SHANK (A Wilde Crime Series) (32 page)

“The day I need to be saved by her is the day I retire,” I teased, pulling out my M1911 and placing it on the bar.

Roxanne shook her head. “You should give her more credit.”

The bar door opened, saving me from further comment. Mickey and Andy walked in, faces grim. Neither said a word until I poured two glasses of Jameson, and slid them down the bar. Mickey grabbed one and passed the other to Andy. With a silent salute they downed the fiery whiskey in a single swallow.

“Well?”
I waved the bottle at them.

“Nothing. Looks like he’s gone underground,” Mickey said, grabbing the
whiskey and pouring another shot. “We did find some interesting stuff at his place though.” Drew had come through with an address, and while I’d waited for Frankie to call back, they’d hit the building.

Andy shook his head in wonder. “He has pictures of Frankie everywhere. Like some sort of fucking shrine. Long telephoto shots of her, and you. It was creepy.” Roxanne touched Andy’s shoulder and he relaxed against her.

“So you think he’s our guy?” I asked, still feeling a tingle of doubt. I didn’t want this to be another wild goose chase. Us playing catch up to a psychopath playing God. I needed to get this guy and fast.

Mickey shrugged. “He looks good f
or it. Andy ran a check and he served time in the Army. One of the dopers saw him hanging outside the bar this morning. And he’s definitely got something for Frankie. It adds up.”

“What do you think?” I
turned to Andy.

He thought for a minute. “It’s odd.
Every time we think it’s our guy suddenly another suspect surfaces? It almost too easy. Know what I mean?”

I nodded,
thinking much the same thing minutes earlier. “We need definitive proof. Until then I think it’s best if we stay on our toes.”

“What about plan A? Is Roxanne officially unkidnapped?” Andy
kissed her hand, and she smiled.

“Yeah
. No point in it now.”

“Too bad,” she said.
“I was getting used to it. A vacation from Cahan’s terrible two’s.” Roxanne picked up Andy’s shot glass and tossed it back. Andy grinned, watching my expression closely.

“What d
id you say his name is?” A wide smile split Mickey’s face.

“Shut up
or I’ll give Beth a few name suggestions for your baby.” I thumbed him on the chest.

“How did you come up wit
h that name?” Mickey ignored me, focusing on Roxanne’s explanation.

“
It’s Gaelic for—”

Mickey interrupt
ed, “For warrior, we know.” He stared laughing, and Andy joined in.

“
Parents should think long and hard before forcing a name like that on a kid. It’s only asking for trouble.” I smacked both Mickey and Andy on the back of the head to stop them from laughing. It didn’t work.

Roxanne looked angry until Andy filled h
er in. She nodded as if things suddenly made sense. “That’s what Billy found so amusing when he dropped by.”

“When did
he come to see you?” My face grew hard. Had Billy lied to me? Was he behind her abuse like Drew had suggested?

Roxanne sobered, fear
crossing her face. “A few months ago.”

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to know about Drew.” She looked at Andy, heartbreak and shame in her eyes.

Andy raised an eyebrow. “What about him?”

“Later,” I said, turning toward Roxanne. “Did he say why?”

“Billy worried
Drew had gotten involved with Nick through me.” Her eyes locked on Andy’s face.

“
What did you tell him?” I pressed.

“I couldn’t help him.
If Drew was involved with Nick, he never told me. Then again, we didn’t talk much.” She lowered her eyes, and Andy roared to his feet.

“I’m going to kill him,” Andy shouted,
pounding his fist against the bar.

“Take it easy,” I tried to calm him, but he brushed me off.

Roxanne took his hand. “Let’s talk.” He nodded, and followed her into the backroom. I caught Mickey’s eye, and he gave me a small smile. Ain’t love grand.

As the sky turned dark I shuffled a deck of cards, mindlessly dolling them out. Mickey and I sat at the table, playing a few hands of poker to kill time. Andy and Roxanne had left to pick up Cahan—poor kid—an hour ago. After their talk Andy calmed down and agreed to skip town for the next couple of days. “I don’t know what’s going happen when I see Drew,” Andy said, his expression a mixture of rage and betrayal.

“
Forget Drew. Focus on Roxanne. I think it’s best if you took her somewhere safe—away from the city—started over. The kid needs a dad, especially with a name like that.” I shook my head, wondering again at the kid’s unfortunate future.

“I don’t want to leave while
there’s trouble. Plus, the money. We all need to be there to sign for it.” He had setup the account under five names. Neil’s name was one of them. In order to collect, we needed his death certificate, adding an extra three days to our timetable. So I’d be rich by next week, if I lived that long. 

“You can always come back.” I put my hand on his arm. “I want you to be happy and safe. So do
me a favor, leave town. Pack up and go before things get worse. I’ll call you in three days, but stay out of sight until then.” When it looked like he would argue, I added, “One of us has to be smart, and you’re the genesis. Do this for me. For all of us.”

Andy glanced at Mickey for co
nfirmation. He nodded. “I’m taking Beth on a nice vacation too.”

“Fine, keep me posted, and w
hen you find him....” The rest was left unsaid. Revenge would be mine, and it would be swift and brutal.

******

“Are you really taking Beth away?” I glanced at the pair of deuces in my hand. Bad hole cards. A small pair had doomed better men than me. I bet a hundred.

Mickey shook his head. “No, she’s with her sister in
Great Neck. I can’t leave you and Frankie, not when this is my fault.” He tossed his cards down.

I raked in the pot
and shuffled the deck. “What are you talking about? This has nothing to do with you.”

“Come on, Ian. It started with Sal, and that was my doing.” He glared at the two cards I dealt him. “Besides, Frankie’s my responsibility, not yours. If this Roberto clown is after her, it’s my duty to protect her.”

“I want to protect her.” Shit, I loved her. When did that happen?

Mickey’s eyes widened
as my face lost some of its color. “No fucking way. How the might Ian has fallen.” He started laughing, and I considered knocking his teeth in to make him stop.

“Enough,” I growled.

“Does Frankie know?”

“Know what?”
Drew asked from the doorway.

“Where the hell have you been?” I tossed my cards on the table, and shot Mickey a ‘shut the fuck up’ look.

“I stopped at the hospital to check on the kid.” Drew paused. “The mom showed up, so Frankie should be coming back soon. Her phone’s dead—battery or something—she wanted me to let you know.”

“Thanks.” I kicked a chair out for him. “So what did you find out about Roberto?”

Drew sat, swinging his long legs in front of him. “No one’s seen him since this morning. He’s got a couple of places around the city.” He pulled a slip of notebook paper from his pocket. “Here’s a few more addresses.”

I scanned the listings
, my brain memorizing each number. “He’s got a place in the Clinton. We should hit it first.”

“
So what’s the plan?” Drew picked up his cards from the table.

I thought for a moment. “Nothing fancy. I kick the door, and hope like hell he’s inside.”

Mickey frowned. “That didn’t work out so well the last time. Remember? Big explosion? White lights? The stench of char-broiled Ian?”

“All right.
” I held up my hand. “I admit it might need some work.”

Drew
tossed a twenty into the pot. “I think it’s best if we want till early morning. He’ll be out cold by five a.m.”

I nodded. “Why don’t you guy
s crash here, and come first light it’s a go.” They agreed and we settled in to refine Plan A. I should’ve listened to my instincts, and skipped straight to Plan B.

An hour later, I went upstairs to get some sleep.
Still no word from Frankie. I tried her phone again. No answer. I stretched out on my bed, inhaling the scent of her on my pillow and thought about our future. Realizing that I loved her didn’t make things any easier. I couldn’t give her what she needed—stability and a house in the ‘burbs. I loved her, sure, but it wasn’t enough. I closed my eyes and the day’s events swirled around my head. As I drift off to sleep the unmistakable sound of breaking glass echoed from the bar below. I grabbed my .38, and ran for the stairs, barefoot, but this time dressed at least.

A bullet
dimpled the wall centimeters above my head. I dropped to a crouch and scanned the room. I couldn’t see shit. The green glow of the beer signs reflected off the windows, sending a weak light filtering through the dark room. The only light.

Where
were Mickey and Drew? Mickey had claimed the backroom’s lumpy couch and Drew the lounge chair. My thoughts ran south. What if I was too late and they were dead? Rage replaced fear, turning my gut to ice.

Another shot
exploded on my left. I spun toward it, tracking the shooter toward the kitchen. I fired into the darkness. No scream of pain or telltale crash of body to concrete. Fuck. I’d missed. I crept down the rest of the stairs, keeping low. Bits of shattered glass dug into my feet, but I ignored the pain.

“Ian?” Mickey called from my right.

“Here.” I took two steps toward him, relief flooding me. “Where’s Drew?” More than one danger lurked in the blackness, and taking a bullet to the head by mistake was one of them.

“He went around back.
” Mickey motioned to the kitchen. “To the alley to head him off.”

I nodded, slid
ing forward, my feet slick with blood. In the alleyway behind the bar, voices rose in anger. Drew. Fuck. I ran through the kitchen and toward the back door. Drew shouted, “…too late.”

A crack of gunfire split the air, followed by
an anguished scream.

“Drew?” I burst from the bar and into the alley, Mickey on my heels. I hit the brick wall, leveling my gun at the man standing at the mouth of the alley, a gun hanging loosely at his side. A body lay in a pile of trash, blood leaking from a wide hole in his chest. Drew stared blankly at me, horror growing in his eyes. “He was going to kill me. Kill all of us.”

Mickey stepped forward,
slipping the gun from Drew’s hand. “It was him or you.” I glanced at Roberto’s corpse, feeling nothing. No relief. No sadness. Nothing.

“The cops…I don’t want to go to jail…
,” Drew stuttered.

I nodded to Mickey.
“I’ll take care of it.” A garbage bag, a shovel, and the trunk of a car came to mind. Maybe the East river.

Mickey sighed with relief.
“It’s over. That’s what’s important.”

Drew
nodded, his hands shaking. “Fuck, I need a drink.”

“
Take Drew inside and get him a shot. I’ll take care of the mess.” I motioned to the body, and the dark, black blood running down the alley toward the street. Mickey put a hand on Drew’s shoulder and led him inside.

I stare
d at the body for a few seconds and still felt nothing. “Bad luck.” I shoved my hands into his pockets, pulling out a wad of cash. He wouldn’t need it. From his pants pocket, a handwritten note fell onto the concrete. I wiped away a smug of blood and read the slip of paper. A string of numbers, dates, and times. The last entry, tonight at twelve-fifteen, the initials OD next to it. Fuck. Things had just gotten a lot clearer, and much, much worse.

******

Dazed, I made my way to the front bar. It blazed with light, and both Drew and Mickey stood, slamming shot after shot. Jack Daniels for Drew and Jameson for Mickey. Without my asking, Mickey poured a shot of Jameson for me. I threw it back in one quick swallow. The liquid eased some of the coldness in my gut. I reached for the bottle, poured another shot, and repeated the age-old Wilde tradition of drinking away an unpleasantness.

“You okay, Ian?” Mickey
glanced at me.

I shook my head
and sat down heavily on a barstool. “Not really.” What the fuck could I say? Everything I trusted in crashed down around me.

“But it’s over. Roberto’s dead,” said
Drew.

“Is it?”
My eyes bore into his.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Did you think you’d get away with it?” My tone went flat, deadly so. “Tell me why?”