Jailbait (5 page)

“I’ll call Phin. We’ll meet you at Dovolanni’s place in half an hour.”

“Jack, I…”

“You can thank me later. And you’d better have those goddamn Zingers with you.”

She hung up.

By the time I caught up to Jack in the parking lot behind Sal Dovolanni’s house, it was getting close to rush hour.

“Where are they?” Jack’s eyes were narrowed to slits, and she couldn’t have looked more dangerous if she’d pulled her gun.

“Where are who? The wise guys?”

“The Zingers, you jerk.”

I had the feeling I’d forgotten something.

Besides the look of soul-searing anger, Jack also wore a designer knee-length coat large enough to fit several women at once. Within its spacious confines, it looked like she had a wildebeest tucked into her belt.

“Sis, you are huge.”

Jack tugged a .38 from her purse. “Do not fuck with me. I’m hormonal, and I’m armed.”

“Glowing too, I see. Pregnancy suits you.”

She finally lowered her gun, and I remembered how to breathe normally. “Phin on his way?” I asked.

“Should be here soon. I asked him to stop for mustard and vinegar.”

“What for? Some kind of chemical bomb?”

“No. I’ve got a mean craving for mustard and vinegar.”

“On what?”

“Straight out of the containers.”

“Seriously? That’s… disgusting.” And I liked me some mustard.

“Take it up with the baby.”

Then I heard it. It pierced the winter air, drawing our attention: a shrill female scream coming from Sal’s house. Although I’d never heard Tangi scream before, or even moan for that matter, I knew it was her.

“If I were still a cop,” Jack said, “that would be probable cause for breaking the door down.”

“It’s too dangerous,” I said.

Jack made a face. “Pregnant or not, I can take care of myself, McGlade.”

“I meant too dangerous for me.” I turned and started walking back to my car. “When you rescue Tangi, tell her I won’t make the next doctor’s visit because I’ve left the country. Forever.”

Another scream, this one even louder.

Despite every fiber of my being telling me to keep going, my feet faltered. Damn. I obviously needed new shoes.

“So, you coming?” Jack called.

I shut my eyes. All my problems would be solved. All I had to do was be myself. Take a few more steps. Not look back.

I looked back.

“Come on.” Jack held her .38 in both hands and started waddling for the rear of the wrought iron fence surrounding Dovolanni’s house.

It didn’t take half as much time as I’d hoped for me to catch up. “The gate’s locked. I guess we’re out of luck. Well, we tried our best.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got a key.” Jack leveled the barrel of her .38 on the lock and fired.

The report cracked through the neighborhood, bouncing off concrete and pavement, echoing down alleys, and making my ears feel like someone had stuck screwdrivers in them.

Jack nodded at the mangled padlock. “It’s open now.” She tugged the gate open and held her revolver in both hands, having to bend her elbows because her belly got in the way.

“What about Phin?” I said. “We should wait for him.”

“No time.”

Unholstering my .44, I followed her into Sal’s backyard, pausing to admire a topiary in the shape of a woman’s ass. Those wise guys had style.

The house’s back door flew open and a guy wider than Tony filled the entrance, a shotgun in his mitts. I think I recognized him as one of the nine. Or nine of the eighteen. Or whatever.

Jack glanced back at me, already in motion. “Go find Tangi.” She waddled up beside shotgun dude in a blur of pregnant speed, popping him in the nose with the butt of her gun, yanking his weapon away from him, and then punching him, full force, in the crotch.

I winced. Hell hath no fury like a preggo denied Zingers.

She stepped over his hulking form and led the way into the house. I followed at a safe distance.

“Really feeling the hormones lately, huh Sis?”

“If I popped right now, I’d cover the entire Gold Coast with estrogen.”

“Nice. You should put that in a greeting card.”

We moved through the kitchen. When we’d reached a hallway leading to the house’s front rooms and had just passed the solemn portrait of Sal’s macho wife, I heard a feminine whimper coming from Sal’s man cave.

Something happened to me then. I no longer wanted to get the hell out of there. Just the opposite, in fact.

I certainly didn’t love Tangi. I didn’t even like her. But I couldn’t let anyone hurt the mother of my son.

My son.

I’d heard endless stories from parents about all the cute shit their stupid kids did, and I always rolled my eyes and thanked the universe that I would never be forced to endure any of that myself.

But all of a sudden, I didn’t feel that way anymore. I
wanted
to endure it. I wanted to watch Harry Jr. being born, and to be the first person he saw when he opened his eyes. I wanted to watch him learn to crawl. I wanted to hear his first words. I wanted to help him grow to become a better man that I’d ever be. I wanted to someday sit down with him, raise my whiskey glass to his and say,
“You know what, kid? I’m proud of you. I’m so damn proud of you. And happy fourteenth birthday.”

Clutching my Magnum tight in my fist, I kicked Sal’s door in, ready to shoot, ready to kill anything or anyone who dared to hurt Tangi WhateverHerLastNameWas and Harry McGlade Jr.

I burst in just as Tangi screamed again. Screamed long and loud as Sal knelt before her, showing me his naked, flabby ass, her leg up over his shoulder, his mouth on her…

“Aw… God.”

“Harry?” Tangi’s eyes focused on mine, coming back from the brink of ecstasy. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Sal, face glistening, grinned at me like the old idiot he was. “Ha!” he said. “She’s all woman! No dick here!”

I was disgusted, repulsed, and only a teeny bit aroused.

Jack put her hand on my shoulder. “This is what we were saving her from? Orgasms?”

“Women can have orgasms?” I said.

Tony and five or six other thugs converged on us, but Sal ordered them to stand down.

“Here’s the deal, Mr. McGlade,” Sal said, wiping off his chin. “I see why you tried to protect Tangi. She’s pregnant with your baby. I understand. That was a noble thing to do. But I love her. And while I’ll allow you visitation rights with your son when he’s born, Tangi is going to marry me, and they’re going to live here.”

“What about Mrs. Dovolanni?” I asked.

“My lovely wife. The poor woman choked on a chicken sandwich last month, God rest her soul.”

All the wise guys made the sign of the cross, Sal included.

“You’re an asshole,” Jack told me. “This was a complete waste of my time, and I’m fucking starving.”

She turned and left. I shrugged. “Okay. So we’re… uh… even, I guess?” I said to Sal.

“Far from it. You owe me the five thousand dollars I told you to give to Tangi.”

Tangi’s face went from flushed to pissed in a nanosecond. “What? Sal, baby, you gave this idiot five grand?”

“Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone,” I said, backing out of there. “Tangi, gimme a call when you’re having your next appointment thingy with Dr. Patel.”

“You son of a bitch! Why didn’t you give me that money?”

“Gotta run. Stuff to do.”

We got out of there, fast, and the only thing that saved me from Jack’s wrath was Phin showing up with an entire 7-11’s worth of junk food. It’s hard to bitch with a full mouth.

A few months later, my son was born.

And when I held his pink, squirming body in my arms, for the third time in my life I had nothing flippant to say.

I
flipped the shotgun, grabbing the grip in the air just as the elevator exploded and the man came charging low out of the stairwell.

Ears ringing from the grenade, I didn’t hear the next thing Cory said over the phone, nor did I hear the shotgun go off when I pulled the trigger.

The force tore the weapon from my grasp and tore off much of the stairwell man’s face. I never saw the woman in the elevator, but this one was dressed in blue coveralls and white latex gloves. His dead hand still clenched a semi-auto with a suppressor screwed on.

Spent gunpowder clogged my throat. I pinched my nose, held my lips closed, and tried to breathe out, forcing my ears to equalize. I still couldn’t hear very well.

“This connection is terrible,” I said into the phone. “You’re breaking up.”

My hip buzzed. I startled, whirling around, then remembered my encrypted cell. I dug it out of my panties.

Now I had no choice. I couldn’t talk to Jacob while listening to Cory’s ransom demands. And Jacob had priority over everything else. I squeezed my eyes shut, hands shaking, and hit the disconnect button on my land line. I’d know in a few seconds how Kauffman suffered for my decision.

“Is Wanda there?’ Jacob asked. I could barely hear him.

I’d already used the Milan code phrase, so I used the follow-up. “She’s visiting her cousin in Nebraska. Can I take a message?”

“Are you out of the building yet? The Carmen Sawyer ID is burned. Word from the Chicago PD is that there are state and federal warrants out on you. I count at least ten squad cars heading toward your apartment. Two of them are pulling up right now.”

Standard operating procedure. Someone higher-up trumped up some fake charges so the feds and local law enforcement brought me in. But were they trying to save me, or bury me?

I shook my head. Think. I needed to think. Kauffman first.

“I need you to triangulate that call made to my home phone. It’s a...” I groped for the word, “
friend’s
cell. Cory kidnapped him. I also need a DoD backdoor and a direct uplink to an ICU satellite in sync orbit over Chicago.”

“Opening backdoor…now.
Diciassettesimo papa.
You don’t have time to mess around with Cory right now, Chandler. Wait…what the hell?” Jacob paused, then said, “How did they find me?”

My heart rate jumped up an extra twenty beats per minute, and it was already hovering around 130. “Who found you? What’s happening there?”

“Chandler, they’re blowing the main…”

The phone went dead.
Jacob.
I let out a breath. Nothing I could do about it at the moment. I hopped over the corpse, tucked away the cell, and stepped into the hallway. My house handset rang. Cory.

“It wasn’t my fault,” I said, trying to keep my breathing steady. “This damn phone connection.”

Kauffman’s voice was faint, and my hearing still hadn’t fully returned, but his words felt as if they were fired into my head with a machine gun.

“He cut off one of my fingers.”

Everything I’ve been taught—all of my training, all of my experience—slipped away. For a second, I couldn’t breathe. I shuddered, rooted to the spot, alone and afraid. “Kauffman? Talk to me!”

Cory came on. “Do your best not to lose the connection again, Carmen. Next time I’m not going to bother with a finger. I’ll take the whole hand. You know I’ll do it. Fuck, I’ll
enjoy
doing it.”

Ice, I reminded myself. I was ice. So cool I had antifreeze for blood. I unbunched my jaw, forced back the tears and looked around the stairwell.

Focus.

No heat in there, making it at least ten degrees cooler than the hallway. Brick walls, metal stairs, eight steps per flight, two flights between floors. Below, I heard footfalls. At least five sets, coming up in a hurry. “I’ll give you the money. Whatever you want. Just don’t hurt him again.”

“Listen closely, babe. I’ll only say this once.”

If that many cops were coming in after me, they must have the exits covered. Getting arrested meant Kauffman would die. No doubt Cory was planning on killing him even if I paid—Cory wasn’t known for leaving survivors. But I couldn’t help Kauffman if I was in custody.

Assuming whoever set me up would let me live long enough to be taken into custody.

Down wasn’t an option. So I had to go up.

“I’m listening,” I said, controlling my breathing. The steps were cold under my feet, and I took them two at a time. I could smell stale beer and vomit, probably courtesy of the college kids from the floor below, and the lemon-scented bleach John the custodian used to clean it up. The footsteps got louder, more numerous. Eight cops…no,
nine
…coming up fast. I increased my pace.

“The sidewalk at eight seventy…”

The phone hissed static at me.

I’d gone out of range.

I stopped, went back down a few steps.

“Please repeat that. I couldn’t hear you.” My voice went up an octave, a little acting but also some real emotion getting out. “Please don’t hurt him again, Cory This fucking phone—”

“Eight-seventy-five north Michigan Avenue,” he said, irritation in his tone.

I didn’t want Cory to be irritated. I knew what he was capable of.

The cops were less than three floors down from me. They’d check my apartment first. But it wouldn’t take long to search, and when they didn’t find me they’d send a team upstairs. Could I kill innocent police officers to save Kauffman?