Authors: Jeffrey B. Burton
Cady kicked at what turned out to be a Jennings J-22, sent it spinning into the stairwell. Unlike the bald monster, Schommer had a glass jaw. She’d gone down hard, a smash to the face and then another blow to the back of her head on impact with the roof asphalt.
“If she moves,” Cady screamed at Hartzell while running toward Westlow, “kick her in the head.”
“What?”
“She comes to, she’ll kill your daughter.”
Nothing more needed saying, as Hartzell rushed over and stood above the fallen agent like a placekicker.
Cady knelt over Westlow.
“Let the record show…you caught me.”
“Don’t try to talk, Jake.”
The bullet had entered Westlow’s lower ribcage and done its damage. Cady pressed down on the wound with his good left hand and tried to ascertain the depths of Westlow’s other wounds. He was badly cut up. Cady was astonished that the man had been able to make it back here at all.
“Where’s…” Westlow coughed. “Where’s—”
Cady read his mind, knew he was referring to the threat they called St. Nick. He tilted his head toward the Hartzells. “They threw him off the side of the building.”
Westlow took a string of short gasps.
“Forecast…didn’t call…raining Mafia.”
“You need to save your breath, Jake.” Cady continued to apply pressure to the wound, his hand now covered in Westlow’s blood. Westlow’s eyes dropped out of focus and Cady knew he was losing him. He placed his crippled hand on Westlow’s shoulder.
“Marly!” Westlow lifted his head, staring forward.
Cady, startled, twisted around to see what Westlow was seeing. Nothing but the night sky in front of them.
“She’s here, Jake,” Cady said. “Marly’s here.”
Westlow’s head sank slowly back down to the ground.
“Marly,” he whispered.
And died.
Epilogue
“T
he forensic auditors are already analyzing the—”
Cady stopped in midsentence when he spotted Terri Ingram standing in the doorway of his room at St. Vincent’s Hospital. The two agents at the guest table, stellar intellects that they were, mumbled inanities about grabbing a late breakfast long enough to snap shut a laptop, then left to give the couple some privacy.
Terry arched her back and did a skillful impersonation of Special Agent Drew Cady. “Just a couple of scratches, Terri. The doctors are all over it. Makes no sense for you to fly out right now—Jund and the attorneys won’t let me up for air until next week.”
“I didn’t want you to see me like this, Terri.”
The swelling had decreased dramatically, but the area encircling his right eye was still a palette of yellows, blues, and dark black. His right hand was elevated, propped up and enmeshed in a sling. Cady was being prepped for a third operation in as many days.
Terri walked across the room, held his free hand in both her palms, leaned forward and kissed him full on the mouth. “Roland said you’ve got this
stoic-dipshit
thing going and flew me out.”
“I’m surprised you caught hold of him between TV interviews.”
“He called me back.” Terri scootched Cady over so she could sit up next to him on the hospital bed. “He let me know how you’re really doing.”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“So my G-Man thought he’d show up in Cohasset looking like the Frankenstein monster and this small-town gal would be none the wiser.”
Cady opened his mouth, but then decided to cut his losses and shut it.
“I saw your colleagues drag Fiorella out of his house while he was still in his jammies. They’re looping that footage on CNN.”
“I suspect a certain AD made damn sure the press would be there.”
“I suspect a certain AD is going to fight me for you.”
“My money’s on the small-town gal.”
“Good answer,” Terri said. “Anything new, G-Man?”
“The accountants are going into Witness Protection. Schommer’s trying to cut deals, but that may not be in the crystal ball.”
“I see they got that poor boy back from Guatemala.”
“They used the kid to twist a New York Deputy AG, some drip named Stouder, into providing Fiorella with daily updates. Stouder’s talking. Drake Hartzell is talking. The only person not talking is Rudy Ciolino—Hartzell’s Coordinator. He hasn’t said one word since we had our chat on the rooftop.”
“Cat got his tongue?”
“Something’s got his tongue, all right.”
“What about the daughter? Is she tied up in any of this?”
“Hartzell claims not. Claims Lucy never knew what he did with investor finances, and that she only came into play as Fiorella’s tool to extort Hartzell into playing along.”
“Do you believe him?”
Cady thought some more. “Lucy’s only twenty. Any involvement in Hartzell’s scam would have been a recent development. Jund will watch her, though, see if she leads him to any hidden treasure.”
They sat together, holding hands for several minutes.
“Can I come with you to see Dorsey?”
“I’d like that.”
“What are you going to tell her?”
“Everything.”
They sat for several more minutes.
“I think you need some serious R&R, G-Man. And I happen to know just the place where you can sit back, rest your dogs, and cast a line in the water.”
Cady glanced at his elevated hand. “I won’t be able to reel anything in for quite a while.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I know something we can do instead.”
Cady smiled. “Good one.”