Nick walked up the driveway to the Perrino house, knowing eyeballs were on him even though they weren’t visible. When he opened the door, Tully was lingering in the foyer and pointed down the hallway. “She’s waiting for you in the bedroom.”
Nick left Matt back at the Phoenix branch to plan their assault on the Chechens, but needed some resolution with Angela before he made his play for Zelman.
Normally, when a visitor would enter someone’s bedroom, they would knock and wait, or knock and enter carefully, but Nick didn’t need any formality. He walked into the room lined with paisley wallpaper, white shutters, and featuring a four-post bed right out of the sixties. Like it was ready for a photo shoot.
Angela sat on the bed next to Cara, the two of them talking with the same voice, the same eyes, the same resolve in their posture.
“Ladies,” Nick said.
They offered sad smiles, the best they could do while sitting on Sal’s bed.
Cara got up and said, “I need to go on a run. I’m getting fat eating all this food.”
Nick said, “Take Tully with you,” and got a strange look from her.
“She’s a big girl,” Angela said.
“Yeah, she is.” He sat on the bed and held Angela’s hand. “You doing okay?”
Angela had been cold to him ever since the funeral, but now, returning to the scene where so many of his teenage nights were spent, there was nothing hard about her demeanor.
“I’ve been better,” she said.
“Me too. Julie’s having to deal with a lot of stuff she shouldn’t have to negotiate. And Thomas is getting old enough to recognize the changes in our behavior, but still too young to make sense of things.”
Angela smiled. “Julie said he wants to be a baseball player, like his dad.”
Nick grinned and shook his head. “He’ll be better than me by the time he’s ten.”
“Don’t make light of your skills. I watched you play Little League, taking your team all the way to regionals.”
“Tommy was the star of that team. Guy could run down a ball in centerfield like no one’s business.”
“I still remember like it was yesterday, Tommy coming home after making a diving play to end the game and him telling us, ‘Two-thirds of the world is covered by water and the other third is covered by Tommy Bracco.’”
They both laughed at the memory, Tommy bragging about Tommy. The best.
Nick looked over at the pillow where Sal’s head used to lay every night for forty years, and it stifled his joyful moment. He took a deep breath. “I didn’t come this far just to put up a good fight.”
Angela had thoughts about that comment but kept it to herself. Instead, she gripped Nick’s hand a little tighter.
Nick glanced at the open door, no one in the hallway, but still lowered his voice to say, “Al Mancini doesn’t want you to know, but he’s helping us get Zelman.”
Angela remained quiet.
“He and Sal were rivals, but they—”
“I know. Sal told me all about their arrangement. He’s a good man.”
Nick scratched his neck. “We found a witness to Charlie’s murder. He’ll testify against the Chechens.”
Angela waited.
“Also . . . it was definitely Pashkov who killed Sal.”
Angela kept it together, trying to be strong. “That’s good, Nick. That’s very good.”
“I’m not sure how that’s good.”
She stared at him, stoic. “It means you will do the right thing.”
“Yeah,” he said, looking around the room, seeing pictures of the Perrino family arm in arm, smiling, touching, hugging. “The right thing.”
She left it there for Nick to interpret.
“There is one other thing,” he said. “I have someone inside the Chechen circle who’s willing to help us get Zelman. It’ll happen today, so, I need you to keep the boys out of my way for the next twenty-four hours. That’s it. If I can’t get this done by tomorrow, you can go to town on the Chechens. I won’t stop you.”
Angela’s face softened. She touched Nick’s cheek and brought it home for him. He was a teenager again, living in Tommy’s house after Nick’s parent’s were killed, but spending most of his time at the Perrinos, learning how to make lasagna and clean a pistol.
While her fingers lingered, he felt the sadness welling up and had to stop for a moment before he gathered the courage to say, “You asked me if I was going to go by the book.” He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed Sal’s paperback, Words from the Grave . He held it up and added, “You better believe I’ll be going by the book.”
Angela smoothed out the bedspread where they sat. “It’s the one thing that gives me solace at night, knowing you’re here and knowing you boys won’t give up until this gets resolved. He deserves . . .”
“And he’ll get it,” Nick said. “No one gets over on us.” Once again, he held up the book to show her who was really guiding them to justice. “No one.”
* * *
Malkin stood with his hands on his hips, while Matt went over the instructions in Lloyd Thiel’s office at the Phoenix branch of the FBI.
“You don’t go in there and ask any questions,” Matt said. “Do you understand?”
Malkin seemed unsure.
“Listen,” Matt said. “You tell Zelman what he wants to hear. You gain his confidence. He needs to know you’re on his side by giving him information and telling him things that he will deem as valuable.”
Matt looked at Thiel and saw a bit of exasperation on his face.
“He’ll do just fine,” Matt said, then examined the guy, wearing black jeans and a giant belt buckle with the Chechen flag. Very subtle. He might as well be carrying a rocket launcher on his shoulder. That’s how obvious the guy was.
Thiel pointed at the Chechen mobster. “Do you remember what information you’re giving him?”
Malkin stood there ashen, like he was just asked to recite the Constitution in front of a full stadium.
“Pashkov is a snitch,” Matt reminded him. “He is talking with the Feds and is giving them details about the Perrino murders so he can get a lighter sentence.”
“I got it,” Malkin said getting testy. “It’s just that, he is not stupid. He is going to want proof.”
“You’ll have pictures to corroborate the story.”
“How?”
The door opened and a thin guy with round glasses and curly mop of hair walked in, carrying a duffel bag.
“Right on time,” Matt said, fist-bumping Stevie Gilpen. “How was the flight?”
“Yeah, fine.”
Matt introduced the FBI tech to Lloyd Thiel, who removed the visitor lanyard from Stevie’s neck and tossed it into the trash.
“I know who you are,” Thiel said. “No need to walk around like you’re a tourist.”
They had set up Thiel’s office as the command center for the operation. It was the largest room in the complex with a 110-inch wall monitor and completely encrypted closed system. A spy’s dream office.
Thiel stood and offered Stevie his desk, which allowed the tech to set up his laptop and begin processing his operation.
Matt handed Malkin’s phone to Stevie.
“Yeah, I had plenty of time on the flight to set up some nice pics,” Stevie said. “Where’s Nick?”
“On the way,” Matt said, returning his attention to Malkin, trying to get a glimpse of what he was dealing with. “You’re supposed to be this big Chechen mobster, but I have to explain shit to you.”
Malkin seemed tense, but kept quiet.
Stevie tapped his keyboard and said to Thiel, “Can you turn on the monitor?”
Thiel pointed a remote at the wall-mounted monitor and the blue screen came to life. In just a few seconds, a picture of Stevie sitting on a beach, drinking a margarita with shorts and sandals came up.
“That was fast,” Thiel said, surprised at how quickly Stevie was able to project his laptop onto the screen. “You look like Jimmy Buffet there. What beach is that?”
“East Hampton. I grew up on Long Island.”
Nick walked in carrying a hefty plastic cooler. “Hey, Stevie,” he said. “I’m glad Walt gave you permission.”
“I’m pretty sure it was the twenty-four-hour time limit that did the trick.”
“Let’s all hope I’m right about that,” Nick said, dropping the cooler onto Thiel’s desk and taking out a Diet Pepsi. “I got drinks and snacks. This could be a long shift.”
Matt stepped back from Malkin and motioned for him to button up his shirt.
“How we doing?” Nick asked his partner. “We ready for a run-through?”
“Are you ready on your end?” Matt asked.
Nick looked at Thiel and said, “Can you put on the local news?”
Thiel took the remote and pointed it at the oversized monitor. A moment later, footage appeared of several police cars parked outside of a two-story, ranch-style house nestled into a stand of woods. It was Nick’s home in Payson.
A local reporter was speaking over the distant image shown from a camera across the street. The reporter was explaining that there was a suspected break-in and gunshots were heard. The report was vague and purposely without much detail. Nick despised having to use his family as the victims of a crime that didn’t occur, but it was all part of the ruse to keep them safe. If Zelman thought that Malkin did his job, it gave Malkin credibility.
“That looks so real,” Malkin said. “You do that a lot?”
“Never,” Nick said. “This is special.”
“I’ll bet it is,” Malkin said with a little bravado in his voice.
Nick glared at the Chechen. “You want me to run down your options once more?”
Matt stood between the two of them just to be sure, then said to Nick, “Where is this IT guy?”
“Tommy’s getting him,” Nick said, still staring at Malkin. Then he walked up to the Chechen with Matt guarding him like a basketball player. “Don’t you ever get tired of playing tough guy?”
“Who said I’m playing?” Malkin answered.
Matt had to grab his partner and use every inch of his tall frame to push Nick back and away from Malkin. “C’mon now,” Matt whispered. “We’re almost there. Let’s not blow this thing up now.”
Thiel came up to Malkin and said something in a firm tone that made the Chechen nod.
Matt could feel the anger welling up in Nick’s bones and had to force him all the way into the corner of the room.
“You forget what that bastard was going to do to my family,” Nick spat.
“I haven’t forgotten a thing,” Matt said. “But we need him to get Zelman. He’s our best chance to make this plan work. Shit, he’s our only chance. Otherwise, we go back to getting court-ordered warrants and a yearlong trial while the prick walks around scot free. You want that? Because I have a feeling Angela will not allow that to happen.”
Nick knew he was right, but still curled his lip while staring at the mobster.
“Let it go,” Matt said in a low tone.
Nick took a couple of pills from his pocket and popped them into his mouth, then took a sip of his Diet Pepsi. He reached for his phone and saw something on the screen.
“I’ll be right back,” Nick said, then glared at Malkin as he left the office.