Cowboy Gangster 02 - Gunnin' for Love (CMS) (MM) (17 page)

♦

Clint’s legs were like lead as he and the other three men surged into the emergency room. What he’d done to Ryder and Tucker hadn’t caused even a twinge of nausea –but now he had to battle the urge to vomit. How badly had Cory been hurt? He’d sounded weak, like he was fading. Had the paramedics gotten to him in time? Clint viciously thrust the thought from his mind as Anthony went quickly to the nurses’ station and inquired about his son.

Shay…he’s so cold…

Clint couldn’t look Angelo in the eye. His certainty that Shay was dead radiated in his eyes –he could
feel
it. Shay was like a son to Angelo, and the man would blame himself for this. He had brought Shay into the business, and that would be what he focused on.

His boots echoed hollowly in the large, brightly lit corridor as he paced back and forth, his hand clamped tightly on the back of his neck, head ducked.
Please let Cory be alive. Please…please. We can’t lose them both. That’s too fucking much.
Losing just one was too fucking much. But both…

He swallowed thickly and kept a short distance from the others, a pressure in his chest that labored his breathing.
Fuck! Why didn’t I go with Cory? It should have fucking been me at his back! Shay should have never been there –FUCK!

Clint pulled back the tears struggling to form and returned to the other when Anthony came back. There was a tremor in the man’s hands that scared the fuck out of Clint. A film of tears glossed the older man’s eyes and he, too, appeared incapable of looking Angelo in the face.

“Cory’s in surgery,” he rasped thickly. His voice shuddered. “He…he was in critical condition when they brought him in.” He trembled. “He was shot. But the nurse said we have to wait for the doctor before we know anything else.” He fell silent, staring at the floor. A tear slipped free and rolled down his cheek.

Angelo stared at him, a thick glossy shimmer to his eyes. “And Shay?” he whispered.

His throat beginning to work slowly, more tears followed the first, coursing down Anthony’s face. He shook his head slowly.

Tight-lipped, Clint asked, “How?”

Anthony’s words were hardly audible as he managed –“Shot…in the head.”

He’s so cold…I can’t warm him up.
How long had Cory been there alone with Shay’s dead body?

Cochise spun around and walked away, shoving hard through the heavy double doors that led out into the ER waiting room. Clint watched him go but couldn’t follow –was pretty sure it wasn’t safe to follow –as his feet rooted to the floor.

An emptiness crept into Angelo’s stare, his own tears welling but somehow holding. “Where is he?”

Anthony dragged a shaky hand over his face. “Down in the morgue.”

“How do I get there?” Angelo whispered numbly.

“I’ll ask,” Anthony murmured and returned to the nurses’ station.

Angelo raised his eyes to Clint and managed to focus. “Did you know?”

Licking his lips slowly, Clint shook his head. “I didn’t know for sure. But the way Cory was talking on the phone…” He swallowed thickly. “I didn’t want to make the call if there was still a chance he might be…” His lips tightened and again his vision swam. “Shay was a damn good kid. I guarantee you, whoever did this is gonna pay in the worst fucking way.”

Angelo nodded and his gaze drifted from Clint’s face, losing focus. “I know you’ll do right by him,” he said quietly with a distant tone.

“You can count on it.” Clint stared at him and wondered if the man –if any of them –would fully recover from this loss. He glanced at the counter where Anthony seemed to be having slightly heated words with the RN. Clint frowned and approached them. “Is there a problem, Anthony?”

The man was barely holding his emotions together, though anger appeared to be dominating at the moment. The nurse looked at Clint. “Sir, the police have insisted we inform them as soon as Mr. Romero arrived.”

“They can wait,” Clint said. “How do we get to the morgue?”

“But sir…” the nurse glanced between them anxiously. “The police-”

“They can fucking
wait
,” Clint snapped. “And give these men a fucking minute to deal with the loss of a son.”

The nurse backed down, though she didn’t seem the type who normally did so. She gave Anthony directions to the lower level where the morgue was located and they walked back over to Angelo.

“I’ll go with him,” Anthony spoke with a raw, thick tone. “Wait here in case the doctor comes out. I told the nurse the first time I spoke with her, that any information about Cory could be relayed to you and Cochise.” He released a slow, tense breath and slid his arm around Angelo’s shoulders. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s go see Shay.”

♦

The ER waiting room was modest with cushioned chairs along the wall by the tall windows, then another row of back-to-back chairs in the center of the room with conveniently placed end tables on which were neatly stacked magazines. A box of tissues accompanied each small table.

Clint stood before the large windows, staring through his reflection at the partially lit parking lot outside –and the Egyptian leaning against the black car, muscular arms crossed tightly over his thick chest. He stared out through the darkness…and feeling the pain of Shay’s loss and fear for Cory’s life every bit as deeply as the rest of them. Cochise wouldn’t shed a tear –that wasn’t his way. Clint at times wondered if that was by choice of the man himself, or if it had been bred into him throughout his youth. He came from a strict culture that Clint knew nothing about, and which Cochise never spoke of in personal terms. Clint had
chosen
to lock down his emotions, his conscience, for most of his life –but he was clearly capable of tapping into them.

Was the Egyptian
incapable?

“Sir?”

Clint turned slowly and stared at the young officer standing behind him. “Yes?”

“Are you with the Romero party?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t be more than mid-twenties –at most –and looked fresh out of the police academy. His black hair was perfectly styled with some shit that gave it a “plastic” look –shiny hard plastic. He wasn’t bad looking and had a smidge of classic handsomeness and possibly a decent body, although it was difficult to determine beneath his uniform that was just a tad too loose.

“I’m Officer Parks. I need to ask you some questions concerning Mr. Romero and Mr…” he glanced quickly at his notepad. “Mr. O’Riley’s presence at the abandoned warehouse on 5th Street this evening.”

Clint stared at him expressionless. “So ask.”

The waiting room was deserted and the officer motioned to a chair. “Would you like to sit?”

“No.”

Parks looked at him quickly then focused on his open pad. “All right. As you wish.” He cleared his throat and looked like he wanted to sit. “Can you tell me what the two young men were doing at the warehouse, with firearms on their persons?”

Clint slowly raised an eyebrow. On their persons? He bet this guy had read ever stitch of police procedural literature thrown his way and memorized every word. Unfortunately, when used in the real world –the technical jargon often sounded ridiculous and simply exposed the rookies. But Clint preferred the rookies. It was the seasoned detectives they had to watch out for.

“They were meeting with a potential buyer. Mr. Romero brought a Maserati up from New York for his father. They were supposed to be meeting with the buyer.”

“So late in the evening?”

“The buyer had a hectic schedule, it was the only time he could meet with them.”

The officer looked skeptical. “I find it hard to imagine a buyer of such an expensive car would want to meet at an abandoned warehouse. Was that the scheduled meeting place?”

“No.”

“Where was it?”

“I don’t know,” Clint said. “I don’t run the cars or meet with the buyers, but I know it wasn’t some fucking warehouse.”

Parks frowned. “So this was an official business transaction…not a personal sale by Mr. Romero?”

“It was business.”

“I see.” Parks scribbled on his pad. “So Mr. Romero and his father own a…car dealership?”

“Not exactly,” Clint said. “They are commissioned by private parties who want the sales of their high priced merchandise to be handled personally and with finesse. They’re picky about who buys their cars.”

“And this is a lucrative business?”

Clint shrugged. “Seems to be.”

“And what was the name of the buyer Mr. Romero and Mr. O’Riley was meeting with?”

“I told you,” Clint said. “I don’t deal with the sales, or the buyers. You’ll have to ask Anthony Romero.”

Officer Parks nodded and jotted on the pad again. “How do you suppose they ended up at the warehouse?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Clint gave him a dead stare and Officer Parks averted his eyes.

“Do Mr. Romero and Mr. O’Riley make a habit of bringing firearms with them during the sale of a car?”

Clint wasn’t in the mood for this shit –not when Shay lay dead on some fucking cold metal slab and Anthony and Angelo were about to experience the full effect of their loss. “Well, I don’t suppose Mr. O’Riley will be making a habit of
anything
anymore, now will he?”

The officer exhaled slowly and looked at Clint. “I’m sorry for your loss. I understand you not wanting to do this right now. But I’m just doing my job. This was a gunshot related incident, so we have to ask these questions.”

The quickest way to get this done with the least amount of suspicion was to cooperate, but it was fucking hard to play nice when Cory was under the knife, fighting for his life. Clint didn’t want to be here –he wanted to be elsewhere, putting the heel of his boot through that motherfucking Venetti’s skull.

Clint breathed deep and released it slow. “All of Anthony’s drivers, buyer handlers –whatever you want to call them –are licensed to carry concealed weapons. They often travel alone transporting fucking expensive vehicles. And not all buyers are on the level, as much as they check out. It’s merely a safety precaution.”

The officer continued to scribble on his pad while he spoke. “So you have no idea why they would have been at the warehouse?”

Did I fucking stutter?
Clint exhaled hard. “No. Only Corrigan Romero can tell you that.”

Parks sighed and murmured, “Then let’s hope he makes it out of surgery.”

“What?” Clint hissed, a sudden rage gripping him. “
Then
let’s hope he makes it? I don’t give a flying
fuck
about your little questions.” He stabbed his finger toward the ER doors. “That kid in there –not much younger than
you
–is someone’s
son
, someone’s
best friend.
” Clint stepped toward the officer, looming over him like a nightmare creature come to life. Parks stepped back. “He is
not
some
fucking source of answers.”

Fear widened the officer’s eyes. “I’m…I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“We’re finished,” Clint stated coldly and brushed around the cop, his strides quick and rigid as he surged through the ER doors.

♦

He felt the cold in his bones before they ever reached the door labeled MORGUE. Standing outside it, though, the chill intensified and Angelo began to visibly tremble before him. Anthony knew where his friend’s mind was. He had promised Shay’s father, on his deathbed, that he would look after Shay, keep him safe –love him like his own son.

“Angelo.” Anthony cupped his neck and pressed his head to the man’s brow. “I’m with you, every step of the way. Shay was my boy, too. I loved him like a son. This isn’t your fault. You can’t let yourself go there.”

Angelo leaned against his head and closed his eyes. “Open the door.”

His hand shaking, Anthony gripped the cold metal knob and twisted, a part of him wishing it was locked. It turned easily with a soft click and the door opened quietly. That didn’t seem right. It was the door leading into a room of death where multiple visitors over the years had left behind their shattered hearts, broken minds…ruined lives. It was ridiculous to Anthony that he became fixated on this one thing at this moment, but it seemed like this door should screech and wail like an old rusted door to a crypt…and not swing open so smoothly, but have to be shoved inward –raking across the floor –as heavy laden as the hearts trying to enter.

His hand rested on Angelo’s back as he walked his friend inside. Angelo’s tears had yet to break, though his eyes seemed to fill up more and more. But Anthony knew what was holding them back. Anthony’s own tears continued to trickle out, coursing down his cheeks. His heart was breaking…for all of them. Clint blamed himself for not backing up Cory, it was in his eyes. Angelo took the blame for bringing Shay into the business. And Cochise…Anthony hadn’t been oblivious to the subtle bond the man had been forging with Shay, little by little, developing an ever growing closeness much resembling that of Clint and Cory. The man’s heart had been ripped out, yet unlike the rest of them –even Clint –he had no ability to openly grieve.