For Nothing (31 page)

At first, Vaughn couldn’t tel who came in. The dwel ing was so poorly lit that when the door opened, the sheer whiteness from outside blinded the detective. After a moment though, the silhouette of Ryan Slate became clearer and Alex waved him over.

Alex could tel that Ryan was not pleased to have been cal ed out of action. If there was any doubt from the scowl on his face, it was gone once Ryan started talking. His voice took on the gruff edge of a New York City cab driver.

“This better be good. I have a lot going on today and I can’t even get a hold of El iot or … Jesus Alex, what happened to you?”

Alex studied Ryan for a moment. He took a sip of water to buy time as he was unsure how to proceed. He wanted to trust Ryan. He hesitated, and then decided to tel Ryan everything. Just like the first time the two spoke after Jack’s death, everything flowed out.

He told Ryan about how El iot and the guys were after the money and why. He told Ryan about the torture and how the very people saved him he’d been sent to take down in previous investigations.

Final y, he told Ryan of how he knew where Rafael Rontego was. When he paused for a breath, he recognized the look that crept on to Slate’s face. It was fear.

Fear of what though
, Alex wondered.

“Christ. You know I have been feeding them information on the Ciancetta crew for months now? If they were working with Falzone and the Bonannos then I could have been inadvertently helping to provide intel igence for God knows what.” Slate’s face looked ashen and a layer of sweat beaded on his forehead despite the bar’s chil y atmosphere.

“To be honest, I don’t know what to do Ryan.

El iot is out there running around. We have dead bodies down the street. There’s a guy who kil ed my best friend in Canada for crying out loud. I mean, we’re fucking cops, aren’t we?”

Ryan swal owed hard. “Wel , I think its real simple. We gotta go to the captain.”

“He assigned El iot to organized crime.”

“So we bring the Internal Affairs guy, Bil y, with us. Either way, this is too much for us.” Vaughn bit his lower lip and gave the back of his neck a reassuring rub. “What about Rafael?”

“What about him? Alex, you gotta ask yourself, what are you doing al this for? What are you after?”

“I’m not even sure anymore.” The realization was painful. Vaughn’s cracked lips tried to smile but the pain brought them back down into a stoic grimace. Alex, seeing that Ryan was hoping for more of an answer, changed the subject. “I don’t think you should go back to Ciancetta’s. It’s too dangerous with El iot running around town knowing your identity.”

Slate chuckled. “I suppose not.” He leaned back in the booth. “So shal we go see the cap’n?” Alex gave a half smile to the part of his face that didn’t hurt. Slate wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “Ok, but can I ask a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Can I have a ride?”

Ryan Slate started laughing. It was such a spontaneous laugh that for the first time, Alex felt like things might be al right. It was pure and came from the man’s toes. Vaughn knew he placed his trust in the right guy.

*

The Pope sat across from the Don’s mahogany desk and studied his old friend’s face.

Everyone else cal ed him the Don, and even Christian cal ed him that in front of the men. But here, when it was just the two of them, he was Leo.

Leo looked tired. His face was gaunt and his angular features looked even more angular. Maybe it was dehydration. The Don ran his fingers through his hair over and over again—a nervous tick that The Pope came to recognize over the years. The Don’s fingers stroked hair that had once been jet black but fingers stroked hair that had once been jet black but was now littered with patches of grey. He grew a bit of grey stubble that set in, which was odd for the fanatical y clean shaven boss. His eyes, which boasted a green hue, were bloodshot and darted back and forth with a look common to that of a caged jackal. He was worried, and the consigliore didn’t blame him.

Don Ciancetta picked up a cigar and cut off its tip, then inserted it between his teeth. “So everything is ready then?”

The Pope looked at his friend and nodded in the affirmative. He felt sorry for the man; it was tough sometimes to get what you wish for. Everyone gunned for the top spot.

The Don caught the look and gave his friend a smal smile. It was an attempt to reassure the consigliore.

“I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

“I know Leo, I know.”

“Christ, we’ve been through worse, you and me. Remember how we got here? To this position?

Now that was a scary time.”

It was The Pope’s turn to share a smile and, despite himself, he couldn’t help but recal the success fondly. He helped navigate a series of wars and triumphs at his friend’s side over the years.

No time for old glories
, he thought.

“Leo, everything’s in place. Everyone knows their role.” The Pope felt his chest seize up and knew that another cough was on its way. He held up a finger as it hit him and he coughed so hard that his eyes began to water and his body ached. “That one hurt,” he al owed as the Don tossed him a bottle of water.

“I been tel ing you, you ought to get that checked out. I ain’t no doctor but it don’t sound good.”

The Pope took down the cool liquid and felt it creep into the crevices of his throat. He swal owed hard and felt as if his throat muscles were pushing down a Cadil ac. “Eh, what’s the point? If tonight doesn’t go wel , then it won’t matter.” The Don stood up and looked at The Pope with eyes searching for a hint of a joke before his voice took on a shril pitch that was new to the consigliore.

“Jesus Christ! Tel me that’s a joke. It isn’t funny but it better be a joke. I mean what the fuck Chris?”

“Relax, relax. Al I’m saying is that I’l go get it looked at tomorrow. Tonight wil be fine. It’s my job to worry. So I worry about everything.”

The Don sat back down and took a deep breath. “You surprised they’re coming?” The Pope let his mind wrap around the question for a few moments then shook his head.

“Not real y. What other choice do they have? Sure, we took some losses, but they took more. Sure, we lost some money, they lost more. Muro’s dead. They don’t know Rafael is halfway to Canada. Sitting down, trying to negotiate, it’s their one chance.”

“What if they got a little surprise for us?”

“Then we’l be ready.”

Rafael Rontego grabbed up his bag and made his way towards a tiny gift shop in the rear of the train station. It wasn’t much; the place seemed to first and foremost sel bubblegum and magazines. A middle aged woman, rather unremarkable other than a smal mole on her left cheek, greeted him with a wave.

Rontego stared at the col ection of crap and shook his head. He’d always been told it was rude to not bring a gift when visiting a friend. He had no clue whether or not the Cleaner would be there yet, but Rafael thought a smal token of his appreciation is what normal people might do.

He was about to leave, deciding that the place had nothing to offer, when he glanced at the checkout counter and saw a stack of lighters and magnets. The magnets were ordinary enough, one said “I love Buffalo”, and another had a picture of Niagara Fal s on it. But what caught the assassin’s eye was a lighter in the shape of a gun. It was about the size of derringer but it looked real enough.

Perfect
.

He pul ed out ten dol ars and told the clerk to keep the change.

*

Ryan Slate took a drag on a thin cigarette and the pul caused the ember to flare in the encroaching dusk as nightfal began its hurried wintry descent. The two of them huddled against the wal outside of the station and Ryan was laughing, which caused smoke to puff out of his nose and mouth in tiny clouds of smoke and steam. Again, his chuckle was a bit infectious, and Alex al owed himself a smile.

Ryan’s mirth defied the seriousness of the situation they just, somehow, emerged from unscathed. Slate shook his head, his eye twinkling in either amusement or amazement, Vaughn couldn’t tel .

“I have no clue what just happened in there.” Slate breathed in on his cigarette and his usual y excitable voice was steady, as if he were viewing things through a different prism.

Truth be told, Alex certainly was.

Standard procedure dictated that Alex Vaughn should have handed his badge and gun to the chief until such time as an investigation as to his role could be concluded. At first, everything seemed to be going in that direction. While Alex told the story of the last few days, beginning with Jack’s death and ending with the deaths of two dirty cops in an urban safe house, the chief’s face just got redder and redder. By the end, his garnet colored face outshone the brass name plate that said “Wilcox” on his desk.

A moment of silence fol owed that left Alex sitting back in the chair, facing the chief’s desk, his face muscles twitching as he braced for the eruption.

Stil , the silence continued, and al the while the chief’s face held its garnet hue. Alex wished the man would just speak, if only to relieve the pressure from his head and so that Vaughn wouldn’t get shafted for a cleanup detail when it exploded.

When Chief Wilcox did speak, Alex was forced down into his seat by the sheer volume of the voice flying at his face. He glanced over at Ryan Slate, who was pressed back into a corner of the room behind him. There was no help coming from room behind him. There was no help coming from that direction, though. Ryan just looked on with wide eyes.

Alex didn’t even know what the chief was yel ing at him. Al he heard were snippets of words that had larger meaning. Words like “protocol” and

“chain of command” slapped Alex across the face and would have left a sting if he were not so hypnotized by eyes bulging out of their sockets, protruding from a mass of unorganized flesh. Teeth and eyes were amplified by a pure flesh background, as the vein-addled forehead of the chief had no end. With no hair to interrupt the flow of his face, Vaughn could see the vein from Chief Wilcox’s jaw bone run up and along the side of his face and disappear somewhere beyond the imaginary hair line.

The tirade continued for several minutes and was only interrupted by several downcast glances that teamed with worry and concern, shot Alex’s way by the Chief.

In those moments, he would shake his head and mutter, “What am I to do? It’s a disappointment real y. A disappointment.”

Those words hurt Alex worse. The Irish temper that flared out from the Midwestern accented Englishman raised in an Irish home didn’t bother Alex as much as disappointing the man who had as many different nationalities in his lineage as an Olympics opening ceremonies.

As tough as he was, the man was always someone Alex considered to be fair. That was why Alex wasn’t going to make Wilcox ask for his badge and gun. He knew it would kil the old man to have to ask for them, but he would have to. So Vaughn took his gun and badge and laid them on the desk, halting the chief’s berating.

Silence.

The chief looked Alex in the eye and put a hand over the gun and badge, his hand trembling with the adrenaline stil coursing through his veins.

Then the door to the office swung open. The chief glanced up, his eyes snapping with a dangerous flare. A slight man shuffled in. His shoulders were rounded and a pair of glasses hung from the tip of long nose. He held a file that he was bent over even as he walked, al owing those in the room a good look at the handful of hairs that adorned the crown of his head. Despite the sparse, chaotic arrangement of his hair, he found a way to part them and comb the strands over from one side of his head to the other. A long, gnarled finger was planted into the book and moved in unison with the gentleman’s eyes as they scanned the file.

Wil iam Spence, Bil y, shuffled in and momentarily dislodged his eyes from the file in his grasp and saw the Chief’s hand resting on Alex Vaughn’s badge and gun. He snorted and looked back at the file resting opened in the palm of one hand. He raised the other and waved off the Chief.

“That isn’t necessary. No, not at al .” The Chief, stood statuesque and breathed,

“Bil , what are you talking about?”

“Sir, we have been conducting an, um, wel , an audit on El iot Craft for the better part of three years. Detective Vaughn’s assessments are correct and consistent with our investigation.” Wilcox closed his eyes and held them shut for an extended moment. A normal color began to ease itself onto his face, “Why was I not told about this investigation?”

Bil y peered up from his file and looked at the Chief from just above his spectacles. “Internal Affairs business, Chief Wilcox. Surely you understand that we are very careful with who knows what. At any rate, Detective Vaughn, who no doubt deserves a reprimand, probably shouldn’t be forced into resignation. Wouldn’t you agree Mr. Wilcox?” The Chief let go of the badge and scratched the back of his head. He let out a deep sigh, and grabbed the gun and badge and started sliding it towards his end of the desk.

“Perhaps it would stil be prudent to have an inquiry.”

Alex was unsure what was going on and he looked around the room searching for some sort of answer. He looked first at the Chief with his face that was stil deep pink, and then looked at Ryan who was stil sitting it al out in the corner of the room.