Shadows and Lies (20 page)

Powers was never comfortable with the role he played. He’d been instructed to let Carmine think his proposal was his own when, in fact, the chief and mayor had concocted it. Powers had explained that he was an officer of the law, sworn to catch criminals, not pick sides. But the reality was that the chief and mayor decided where law enforcement in St. Louis would direct its efforts, and it was their call. They and their predecessors had long ago determined that the drug trafficking couldn’t be stopped, and for reasons of practicality or perhaps corruption, they’d rather it was handled with the crew they already knew. That was the way of things and Powers played what he viewed as his seedy part in it.

Two years later Powers and Carmine met again, but in very different circumstances. Carmine approached Powers for assistance in keeping the Russian mob from planting itself in the Midwest. The organization was headed by a former KGB colonel named Zorya and its conduct made the Colombians look like bumbling beginners. Powers guardedly passed the request along, verbally, and found himself assigned to a joint state, Federal and Canadian task force already targeting Zorya. Powers was ordered to liaison with Carmine since the two already knew one another, and Carmine had approached him seeking help. Once again the political decision, both in Canada and by those in American law enforcement running that side of the operation, was better the crooks they knew than outsiders.

The task force ultimately had only limited success but while Powers was part of it there was an event that cemented Carmine’s loyalty to Powers permanently. The task force steering committee wanted Carmine to go after Zorya more aggressively, that is, start a street war. The idea was to reduce the number of men available to Zorya since the mafia had the clear edge in bodies. Since the Russian was known to take hostage the families of opponents whenever possible, Powers was asked to approach Carmine about letting them place his family under police protection just to be on the safe side.

“You trust these fuckers?” Carmine asked. Their relationship was awkward since the mob boss had been the one asking Powers for the favor.

“I trust them to see to their own interests.”

Carmine looked relieved to hear the answer. “Yeah. Me too. What they
really
want is to put my family under their guns and use it to squeeze me when this is over. But they gotta point that I’d be blind not to see, and there’sa problem I’m facin’ and gotta do something about, so maybe you can help me out here. Some guys are lookin’ to make a deal with that Roosky, Zorya, and take over my business. It’s nothin’ I can’t handle usually, but with the talk that I’m too weak to handle this myself and brought cops in... Well you can see my position here. The way it is, I gotta take care of the Rooshins first then see to the others, you understand? I ain’t lettin’ Feds take my family but I’m not so sure about some of the boys seein’ to them either, if you know what I’m talkin’ about. There’s some that’re okay, but not enough, cause I’m gonna need ‘em myself.”

“I don’t understand what you want.”

“I’m
sayin
’
I’ll deal with the Roosky like the suits want, then I’ll see to business with my people. And I gotta have my own safe while I do it, so I’ll let
you
take care of my family.”

“Me! I’m not a bodyguard, Carmine.”

“You’re a smart fella, at least some of the time. I trust you for this, so I’ll do what they want, but for my own reasons.” The Sicilian’s manner altered subtlety but unmistakably. “Just remember. This is between you and me, not me and them. You understand that? If my family dies, or so much as a single hair on even one of their heads is touched... I don’t need to say it, but you just better be dead too.”

Carmine told Powers he’d give him one of the soldiers he trusted to help. He turned out to be a stone faced Sicilian named Luigi with a chopped off double barrel shotgun and no English.

~

Powers contacted Dorsey Tristan, a retired judge he trusted, and asked for the loan of his summer place in St. Charles County, across the Mississippi River from Grafton, Illinois. It was more like a residence in suburbia than a vacation retreat but the back was covered by the river, one side faced a bluff, leaving only the entrance and one wooded area to guard. It was off season and no one would have a legitimate reason to be walking in the woods or driving to the house. Powers considered his primary security to be the fact that no one, including Carmine, knew where his family was.

Powers drove Sheila, the children, and Luigi to Campbell airport, north of Chicago and from there, to a strip at the town of St. Charles. For all his business commitment to Sicilians, Carmine had married an 18 year old petite blond haired beauty from outside of Milan. Sheila – Powers never learned her Italian first name – was then just 36, more than 20 years younger than Carmine. There were two blond haired daughters, Gina, age 17, Francesca, age 15, and the center of Carmine’s universe, dark haired 11 year old Giuseppe, named for his grandfather. By the time they arrived at the summer house Powers was Sheila’s confidant.

“Carmine’s going to win this thing, Danny, I have no doubts about that,” she said on the short drive from the airport. “He’s been so worried about us lately though, his mind hasn’t been on business, so I told him I thought this was best all around.” Sheila retained little of her original accent and had assimilated Carmine’s speech over the years, though she disciplined the children in Italian and they reacted as if she’d snapped a whip. “Carmine trusts you, Danny. I know he respects you, and that isn’t easy in his book. We’ll make it simple for you,” she said with a wink, patting the top of his thigh with her dainty hand, “I promise you. Yeah! Look at that!” The judge’s house suddenly appeared at the end of the long winding drive. “It’s pretty nice. Better than I expected. We’ll be just fine here. You’ll see.”

She was organized within minutes, while Powers walked the grounds with Luigi, communicating with hand gestures, his tone of voice and facial expression. The man reminded Powers of a figure out of the Sicilian part of the second
Godfather
movie. In addition to his shotgun Luigi also carried a very old Colt .38 revolver. Powers had a pump Remington 12 gauge, a Smith and Wesson .45 handgun, and an air weight .38 Bodyguard model.

On the first evening Gina, the oldest daughter, quite pretty and until now completely silent, engaged Powers in a brief, seemingly innocent conversation. When Sheila entered the living room, she snapped something at the girl in Italian which sent her running off in tears. “That won’t happen again,” Sheila explained taking a place in front of the bare fireplace. She was wearing an oversized sweater, denims and hiking boots on tiny feet. Powers didn’t want to draw attention so there would be no fires.

“She seems like a nice girl.”

“She’s like all girls her age, Danny. Just like I was. If Carmine hadn’t sweet talked me into marrying him, and given my father enough to open his own shop, I’d have been pregnant within six months anyway and hooked up with a pasta maker. He was the ‘also ran’ in the Sheila sweepstakes. Gina’s a good kid but dying to have a real man treat her like a grown woman. Like I say, that won’t happen again.”

“I’m not sure what it is that happened.”

“You’re cute, you know? I wouldna thought you’d still be so naive by this time in your life. Most men are dumb about women anyway though, so why should you be any different?” She picked up a year old
Cosmopolitan
magazine and flipped pages.

Giuseppe joined Powers and asked tentatively if he knew chess. “A bit. I haven’t played in years.” The boy was small for 11.

“That’s all right,” the boy said. “I’m not so good myself.”

“Don’t talk like that, Giuseppe,” Sheila said, but since it was in English the boy smiled. The first game lasted eight minutes, the second six and the third less than five. “Honey,” Sheila said, “you’re showing off. Better to let the man think he’s got a chance like you’re father taught you. Understand?” Her voice was filled with pride.

“Yes, mama.”

“That’s good.” She turned back to her magazine.

“I better make the rounds, then turn in. I’m pulling the two to dawn shift,” Powers said as he stood. “I’ll see if I can’t do better tomorrow night.” Giuseppe smiled.

“I just had a thought,” Powers added. “You know backgammon?”

“Yes. I’m not very good though.” Sheila glanced up but said nothing.

“Let’s play it. I might win a game once in a while.”

As Powers left, Giuseppe was pondering the thought, not looking very happy about it as Sheila spoke intently to him in a reassuring, conspiratorial voice.

~

The next morning Luigi was blushing brightly as he gestured to Powers in the kitchen that he would make his rounds of the grounds. Sheila asked if Powers wanted more coffee then joined him at the table. “I like Luigi, you know? He’s a real gentleman. I don’t usually take to these Sicilians, too much honor and all that, but he’s a good kid. I think I’ll set him up with Francesca. They like each other already.”

“Francesca’s 15 years old, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. Luigi’s 28. He’s a little young for her but then they won’t get married for three years so there’s plenty of time to be sure about this. Don’t look so confused. You think the way these American girls climb in and out of bed with every guy who gives them the time of day, then get married because they’re almost 21 is better? I’ll tell you this. If Luigi and Francesca do marry they’ll stay that way, unless he gets killed of course. Widows with kids are tough to find second husbands for. But you have to see to it because if you aren’t careful, they turn wild on you and cause all kinds of trouble with the soldiers.”

Powers stared at Sheila with amazement and incredulity. “I think I’ll join Luigi.”

Sheila winked. “That’s fine. When you gonna show me my gun? Or are you two planning on handling this all alone?”

“I’ve got a .38 you can have if you want, but we aren’t going to need the guns. We’re secure.”

Now Sheila stared at Powers with amazement. “Who you kidding? They’ll find us. I know I’m okay and I’ll stake my life on Luigi. I just hope you’re as good as Carmine thinks.”

~

They came on the sixth night. By that time, Judge Tristan lay tortured and dead in his townhouse bedroom. The double barrel blast of Luigi’s shotgun awakened Powers from a light sleep and he was out the door before he realized he was even moving. Powers heard automatic weapons fire from three guns and cursed his stupidity for relying on secrecy instead of men and firepower. He recognized the familiar staccato of AK47's and old memories from Vietnam burst on him.

“No lights!!” he shouted over his shoulder as he ran towards firefight. The temperature had dropped 40 degrees since sunset and his shoes snapped on fresh thin ice like twigs. He stopped behind a tree. The shotgun sounded again, then a second time. There was the shouting of a foreign language, Eastern European but not Russian. Both barrels blasted from the shotgun followed by a short scream. Powers advanced cautiously.

The woods were lit by starlight and he could just make out shapes. The scene was nearly surreal, set in black, white and grey. There was a human form splayed on a patch of white, black ink spreading slowly beneath him. To Powers’ right an AK47 sounded, directed towards his left, probably at Luigi. Powers fired with the .45 since he was further away than he liked for the pump shotgun. Three quick shots, as he was trained in the woods of Maryland one hot August. The AK47 stopped abruptly and a second opened up on Powers. He dropped to his stomach and crawled to his left. The shotgun had been quiet too long.

The man with the automatic knew his business. He fired in measured bursts, the bullets kicking up ice and frozen earth where Powers had been just seconds before, then he aimed left and right of the spot, a single bullet striking the heel of his shoes like a heavy hammer slamming into it. Luigi fired from deeper in the woods and there was another scream, this one long and slow, piercing the dark with pain. Powers stopped.

Nothing.

He advanced cautiously towards the figure he’d spotted and stripped the heavy man of his AK47, a heavy automatic pistol and three Russian hand grenades. From behind him Powers heard the snub nose .38 bark. He rose and bolted towards the house. The Smith and Wesson sounded three times more and Powers knew it was empty. He crashed through the front door and spotted Sheila standing over a man sprawled across a throw rug, dressed like a soldier, an Asian cast to his features. “The fucker’s dead,” she said casually, but in a high-pitched voice.

“Have you seen another?”

“No.”

Powers pulled an automatic from the body, jacked the slide and handed it to Sheila. “Just press the trigger if you need a gun again. You’ll have about 13 shots this time. Protect the children. Take them into the furnace room. I’ll be guarding the stairs after I do a quick check outside, so don’t shoot unless you are certain.”

He went out the door then moved along the side of the house. An automatic fired, the bullets tracing the wall just beside him. He dropped, pulled his liberated AK47 around and emptied a clip into the brush from where the gun had fired. Then he yanked the pin from a hand grenade and lobed it there as well, as much to let the opposition know he had them, as to do damage.

There were no more fireworks after that and the perimeter held no other surprises. He went back into the house and took up a place in the dark. Sheila was going to have to handle the cellar windows herself and Luigi was out of luck. Powers job was the family. He made it two down for certain. One the Sicilian had seen to, perhaps another as well, the other Powers had killed in the woods. He was nearly certain he’d also got this last one but wasn’t going to count on it. It was difficult to gauge the number of the enemy. He’d counted four for certain, but if it was a professional assault team, and it had the earmarks of one, no one would use a weapon unless there was a target in sight. He couldn’t know how many there were altogether.