Finding Gary (The Romanovsky Brothers Book 4) (8 page)

Jessica crossed her arms.  “You know, my investigation is still ongoing.  I can’t tell you everything, but I can tell you that not all of them were involved.  Hell, Roman…” Jessica faltered when Zoey shot her a look.  “Sorry.  The blond He Who Shall Not Be Named… he wasn’t even in the country that night.  And the tattooed He Who Shall Not Be Named?  The one who hates my every functioning gut?  He had no idea either.   It wasn’t all of them.  And they’re sick to death with worry for you.”

Zoey’s eyes grew lazy.  “I don’t care.  I don’t care who knew and who didn’t.  As far as I’m concerned, they all knew.  They all knew, and instead of telling the truth, they played me by inviting me to live in their home.  The home that sat on the same street my parents died on.  As far as I’m concerned, even if some of them didn’t know, they are still related by blood to the ones that did.  That evil runs through all their veins.  Real evil.  The kind I didn’t even know could exist in real life until now… And I don’t want them anywhere near my son.  Ever.”

“Okay.” Jessica nodded, and this time, she meant it.   “Now that that’s settled, I think you and I should talk about what I really came here for.  Protection for you and Marcus.  You’re both getting stronger by the day, and pretty soon this hospital is going to throw you both out on your asses.  What’s the plan?  Where are you going to go?  They Who Shall Not Be Named have all been exorcized from your life…” Jessica shrugged.  “So what’s the plan now?”

“I was going to go and stay with Angie, but then I found out…” Zoey gasped, unable to finish.  “God, Angie…”

“Is hanging in there,” Jessica said, softly.  “Still in the hospital, going in and out of consciousness, but the important thing is that she’s opened her eyes at least once.  The doctors think that’s a good sign.”

“Yeah, I’ve gotten her on the phone a few times, but she always passes out mid-talk.” Zoey disappeared into her head, shaking it as she squinted out of the window, bobbing Marcus gently in her arms.  “God damn them.  All of them.”

“So it looks like you don’t have a plan.”  Jessica slapped her hands together.  “Which I assumed would be the case.  So I went to the FBI’s Protective Services Department today and finished the paperwork to ensure you’re safe, with eyes on you at all times.  Since Gary—err, He Who Shall Not Be Named, pled not guilty at his arraignment, he’s going to crack open a lot of ugly cans while he awaits trial.”  Jessica made claws with her fingers and motioned to different parts of the room.  “He’s going to make a lot of people really angry, really quickly, and I need to be sure you’re safe if I’m going to do my job effectively.  The bureau will set you up with an agent who stays by your side.”

Zoey’s eyes went big.  “An individual agent?  Why so much, just for us?”  She shook Marcus.

“Because, Zoey, regardless of what you believe, you’re not at war with They Who Shall Not Be Named.  You’re at war with Victor King.  That little guy in your arms is cute as shit, he makes for one hell of an irresistible target…” Jessica breathed deep.  “And Victor King plays dirty.”

7

Neck breakingly tall and almost as wide as the hallway he was gliding through, Victor King made eye contact with every soul in the room and every camera flash.  United Nations Headquarters, a sprawling complex that soared over the East River, had invited Victor to hold his press conference in their brand new, state of the art General Assembly Hall.  He’d politely declined.

He didn’t plan to be there long.

Deafening silence greeted him as he approached the podium in the middle of the hallway.  His advisors branched off, and Victor set his notes down with a steady hand before raising his eyes to the few dozen reporters who’d been granted entry.  The camera flashes commenced, slicing his brown irises to the point of pain, but Victor didn’t blink.  He didn’t wince. 

“Are we all set?” he asked, meeting eyes with the coordinators huddled at the edge of the room.  After receiving a nod of confirmation, he faced the cameras once more.  “Good morning all.  I’d like to thank the United Nations for having me.”  His voice, a touch deeper and smoother than most men, was an attention stealer all on its own, although somewhat expected from a man of his size and stature.  He looked down at his fingers, flipping the pages of the speech his advisors had prepared, his ebony skin jumping out against the stark white paper.   Clearing his throat, he raised his eyes back to the curious faces all over the room, waiting for his next words with bated breath.

After regurgitating his goals and his policies for what felt like the millionth time, he heard his voice hitching, ebbing into a territory he didn’t want it to and was forced to clear his throat.  “I’d like to comment on a matter that’s been all over the news.  I don’t often waste my time acknowledging tabloid media, but it seems this is one story that refuses to go ignored.”

Every person in the room shifted in anticipation.

“There have been questions about my campaign…”  It took everything he had to smile.  “That I would like to address directly, and after I address them, I will not be accepting any further questions.  There are two things I’d like the public to know.  Just two.  One, I have not, nor will I ever, accept illegal contributions to my campaigns, presidential or otherwise.  Two, during my tenure at the New Jersey Police Department’s 5th Precinct, I can assure you that my officers and I kept true to our promise of keeping everything in the light.  I’d like to thank the media outlets that have strived to report the truth, and not the erroneous accusations that have been pervading the news today without the proper research or respect for what is true.  As it always did during my time as Head Chief at 5th, the truth will always come to light, and when it does, I’ll still be here; persevering, and proving to the American people what I can bring to the table as President of this great country.  Thank you.”

Victor swooped away from the podium; never breaking his rapid stride, knowing his advisors would catch up.  His heart pounded as the reporters screamed after him.  Their voices rose as he moved away, but none of them followed.  The sound disappeared as Victor stepped outside.  His car was waiting on the curb.

“You went off script slightly…” His advisor jogged to keep up with him, he was overweight and already becoming winded from King’s brisk pace.  “But, overall, effective.  Nice job.”

Victor pushed his tongue into the inside of his cheek, frowning against the sunlight pushing down on his eyes.  “This is only the beginning, and we need to get in front of this before it explodes.”  As he approached the waiting car, his driver opened the back door with a nod, and Victor met eyes with the advisor.  “Have you found my son?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Find him, and remind him that I missed a week of my campaign trail after he split my lip in two.”  He stopped at the door of the car, straightening his tie.  “Remind him that no one walks away from Victor King.  Not even him.”

***

Rain pattered against the lenses of her oversized sunglasses, but Jessica didn’t dare take them off.  They were obstructing her view, but she couldn’t risk showing her face.  Thunderclouds moved in and pounded down with fury. The concrete below her feet shook, and she pulled the sheer umbrella lower until it covered her entire face.

She’d hoped to catch him before the rain got bad.  Just as she was preparing to go toe-to-toe with the torrential showers, she caught sight of him.

Looking just as vexed by the rain as she was, Reggie glowered up at the sky the moment he stepped out of the glass doors of his office building.  He cursed at the black clouds, and with no umbrella in sight, was visibly contemplating whether it would be worth attempting to get home.

Jessica was thankful when he chose to brave it out and began down the sidewalk.  She waited until he was less than a foot away.

“I know it was you,” she said.

In the true spoiled rich boy fashion, Reggie threw her an apathetic look without even breaking his stride. 

Jessica was sure he was going to ignore her completely, taking her baggy clothes, backward black baseball cap, and massive sunglasses as evidence of a panhandler or worse.

But something made Reggie do a double take. 

“I know you’re the person who called me.”  Jessica lifted her glasses just enough to give him a glimpse of her eyes.

Reggie cursed under his breath and didn’t bother trying to wipe away the rain assaulting his face as he looked down the sidewalk, both ways.

“No one trailed me here,” she reassured, recognizing the panicked look in his eyes.  “So are we going to talk here, or are you going to force me to take you down to the station?”

Reggie licked his lips.  Without responding, he turned and made his way down the sidewalk.

Jessica watched him go, noting that he was moving with a calm pace that was the polar opposite of the shock she’d just seen in his eyes.  She waited for him to get a few feet ahead of her before pushing off the wall and following.

She took in his back, broad under his black suit jacket, and the cool sway to his walk.  When he turned a corner into a narrow alley, she passed the alley completely, meeting his eyes as she did.  She took her time circling the block, keeping a close eye on her surroundings.   The cars, the shops, the people.  After circling the block twice, she gave the street one last cursory glance before turning down the same alley Reggie had disappeared into.

But the narrow alley was empty.  At the end of it, she saw cars and yellow cabs trapped in a gridlock on the other side.  She closed her umbrella, shaking the rain from her clothes as she went deeper, her boots crunching against the gravel.

When she caught a pair of dark brown eyes watching her from a tight corner, she gasped at the unexpected sight, stepping back when she realized it was Reggie, tucked into a dip inside the alley that left him impossible to see. 

He shot her a look and nodded his head, inviting her in.

Jessica stepped into the tight space and leaned against the opposite wall.  With less than a foot between their bodies, she could smell his clean scent and see the scars on his face up close.  He had a lot of them.  His dark skin was his saving grace, however, making most of them nearly invisible until one was nose to nose with him.

He licked his full lips.  “It was me,” he said, deep voice echoing.  “I called you the night Angie was in your apartment.  That carbon monoxide was meant for you.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” she said, dryly.  “A really fun benefit of this job?  People never stop trying to kill you.” She smiled.  “Here’s a little hint for the next time you decide to make a cryptic phone call to an FBI agent… if you insist on using a pay phone, make sure it isn’t right across the street from the Federal Reserve.  Cameras, Reggie.  Cameras
everywhere
.”

“I wasn’t thinking.  I just needed a phone that wasn’t mine.”

“We would’ve found you regardless.  We always do.”  Jessica considered him.  “Or did you want to be found? Seems like a pretty obvious mistake for a man like you.” She searched his eyes, and then pushed away from the wall.  She looked down at her closed umbrella, running the beds of her fingers over the sticks.  “Why?” she pushed her wet hair off her forehead, frowning at him.  “Why warn me about the monoxide?  You could’ve just let me die.”

“I overheard my father give the order.”

“You’ve overheard him give a lot of orders, Reggie, and you’ve turned your head every time.”

“I guess you would know since you planted that tracking device on me.”

“So what changed to make you turn your back on your father and warn me?  You live to please him, don’t you?”

Reggie’s eyes narrowed.

Jessica poked her lips out.  “Does it have anything to do with that awful gash over your eye?”

“I turned my back on my father because he was never my father.  Not in any other way but blood.  He’s not a good person—”

“Rumor has it he’s been beating the shit out of you for your whole life.  Surely a right cross isn’t enough to trigger this kind of blatant betrayal.  You’ve been taking those like a champ since the day you were born.  You’re used to getting beat up by now. What’s your real trigger?”

“I think you already know.”

“I want to hear you say it.”  When he didn’t say it, she went into her pocket and produced a photo, unfolding it.  When Reggie’s eyes drank in the picture, him and Gary sitting together the a bench in Central Park, she saw them soften.  “Maybe he’s your trigger?”

Reggie squared his shoulders.

“When Gary had a sudden change of heart at his arraignment, I was convinced it was down to my powers of persuasion.”  She smiled, re-folding the picture.  “Then my partner sent me these photos.  Taken mere hours before his arraignment. And I realized I wasn’t the person who’d changed his mind, at all.”

Reggie’s eyes hardened.

“You were there.  Weren’t you?  The night the Blacks were killed.” She squinted.  “You might’ve even been in the car.  Please jump in any time if I’m way off base here.”

Reggie’s face fell.  He pressed his lips together and looked down.

“Ah.” Jessica nodded. “Judging by your silence… your allegiance to your father isn’t quite as dead as I’d imagined.”

“I won’t testify.  If that’s why you’re here.”

“Man, am I sick and tired of hearing that sentence.”

“I won’t testify.”

“Who says you have a choice?  I can prove you made that phone call.  More than enough to have you subpoenaed.”

“How quickly you turn on the man who saved your life.”

Jessica shifted.  “Will you wear a wire?”

“Absolutely not.  Do you have any idea the risk I’m taking even speaking to you right now?  My father has eyes and ears everywhere, and he doesn’t ask questions.  He shoots to kill and then moves onto the next.  If he finds me with a wire, he’ll kill me.”

“If he finds out you were on a bench with Gary in Central Park, he’d kill you for that, too, but that certainly wasn’t enough to stop you.”

Reggie rolled his eyes.  “Look, I’ll tell you what I know in confidence, but I won’t testify, and I won’t wear a wire.”

“Fine.  Why don’t we start with the illegal contributions to your father’s campaign? Just so I really feel like I can trust you?”

“If you really need that to trust me,” Reggie said.  “Then you should start with Mitch Gallagher.  He’s—”

“I know who Mitch Gallagher is.  We were cadets together, years ago.  He’s working with King?”

“His right-hand man.  Has been for years.  But his real allegiance is to his brother, Vino Gallagher.”

“The head of the Irish mafia.  Jesus.”  She breathed.  “Do you have any idea how much you’re hurting me by refusing to testify?  Do you understand that we could have King under arrest tonight with your testimony alone?  He can’t hurt you or anyone else if he’s behind bars.”

“You think a few iron bars is enough to stop him?  Is it enough to stop the drug lords and kingpins who still call for people’s heads while serving twenty-five to life?  Hell no.  They continue on killing and destroying lives because that is all they know.  A conviction won’t stop my father.”

“So let’s convict them all…”

Reggie chuckled, shaking his head and running his hand down his face.  “Look.  You want names? I’ve got names.  You want deposit slips? Mitch Gallagher has the deposit slips.  You want my father up in flames?  Good.  Because I want that just as much.  But I can’t put my name on any of it.”

“Which invalidates it all completely.”

Reggie broke his eyes away.

Jessica kept her eyes on him, even as his were riveted to their feet, silently begging him to reconsider.  When he wouldn’t so much as look up, she stomped back into the alley with a scoff, shooting him a sour look.

“I’m not through with you,” she warned, before making her way out of the alley.

***

After winning all three state caucuses by a landslide over the weekend, Victor King was breathing a little easier, but he still wasn’t able to take that good breath.  The kind that filled his lungs all the way to the hilt; triggering a mental and emotional release that only the gift of breathing could.  He wasn’t there.  That release was always cut short by the non-stop thoughts in his mind, even at that moment, when his driver stopped the Cadillac in a secluded alley in The Bronx.