The Evil That Men Do (22 page)

“Were you followed?”

“No,” she said, pushing herself out of his grasp. “Don’t you trust me?”

He met her gaze and said, “I love you.”

Jill nodded as if he’d answered the question, and they shared a small kiss. Warmth spread through his body, and he wanted more.

“I don’t know if we’re going to get the money.”

Now she stepped away from him. Hackett’s eyes moved from her face to the wall at the back of the church. A sign hung from it reading, “God gives us all He has. All He asks of us is to tithe.” If the plan worked out, he was going to leave ten percent of that money in the cash box at the entrance.

“What do you mean?” Jill asked. She stepped farther away from him.

“There have been complications. Jason Marshall got involved in investigating the bombing. I think he’s onto me. Susan might not be able to get the money.”

“But it seemed like everything was working.”

“We have ten hours. Maybe it will work out.”

“You have to get the money.”

Hackett put his hand on her shoulder. “There are other things that have to happen too.”

“No. There isn’t. The money is what matters. That’s what this is about.”

“No,” Hackett said. “I have to do this.”

Jill slapped him. His left cheek burned more than the blood pumping through his veins.

“This is about revenge, isn’t it? This is about you getting yours.”

“We might get the money still. There is time.” Hackett rubbed his cheek.

Jill looked to her left, toward the altar. “Is that why you’re here?”

Hackett nodded. “And to see you. No one would think to look for us here. No matter what, you have the plane tickets, right?”

Jill nodded this time.

“It ends this afternoon. Whether or not we get the money, we need to be on that plane.”

She kissed him. It was deeper this time, almost passionate. He gripped her arms tight, pulling her toward him. She started to part her lips for his tongue, but the Catholic in him wouldn’t let anything more happen. He felt guilty as he felt himself get hard. He broke the kiss.

“We start over tomorrow. No more shitty jobs. No more rainy days. We’ll be in the sun, we’ll be safe, and we’ll be together. Just a few more hours.”

“I know. But what if we don’t get the money? How can we start over?”

“We can get jobs down there. Anything just to keep us working and blending in with the locals. We can work at the beach and enjoy ourselves. It’ll be perfect. The money won’t matter.” He thought of Donne, Susan, and Franklin dead. Hackett would do it now, but he had to hold out for the chance the money was coming. “All the scores will be settled and we’ll start over.”

“If that’s what you think, you’re an idiot.”

The words didn’t sting. He’d heard them before.

“Go back to your mother’s and get ready to leave. I’ll meet you at Newark. Terminal C.”

“I love you, Bryan. Do what’s right for us.”

Jill kissed him one more time and walked out of the building.

He wanted the money, the revenge, everything, even more now. Not for him, but for her.

For their life together. She deserved it.

1938

Connor O’Neill opened the door. His face was red and puffy. He was holding a steak to his eye.

“Go away.” His entire body shook as he spoke.

“I don’t want to hit you again.”

“Then go away.” O’Neill started to close the door, but Tenant pushed him backward into the hallway and stepped into the house.

“I don’t want to, but I will. We need to talk some more.”

Tenant could see bloodstains on the wooden floors from the earlier beating. It wouldn’t happen again. Not blood, anyway. This time he’d just break bones if he didn’t get what he wanted.

He could use the knife Sops had given him, but he wanted to save the clean blade for Hackett.

“What’s the best way to make a lot of money these days, Connor?”

“In these times? There is no good way, you know that. No one has any money.”

“Tell me the truth. Tell me and I won’t hurt you.”

Connor seemed to break at that. His hands shook and he dropped the steak. It clattered against the wood, still frozen.

“It’s land, isn’t it, Connor? You get a good piece of land and you’re set. Maxwell Carter had land. And he wanted more.”

“Please. Please, I can’t talk to you about Bayonne.” O’Neill froze. He’d said too much.

“Just tell me. Let me go back to my life. You can go back to whatever’s left of yours.”

O’Neill sat on the floor. “But Hackett will kill me.”

“We’ve come to this point and you still don’t believe me?”

Their eyes met. Tenant held his gaze firm. He’d start by breaking bones. He’d kill him if he had to. O’Neill tore his eyes away and stared out the open door.

“Bayonne. There’s land on the water. I owned it and was going to sell it. Help push my campaign funds higher than they’d ever been. And could you imagine acquiring that? Right near New York City? You’d be set for life. Your kids. Hell, your grandkids if things worked out right. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

Tenant didn’t respond.

“Hackett wanted the land. Max wanted the land. And Max was funding my campaign, he was a friend. Hackett’s a gangster, he couldn’t offer as much money. The Depression had hit him hard and he was desperate. So he was trying to put pressure on me. He threatened my wife when all this started. And I gave in. Promised to make the deal with him.”

O’Neill’s entire body shook. But he wasn’t crying, there were no tears.

“Max pulled the money he was giving to my campaign. There was no way I could run. So I wavered. I saw my entire campaign disappear. I saw my life ruined. I got scared. So Hackett talked to one of my bodyguards. A childhood friend of Hackett’s and mine. Apparently, he owed both of us favors. They killed Max.”

“And told you about it.”

“He had me in his pocket. I had to give him the land.”

Tenant crouched next to O’Neill. “It’s too bad I saw it.”

O’Neill nodded.

“Where’s your telephone?”

Connor O’Neill lifted a shaking hand and pointed toward the kitchen. Tenant stood up. Five minutes later, he’d told Lisa Carter exactly what to tell the newspapers.

NINE HOURS

“You need to get the money,” Jason Marshall said to Susan.

Draxton turned toward him. “What? We don’t negotiate with these people. We don’t give them what they want. You know that.”

Marshall shook his head, still looking at Susan. “The stats don’t lie, ma’am. When victims of a kidnapping pay the ransom, they get their loved one back the majority of the time. You need to find a way.”

“I can’t. I can’t access Franklin’s money,” she said.

Susan bit her nails. Donne looked away out the large front window, down the grassy hill onto Upper Mountain Road. An older man walked his dog, moving stiffly. The dog stopped to sniff at every bush.

“How am I supposed to get the money?” Susan asked.

The dog squatted and took a shit on the curb. The old man bent to pick it up in a plastic bag.

“What about through the restaurant account?” Marshall asked.

“I can’t get to it. It’s not under my name.”

“Do you know the account numbers?”

Susan shook her head. “But I can find them. Franklin did all the banking. He keeps that stuff in his office.”

“We need to go on the offensive,” Donne said.

Marshall turned toward him, and Donne met his gaze.

“What do you mean?” Marshall asked.

“We need to find Hackett in the next few hours. We think he’s in Bayonne, right?”

“Don’t be an asshole, Donne,” Draxton said. “Who the hell are you? You’re a civilian. Some jerk who had a PI badge and lost it. That’s all. You’re not in on this.”

Donne shook his head. “We have to do something. Too many people have died. No more.”

“Bullshit, Donne. You’ve come this far. You’ve helped. Let the professionals handle it now.”

Draxton stepped away from the wall he’d been leaning against for the past half hour. An aggressive move, it reeked of
don’t fuck with me
. Donne didn’t care if Draxton wanted him out. He was willing to fight him to stay in.

“I’ve been doing this sort of thing for years,” Donne said. “It’s what’s right. It’s what I do. Professionally or not, this is my family.”

Marshall stepped in front of Donne and put his hand on his shoulder.

“Relax,” he whispered. But behind the words was a tone letting Donne know he wouldn’t be forgotten in all this.

During his argument with Draxton, he hadn’t even realized Susan had left the room. She entered the kitchen with papers in her hand.

“The accounts,” she said, then looked at Donne. “We’re out of time. There’s no other way.”

Marshall watched her and waited.

“I can forge his signature. Do you think it’ll work?” She looked around the room and could sense the tension. “What happened?”

“Forging a signature is illegal,” Draxton said, and returned to his lean. “I don’t like this.”

Donne balled and unballed his fists, taking deep breaths to calm down. Jason Marshall hardly flinched.

“She’s right. We’re out of time. It’s worth a shot,” he said.

“If she gets stopped at the bank…” Draxton said.

“My thoughts exactly,” Donne said.

Marshall ignored them. “Do they know your husband’s face at the bank?”

“Probably,” Susan said. Her shoulders sagged a bit. “I’m going to be taking a lot of money out.”

Marshall nodded.

Donne had to get the hell out of here. If he could get to Hackett first, this wouldn’t be a problem. There were a few errands he would have to run first, but he was willing to search through Bayonne to find this abandoned area Hackett felt he was owed.

Susan tried another approach. “What if I type up a letter giving myself permission to access the account and sign it with Franklin’s name? It could work, couldn’t it?”

Again Marshall said, “Worth a shot.”

“We’d be accessories,” Draxton said.

“What other choice does she have?” Marshall said.

“We know where he is,” Donne said. “We go get Franklin back.”

“We try our luck with the money,” Marshall said.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Donne said.

It wasn’t going to work. There was too much money involved. A preemptive strike was their only chance.

Donne started toward the door, Mike Iapicca’s car keys still in his pocket.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Draxton said.

“I’m going to visit my mother,” he said.

Hackett fixed the last wire and stepped back. Behind him Franklin Carter moaned. Hackett wanted to hit the bastard again. Instead, he decided to have a chat with him.

He leaned in close to Carter, so close he could smell his breath. It was rotten-as-fuck, like a man who hadn’t brushed his teeth in a month. In reality, it was only a few days.

“You think this is all about some land deal, don’t you?”

Carter didn’t say anything. He barely had his eyes open.

“Do you want to know what it’s really about?”

Carter’s head rolled on his shoulders, like he was about to pass out. Hackett grabbed Carter’s broken arm and tugged on it. Carter’s scream echoed off the basement walls.

“Look at me when I’m fucking talking to you.”

He raised his eyes to Hackett’s.

“I’m going to kill you and I’m going to kill your family. I’m going to take your money and I’m going to give myself a better life. The life I deserved. The life my parents and my grandparents deserved. The life you and your wife’s families kept fucking up for us. I’m doing what my father wouldn’t do. What my grandfather fucked up.”

Franklin Carter still didn’t speak. But now Hackett didn’t care. All he cared about was Carter knowing. Knowing that this was the end.

“You know what? I didn’t even expect Jackson to be involved in this so soon. I thought I was going to have to drag the prick up here myself. How’d you get him involved for me?” he said.

Franklin Carter drooled a little bit. And said, “The mother. Started talking about her dad. Wanted to know what she knew.”

Hackett laughed. “The mom’s been talking? Shit. I went to see good old Isabelle Donne. Since I was going to fucking take out the whole family, I wanted to know if I was going to have to waste my time coming up with a plan to off her. But she was completely gone.”

Hackett looked at his watch.

“By five o’clock you, your wife, and her brother will all be dead.”

Hackett grabbed Carter’s arm one more time. Again Carter screamed. It would have made Hackett’s ears hurt if the idea behind it wasn’t so pleasant.

“Feel that? The bone is sticking through your skin. Do you feel it?”

Carter said nothing.

“Answer me!”

“Yes.” The word sounded as if it was torn from him.

Hackett smiled. “Enjoy it. Cherish that feeling. Because it’s going to feel like heaven by the end of the day.”

EIGHT HOURS

Donne’s first stop was New Brunswick. Traffic was light for mid-morning and he made the trip down the Parkway, Turnpike, and Route 18 in forty minutes. His apartment smelled musty, and he cracked the window open. He planned on staying only a few minutes, and it felt strange being there at all. Like when he was a kid and they’d get home from a vacation unexpectedly early.

Like he’d left something unfinished.

Which he had.

He’d come back to get something he’d need to finish the job.

He found the shoe box in the back corner of the bedroom closet. The gun he kept in there, a Browning automatic, was the proof that investigating would always be a part of his life. The job was in his blood.

As was violence, no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it. And most likely it would take that violence to get Franklin Carter back.