Do Not Go Gentle (44 page)

“Agreed,” Jamie said, “but early in the morning. A couple of hours after all the bars have closed, when the partiers and the cops have called it a night, and at least an hour before dawn, so we can move about more easily.” After looking around for any additional comments, Jamie clapped his hands loudly. “Okay then. We have a lot of work to do.”

* * * *

Sedecla slowly looked at each of the men sitting around her dining room table. A storm front had rudely ushered in the evening by darkening the city early and making good on the weathermen's predictions for a big winter storm. The streets were already icy and snow-packed. Snow was piling up in crystalline drifts along sidewalks, in yards, and on rooftops, and the falling snow, illuminated by thousands of city lights, came down in huge, wet flakes. The windows were frosted and laced with delicate tracings of blown snow.

For O'Neill, Choate, and ibn Ezra, the scene was far more prosaic and deadly. Sedecla had not said a word as her maidservant, Zahava, had shown each man into the dining room when they had arrived. She sat, as always, at the head of the immense, oak table. Sedecla watched in silence as Zahava served dark, strong Turkish coffee for O'Neill and ibn Ezra, tea for Choate, and espresso for Sedecla. The men sat in silence, waiting for their mistress to begin.

After several minutes of silence, Sedecla looked up from her bone china cup and spoke. Her voice was soft and harsh, velvet over sandpaper, and each word came out flinty and sharp, as if carved into granite. “As O'Neill already knows, Tomás da Silva is dead.”

“Dead?” Choate asked, startled. “How?”

Sedecla waved a hand toward O'Neill, who answered in a soft voice. “He was shot and killed at Jamie Griffin's house.”

“How is this possible?” ibn Ezra asked. O'Neill explained briefly, and then each man looked expectantly at Sedecla.

“Tomás was trying to carry out my wishes,” she replied quietly. “He was trying to eliminate Griffin and the threat he poses to my plans.” As she spoke, the volume of Sedecla's voice rose. “He was serving me faithfully, as he had for years.” Sedecla placed her hands flat upon the table and her voice crescendoed with every word until she shouted. “He paid with his life while the three of you sit here and drink at my table.” She raised her hands and pounded her fists into the table with enough force to cause the massive wooden slab to visibly shudder and creak ominously. “Tomás is dead and Griffin still lives. Tomás failed and Griffin still succeeds. Tomás lies cold upon a morgue table while Griffin and his family sit happily around their dining room table. Can no one deal with this one man?”

“He is not working alone,
Qedesh
,” ibn Ezra observed.

“Nor are we,” Sedecla replied acidly. “Yet despite all the resources at my disposal, this man continues to thwart our efforts to neutralize him.

After several moments of silence, Timmy O'Neill put his head into the lion's mouth. “What would you have us do, Mistress?”

Each man braced himself for one of Sedecla's infamous outbursts. Instead, Sedecla pursed her lips and turned away, then stood and walked to one of the large windows looking out over the North End. Sedecla traced intricate patterns in the frost with a delicate fingernail. The men at the table held their breaths, sitting silently and awaiting whatever came next.

At length, Sedecla turned away from the window and stared at her lieutenants. Then, as if making up her mind, she strode back to the table and seated herself. “Very well. Since it does not seem that we can eliminate this man by our actions, we will eliminate him by our inaction.”

O'Neill, now the erstwhile spokesman for the men, narrowed his eyes. “What do you have in mind, Mistress?”

“There is an anapodoton, a saying, attributed to Sir Francis Bacon, both used and misused. ‘If the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain.' We must prepare for Griffin to come to us.” Sedecla's gaze became faraway as she next spoke. “I have just finished Raflifu, the twentieth path of the two-and-twenty that will lead me to Abbadon.”

“Praise be to the Qedesh,” ibn Ezra said reverently.

Sedecla raised her hands. “It is not yet the time for praise. We have failed at every turn to deal with this man, so we will make this a race. I will attempt to traverse the last two paths before he can act. Then his actions will no longer matter.” Sedecla looked at each of her men in turn. “ibn Ezra,” she began. “You are charged with bringing me as many
qurbana
, as many sacrifices as possible. You may conscript any Mazzimah O'Neill deems unnecessary for the task I assign him. You must bring me a steady stream of sacrifices, a flood of
qurbana
. I must gather as much power as possible as quickly as possible if I am to master the final two paths.”

“It shall be done,
Qedesh
,” ibn Ezra vowed.

“Choate,” Sedecla continued. “You will put all vacant locations at ibn Ezra's disposal. We cannot bring so many
qurbana
here. Some, certainly, as I near the time for mastering each of the next steps. Gather the sacrifices in large numbers at a site until you have enough to warrant my attendance.” Her large hazel eyes glittered with anticipation and excitement.

“As you wish, Mistress,” Choate rumbled.

“Timothy,” Sedecla purred, turning at last to her last lieutenant. “You of many doubts and objections. Do you have any concerns about my instructions so far?”

O'Neill set his face and nodded. “More questions than concerns, Mistress,” he said, his voice calm, belying the inner turmoil he felt. The endgame was fast approaching, and he feared its outcome. “How do you plan to hide so many abductions and dispose of so many corpses without detection? The police will certainly take notice.”

Sedecla nodded slowly. “I would expect no less. We will deal with this in two ways. First, by mobilizing ibn Ezra's subordinates and the remainder of your men, the abductions will take place swiftly, over the next few days. The authorities
will
notice, but by the time they begin to understand, it will be too late. Second, once I have finished with all of the qurbana at a location, we will not only abandon itwe will burn it.”

Choate's eyes widened at this news. “Mistress,” he said softly, “that will cost us dearly—”

Sedecla whipped her head around, her fiery gaze silencing Choate. “That does not concern you, Rufus.” she hissed. “My monetary holdings are more than sufficient, and if I am successful, such matters will no longer concern us.” The big man closed his eyes and bowed his head in acquiescence. She turned back to O'Neill. “Well, Timothy?” Her words hung in the air like a physical force.

O'Neill steepled his fingers in front of his face. He exhaled heavily before putting his hands back down and replying. “We'll have to move as quickly as possible. The upcoming holiday, leading as it does into a weekend, may buy us some additional time, but we must be prepared to finish this by Monday or we risk discovery by more than Jamie Griffin.”

“Very well. Your task, then, is to take as many of your men as you require and bring them here. I want men patrolling inside and out, around the clock, on every floor and in every room except my ritual chamber. I want them heavily armed and watchful—their lives will depend on their success.”

O'Neill sat thoughtfully. “So we're going to dare Griffin to come here, like Cushing did?”

“Exactly,” Sedecla replied venomously. “We will make this place a fortress, and we will see if Jamie Griffin and his associates have the courage to come face me here, in my place of power. If so, we will crush him. If not, once I possess the Black Diamond, I will have the power to reach out and destroy him, those he loves, and all those who oppose us. I will become the Dark Mistress of this world and remake it to suit my needs.” After a lengthy pause, Sedecla waved her hands in dismissal and turned back to the window to study the wailing of the icy wind and the patterns of the driving snow.

December 30th is, perhaps, the most forlorn, fruitless, and forgotten day of the year. Christmas is fading, and the New Year celebration looms just beyond the horizon. The day is often dark and dreary—not even the shortest day of the year, but clinging desperately in the snowy shadows of the solstice, and in northern climes, there are not many things drearier than a dark, cold wintry day. Even the previous night's snowstorm had surrendered, lacking the energy to become a blizzard. Jamie looked up from a deep pit of fatigue and pain. His headache threatened to trickle his brains out of his ears in a gray sludge, he felt as if his bones could snap at any moment from exhaustion, and he couldn't concentrate, couldn't focus, and couldn't find the right words when he did find the strength to speak.

Jamie dragged himself out of bed, showered and shaved, and allowed Eileen to drive him to the station, to meet with Sully and Hamilton. While the streets had been plowed, they still resembled a hockey rink in many places. “I'll be back in an hour. Will that be sufficient?” she asked. Eileen had a meeting at a potential new location for her store.

“Aye,” Jamie replied. “I'll have to spend the first ten minutes apologizing for being late.”

“Tsk,” she said. “It's winter in Boston. Take it easy, my love.”

“I will. See you soon.” Jamie shut the door then tapped on the top as he walked away from the SUV. He walked carefully along the slick concrete to the door, his walking stick crunching on the snow and ice with each step. He waved at the receptionist. Even though Jamie was no longer an active officer, everyone still recognized him. As he made his way back to Sully's office, several uniforms and detectives stopped him and asked him how he was doing. While answering the same questions was tiresome, Jamie preferred answering questions to disapproval and disbelief. Today, Jamie felt only genuine concern and a grudging, if partial, return of his former status.
I wonder if that's sympathy for all the shit that has been happening or if they are actually starting to believe that I'm sick.
By the time he reached Sully's office in the corner, Jamie decided it didn't matter. Then the door to Sully's office swing open—Sully was at his desk, with Hamilton seated in a chair, and Frank Griffin opening the door.

“Glad you could join us, Jamie,” Frank said dryly, gesturing for Jamie to sit in the other open chair. As Jamie sat, Frank closed the door behind him.

“Yeah, well, there's a crapload of auto hockey being played out there today.”

“You drove?” Frank asked. Jamie was surprised by concern in his father's voice.

Maybe he really
is
coming around,
Jamie thought briefly. “Nah, Eileen drove. She's got some meeting with a new location for the store. So what'd I miss?”

“We were just discussing Lombardi's claim that the top guy in the Mazzimah is a cop,” Sully said.

Len Hamilton shifted his bulk in the chair beside Jamie and snorted. “Not very reliable—a former mob lowlife passing along secondhand information from a street snitch.”

Jamie couldn't stop himself from bristling. “Louie has found out more about the Mazzimah than you have, Lenny, and as far as Peeper, Cal used him several times and his info always panned out.”

Sully held up his hands. “Hey. I know you two don't like each other, but you're going to work together or I'm going to knock your heads together.” Jamie and Len grumbled but backed down.

“I gotta say, Jamie,” Frank said curtly. “I'm not wild about this line of investigation.”

“Because it implicates cops?” Jamie asked.

“No, because it implicates cops without any proof,” Frank replied, his scar beginning to flush. “If we go down this road, we have to notify Internal Affairs, and I
know
how much you guys love IAD.”

“Look, Da,” Jamie replied. “I don't give a royal rat's ass about IAD or who we might see scurrying for cover if we start kicking over rocks. You said it yourself—if we're going to take this bitch down, we have to go after her primary source of muscle and funds, the Mazzimah.”

Frank Griffin sighed and rubbed his face. “I know, but what I'm about to say doesn't leave this room,” he said, looking around sternly. “IAD already has an active investigation into possible police involvement in the Mazzimah. I'm just trying to keep you and your guys from stepping on the wrong toes.”

“Especially since you're no longer on the job, Jamie,” Sully added.

Jamie mulled this over for a few seconds, and then nodded. “Okay, I get it, but the best I can offer is that we won't confront any active duty officers without checking with you first, Sully.”

“Real big of you, Griffin,” Hamilton muttered.

Sully banged a fist on his desk. “One more crack, Lenny, and I'm reassigning this case.”

Hamilton glared at Sully briefly, but kept quiet.

After waiting several seconds, Sully continued. “Okay, Jamie, I'm going to hold you to that promise. If you uncover any solid links to any active duty officers, I'm your first call.”

“You do as Sully instructs you to do,” Frank added.

Jamie spread his hands, palms up, in front of him. “Agreed and agreed. My only condition is this. I'm not going to hamstring my team if they need to act to prevent any further harm from coming to me or my family. They've had my back so far, and I'm not about to give that up.”

The three officers looked at their former co-worker, and then Frank nodded. “Agreed,” Sully replied.

“In that vein,” Jamie continued, “is there anything I need to pass along to my team? I honestly will try to keep them out of your way, Sully.” Hamilton glared at Jamie.

“No,” Sully replied. “Lenny's digging into the Mazzimah and how it might connect to Sedecla.”

“I can tell you that this will catch IAD's notice soon,” Frank said.

They continued to update each other for the better part of an hour. When they were finished, Jamie stood unsteadily. Frank reached out and took Jamie's arm to support him. Jamie's first reaction was a flash of anger and shame. Then he realized that his father was just helping, not passing judgment, so Jamie just nodded. “Sully,” Jamie said, “I'll check in again tomorrow.”

“Good enough,” Sully said, standing and shaking his hand. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will.” Len pointedly looked the other way as Jamie exited.

“Jamie, give me a minute here, then I'll walk out with you,” Frank said.

Jamie paused in the doorway. “I thought we weren't keeping secrets on this case?”

“Not everything we talk about is related to this case,” Frank replied evenly. “Since you're not on the job, there's some information you can't be privy to any longer.”

Jamie nodded, then walked out and ‘shot the shit' with two uniforms.

“Is Eileen picking you up?” Frank asked as they made their way back to the entrance.

“Yeah, she should be waiting,” Jamie replied.

When they reached the vestibule and saw Eileen sitting outside in the SUV, Frank waved, and then stopped Jamie. “Son, I really do mean what I say when I tell you that I just want to help.”

Jamie looked at his father for several seconds before replying. “Okay, Da. I understand, and I do mean it when I say that I'll keep Sully in the loop.”

“Fair enough,” Frank said. “Take care of yourself, son.”

They embraced, and Jamie walked to the SUV. As Eileen drove them home, he updated her on the meeting, and she told him about her meeting.

“It's just down the road from the old shop. Even without all of my insurance money, I can reserve the space, but I'm not sure how much I'll be able to replace with what we have left.”

Jamie grimaced.
If I wasn't useless, we wouldn't be in this situation.

Glancing at her husband, Eileen said, “Don't you be taking this onto yourself, Jamie Griffin. I know you all too well. This isn't your fault—you didn't intend to get sick.”

Jamie reached across and put his hand, palm up, on Eileen's leg. She reached down and squeezed his hand. “I know, love, but it's easier to say that than to believe it.”

“If you want to kick yourself,” Eileen said, “kick yourself about cutting me out of your ‘club.'”

“We've been over this, Eileen,” Jamie growled.

“Don't you believe for a moment that we won't
keep
going over this, boyo. I'm not some china doll that has to be molly-coddled.”

Jamie rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was losing the battle to keep his headache down to a dull roar. “True, but I won't put both of us into danger. It's not fair to the girls.”

“No, you'll just put yourself in harm's way, even though you're sick.”

“Aye, but I'm not about to have the others go into this alone. Plus, I'm the former cop. I have to keep things from getting out of hand. Otherwise, Louie or the twins could wind up in trouble.”

They drove in silence for several minutes. Eileen slowly made her way to the North End. Daphné and Darcelle planned to stake out Sedecla's townhouse, and Jamie had insisted on joining them.

“You should be going home and resting,” Eileen finally said, giving up on the previous argument.

Jamie smiled. “Worry less, my dear. There's nothing life-threatening about me getting tired.”

“Well, gallivanting about needlessly won't be helping that any.”

“Maybe not, but if I'm taking a quarter of the reward, I have to put in a quarter of the effort.”

“Louie doesn't go on stakeouts—he knows his limitations.”

“Louie would go nuts on a stakeout,” Jamie replied. “I've been on more than I can count. Plus, Louie's contributing by getting us information about Sedecla's operations. Anyway, assuming that nothing happens again today, I'll have the twins drive me home early this afternoon.”

Eileen shook her head. “I guess that's the best I can hope for, you stubborn, stubborn man.”

“It is indeed.”

They turned onto Hull Street, and Eileen made her way cautiously down the snow-packed street. There they are,” Jamie pointed to Daphné and Darcelle on the right, about half a block from Sedecla's house. As they stopped, Jamie leaned over and kissed Eileen. “I'll take it easy, I promise.”

Eileen harrumphed her disbelief but returned the kiss. “See that you do.” When Jamie opened the door, Eileen made a motion to Darcelle to lower her window. The cold rushed into the car like a tsunami. “You make sure he minds,” Eileen called out, “and bring him home early this afternoon.”

Daphné gave Eileen a thumbs-up. “You got it, Aunt Eileen.”

“God save me from mother hens,” Jamie muttered as he settled into the backseat.

“Hey,” Darcelle said. “Don't include
me
in that group. As far as I'm concerned, you're a big boy.”

“Exactly,” Jamie replied. “Any activity today?”

“Nope. Completely turtle,” Darcelle replied. “Not that I blame them for battening down the hatches and staying inside in this weather.”

Tapping his walking stick thoughtfully against the floorboard, Jamie said, “True, but I can't believe Sedecla is going to let da Silva's death go unanswered.”

“She may just be waiting for us to make the first move,” Daphné observed.

“Yeah, I've thought about that,” Jamie admitted. “We've managed to defuse most of her strikes against us. So her strategy could be to wait for us to move against her and trap us.”

“That's why I agree with Lombardi,” Darcelle said softly.

“Why?” Jamie demanded. “What's Louie up to?”

The twins looked at each other, and then Daphné shrugged. “You brought it up, you tell him.”

Darcelle blew out an exasperated breath. “Louie has been quietly talking to some trusted members of his ‘family,'” she said. “He says he ain't about to walk into a trap without lots of firepower.”

“Jaysus on a feckin' crutch Christ,” Jamie swore. “I
told
him to keep his mob friends out of this.”

“Maybe so,” Darcelle observed, “but I don't disagree with him. You
know
that witchy bitch is going to have as much muscle as she can inside that place.”

“I'm not going in without serious firepower of our own, but we have to do this the
right
way.”

“Yeah, we all know the sermon, Unc—‘we have to do this by the book,' but where in your precious book does it say we have to get ourselves killed?” Darcelle demanded.

“For feck's sake, I think Louie has been a bad influence on you, young lady,” Jamie replied.

“Maybe.” Darcelle shot back, “but it doesn't change the fact that I don't have a death wish.”