They were grilling Cara in her room while she sat on her bed with her arms folded across her chest. The guy inside the cart and the room service guy had been taken into custody. It was dramatic and tense and Cara couldn’t turn off her journalist tendencies.
“So why would someone want to kill you?” Officer Dority asked.
She didn’t like how her robe rose up when she sat, so she stood and paced. “I don’t know,” she lied.
Dority didn’t look convinced.
There was a knock and Dority’s partner opened the door.
“We’ve got all the testimony we need,” a uniformed officer said. “She wasn’t involved. She was the target.”
Dority nodded, then waved him off. Once the door closed, he said, “How do you know Tommy?”
“He’s an old friend,” she said. “Now, I have a question for you .”
“Shoot.”
“Tell me about the officer who took Tommy to headquarters?”
Dority looked over at his partner and got a blank stare.
“We’ve never seen him before,” Dority said.
“What do you mean?”
“Did he say who he was?”
“No. Why did he take Tommy?”
Dority didn’t have an answer for that.
A jolt of fear ran up the back of Cara’s neck. “You split up the witnesses and compare stories,” she said looking at Dority for confirmation. “Isn’t that the correct procedure?”
He shrugged. “That’s how it’s normally done. Did Tommy threaten him? Resist arrest?”
“No.”
“Well, then I have an even better question,” Dority said. “How did he get here so fast? Jeff and I were across the street grabbing a coffee when the call came in. We ran right over. How did that guy beat us here?”
Cara didn’t need to hear any more. Her reporter bone throbbed in her head. She picked up her phone from the dresser and went through her contact list. She found the name she was looking for and pressed the button.
* * *
They were still going north on Central, past Orleans and now transitioning into Hartford, past St. Francis of Assisi, toward the Beltway. Tommy didn’t know where they were headed, but he knew his best chance of surviving was getting out of the Crown Vic before it got there.
“Listen buddy, I’m sorry,” Tommy said.
“For what?”
“For whatever happened when you were a kid that turned you into an asshole.”
Again, the smiling eyes.
“I mean, your dad was a real prick, right?”
“Nope.”
“Your mom?”
“They were great.”
“C’mon. What happened?”
The guy made eye contact, then paused, before he said, “You really want to know?”
“I really do.”
“The short answer is—my brother was recruited by the Chechen Mafia when I was fourteen. We came from a poor family and the money was really good.”
“You mean the money you stole?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a heartwarming tale. What’s your name anyway?”
“Malkin.”
“So, Malkin, are you taking me to be murdered?”
“Only after you tell us everything you know about that bitch back there.”
“Sure,” Tommy said. “Makes sense.”
“You were simply in the wrong place, that’s all. We’ll get to her once the smoke clears.”
Tommy slid down and stretched his legs up onto the cage that separated them, ready to start kicking.
Malkin showed his pistol, then placed it up against Tommy’s foot. “You make one stupid move, and I’ll end your life right here. You want that?”
Of course he didn’t, but Tommy also knew he couldn’t wait until he got to their destination. He pulled his legs down. “So where are you taking me?”
Malkin turned on the heat, directing the majority of the blast to the front windshield to remove a layer of ice. “Someplace where you can offer us information for your life.”
“Yeah, because you’re gonna let me live, right?” Tommy said, unable to remove the sarcasm from his voice.
“Maybe. We are reasonable people.”
“Sure you are. Tell me something, what did Cara do to get a hit called on her?”
“It’s a family thing. Her father was interfering with our business. We had to eliminate anyone who might retaliate.”
“You know she’s a journalist.”
“I am well aware.”
“That play a part?”
Malkin shrugged. “Does it matter?”
It didn’t. These people weren’t exactly concerned about negative press. Tommy groped for an exit strategy while examining the landscape. It was late and the darkness and the snowfall conspired to reduce the visibility of possible witnesses. It felt like they were driving inside of a tunnel.
“How long before we get there?” Tommy asked.
“Soon,” Malkin said. “You can start preparing your lies now so you can get them out of the way.”
As the snow blanketed the road ahead of them, Tommy looked through Malkin’s sideview mirror and spotted a pair of headlights behind them. They were the right size and shape of a police vehicle, but there were no emergency lights on the roof.
Occasionally the Crown Vic’s tires slipped on a layer of slush and Malkin had to slow down to keep the tires on the worn pathway in front of them.
“I don’t get it,” Tommy said. “Why couldn’t you work out your differences with the Perrino family?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I understand better than you think,” Tommy said. “I used to work for Sal Perrino.”
Malkin looked over his shoulder. “Really?”
“Another lifetime ago, when he lived in Baltimore. I ran book for him.”
“Makes it easier for me to kill you.”
“You should’ve left his daughter out of it. She has nothing to do with his business.”
“Too bad. We made a promise we would eliminate his family and we keep our promises.”
Tommy was curious about something. “Why not take Cara, if she’s who you’re after?”
“She was wearing a robe,” Malkin said.
“Huh,” Tommy said. “And you didn’t have time for her to change before the real police arrived.”
Malkin nodded. “You were the next best thing. Give us all the details we need and we’ll get her the next time.”
Tommy glanced over his shoulder at the same headlights behind them. He pulled out a purple toothpick from his jacket and dug it between a couple of molars. “You seem awfully confident, I mean going up against the Sicilians like that.”
Mean eyes now. “Fuck you.”
“That offends you somehow?”
Malkin turned his attention toward the narrow path of tire tracks in the asphalt in front of them, steering the vehicle to gain as much traction as possible. There was hardly any traffic, so the road was even darker than usual.
“You feel Sicilians are inferior?” Tommy asked.
“Something like that.”
“I see.”
A car pulled up next to them and drew even with Tommy. The passenger window was half-open so he could see the guy’s face. Tommy casually reached over and fastened the seat belt around his waist.
“You know Sicilians have a lot of black blood in them,” Malkin said.
“I could only hope.”
“You think that’s a good thing?”
“Why not? As long as some of that black blood lingers around my schlong.”
“You are sick.”
“So I’ve been told.”
There was a sudden jerk as the car in the next lane sideswiped them, pushing the Crown Vic into the sidewalk while Malkin fought for control. Their vehicle lost traction, and the front end bumped against the curb and the car bounced sideways. It felt like they were gliding across a frozen lake. Both vehicles were sliding down the snow-covered road, side-by-side.
“Fuck!” Malkin shouted.
The back end climbed the sidewalk as the car slid into a snowdrift. Tommy covered his head with his arms to mitigate the impact. As the laws of inertia took over, the Crown Vic jolted to a stop. The car next to them stopped. The passenger door opened and a man jumped out with a rifle and ran to the front of the Crown Vic. A thin red laser beam penetrated the windshield and left its mark on Malkin’s face.
Malkin had already shoved the pistol up against the cage and pointed directly at Tommy. “You are dead, you understand?”
Tommy’s heart hiccupped, but he knew he wasn’t quite dead yet because once Malkin pulled the trigger, he signed his own death sentence.
A man wearing a heavy black overcoat stepped out of the car from the driver’s side. With snowflakes streaming down, he approached the Crown Vic and knocked on the window with leather gloves.
“Roll your window down,” Tommy said. “Listen to your options.”
“I have no options.”
“Your family deserves to see you again. Don’t do this to them.”
Malkin’s face got more severe.
Another knock on the window.
“C’mon,” Tommy said. “Don’t you want to know how this ends?”
“I already know.”
Another knock.
“Aw, fuck,” Malkin said, rolling down the window, but keeping his pistol on Tommy.
“What are you doing, Malkin?” the man said through the open window.
“How do you know my name?” The guy had twisted completely around and had his back to the windshield in the passenger side of the car, all the while training his pistol at Tommy.
“It’s my job.”
Tommy didn’t like the look on the Malkin’s face. It was a look of desperation and it caused his stomach to lurch upward.
“Who . . . who are you?”
“Special Agent Nick Bracco,” he said. “That guy out there with the rifle pointed at your head is my partner Matt McColm. He’s the FBI’s top sharpshooter.”
Malkin looked like he had a million questions. “How the fuck did you—”
“Cara called me,” Nick said, glancing at Tommy in the back seat. “She sensed something was wrong. I tracked Tommy through the GPS on his phone.”
Malkin’s hands quivered. Maybe the cold, maybe the situation.
“I want you to listen to me, Malkin,” Nick said. “I know what you’re thinking and you need to stop. I’m better at this than you are.”
“What am I thinking?”
“You’re thinking about dying right here and taking Tommy with you. Trust me, there’s a better option.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Think about Sasha and Liza.”
Malkin’s eyes darted back and forth between Nick and Tommy. His lips quivered. “How do you—”
“I told you,” Nick said. “It’s my job.”
Malkin shook his head, not believing or not wanting to believe.
Nick leaned over and put his elbows on the door. “Here are your options. Put the gun down and I’ll charge you with impersonating an officer. That’s it. No kidnapping, nothing else. You’ll get two years max and probably spend a few months inside at the most.”
“That’s not bad,” Tommy said, his heart pounding like a woodpecker in his chest.
Malkin didn’t seem convinced. A pair of headlights came up from behind and Nick waved the car around them.
“Let me give you another scenario,” Nick said. “You pull that trigger, then Matt kills you. Now, on the surface that may seem acceptable. You did your job and die a Chechen hero. Your family will be taken care of by the Chechen Mafia and they’ll lavish them with praise and protection. They’ll get the royal treatment.”
Tommy’s lips went dry listening to the description of his death.
“However,” Nick continued. “I will leak to the media that you were an informant for the FBI and gave us valuable information about the Chechen Mafia.” Nick let that sink in for a minute. “You see where I’m going here? You die a snitch. And your family is . . . well, I don’t need to tell you what happens next.”
“That’s bullshit,” Malkin spat back at him. “You would never do that.”
Nick gestured to the back seat, then gave Malkin a deadly sneer. “That’s my cousin back there, pal. You have no idea what I would do if he were harmed. Don’t forget, Mr. Umarov, I am Sicilian too.”
When Malkin looked over, Nick was nodding his head, selling it with a straight-faced glare.
A drop of sweat crawled down Tommy’s neck.
Nick held out his hand and flicked his fingertips.
Malkin’s demeanor softened. He took his eyes off Tommy and stared at Nick.
“Can you get me probation?” Malkin asked.
Nick frowned and kept flicking his fingertips.
Malkin sighed, then slowly handed Nick his pistol, handle first.
Tommy leaned back and took deep breaths of cold air.
Nick reached into the car and opened the door. Malkin slid out as Nick tapped a button on the door panel and Tommy heard the doors unlock.
Matt came around and cuffed Malkin while Nick opened the back door to the Crown Vic.
Tommy slid across the cold seat and got out. He shoved his cousin and said, “Asshole. Why didn’t you have Matt shoot him?”
“That metal cage is practically bulletproof.”
“Practically?”
“Worst case, it deflects the bullet. You’re welcome.”
Tommy stepped in the snowdrift and moved to the thin slush of the asphalt. He rubbed his hands together for warmth. “Cara okay?”
“She’s fine. Dority put suspicions in her mind, then her journalism degree took over.”
After Matt locked Malkin in the back seat of their unmarked cruiser, he came over and gave Tommy a fist bump. “You okay?”
Tommy nodded. “How’d you know that guy?”
“Stevie Gilpen,” Matt said. “Best tech in the Bureau. He retrieved the hotel surveillance video remotely, then ran Malkin’s image through the facial-recognition program. Gave us everything we needed inside of ten minutes.”
Tommy stared at Malkin in the back seat. “There’s gonna be a war in Arizona.”
“I know.”
“Cara is going to be a target until this thing resolves itself. And that’s not going to happen until lots of people are dead.”
“Or arrested.”
Tommy looked at his cousin as a swirl of red ambulance lights flashed across Nick’s face. “So, are you going to Arizona for the funeral?”
“That’s where I live,” Nick deadpanned.
Tommy looked at Matt, who added, “That’s where I live too.”
“Well, shit,” Tommy said, looking up at the falling snow. “I wouldn’t mind seeing the sun for a change.”