Furious Jones and the Assassin’s Secret (24 page)

He raised his gun and was now pointing it at my head. “I don't work for anyone, son. I'm about to become the president of the United States. But you don't get there without a little help. The Salvatores take care of my problems and, in exchange, I provide them with information.”

“Like where the government places its witnesses?” I asked.

“Yeah, stuff like that.” He smiled. “It's just business, Furious. And”—he motioned toward Anton's body on the floor—“with Douglas out of the picture, life just got a lot easier for me and the Salvatores. But they aren't going to be happy about Anton. He was a rock star. I mean, he killed
your mom. He killed the famous Carson Kidd. Do you know how difficult that was?”

I took a step toward him, and he pulled the trigger. The gun flashed and a bullet whizzed by my head.

“Whoa, I'm a little rusty.” He smiled. “Admittedly it has been a long time since I had to hold a gun, but killing is a little like riding a bike—it'll come back to me.” He paused and then started to pace in front of the oven.

“It's a shame, really. I mean, I don't enjoy this kind of stuff. Not really. Not like these kinds of guys.” He motioned again to Anton's body on the floor. “This is your dad's fault. I mean your mom was just doing her job, I can't blame her for that, but your dad had options.”

“I thought you said you were friends with my dad.”

“Friends?” He laughed. “In my line of work you don't need friends, you need leverage. And when you showed up at your dad's reading, I thought I finally had it. Did you see his face when he walked onstage and saw us sitting together? I thought for sure he would realize that I meant it when I said I'd kill you if he published the book. With you at my side, I thought for sure he would call off the whole thing. Retract the book and tell everyone to go home. And I think he came close. He paused several times. I mean, did you see how upset he was?” Como laughed.

“In my line of work you end up with a lot of powerful friends and powerful enemies.” Then he chuckled again
and added, “And sometimes it is hard to tell the difference.”

I thought about that night. The last night of my dad's life. He was so upset to see me. Or, at least, I'd
thought
he was upset to see me. I'd thought he didn't want me there. I'd thought it was just one more example of me disappointing him.

“You?” I felt my chest tighten again. “You had my dad killed? And my grandpa?”

“Oh, you're giving me too much credit. I don't have
that
kind of power. The Salvatores had your parents killed. I couldn't help your mom. She dug her own grave when she discovered what was going on here. But your dad. Your dad was all about avenging your mom's death. All about using his popularity to—”

He paused and then smiled. “It's kind of ironic, really. I mean, your dad makes a career out of exploiting your mom, and then, in the end, tries to exploit her for good. Is that irony? I don't know, but I think that's irony.”

“You're not going to get away with it,” I said.

Como laughed again. “God, you've got so much of your mom—”

Trish let out a weak cough and Como stopped midsentence. He looked down at Trish and then at Anton and Douglas.

“Where is your mom?” Como asked Trish. He sounded like he was talking to an infant. I looked back at the counter
for something I could use as a weapon as Como repeated the question to Trish.

Trish didn't reply. I wasn't sure she was conscious.

Como pointed the pistol at her and repeated the question again.

“Where is your mom?” he asked. “They're going to want to know the job is done.”

“Leave her alone!” Mike roared.

Como smiled. “You must be big brother.”

Mike started to cry. “Leave us alone! Please!”

Then Como casually pointed his gun at Mike and fired. He didn't miss this time, and I watched as a bullet entered Mike's foot. The momentum flung him around and he fell to the ground.

“Stop!” I yelled.

He looked back at me. “Oh, we'll get to you soon enough.”

“We told the sheriff,” I lied again. “He's on his way.”

“Please. Are you serious, Furious?” He laughed. “Ha, that rhymed.” He continued to smile. “I'm not worried about a small-town sheriff.”

He pointed the gun back at me, and I figured this was it. I was sure he would pull the trigger. The guy was absolutely delusional. Everything in my life was gone. He had ripped everything away and now he would end it all.

“I think he already killed her,” I said. “Trish's mom. I think Anton killed her and put her in the freezer.”
I motioned to the freezer door behind him. I had to buy time. “He was walking out of there when we came in.”

He turned toward the freezer door and lowered his gun. “He was coming out of here?”

“Yes.” You stupid jerk.

“Strange.”

He kept the gun pointed in my direction as he backed up. Mike looked at me through his tears and cried harder.

Como switched the gun from his right hand to his left and reached for the freezer door. I looked over my left shoulder. There were a colander and a whisk on the counter.

Como glanced back at us as he pulled the freezer door open. He turned his head to look in. I glanced over my right shoulder. There was nothing on the counter to my right.

Como turned his body and took a half step into the freezer, and I turned around, scouring the shelves behind me. I found a large heavy butcher knife on the top shelf. I gripped it by the tip and spun back around. Como was still standing half in the freezer. His voice was muffled.

“Man, that guy was twisted.”

I bent down on one knee and extended my right arm behind me. The knife was heavy.

Concentrate. You've got one chance
, I thought.

“Wow,” Como continued. “You see? This is why he is—or was—a professional.” His voice was becoming louder and
clearer as he backed out of the freezer. “That's how professional assassins work. It never looks like murder when done right.”

I snapped my arm forward with all my might as Como turned back toward me. I watched the knife flip end over end through the air. It took an eternity to reach his throat. And then Como let out a small scream as the handle of the knife hit him square in the throat and fell to the floor. I guess I didn't have Carson Kidd's, or my mom's, killing talents.

“You little jerk!” He switched the gun back to his right hand and pointed it directly at me. “Do you know who I am? Do you?” he demanded. “Turn around and get on your knees.”

He waved the gun back and forth, motioning for me to turn around. “Turn around and get down on your knees!”

This was it. What was I thinking, throwing a butcher knife like I was some sort of fictional hero? I was no hero.

“On your knees now, Furious!”

I turned around and got on my knees. It was going to end—just like this? No fight? No avenging my mom, my dad, or grandpa? Just me living a pathetic life and then kneeling down to die? In the end, my dad tried to avenge my mom's death. But not me. I was just going to kneel down and die.

I could hear his shoes click against the floor as he walked slowly toward me.

“I'll show you how we used to do things.” His voice was high now. He was excited.

Several more clicks and I knew he was standing directly behind me. I had to do something.
Fight, Furious! Be strong! Be brave! Like your mom and dad!

I tightened my stomach and prepared to swing and kick and punch and . . . whatever. I prepared to do something. But as I began to move, I heard a crunch. Had the gun misfired? I tucked down and spun around. I punched with all of my might. I figured I'd punch him like I had punched Douglas. But Como had already fallen, and I hit him in the face. It hurt badly. My hand was bleeding. Como was on his knees with a knife blade sticking out the front of his neck.

Trish pulled the knife out of his throat, and he dropped to the floor.

“Oh my god, Finbar, are you okay?”

I looked down at my hand. There was blood everywhere. “Furious,” I said. “My name is Furious.”

“Furious.”

“I'm okay, are
you
?” I asked.

“I've been worse,” she said.

Mike got up and limped to the freezer.

He let out a loud cry and disappeared into it.

“What is it? Is it mom?” Trish cried. I helped Trish to her feet, and we walked to the open door. Their mom was buried under an avalanche of food. She was unconscious and her
skin was snow white. But she was still alive. She was taking shallow breaths.

“Accident,” I said out loud.

“Accident? This is no accident.” Trish turned toward me.

“No. He made it
look
like an accident. Just like the others.”

I pulled out my phone and dialed 911.

I
stood outside and waited
for help. Three ambulances arrived several minutes later. And then the entire Galena Fire Department and police department followed with all their sirens blaring. And then I saw Emma. She was walking down the Main Street sidewalk toward me.

I ran to her.

“You're okay?” she asked as she wrapped her arms around me.

“Yeah,” I said. “I'm okay.” I leaned back and looked her in the eyes. “Thank you. For everything.”

“I'm just glad you're all—” She stopped when she
saw my hand. “Your hand!”

I looked down. My hand was still bleeding from the knuckles. There was a lot of blood.

“I'm okay. Really.”

“So, Betty's nephew, do you care to tell me what in holy heaven is going on here?” I turned to see Sheriff Daniels standing behind me.

“It's kind of complicated, sir,” I said.

“Why don't you two follow me,” the sheriff said, turning toward Cannova's.

We followed Sheriff Daniels toward Cannova's front door. Trish was being wheeled out on a stretcher. She looked upset. I'm sure she would've rather walked. Mike's mom was on the next stretcher. And Mike was being wheeled out behind her.

“Gosh, Furious. What happened?” Emma asked.

I was about to reply when Daniels turned around and said, “Yeah, Finbar. Or is it Furious? I'm curious too.”

“It's Furious, sir. Furious Jones.”

“Well, maybe you can show me what happened in there, Mr. Jones.” The sheriff motioned inside.

“Okay,” I said. But I didn't need to go inside. The entire sick scene was etched into my brain. The holes in Douglas's jacket. The look on Como's face and the giant gash in his neck. All of it. Every detail perfectly preserved in my messed-up mind.

We stepped into the restaurant and I started to tell the sheriff about my dad and his book. I told him about the assassin after Trish and her mom. I told him the assassin was dead on Cannova's kitchen floor. And I was just about to mention Attorney General Como's involvement when two EMTs rolled Douglas out on a stretcher. He was conscious but looked real bad. The stretcher left a trail of blood as it rolled across the restaurant floor.

“Who shot the CIA guy?” Daniels asked as we walked into the kitchen.

Anton and Como were lying on the floor in the middle of a growing pool of blood. Emma gasped.

“He did.” I pointed to Como. “He shot Director Douglas.”

Daniels crouched down next to Como. “Don't I know this guy?”

“You've probably seen him on TV. He's running for president,” I said. “That's—”

“Attorney General Como,” Daniels finished my sentence.

“Como?” Emma repeated. “Furious, how was the attorney general involved in all of this?”

“And who stuck that knife in his throat?” Daniels pointed to the butcher knife a few feet away.

“Trish did.”

“Yeah,” Daniels said. “That I can believe.”

He looked back at me. “Let's take a ride over to Dubuque
and get your hand fixed up. You can tell me all about—” He stopped talking as he looked around the room. “All about whatever the hell this is.”

The sheriff wrapped my hand in a bar towel, and we walked out onto Main Street.

“Hang on, I've got to grab something.” Emma and Daniels watched as I walked over to Douglas's sedan and grabbed the photo album from the backseat.

I patted the cover of the album and said, “It's proof.”

“Whatever.” Daniels climbed into the truck.

Emma and I climbed into the backseat. I could see the flashing lights of an ambulance a few miles ahead of us. I hoped Trish's mom would be okay. Trish had been through enough.

“So, start from the beginning one more time,” the sheriff said as he drove.

“Okay,” I said. “The Chicago organized crime division has been cutting deals with members of the Salvatore crime syndicate for the last year. They offered a new life to anyone who would rat out fellow mob members. Dozens of bad guys and their families took them up on the offer, and the state ended up sending most of them to Galena.”

“What?” Daniels asked. “Why wouldn't I have been told?”

“It sounds like no one was told. Maybe the state was worried about leaks, but somehow the FBI got wind
of it. And apparently the Salvatore syndicate had a mole in the FBI who tipped off the Salvatores. So they sent their top assassin to Galena to kill the witnesses.”

“Top assassin?” Daniels asked. “How do you know all of this?”

“Hang on, we'll get to that,” I said.

“This is unbelievable, Furious,” Emma said.

“Well, the FBI was unsure of whom they could trust, so they called in an agent from the CIA to help.”

“I think I met the woman they sent,” Daniels said.

“No, you met my mom. The guy they sent is now dead in one of those ambulances in front of us. The CIA sent a guy named Amado Anton, and his family, here to blend in and take the Salvatore assassins out. He had a unique talent for killing. He was perfect for this job. But, it turns out, Anton was working for the Salvatores.”