventures with the FBI without fear of perjury and most likely without immunity. The simple fact is that Agent Danvers got in over her head and her people played fast and loose with the rules. You did not keep a close enough watch on her and like it or not, it is your responsibility to watch over her — and Agent Meadows for that matter. "What happens at the field offices lands at the feet of two people — the Agent-in-Charge and the U.S. Attorney for that district. That is one more person than responsibility falls upon in my organization. Where you might be recalled or replaced, in my line of work if things go screw you are replaced in another way. The transfer of power from my father to me was done quietly and without fanfare. I was already the head of the business and had already restructured it when he failed to appear at breakfast one morning. That is the entirety of what the grand jury could possibly hear about my father." "So if you were asked if you know where your father is, how would you answer?" she asked. "I would answer — truthfully — that I have no idea where my father is and I have no idea if he will return," I said. "But I have my suspicions that he is no longer among the living." "And if you were to be asked if you had anything to do with your father's death?" she wondered. "I would expect the U.S. Attorney running the grand jury to remind the questioner that the information is not germane to their investigation," I answered. Meadows hid a small smile. I think a part of him was enjoying this. "Perhaps it is and perhaps it is not," Ms. Pellegrini answered. "The FBI believes you killed your father." "The FBI is not a grand jury," I replied. "And, as you so eloquently stated earlier, knowing doesn't mean proving. But, assuming I accept your offer, do you really think a grand jury is going to hand down indictments on the word of a 'reputed mobster' who has his panties in a twist because the FBI played rough? I wouldn't. The FBI's raid on my house and my arrest was sanctioned by a sitting U.S. Attorney and a federal judge. The fact that they fabricated the information to gain the warrants is immaterial and I would gather that it is somewhat commonplace. They exaggerated the importance of their informant. If Mr. Giancarlo was your witness you would do the same thing — you would play up the fact that he is a member of a crime syndicate with inside knowledge and parse over the fact that the knowledge he does possess doesn't extend farther than where to find the restroom. But I will take your offer under consideration — if for no other reason than to bare my soul about my ungodly number of parking tickets without fear of prosecution." Ms. Pellegrini was not happy with my flip answer. Agent Meadows was downright giddy. "She is pompous and arrogant," he said as he escorted me to my car. "I tried to explain to her that you understood full well that the FBI nor the local police have been able to locate your father or his remains. I doubt we ever will — simply because no one is looking for him. No one wants him back here alive and no one gives a shit if he is dead. The man was a menace — no offense intended." "None taken," I said. "By the way, I wasn't kidding about the parking tickets. Do you have any pull with city government?" "Try Susan Kay," he answered. "I tried," I said with a laugh. "She told me to pay them and leave her the hell alone." "I hear there is a couple hundred thou in one of your old man's accounts," he rejoined. "Pull that out, give old Lisa a heart attack, and pay off the city. Might work out best for all of us." ------- My first visit was to the bank where Linda Cardelli worked. I wanted to give the information that I had learned from Agent Meadows and to let her know that the person she was questioning her was not an FBI agent. Linda smiled warmly when I entered. Linda had parlayed her banking and business experience into a nice job in the loan department. She was a genuinely nice person who had grown up in an environment like, married into something worse and appeared to come out in decent shape. She gave me hope that perhaps I could find a way out of my portion of the business. But I doubted it. I asked Linda if there was somewhere we could speak privately. She shook her head slightly and glanced to her left. I saw a man a few feet away paying rapt attention to our conversation — almost the exclusion of anything else in the room. I turned to him quickly. "Can I help you?" I asked. "Sorry, you look familiar," the man said. "I apologize." I nodded and turned back to Linda. He moved away. It took a second to sink in to my brain. Perhaps the man had been startled to be confronted. Perhaps it was all the language training drummed into my head by Marcus. But I heard it. I heard it and, I'll admit, it frightened me. The man had a very well-hidden but obvious Baltic or Slavic accent beneath his Southern American twang. "Linda," I said with what I hoped was sufficient urgency, "I think I would like to take you to lunch. Can you take the rest of the day off?" Linda's eyes were wide but I didn't think it was from surprise. Perhaps she heard the tone of my voice — or perhaps she had heard the accent bleed through the spy's disguise. "I can't, Michael," she said softly. "You have to be out of this building," I insisted in soft tones to keep the volume to a conversational level. "It is no longer safe for you here." "I have a meeting in Corliss tomorrow," she answered. "I was on my way out when you stopped in. I have to go. It's a huge land deal they're financing and the bank president asked for me by name. It's a seven-hour drive." "Who knows of this meeting?" I asked. "Everyone, I guess," she answered. "Then I believe you are getting a touch of the flu," I insisted. I lowered my voice to a whisper. "That man is either Russian or Chechnyan," I said. "I'm betting Chechnyan because they control Corliss. Appear as if you're going then divert to my house. I'll pick up Amelia from school and bring her there. Linda, I'm sorry. This isn't about you. If we find out the bank president is on the level, I'll personally explain the precautions. But I would suppose this is a way to get to me through you." I saw anger enter Linda's eyes. I had no way of knowing the anger was directed at me. "Fuck you, Michael," she hissed, thankfully in a low voice. "You can't accept the fact that I'm succeeding without your input. You're no better than Rico — or our fathers." The last was a low blow but I don't think Linda regretted it. "Am I still Amelia's guardian?" I asked in a voice that let Linda know that I didn't appreciate her accusation. "For now," she said. "Good," I answered. "Then for now I won't have to worry about her being shipped off to Social Services because you're too fucking stupid to listen to someone who knows a hell of a lot more than you about what these people are capable of. So go to your meeting if you want to. "But don't expect me to come to your rescue if you're wrong. I probably wouldn't be able to if I wanted to," I concluded. Linda stared at me for a moment then collected her purse and headed toward the door. "I'm glad you stopped in," she said in a faux cheery voice. "You sure you don't mind if Amelia stays with you. I meant to call you yesterday but I got caught up in getting ready." "It's never a problem to spend time with my daughter," I replied. "Have a nice trip." Linda looked at me for a moment then turned on her heel and walked from the room. I figured it would be the last time I'd ever see her alive. ------- Chapter 15 I sat silently in my vehicle for a few moments to collect my thoughts. I had suspected that the plant in Linda's office was a rouge federal agent looking to gather dirt on me. I had not for a moment suspected that it was another outfit looking for the opportunity to take over my operation. The Chechnyan Mafia was ruthless. They slaughtered their way to power and they held onto power by being more willing to dole out punishment than the other guy. In my mind, the Chechnyans were the offshoot of my father in his later years. They were absolutely amoral. They had no guilt, no guile and no humanity. I knew my only course of action would lead me down a primrose path but I could see no other way around it. I snuck back into the bank and waited in the lobby for the man I had seen to appear. When he did, I snapped a picture with my cell phone and calmly exited the building. Then I called Douglas Meadows. I had expected to perform a song and dance to get through to him. Instead he answered on the second ring. "Meadows," he said. "Uh, hi, Agent Meadows," I said somewhat deflated because I was counting on ranting and raving to an officious underling before got to speak to the SAC. "It's Michael McPherson." "Hey, long time since I heard from you," he said. "Must be what, 30 or 40 minutes." "I have some information about the man in Linda Cardelli's bank," I said without humor. "He's Baltic, likely Chechnyan. And I have a photo I would like to e-mail to you." "Son of a bitch," Meadows said. "We do not need any fuckin' Chechnyans rolling around in this city." "I tend to agree," I said. "You tend to agree because if they show up it'll mean a war for you," he said. "And likely a war for you," I replied. "Can I upload this photo to you? Do you have an account I can send it that it won't be all over the Federal building in a hour?" He read off his private e-mail and I sent him the photo. I was waiting with scores of parents at Amelia's school when Meadows called back. "Are you somewhere safe?" he asked when I answered. "I'm collecting Amelia from school," I told him. "I've had six men stationed in proximity to the school since I exited Linda's bank." "You've got six there and I've got four," he said. "Good thinking. I wasn't sure if you had the manpower to staff it." "I wondered the same about you," I replied. "We can't find Linda Cardelli," he said. "Do you know where she is?" "No," I answered. "I tried to get her to come to my house for safety. She told me she had an urgent meeting in Corliss and would be driving there this afternoon." "Why didn't you stop her?" he asked urgently. "Jesus, Corliss is teeming with Chechnyans. You should have kept her from going." "How do you propose I do that?" I answered. "I couldn't very well forcibly remove her from her place of employment. I told her the risks she was taking. She told me that I was simply trying to control her — like her husband and her father had — and that I was no better than my father. At that point, I ensured the Amelia would be safe if Linda didn't return and told her I doubted that I would be in a position to rescue her if she found herself in danger. It was the best I could do under the circumstance." I heard a deep sigh from the other end of the phone. "Do you know what bank she was going to in Corliss?" Meadows asked. "I got the impression it was a branch of the bank she works for," I told him. "You'll need to contact her employer if you want more information. Honestly, she pissed me off and I figured that when she walked out of the bank was the last time I'd see her alive." There was additional silence. "What about the girl?" Meadows asked. "I'm her guardian if anything happens to Linda," I said. "That's why I'm here to pick her up." "OK, the man at the bank is an enforcer for the Chechnyans," Meadows said. "Last name of Rubinoff, real piece of work. There are dozens of warrants out on him from various local, state, federal and international jurisdiction. So, if Linda Cardelli contacts her daughter this evening I want you to tell her — in no uncertain terms, Michael — that she is to stay as far away from that bank in Corliss and the bank here tomorrow. That is a direct federal order. Her proximity to either bank will jeopardize an ongoing investigation and she will be detained on the spot. Will you do that?" "Of course," I answered. "The same goes for you or Amelia Cardelli," he continued. "In fact, I think it might be best for you to lay low until I give you the heads up. I know that is asking a lot but I don't think it is in either of our interests for you to be linked with the operation in any way." I was silent for a moment. "Agent Meadows, my cooperation with various police agencies is already well-known," I told him. "It is likely what make the Chechnyans view me as vulnerable." "Michael, make no mistake," Meadows replied. "The past few months are why they viewed you as vulnerable. The upswing in violence is reminiscent of your father. There are many outside of police circles who believe you father has returned or that you have slipped off your rocker like he did. If you believe any differently then I want to disabuse you of that notion pretty quickly. Now you take care of Amelia Cardelli and Linda if you can. Please, let me take care of Victor Rubinoff." I saw Amelia approaching with a large smile so I considered Meadows' statement only briefly before I agreed. But I wondered if a turf war with a well-funded, well-armed and untamed foe was looming on the horizon. And I wondered if I would survive such a war. ------- Both Amelia and I were surprised to see her mother's car in my driveway when we pulled in. "She had a big meeting tomorrow," Amelia said. "It was all she talked about yesterday. Darn, I was looking forward to staying here with you for a few days." "I still think you might," I said with obvious relief. Amelia was sharp and my change in mood did not go unnoticed. "What's going on, Pops?" she asked. "Too much to go into right now," I replied. "We'll talk inside. I'll let your mother explain." Linda greeted us sheepishly when we walked in the door. Well, she greeted me sheepishly. Amelia got a big hug. "Why are you here, Mom?" Amelia asked. "Dad wouldn't tell me." "Honey, I've told you a hundred times, Michael isn't really your father," Linda said with clear frustration. "And I've told you a hundred times that he is," Amelia replied with a self-assurance that I've noticed teenagers seem to possess on rare occasions. "Now will someone please tell me what is going on?" I glanced at Linda who was still staring at her daughter. So I answered. "There is a man at the bank who is in some trouble," I replied. "The FBI thinks it is best for you and your mother to remain out of sight for a few days. I agree and I offered my place instead of protective custody." Both mother and daughter looked over at me. "What did he do?" Amelia asked. "Lots of things from what I've been told," I replied. "There are numerous warrants out for him — federal, state and from Interpol." Recognition settled on Amelia's face. "Your boyfriend, Alex," she said to her mother. "He is not my boyfriend," Linda said. "But yes, it is Alex that Michael is talking about." But Amelia's question had caused a blush to settle over Linda's face. "So this is about you," Amelia said to me. "It appears it might be," I replied. "I'm sorry to have gotten you two involved. I know how much your mother wants to be out of this life." Linda pursed her lips and walked away. "My mother wanted to be away from Rico," Amelia corrected as she dragged me into the sitting room with her mother before she bounced up the stairs to change clothes. "I'm sorry about what I said this afternoon," Linda told me when I sat down opposite her. "I knew I was full of shit when I said it but I lashed out at you anyway. I hope you'll forgive me." "Is that what you really think of me?" I asked. "Not about you, Michael," she said. "I tend to think that way about all men. Even though rationally I understand that your motives were protective and not vindictive I still tend to lump you in with everyone else of your gender. I was about an hour away before my strong sense of self-preservation kicked in. But never once have you forced me to do anything I didn't want to do nor have you tried to coerce or control me." She chewed on her lower lip for a moment before she continued. "I guess that is why you are the only man in the world I trust," she added. "I guess that is why you are the only man in the world I might ever be able to trust." I wasn't certain that I was worthy of her trust but I figured that she could do worse. "Well, I'm glad you turned around and came here," I told her. "I don't know if the meeting tomorrow is on the up and up but even if it is, it will be a relief to know that you're safe." "Are we safe?" she asked. It was a question that I didn't have a long-term answer to. "For now, yes," I stated firmly. "We need to clear up the misconception of Amelia's conception before long however." Linda smiled grimly at my attempted humor. "Perhaps the 250th time will be different from the 249th," she said. "I've told her and told her. You've told her at least once and probably more than that. I think, realistically, she knows it. However..." "Yes," I replied. "There is always the 'however.' I am unsure why she chooses to perpetuate the myth but I'm certain she has her reasons. Perhaps we could convince it is OK to believe that it is safer not to advertise it." Linda cocked her head to the side. "Do you really think that she could be in danger?" she asked. "Fuck yes," I said. "Jesus Christ, this group in brutal. They have no qualms about killing families. That is what I was trying to get across to you this afternoon. Believe me, from what I've heard, death would be a blessing after the other things they do. If they think they can get to me through Amelia or you, don't think they won't." The fact that I had cursed was not lost on Linda. It was something I rarely did in mixed company. "What can we do?" she asked. I shrugged. "I don't know," I replied. "We'll know more after the Feds pick up your buddy tomorrow." Linda's protests about her relationship were interrupted by my cell phone chirping. "McPherson," I answered. It was Agent Meadows. "I finally got the info on the boy in your friend's bank," he told me. "He is one piece of work. He is an enforcer, mid-level. But he's mostly free-lance. I'm not sure if he's looking at your territory for himself or for someone else. I'll let you know after we take him down tomorrow. It looks like he stole the identity of a some guy named Alex Purcell from outside of Brownsville, Texas. Purcell was a banker from down that way. He came up missing in Brussels about 9 months ago. He didn't have much in the way of family but his employer finally reported him missing about six weeks ago." I was listening intently. "Are you sure it's not Purcell?" I asked. I saw Linda's attention snap toward me. "Your guy is 5-9 and Caucasian," Meadows said. "Alexander Purcell is 6-2 and African-American. It seems Rubinoff used Purcell's work visa to get an international drivers license then used the license to get a British passport. He entered the country sometime in the last 5 months but we don't know where, possibly through Mexico. They don't cross-check fingerprints at some of their smaller airports. After that, well, you know how easy it is to get into the U.S. from down there. A foreign national would have to be fingerprinted if he entered the U.S. via plane and believe me, Rubinoff would have set off some major alarms." "You'll be able to bring him down?" I asked. "Depends on if he saw you take his photo," Meadows said. "I don't think he did," I replied. "Obviously if I would have known a little more about him I would have been less obvious. I was not out in the open. I have enough common sense that I didn't want him to eyeball me doing it. But I would guess he has some pretty refined senses in his line of work." "Well, he didn't leave work early and he didn't appear to notice our tail — but he still managed to lose them," Meadows said. "I'd love to have his home address because I really don't want to take him down in public if I don't have to. That's why I'm still trying to find Linda Cardelli. She had a reservation at the Hyatt in Corliss but she didn't show. I'm sorry, Michael." "She's here," I said quickly. "She heeded my warning and came to my house. She was waiting here when I got home. Sorry, I didn't realize you wanted her for anything more than for protection." I turned to Linda. "Do you know where Rubinoff lives?" I asked. I saw confusion on her face. "Purcell," I said. "Where does he live?" Linda's face belied no emotion. "I don't know," she finally answered. I didn't believe her. "Listen to me," I said harshly. "There is no mistaking this. This man is a fucking monster. Now where does he live?" "I don't know, Michael," she said. "I swear I don't. We never went to his house. We only met for lunch." "Does he know where you live?" I asked. "No," she said. "I don't think so. Look, he hinted that he wanted more than friendship but once he started talking about you I thought he was FBI. So I haven't had much to do with him outside of work in the last couple of weeks. I think he might live in one of those new developments over near Briar Wood. But I don't know for sure and I don't know which one." I sigh and started to relay the answer to Meadows but he had already heard. "We were heading in that direction when we lost him," Meadows said. "I'll have them look in that direction. Michael, don't be too hard on her. Without her help we would have no idea that anything like this was even going on." "Maybe I'm just a control freak, Agent Meadows," I said. "But I can tell you I dislike it greatly when things are unpredictable." Meadows laughed. "Then you need a new line of work, son," he said. "Too true," I replied. "But don't go letting the Chechnyans get in here," he added. "I like living a little too much for that." ------- It was two days later before the public knew what those of us in my household and learned the next morning. Victor Rubinoff, wanted in six states and four foreign jurisdictions, had been apprehended without incident as he left his home for work. But Rubinoff didn't get to where he was by selling out his employers. So he was sitting silently in his jail cell while his lawyer and the state department wrangled over which state or country would get him first. The bank president in Corliss was upset by Linda's absence but we produced a doctor's excuse that seemed to appease him. At least until Rubinoff's arrest hit the news then, inexplicably, the bank president simply disappeared. I took that as proof positive that my hunch was correct — Linda was in mortal danger if she had driven to her appointment. Amelia took her unplanned vacation from school in great stride. She spent a day in the pool and the afternoons chatting with her friends on the Net. She was hoping that she would never have to go back. It came as a surprise to me, although I suppose it shouldn't have, when a strange number popped up on my Caller ID of my private line the day Rubinoff's arrest hit the news. "Are you OK, Mac?" Janet asked when I answered. "Relative term," I replied. "But I would suppose that I am." Janet was silent for a few moments. "I read that some mob guy was arrested there this week," she continued. "The newspaper said it was the start of a turf war. Is that's what happened there the past few months?" "No," I answered. "That was all my doing. I figured if everyone was going to treat me like I was a monster, I might as well act like one." There was no reply from the other end. I figured she had hung up on me but as I was preparing to click off Janet spoke again. "I'm sorry, Mac," she said. "It was stupid of me to act that way. Then to just disappear like that. Amelia told Lila the guy worked in Linda's bank. Is that right?" "How did Amelia tell Lila anything," I wondered. "Linda and Amelia are both here for their safety and I certainly didn't give her permission to call Lila." "They chat on the computer," Janet replied. "Mac, I know you're angry at me but I hope you're not angry at Lila. She didn't want to leave." "I'm not angry at either of you," I told her. "I was hurt but I wasn't angry. And I certainly wouldn't have done anything to harm you. You didn't need to run away from your life here." "Damn it, I wasn't scared of you," she said hotly. "I was scared for you. If those new folks want your territory why don't you give it to them. You can have a new life somewhere." "Janet, those people as you call them are worse than the drug cartel in Mexico," I said. "Where would that leave Susan Kay or the other folks who live here? They would think nothing about doing unimaginable things to Amelia just because of who she is. The same with Linda. What do I do with them? These Chechnyans have no compunction about killing cops or judges or their families. They kill everyone and everything that gets in their path. I can't do that to the people here." "What does Marcus think?" she asked. It was my turn to be silent. "Marcus is gone," I told her after a few seconds. "Gone?" she asked urgently. "Who do you have to look out for you? What do you mean gone? Oh my God, Mac. Please tell me nothing happened to Marcus?" "Nothing happened to him," I replied. "This got a little hot for him so I sent him away." "Well you need to get him back," she insisted. "No way to do that," I said. "It was a preset plan. Marcus has a new identity in a new location and I hope a new life. He deserves that much." Janet's reply was so soft I barely heard it. "So do you, Mac," she whispered. "Maybe I deserve it but I won't get it," I said. "I can keep the Chechnyans at bay for years. Meanwhile I'll try to hit them where they live. I'll take the fight to them, if I have to." "Give it to someone else," Janet said. "Get someone else to do it." "Then what?" I asked. "Whoever I give it to won't feel safe until I'm dead. That's the way it works here. You don't cede territory. It's taken from you by force. I would be safer staying here then going anywhere else." "You said Marcus has a new identity," she said. "Do you? You can come here. We're far enough away that no one would even recognize you. You can have a life here." "I would still have to be me," I said. "Marcus was good at what he did. But there was never a reason to make me someone else. It's not the way the real world works. Besides, that would leave Amelia unprotected. I won't do that. She has pretty much announced to the world that she is my daughter. She would be in constant danger if I left here." "Take her with you," Janet said. I have to admit that I admired her single-minded determination — once upon a time. Now it just seemed like nagging. "And Susan Kay and Douglas Meadows and even Lisa Pellegrini?" I asked. "I don't know who the last two are, but Susan Kay is an adult, Mac," she insisted. "She has the ability to make her own decisions. I'm sure she is smart enough to make a move if her job gets too dangerous. Besides, Mac. If the Chechnyans start a war there, she is going to get caught up in anyway. Anyone in your line of work will know who she is and what she used to do. She will be one of the first people in danger." Intellectually I understood that Janet was correct on many levels. I had also considered doing almost everything she had suggested at one time or another. Now the situation precluded me from taking any action at all. "Mac, are you still there?" I heard Janet asked. "Yes, I'm here," I told her. "This is not as easy for me as you seem to think it is. In fact, nothing that you seem to think is easy for me really is." "I know or at least I know now," Janet said. "I hope you know that main reason I pulled away from you wasn't about you. It was more about me. I had some issues I didn't even realize I had. When they caught up to me it was easier to flee from you than to face them. They are things about my parents and upbringing and things about Leo. The whole time I was convincing myself that you were doing something dangerous or illegal I knew you weren't. That's why I had to work so hard to convince myself. The dual portions of your personality made it easy for me to accuse of you. It took me some time, even after I left, for me to understand exactly why that was and exactly how I feel about you. "I've been seeing someone here and I think it's finally starting to sink in what you mean to me." I blinked my eyes hard when I considered her statement. "Janet, is someone there causing you difficulties?" I asked as gently as I could. "There is nothing I wouldn't do to help you or Lila. That hasn't changed. If the person you're seeing is pressuring you or is a danger to you, just say the word. I will always be on your side." The reaction wasn't what I expected. Janet burst out in laughter. "That is exactly what I mean, Mac," she said. "I treated you like shit for the last month we were together. I dumped you via e-mail rather than face you like an adult. Still, if I'm in a situation, you'd help me. Mac, I'm seeing a psychologist. I'm not dating someone. I'm sorry if I was unclear about that." "Well, you were unclear so I'll accept the apology," I replied. "And I apologize for jumping to an incorrect conclusion." Janet laughed again. But her voice was serious when she spoke. "I was scared," she said. "Not of what you did or of your reputation or even of what could possibly happen to you. I was scared because of how quickly and how deeply you became a huge portion of my life. I was scared because I gave up control of my emotions to you. You could put me in a good mood after a horrible day at work. You made me feel protected after years of worrying about things. It was too hard for me to face the fact the Leo fucked up my mind pretty good. It's not easy to face your fears." "I know that," I replied. "I had to face the same fears as you did." "I know that — now," she said sadly. "Then there is the thing with Leo," I said. "That is not an issue," Janet asserted. "Since that moment it has never been a consideration to me. You would have thought that should have told me something. Mac, damn it, what I'm saying is that regardless of what I tried to convince myself of, I never, not once, had a real qualm about what you do or who you are. I think that bothered me as much as anything. I could picture my mother's mocking voice in my head, berating me about Leo when I was 16 years old. I could see my father's face when he told me that I was unworthy to live in his house any longer. It has taken almost a year to figure out that my issues don't stem from you. They stem entirely from the fact that I love you. And even more so from the fact that you love me." There was no reply to what she said so we each sat silently for a few moments. "I would like it if you could come here — at least for a few days," Janet said quietly. "I would like to sit with you and explain some of what has been going through my head the past 18 months — or at least try to." "That really isn't possible right now," I said. "I know it isn't right now but I hope you'll consider it," she said. "I'm pretty sure that you and Linda could use a vacation and I know Lila would love to see Amelia again. I know you can't leave them up there right now and I know it's unfair of me to ask." "It isn't unfair," I said. "But, well, I think there is a real possibility that I turned into exactly who you convinced yourself I was. The last few months has not been a time for good decisions." "What happened with Marcus?" she asked. "If it's OK to talk about it." "Marcus' main ability was his ability to remain seemingly invisible," I said. "My actions stole that ability from him." "So you have no one there who you absolutely trust?" she wanted to know. "Absolutely? No," I said. "Please think about leaving, Mac," Janet said. "Even if it's only for a few weeks until things quiet down. Please don't put yourself in danger." I promised Janet that I would do my best to remain alive. When the call ended I turned to see Linda and Amelia watching me closely. "Janet?" Linda asked with a raised eyebrow. "That must come as a surprise." "She read about Rubinoff," I said. "She was worried about things." Amelia nodded. "And you need to be careful which information you pass along via the computer," I said. "I'm certain you and Lila did nothing to quell her fears." At least Amelia had the sense to look abashed. ------- Chapter 16 The next rock to fall also came via telephone, this one a little more unexpected. "Michael McPherson?" a voice asked three weeks after I spoke to Janet. I replied I was. "My name is Jacques Thierry," he said. "We've never met but I know much about you." The way he said it made me chuckle inwardly. "I am not an easy man to know," I replied. Marcus burst out in laughter before he returned to his Thierry persona. "I have heard that is true," he said. "But not impossible. I believe you and I have a mutual acquaintance or two. Max Barnes sends his regards. I have garnered much information about you and your life. Did I happen to catch you at your office or at your home?" "What about in between?" I asked. "Impossible," Marcus said jovially. "You would never answer the phone if you were driving and I know you don't allow anyone to drive but you." He had a point. "I am at home," I said. "Excellent," he replied. "How are you father's investment profiles?" I sat silently for a moment before I understood. "Unchanged," I said. "I'm not certain he has checked them in years. I know I haven't." "Perhaps you should," he said. "It would be nice to know if he was planning to return." I slid out the drawer of my grandfather's desk and turned it over. It was where Marcus and I had found my father's stash of blackmail photos years before. There was another manila envelope beneath the false bottom. I poured its contents on the desk. "One of our mutual friends is extremely worried," Marcus said. "Worried enough that he plans to return in the next week if you don't specifically instruct him that you accept his gift." The contents was an entirely new identity for me, Linda and Amelia: new birth certificates; new driver's licenses for Linda and me; new passports and new information to learn a new identity. There was even bank cards and credit cards in the names we could use. "This is a generous gift, I'm certain," I said, choked with emotion. "I hope I'll be able to use it." "You will, my friend," Marcus said. He was no longer using his French accent. "I will see to that. I have been working behind the scenes since I got here. There are things going on that I'm not aware of. I'm certain of that. But this is something that I had to do for you. I've had this set up for years. Those credit cards have been used as have the passports. They're real. They are not replicas. You understand the legend. There is a package for you at work. French diplomatic pouch, if you must know. Open it and follow instructions. Will you do that? Otherwise, I'll see you soon and you know I will." "You can't," I said. "It's bigger than that." "I know how big it is," he said. "We have more than a few mutual friends. I am aware of almost everything you are, particularly in that sense. Have you watched the news today?" "No," I said. "My houseguests have claimed the television. Something of interest?" "To me, I found it very interesting," he said. "I believe you will, too. Michael, just keep an open mind." I smiled at the words. They were exactly the same one I used when I was trying to convince Marcus to join my enterprise. "I will but I make no promises," I replied. "There are some things I'm not comfortable with — not many, I'm sure. But there are a few." Marcus laughed at the memory right along with me. ------- The package was where Marcus promised it would be. I wondered how my friend and confidante had come to have so much influence in a new country so quickly. I guess I shouldn't have. Inside was what appeared to be a cell phone but I suspected it was more. There was another set of identities, this one for Janet and Lila. Marcus' note said they took a little longer to put together but they were legit. It was a little more difficult to set up a new identity for an American citizen. The U.S. government had few law enforcement agencies that were excluded from the national fingerprint database. It was even compiling a DNA marker database. Something so innocuous as a stray hair in a room could be traced back to a person if the government was inclined to look for it. It was the main reason that Marcus always insisted that we take chartered planes from out of the way places to our foreign destinations. It was why my attorney had insisted that all record of my brief foray into federal custody be expunged. To the best of my knowledge, I had never been fingerprinted nor given a DNA sample. The Conroys each had fingerprints on someone's computer system. Lila had been fingerprinted as a child — ostensibly to guard against abduction but the government stored those fingerprints in the same database as those of criminals, police officers and foreign nationals. At least that was Marcus' contention. I truly didn't know but I suspected firmly that he would. Janet was fingerprinted because she had access to narcotics and it was hospital policy to run a full criminal background check on its employees. A few minutes in front of my computer brought up the news Marcus wanted me to know: Sen. Buderman had expired of a burst aneurysm at her D.C. townhouse. I wondered if Meadows knew. Then I wondered if he had anything to do with it. One call confirmed the first but disabused me of the second. In fact, he wondered the same thing about me. We had a chuckle about that. "So does that mean Marcus will be returning?" he asked. "I don't think so," I said. "From what a mutual friend tells me, Marcus is doing well for himself and he is extremely happy." I paused for a moment. "In fact, I'm thinking about joining him in retirement," I said. Meadows was silent. "Is that possible?" he asked. "If it is, I think I would help you if I could." That was another surprise in a month of them. "It is possible," I said. "It is not, however, feasible." He understood me immediately. "I have information that you might find useful," he said. "OK," I told him. "Can you visit me here?" he asked. "In my office. Some of this stuff is sensitive." "Tomorrow?" I asked. "I have some information here that I need to parse through that is urgent." "Anytime, Michael," he said. "But we need to talk before you decide for sure." "I agree," I said. "And I wouldn't do otherwise. My friends in your line of work are why I haven't just said to hell with it." Meadows groaned. "I owe Kay another $20," he said. "She said you would be one of the main reasons you would fight. Damn it. We're supposed to be adversaries. Didn't you get that memo?" "I got it," I said. "I just don't believe our goals are divergent in all areas. The memo said they had to be." "Old-school," Meadows said with appreciation. "Call me when you have some time." I promised I would. ------- "Damn," I said aloud. The information in Marcus' package set me back. How in the hell he gathered that much data from halfway across the globe astounded me. But it didn't affect the validity of what he had sent. I followed his instructions and used the phone he had sent to me. "It's the middle of the night here, Michael," he chided with a laugh when he answered. I was caught off guard for a moment. "I don't know where you are so I had no way of knowing that," I said "You know where I am," he joked. "I had that scrubbed from my memory," I insisted. "I was unwilling to risk a friend for my foolishness. Is this safe?" "Eminently," he said. "Unless a certain foreign government has you on their radar. You're reach is long, Michael. But not that long." "It's good to hear from you," I said. "You, too," he replied. "It's also good that I don't have to act like an uneducated enforcer, too." "I know that was difficult for you," I said. "You know I never thought of you that way." "Of course not," he replied. "I learned a lot from you, Michael. Enough that it hasn't taken me long to establish myself as one of the pre-eminent, if somewhat reclusive, investors in Europe. I believe you have found that money buys much, especially in some circles. Rubinoff will be dead within a week. I have that on solid ground. He was freelancing for himself. Some of his former associates are not pleased he chose to stretch his wings. He is not set up for the administrative side of the business." "I'm surprised that he has lasted this long," I replied. "I knew the group for whom he worked would not be pleased in the least. The fact he was acting on his own could not have made him any friends." "The word is that his usefulness has expired," Marcus confirmed. "He has become a liability. Ironically, they are not interested in pursuing your territory. Corliss is undergoing some major changes in the next weeks. They don't see the financial upside because so much of what you do is actually legitimate. They know that they don't have people in place to keep that. All they would get is the low-end market and they don't view it as worth the effort." He laughed grimly. "The actions that led me across here actually help you," he added. "They assumed it was a low-level take over try. The fact that you dealt with it so harshly gave them pause. It was a side of you that many were surprised to see." "At least there is that," I said without humor. "Did you read the rest of what I sent to you?" he asked. "It came as a surprise to me," I replied. "Do you think that Hammond will be interested in that?" "I know for a fact that he is," Marcus said. "His son is pretty much like you. He wants a way to prove himself. But, well, his father isn't planning to expire for another 40 years or so. That creates a problem. I sent you info on the territory he is running for the old man." "Old man?" I asked. "The old man is only 10 or 12 years older than we are." Marcus laughed. "I think it would be a seamless transition," Marcus said. "In fact, the son views your organization as a model for what he wants to achieve." I sighed heavily. "I can't believe that I'm considering giving up everything my grandfather worked to build," I said. "It's a different world, Michael," he replied. "Your mother was as influential in getting me to leave Baltimore as you were. She understood that you weren't cut out for what needed to be done. But she thought I was. I would say that she was correct, wouldn't you?" "Maybe now that the heat is off you should take over," I said. I heard Marcus snort. "And leave all this?" he said. "Mac, I live on a yacht in the Mediterranean. If I told you the name of the woman who shared my bed Saturday night you would call me a liar. We are set financially — both of us. You could take 10 percent of your net worth and live comfortably forever. Young Hammond wants to buy in. I think if you would offer to take 50 cents on the dollar he would jump at the chance. I would guess he would be willing to go as high as 75 cents on the dollar without a blink." "I would offer to sign it over everything but my personal accounts and a couple of business investments that I want to keep an eye on," I told him honestly. "Jesus, Mark. I just want out. I want to get away from this. I saw how easy it is to fall into this life. It happened before I even knew what happened. Young Hammond might find the same situation but at least he has a father he respects to keep him in line." "You saw the abuses of power your father perpetuated," Marcus replied. "I know you found them offensive. You went to the other extreme, Boss. You insisted on being hands on for too much of the nasty shit. That is not your personality. You tried to force yourself to do it so it would be harder for you to order. Instead it became easier for you to do. I saw it but I couldn't stop it. I wanted to but I didn't know how." There seemed little more to say on the subject. I knew he was right and so did he. "So you are already in negotiations with Hammond to help Junior take over here?" I asked. "Negotiations? No," Marcus said. "I have broached the subject with him personally and I have spoken to Young Hammond about it. Neither of them is willing to make a move on you. There is a respect there, Michael. Even the old man doesn't want to risk your anger even though he has pieces in place to actually take over completely." "Young Hammond," I said. "Christ, Mark. What is the guy's name?" He laughed. "Michael," he replied. "Oh, OK," I said with a smile. "He would still be willing to help out with small businesses? I mean, it's a huge moneymaker." "It is and he knows it," he replied. "He is a disciple of the Michael McPherson school of shady business. He doesn't have the capital to do much because, well, his father still controls the money. But if he had access to the capital that you possess he would probably expand it originally. At least until he got burned a time or two." It was a subtle jab at my methods when I took over. "He also has a little more training in the other side, Michael," Marcus continued. "He would be slightly less efficient in the legit part. He would be eminently more efficient in the less-than-legal parts. Your grandfather's legacy has changed. It changed as soon as you took over. Personally, I think he would be thrilled at the direction it has gone — at least from what your mother told me. He would not be disappointed in the least if you were to transfer title to someone else. So long as you are happy. That was what your mother worried about most. That you would lose yourself in the business. The part of you she loved — the part of you that was her — would be lost to the world. It has almost happened, Boss." It had happened more than even Marcus knew. "So I guess I need to take up a hobby, I suppose," I said. I couldn't believe the decision had already been made in my mind. "I would suggest bedding Hollywood movie stars," Marcus said. "Jesus, Boss, I got to tell someone." He mentioned the name of his bed partner the previous weekend. "You are kidding me?" I said. "You are such a bastard. My dream girl and you scoop her up and discard her so casually. What about her husband?" "I did not spend the night with her husband," Marcus confirmed. "In fact, his name was never mentioned. Nor was yours, I might add. Besides, I think your dream girl lives about 300 miles south of you. You are no better cut out for what I'm doing than you are for what you are. You're cut out to be a father and a husband. You're cut out to be home every evening and to be riding go-karts on Saturday morning." He had me pegged. "That is within reach, you know," he said. "I shouldn't tell you this and I hope you will not be angry. But I put someone on Janet and Lila almost as soon as they moved. She is doing well but not as well as she would be doing with you beside her. Lila misses the positive influence you had on her but she is still doing well." "I spoke to Janet a few weeks ago," I said. "Maybe I should take a few weeks to establish the identity and run with it." "Your legend will withstand extreme scrutiny," Marcus told me. "For all intents and purposes — or even in tents and porpoises — it is you. I created that identity almost 7 years ago. The company is legit and so are the investments. I had someone make all the trades that you see in your portfolio. Even the degrees you hold will be confirmed by the university in question. It is not as prestigious as Ivy League but you can't have everything. They will confirm you graduated with an MBA. The age is a little younger even, a year. So you can regain your youthful enthusiasm." "Damn, Mark," I said in admiration. "I knew, even if you didn't, that this day was coming," he replied. "Honestly, I figured it would be sooner. Now, Amelia and Lila will have no problems with theirs if it comes to that. Linda should have no problem. Her legend is not far from her real life. That leaves only Janet. Janet's will be fine unless someone takes a hard look at it. It was just too difficult to make something for her so quickly. The testing requiring for nurses and the relative newness of her career is troublesome. Also, please know that both she and Lila have been fingerprinted. I'm good, Michael, but I am nowhere near that good." I laughed. "Slacker," I said. "I don't think the four of them will even need it, do you?" Marcus thought for a moment. "No," he said. "Linda and Amelia are not on anyone's radar. Neither are Janet or Lila. If you were to, say, move about 300 miles away from your location I strongly suspect that no one would pay any attention to James McKenzie. If no one pays attention to James McKenzie, no one will pay attention to Janet or Lila. The only issue is if Linda or Amelia decided to stay where they are. If they stay, you can't let them know who you are or where to find you." I laughed. "Mark, Amelia and Lila are on the computer to each other every day," I said. "There would be no way to hide it." "Computers are very beneficial but in the hands of children they create a problem," he laughed. "Do you think I could simply leave here and re-appear there as myself?" I wondered. "Of course you could," he replied. "What you can't do is assure that no one will ever look for you. Michael McPherson has enemies. James McKenzie does not. But you know as well as I do that every link to your past will have to be forgotten. If Amelia and Linda won't come — as themselves or as someone else — you'll have to encourage Lila to break her friendship. Or you will have to keep from renewing a friendship with the Conroys." It gave me pause for more than one reason. "Does this mean this is the last time we'll be speaking," I asked. "Oh, in an amazing twist, Mr. Thierry and Mr. McKenzie have been business partners on numerous ventures," he said. "Some would even consider them friends. Although Mr. McKenzie is somewhat hard to reach. Mr. Thierry is always able to get in touch with his friend. I've heard they sometimes vacation together." I sat silently shaking my head. "Well, I think first thing is to talk with Linda and Amelia," I said. "Then I think I should speak to Young Hammond and gauge his interest. Does that sound like a plan?" "Boss, you were always the brains," Marcus said. "I'm just the facilitator." ------- It was a bright day as I pulled into the parking lot of the doctor's office. I sat in the driver's seat and tried to get my heart to stop racing. "It'll be alright, Mac," Lila said from beside me. "Yeah, Pops," Amelia intoned from the back seat. "Don't sweat it." I glanced at her but I wondered. Things were still moving a little too fast for me. Still, it felt right. I walked across the parking lot and glanced inside. My accomplice saw me and motioned me inside. I saw several patients grumble when I was immediately escorted to an exam room. One face in particular seemed less agitated than the rest. "It might be a few minutes," the woman told me. "We're a little backed up." I smiled and took my spot. It was less than two minutes when the door opened and another woman walked in. She was studying a chart and seemed confused. The confusion was magnified when she saw me. "Mac?" she asked. "What are you doing down there?" "Janet Conroy, will you marry me?" I asked from bended knee. The chart she was looking at clattered to the floor. Linda, my accomplice and the doctor's wife and office manager, stepped in. She was followed by her daughter, Janet's daughter and my business partner, Jacques Thierry. "Yes, Mr. McKenzie," she said. "I'll marry you." ------- The 18 months preceding had been whirlwind. My new identity was not very different from my old one. I simply had less on my plate and less to worry about. That does not mean I had nothing to worry about. Michael Hammond proved to be a successful businessman trapped in an organized crime family. He wanted less to do with the unsavory portions of the business so he appointed one of his father's trusted lieutenants to deal with it. Then he worked to grow the McPherson Group. Hammond refused to change the name. He felt the specter of my father and the astute moves I had made lent an air of authority to his holdings. I didn't divest myself completely of my holdings for more than a year. I sold him controlling interest and he paid me the rest 12 months later. The hardest thing for me to let go was my grandfather's house. But I knew it was necessary. To make a new start, I had to eliminate all ties to my former life. I sold it to an oil magnate's third ex-wife. She was a nice lady, introduced to me by Michael Hammond, and she planned to raise her three children there. I truly hope their lives turn out well. Moving to the town where Janet and Lila had set up a home proved less troublesome. I alerted each of them that I planned to live there. I knew Lila would greet the news enthusiastically but I wasn't certain about Janet. Her response caught me off-guard. She wanted me to live with her and Lila "until I could find a place of my own." Well, I never did. Instead, the three of us live in a house that probably could fit into my former dining room. I have untold millions sitting in an off-shore account but Janet and I were content to live on her salary and the dividends I received from my holdings as James McKenzie. It was refreshing and I honestly enjoyed sitting down and making a monthly budget with her. Lila was frustrated with the arrangement. I believe she planned for us all to move to a mansion and that she would drive a different exotic car to school every day. Instead she gets an allowance and drives a 10-year-old Honda. She has, reluctantly, come to enjoy our little family. I asked Janet to marry me almost as soon as I set foot in town. She declined, saying that she thought we should spend more time learning about living together and establishing a life that included the other. Although it made sense to me, her answer surprised me. About a year into our arrangement I got the sense that Janet was frustrated that I had not asked again. The good portions of our previous time together were quickly remembered and re-established. The lesser portions were gone and forgotten. However I knew the next time I asked her to marry me would be the last time. I knew a portion of her was still scared of commitment. I was not willing to risk what we had on the chance that she would say no. I had to be certain marriage was what she wanted. Two months after I moved south, Linda and Amelia followed. I think our city was lonely and I think Linda realized her job at the bank was dead-end. She eventually gave into the pressure her daughter exerted to move to where I was. Or maybe the pressure was to move to where Lila was and I was just an afterthought. Four years after meeting my self-appointed daughter, I still had a hard time guessing what Amelia was truly about. Janet found Linda a spot in the doctor's office where she worked and a year later Linda and the doctor eloped to Las Vegas one weekend while Amelia was at our house. Amelia greeted the news well but she still called me "Pops." Linda's abrupt wedding really put the fire to my feet. Janet didn't say anything but Lila, Amelia and Linda began giving me very unsubtle hints that it was about time. Fittingly, it was Mark who pointed out the error of my ways. Marcus — or I've come to know him, Jacques — had truly taken a vacation from all forms of stress. He avoided the limelight in France but he always seemed to attract a bevy of famous women to his chamber. I could never figure out how the two worlds meshed until I saw it in action. I flew to meet him for two weeks during the winter and I watched his system firsthand. The woman were all married with husbands who were equally as famous or more famous than they were. Their dalliances required discretion and Jacques was nothing if not discreet. I watched him take home a young TV starlet two-thirds his age from a private party in Nice. I could only shake my head as I saw it play out. It truly was masterful. But I knew it wasn't a life I wanted. Jacques knew that perhaps better than I did. He pointedly told me that his life would soon be mine if I didn't take the next step with Janet. He knew as well as I did that I'd leave all my friends behind and move again if things fell apart. He also knew as well as I did that my hesitation was pushing things to that point. So a month later, I proposed. Fittingly, I hope, we decided upon a civil ceremony. ------- The End ------- Posted: 2009-06-07 Last Modified: 2009-11-27 / 08:59:51 am ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------