Stray Bullet (12 page)

“We'll leave the double bed for you guys, since you are doing all the driving,” Greg shouted to the front, but Jim and Rob were too busy route planning to acknowledge, and so Greg retired to his sofa.

“So, are you alright up here, Rob?” asked Jim as he folded away the maps.

“Yeah, no problem. I think we have got the route licked already, you go and rest, Jim. I'll call you when I need you.” With that, Jim nodded and ventured to the rear to get some rest.

They didn’t stop often, just for fuel and to swap over drivers. Rob drove as far as Colorado before stopping to buy food and provisions.  After he relinquished the driver’s seat, Jim immediately took over and Rob quickly passed out on the main bed until they stopped again briefly in Iowa where the roles were reversed once more.

Meanwhile, Harvey and Greg had their respite and were now busying themselves mastering the satellite channels, like children in awe. The amount of channels available to US viewers were outstanding compared to the four lousy channels they were accustomed to back in the UK.

As they approached the outskirts of Chicago, Jim and Rob swapped one final time and Jim came over to brief Greg and Harvey. 

“Okay guys. Initially, we will be going to a safe house to get properly rested and freshened up. Then, no doubt, the boss will want to come and brief us on the up to date intelligence”.

“Thank God,” said Harvey, the novelty factor of their transport with all its mod cons long since worn off. “I am beginning to go stir crazy in this box.”

“You see what luxury does to people?” remarked Greg. “He’s gone soft already,” he continued, smirking at Harvey.

“Whatever,” said Jim, dismissing the flippant comment. “It will be the same as before. We will be dropped off at the house and Rob will go dispose of the wagon. I don’t need to remind you of the facts,”
he said sternly. “We are in the war zone now, so no fucking about. Alright?”  Greg and Harvey both nodded in silent agreement.

They pulled up outside 2068 W. Farwall Avenue and Harvey looked out from the vehicle’s tinted window at the nineteen twenties cream coloured building.

It was quite a grand home comprised of three apartments knocked together into one residence. The FBI had acquired the property for use as a safe house in the early eighties, using it for high risk government witnesses. It seemed ideal at the time and in a good area with its quiet tree lined street. There was a clear sight line all around enabling the occupants to observe approaches and if necessary be prepared for any unwanted visitors. Positioned in an upper class area of the city, the location in itself would deter most unscrupulous mobsters from attempting any attack.

The property, having been purchased with most of its furniture after the death of the previous owner, was more than adequate for their needs.

“The door key is this one,”
Jim said holding out a key that was part of a bunch on a tagged key ring. He passed it across to Harvey.  “Just act naturally and make your way up to the house,” said Jim.  “I'll be right behind you.”

Harvey’s nerves were finally alerting him to the fact they had reached their destination. The stark reality that he would soon commence the gargantuan and perilous task of infiltrating the Giordano mob sent shivers spiralling down his spine.

“Here goes,” said Harvey opening the side door of the motor home. He climbed down to the pavement, relieved to be able to stretch his legs in the open air and on solid ground once more. He lifted his bag and started towards the house. His imagination ran wild, expecting at any time to see an assailant jump from the street as they so often do in the movies. But there would be nobody there.

Greg followed on behind, scanning the streets. Jim temporarily remained in position, keeping a watchful eye while discussing arrangements with Rob for a rendezvous. He would soon leave the vehicle and join Harvey and Greg, who by now, were both already in the building.

“First time in a safe house, eh, Harv?” said Greg admiring the Mediterranean decor inside.

“Yes, I think I can live with this for a while,” Harvey agreed as he made his way up the main staircase.

“Fellas, make yourselves at home. It looks like we’ll not be having any visitors until tomorrow,” called Jim from the hallway.

Harvey quickly found the main bathroom. With separate shower, Jacuzzi bathtub, toilet, bidet and matching ‘his and hers’ sinks. It dwarfed the motel room where they had last had the opportunity to shower. He passed through another door into what was the master bedroom, where he found the double bed that he would occupy over the coming months. The room had two large windows allowing it to soak up the massive rays of natural light; one overlooking the garden at the rear of the building and the other towards the neighbouring house. He placed his bag down on the bed and went looking for Greg.

Greg had found his own bedroom adjacent to the sun room. Harvey entered to find him looking into the mirrored closet door, grooming himself shamelessly.

“Okay Romeo,” he said. “Have you found a kettle yet, or have you been too busy poncing about trying to hide those grey hairs?” he laughed.

Greg did a double take at the mirror, on the one hand startled by Harvey’s entrance, and on the other, wondering if his friend was teasing him. 

“I don't have any grey hair. Do I Harv?” he asked, examining his scalp closely. “Harv…?” He looked up but Harvey had already gone in search of a kettle. “Bastard!” he mumbled to himself.

Jim walked into the kitchen to find Harvey who, having already located the kettle, was busily hunting around through the cupboards to find some coffee. 

“I see you don’t waste any time. You should find some coffee in the cupboard by the fridge. The china tends to live in the dishwasher.  Most people who use this place aren’t too domesticated. Every now and then, the smell encourages someone to turn it on, but it rarely gets emptied.”

Harvey thought,
what a contrast
, the state inside the cupboards being filthy compared to their clinical and grand external appearance, appearances so often being deceptive. He fumbled around in the dishwasher to find some half clean mugs, his home life back in the UK now feeling very distant, and his mind considering the dangers that lay ahead.

It had been an evening that Jack would never forget, awkward on so many levels. His professional approach to dealing with Stephan had not been completely devoid of emotion. The facts were straight and the job was done, but an inwardly apparent chink in Jack’s armour had led him to briefly consider framing and subsequently dealing with another of Stephan’s misgivings.

Stephan had seen Lisa Forbes as an interfering number cruncher;
a nobody, yet a thorn in his side, capable of exposing him. While he had paid the ultimate price that evening for his misgivings,
she
would never learn of how her interference had almost led her to her own existence being extinguished on that same evening.

Jack had no such escape. His fate was sealed that evening also, though not in a way he might have expected. He was no match for Natasha. She was powerful by proxy, intelligent, attractive and head strong. Relationships in the organization were generally one sided and outsiders who didn’t conform or treat their spouses with the dignity and respect which they believed they deserved, were dealt with privately and most often, brutally.

Natasha had teased Jack into submission in order to gain that evening alone with him, a date which in itself, might have been a dangerous undertaking for Jack, had the evening closed with an undesirable outcome for her liking.

Yet Jack
was
fond of Natasha. He had been since his first sighting of her on his arrival in the US, and the result of that evening was as predictable as an act within a play, the outcome predetermined, the journey to the desired conclusion a tease for performers and audience alike.

But there was no audience to please that evening when both Jack and Natasha began going through the rituals of courtship. The playful and provocative antics of Natasha proved to be a mask to her actual naivety. To Jack’s surprise, she had saved herself for the one man that she wished to spend the rest of her days with. He was not to know it on that evening, but Jack Straw was to become that man.

In the days and months following that fateful evening, Jack and Natasha spent most of their spare time together. Jack’s cautious approach in dealing with Natasha afforded him time to get past the beautiful exterior that first drew his attention, and examine the personality that to most remained hidden from sight. While he remained busy with business, expanding upon his growing reputation within the family, he also began to look forward to his meetings with Natasha and became the single most regular visitor to the Don’s residence.

Henry, the Don’s butler and main servant, despite his faults, an English romantic, had grown used to Jack’s frequent visits.  Perhaps as a result of their shared heritage, Henry’s mood would be lifted and he would manage a rare smile while Jack was about. Jack would regularly bypass the house and head straight for the gardens on his arrival, waiting for Natasha before leading her out into the vast expanse of land where they could gain some privacy and discuss all things other than the family business. The vast and beautiful landscaped grounds would remind Jack of his own, more modest, but well-tended garden back in the UK, to which he hoped one day he might eventually return.

The Don would often gaze out from his office within the main house, across the gardens at the couple whose regular strolls reminded him of his own younger times. Though he was not able to boast such surroundings during his own courtship, he could recognize the familiar looks that were shared between the couple.

Over the years, he had borne the brunt of Natasha’s hard headed nature. In bringing her up largely on his own and without her mother to lavish gifts and affection upon, Natasha had enjoyed enviable beginnings with no shortage of love and protection. The world had truly been her oyster.

The Don was impressed at how Natasha had matured as a young lady in the months since Jack had been seeing her and was aware that the day was quickly approaching when he would need to let go as a father, so that she could blossom as a wife and with any luck, a mother.  Though he dreaded the coming of that inevitable time, some may have said it was to be his proudest.

Natasha was no fool. While she had received the best of everything, she had not squandered her opportunities like so many others within the family. She
did
wear the best clothes, but her wardrobes were not over laden. She had excelled in education, but was compassionate to those less fortunate. She had become aware of the family’s public reputation at a fairly early age, although the sordid details of how it had been achieved, remained hidden from her. A closely guarded and dark secret with which one day, as the potential head of the family, she would be burdened, and may herself decide wisely to keep from her own children.

Natasha had dreams of travelling the world, something she hoped to achieve later in life, without the need for an ever present entourage of protection. She enjoyed the family estate. The freedom of riding the horses for hours on end within their grounds was her form of escape.

Losing her mother in such dramatic circumstances as a youngster had been traumatic, but her father had been extremely supportive and she loved him dearly. Of course, the feeling was mutual.

It was a beautiful spring morning when Jack finally proposed to Natasha. The family had been expecting an announcement for months, but this hadn’t deterred Jack from choosing his own moment. While, to onlookers, the answer might have appeared clear in advance, on listening to his proposal, Natasha had nevertheless made Jack wait painstakingly before agreeing to the partnership of love. She harboured no doubts other than not to lose the woman’s prerogative.  Jack in turn then asked her to remain silent about the proposal until his return from a business trip which would take him up state for three days. As a gentleman, he wished to formally ask the Don for Natasha’s hand before allowing any announcement to be made.

On Jack’s return, the family were all smiles. He was collected from the airport by Vinny. It was apparent to Jack that three days had been torture to Natasha and somebody, somewhere, had let their secret slip.  Vinny remained silent on the subject, refusing to put his joyous mood down to anything other than,
the joys of life.
An unlikely mood for a hardened gangster.

As they pulled up at the casino, Vinny opened the trunk.

“Need help with ya bags?” he smiled.

“No Vinny. I’m okay with them, think I’ll get a couple of hours rest.”

“Okay. I’ll pick ya up at six,” he shouted out to Jack.

With bags on the sidewalk, Jack closed the trunk, and before he had a chance to ask what was to happen at six, Vinny had dismounted the car clumsily from the curb and driven halfway down the street. A neighbouring driver honked furiously at this ungainly display of driving. Jack looked on and heard Vinny shouting expletives back at the driver on the standard of their own driving. Jack shook his head and smiled before making his way up to the penthouse.

At six p.m. prompt the intercom rang out. Jack had been asleep and was still fairly groggy from his trip.

“Yeah…” he called down to Vinny, who was waiting patiently by the microphone in the lobby.

“Six p.m. Time to go see the Don,” replied Vinny glancing down to his watch in an attempt to figure out whether they would make it on time.

Jack pressed the door release button without replying. The buzzer rang out as the internal door unlocked and Vinny made his way up to the penthouse. Meanwhile, Jack, who had spent his return trip quietly working out what to say to his future, potential and unorthodox father in law, poured himself a glass of Dutch courage and started to dress appropriately for the occasion.

On their arrival at the Don’s house, Vinny once again glanced down at his watch and a smile of relief began to appear knowing that he had delivered Jack to the house on time.

“New watch?” Jack asked having observed the number of times Vinny had cast a glare at its diamond encrusted face. Vinny said nothing. Though this would be Jack’s night, it was never the done thing to be late for an appointment with the Don.

Henry greeted the pair at the front door, his somewhat fatherly eyes meeting Jack’s before welcoming them both in to the hallway.

“I’m afraid dinner will be slightly later than originally planned gentlemen,” he whispered bowing his head. “Jack, would you follow me please. The Don is expecting you.”

Vinny wandered through to the main reception room where an array of drinks was available while Jack followed Henry through to the Don’s office.

Henry tapped on the door in a quiet, yet an audible manner and as the husky voice of the Don hailed back, he gestured for Jack to enter.  Henry did not enter with him but smiled briefly at Jack.

“Good luck,” he whispered, before turning and making his way back down the corridor to see if Vinny required any attention.

Jack briefly paused for thought before entering the office. The Don was standing, staring out of the window as he so often did when observing Jack in the gardens with Natasha. He wore an appropriate dinner suit as he had done so many times previously when entertaining guests at his home. His bearing was one of dominance. There was no doubt of the hierarchy within the room. Still facing the window and without turning he gestured back with his left hand towards one of the chairs on the opposite side of his desk. Jack, understanding the body language, complied without comment. Taking his seat and manoeuvring to make himself comfortable, he waited in silence.

Only ten seconds passed, but for Jack, it seemed like an eternity. His mind was a maze of words, words which he was struggling to remember in an order that he might communicate legibly.

The Don turned slowly. He had been in deep thought. Yet, as he looked up to meet Jack’s eyes square on, he smiled as only a Don could.  It was a smile that did not give away any inner feelings that appeared comforting, yet was equally able to portray imminent doom to its subject. His face looked drawn.

“I still miss my wife, Jack…” He paused, lowered himself to his seat behind the desk and looked away, fixing his glance on a photograph of his wife with their new born daughter, Natasha. He continued, “It’s a lousy business to be married into.”

Jack hung on to Don’s every word, carefully analysing each movement and action of the Don intensely. He drew breath and was about to contribute to the conversation when the Don chose to continue.

“I have been watching you for some time.”  He looked and gestured at the window from which he observed so many of Jack’s walks with Natasha during their courtship. “And I think you have something you wish to say to me.” Jack was unaware if his comment was a statement or a question. The smile deteriorated from the Don’s face and he sat in front of Jack now dead pan. He sank back into his chair and attached his hands firmly to the arms rests like an airplane crash victim moments before impact. His knuckles began whitening. He looked up at Jack and waited in silence.

Jack cleared his throat and drew a deep breath. 

“Don Giordano…” he continued, “since my arrival in America you have been my guide. It is true, I have very strong feelings and respect for your daughter…” He stalled and thought to himself,
cut to the chase Jack
…

“Don, I would be honoured if you would bless us with your permission to marry.” He chose not to beat around the bush and looked deep into the eyes of the Don whose demeanour had not wavered. He searched for some form of response but the silence grew.

The Don rose from his chair, the blood visibly easing its way back into his knuckles, knuckles which had damaged many a body in their time. 

“It is time for dinner,”
he announced breaking the silence but choosing not to acknowledge Jack’s statement. His facial features remained dead pan and as he walked around the desk and past Jack towards the door, Jack rose. Confused but compliant, he followed.

Jack could see Henry at the end of the corridor standing at the imposing doors of the main reception room. They walked slowly and in silence until they reached him. Without instruction, Henry reached out for the two large brass door handles, but the Don held out his hand gesturing him to stop. He turned and looked Jack up and down slowly. Reaching out, he slowly placed his hands on Jack’s shoulders, his eyes squinting slightly as he measured up the young and handsome man that stood before him.