Read Dead Is Dead (The Jack Bertolino Series Book 3) Online

Authors: John Lansing

Dead Is Dead (The Jack Bertolino Series Book 3) (27 page)

Epilogue

Jack was keeping the tone light for Nick’s sake, but he was worried. Nick was propped up in a hospital bed at St. John’s. His left shoulder and arm were set in a solid plaster cast. Only his fingers were exposed, and they were swollen and stained orange.

Cruz stood off to the side, haggard, in shocked silence. The battle with the Dirks, and the cartel enforcers, was more than he had signed on for, and he was having second thoughts about his career path.

Three IV drips hung from metal contraptions and emitted beeps at odd times. A monitor tracking Nick’s heartbeat sent a green neon line oscillating across a screen.

His face was pale, his eyes glazed, and as good as the pain medication was, the big man was clearly hurting.

Jack stood bedside, wearing a fresh T-shirt and jeans. He’d showered on the boat, cleaned his wounds as best as he could, and ran to the hospital as soon as he’d moored.

“Doc Stein said I should find another line of work. He restitched my head, put in eight over my eye, checked my prostate, and I’m good to go,” he said.

The zaftig nurse who’d attended to Jack a few days earlier barked a laugh. She unplugged an empty bag that was emitting a solid tone now, switched it out for a full bag of antibiotics, and reset the timer. The IV started beeping again.

She looked from Jack to Nick and clucked, shaking her head. “You both need to find something new to do with your lives,” and then to Jack and Cruz, “Don’t stay too long. My next ex-husband needs his beauty sleep.” And she was out the door.

Nick wasn’t amused. Jack handed him a cup of ice chips to keep him hydrated. Nick grabbed it with his one good hand. “Now what?” he grumbled.

Jack grabbed the cup and placed a few chips into his friend’s mouth. “The good news, it’s your left shoulder.”

Nick sucked on the ice chips and nodded his head; Jack placed a few more in. Finally, “But it’s attached to my left hand.”

“Yeah?”

“So I do a lot of
things
, primarily with my left hand.”

“Hold a gun?”

“No.”

“Write?”

“No.”

“Eat?”

“No. Just think about it,” Nick said. His eyes blinked closed and then opened again with a start.

“So,” Jack said, “Detective Wald called to check on you. Sent his best, owes you one for making him look good.”

“It’s the fucking dog he should be thanking. Oh, and possibly you.”

Jack deflected, “Sacramento is filing paperwork for the Dirk brothers. Said Ricky J is a first-degree murder case, it’s in their jurisdiction, and the boys belong to them.”

“DA’s probably up for reelection,” Nick said, drifting again. His eyes snapped back open. “Thanks for calling Lynn. I made her take the baby home.”

“No problem.”

“She blames you.”

Jack had to laugh. It made Nick chuckle and the pain made his face grimace, but the light moment was worth it. “Captain stopped by, they’re bumping me up a pay grade. They think I keep solving these high-profile cases. Thank you for that.” Nick’s eyes flickered.

“Hey,” Jack said, “how come you took a bullet, and you look better than me?”

Nick tried to come up with a pithy comeback and fell asleep.

Jack placed the cup of ice chips back on the metal tray, nodded to Cruz, and winked at the nurse as they walked out of the ward.

Hospitals are for the sick, Jack thought as he and Cruz jumped into his Mustang and drove away.

Jack was standing in the men’s room at Hal’s Bar and Grill, trying to freshen up. A wave of nausea and dizziness rolled over him like a storm cloud, threatening to take him down. Jack grabbed both sides of the sink until the feeling passed. He appraised himself in the bathroom mirror and hardly recognized the face staring back.

The butterfly suture protecting the stitches over his eyebrow couldn’t hide the swelling. Jack’s eye had gone from a yellowish green to a dark purple. The new stiches in the side of his head were itching, but his head had survived the trauma of the fistfight. All and all, Jack thought, he looked, and felt, like hell.

He walked carefully down the stairs and slid into the comfort of his favorite booth with its unobstructed view of the entire room.

Arsinio, the sage waiter he was, placed a Stoli on the rocks in front of his friend, and Jack nodded in approval. His bruised knuckles hurt as he picked up the glass, and the vodka burned some going down, but the burn turned to warmth, and the warmth would jack up the Vicodin and stanch some of his physical pain.

Jack had placed a call to Chris, wanting to give him a heads-up before his son witnessed the carnage on the local news. Jack told him not to worry, and Chris told him to find a new line of work. He also shared how proud he was that his dad had put away the killers. Jack got a bit sloppy on the phone. His son’s stamp of approval meant the world to him.

Jeannine and Jeremy had arrived at Stanford acting like teenage lovers, but they were working very hard not to impose on Chris’s personal life. Jack wondered how long that would last. At least Jeremy’s claiming back his woman meant that the trip to Palo Alto was only a visit.

Jack promised to drive up north when the dust had settled.

He had an early date with Susan, but was anticipating some kind of emotional fallout. Jack wasn’t too adept at reading women, but he felt it in his bones. And his bones were sensitive after the abuse they’d suffered the past few weeks.

As if on cue, Susan Blake walked through the front door. She waved to the bartenders, making their nights, and turned heads as she glided through the room. She buzzed Jack’s cheek and slid into the booth sitting opposite. Arsinio arrived on the spot and placed a glass of Benziger in front of his favorite client.

“Why, thank you, Arsinio. That’s very thoughtful.”

“We’re all just glad you’re okay, Susan.”

“We both know who we have to thank for that.”

Arsinio looked at Jack, his eyes a little moist, and made himself scarce.

“Hah, you’re on the heavy sauce?” Susan took a hearty drink of her red wine.

“It’s been that kind of week.”

“You look better than expected.”

“Huh. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Susan smiled. “How’s Nick doing?”

“He lost a lot of blood. The bullet splintered his clavicle and tore up his muscle. The Doc says three to six months of physical therapy and he should be back on his game. Real violence . . . very different from Hollywood’s version.”

Susan, caught in a rare loss for words, clinked her glass against Jack’s, took a controlled sip, and nailed him with her gray-blue eyes. His heart skipped a beat somewhere in that sequence of events, and when she finger-combed her chestnut hair behind one ear, she looked ravishing to Jack. And he didn’t know if he’d ever used the word.

“So,” Susan said, “I had a conversation with Tommy about getting me out of my contract for
Blond Cargo
.”

“You’re going back to New York?” A statement, not a question.

Susan smiled, nodded knowingly. “After the shoot. After we wrap
Done Deal
. I’d never leave George high and dry. But it’s all been . . . way too much, Jack. I realized that I couldn’t move forward without letting go of my past. And that’s going to take some honest, intensive work.”

Jack nodded in agreement. “It’s time to take care of you now,” he said thoughtfully. “You’ve had all these bastards exploiting you. I like what I’m hearing, Susan. It’s time to do some healing. What did Tommy have to say?”

“He recused himself.” Susan’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “Said it might cost you your back end money, and he’d never do that to a friend.”

Jack wasn’t engaged in a one-up contest, but had to admit it felt good his old friend had his back. “What did you say?”

“I fired him.” Susan scrunched up her face like a child. “It’s nothing personal, Jack, but I didn’t get where I am playing second banana. I’ll save that for my fifties, thank you very much.”

“I don’t think second banana is in your DNA.”

“You’re a lover, Jack.” Susan took another sip of wine. “So, what do you think? You want to go home and get crazy tonight?”

Jack gave that question the thought it deserved, but already knew the answer. “You’re putting it on me?” he said wryly.

Susan raised her eyebrows and smiled, cutting him to the quick.

Jack matched her, smile for smile. “You knew I wouldn’t say yes.”

“I did, Jack. No hard feelings. I owe you my life. I literally owe you my life. And I will be your friend forever.” Her eyes got wet, and she dabbed them with the cloth napkin.

Jack finished his cocktail and said, “That’s good enough for me.”

Susan took a deep breath and they shared an intimate moment. Then she finished off the wine in one tilt of her beautiful head, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, leaned across the table, and kissed him square on the lips.

“You are the man, Jack Bertolino.”

Susan Blake slid out of the booth, walked slowly through the dining room and out the front door without ever looking back.

Arsinio arrived at the table and dropped off a fresh Stoli rocks and a dish of fried calamari with spicy tartar sauce, then made himself scarce.

Jack thought about show business, and the capricious nature of Hollywood. The jury was still out. His mind drifted to Leslie Sager and he felt some melancholy, but wasn’t sure what that was all about. Suddenly, Jack smiled and raised his Stoli in a silent toast.

Through Hal’s front windows, Jack watched as George Litton’s stretch limo pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the night.

Acknowledgments

I want to thank Karen Hunter for opening the door to this great adventure, and Brigitte Smith and the entire team at Simon & Schuster for all of their support. Editor extraordinaire, John Paine, you did it again. Many thanks to Leslie Abell, my friend and lawyer. And heartfelt thanks to Gordon Dawson, Bob Marinaccio, Diane Lansing, Deb Schwab, and Annie George, for taking the time out of their busy schedules to read my work and share their thoughts. I’m grateful.

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John Lansing's debut thriller and enthralling tour into the real-life world of cops, crime, drugs, and murder featuring Jack Bertolino.