“What are you doing?” Kharrazi said.
Nick continued. “Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law.”
Kharrazi tugged on the handcuffs. He found himself hunched over the steering wheel. Both hands were on the opposite side of the steering column, which was bent upward from the collision and tight against the dashboard. He desperately tried to get his left hand to his neck, but couldn’t manage. When left exposed, the carotid artery in Kharrazi’s neck began flowing freely. Each pulse of his heart sent a surge of blood squirting from the gash like a fireman’s hose.
“You can’t do this,” Kharrazi searched for a threat, a command, a plea. When he realized there was nothing left to draw from, he repeated, “You can’t.”
Nick stood back and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “You’re right about me, Kemel. I always go by the book. So before I call for backup, I want to make sure you understand your rights.”
“I need medical attention,” Kharrazi demanded.
“Did I mention your right to an attorney?”
“This is not the way you treat a prisoner,” Kharrazi’s voice was cracking. He tilted his head down against his left shoulder, futilely trying to slow the blood loss.
Nick folded his arms. “You asked how I found you. Do you still want to know?”
Kharrazi looked like a circus animal, hunched over, squirming. “What do you want from me?”
“I found you because a very brave man by the name of Don Silkari gave his life to plant a tracking chip on you. He was courageous. Not the type of man who would bail out in a game of chicken.”
“All right,” Kharrazi’s voice was diminishing. “You made your point. This Silk guy was gutsy. He went down fighting. Is that what you want from me? Now get me help, like we both know you will.”
Kharrazi’s eyes met Nick’s and right then he knew his fate. Kharrazi lifted his head and tried to look dignified, but he was fading. His mouth moved to speak, but nothing came out. In just a few seconds, Kharrazi’s face was bleach white. The blood leaving the artery was down to a gurgle. His eyes lost clarity and became distant.
Nick came close and leaned into Kharrazi’s ear. “You picked the wrong guy to fuck with, Kemel,” he whispered.
Kharrazi turned toward Nick’s voice, but couldn’t possible have seen him. His head collapsed onto the steering wheel and the horn began to blare again.
In the distance, Nick heard the thump of a helicopter’s rotor. He reached into the cab, unlocked the handcuffs from Kharrazi’s wrists and returned them to his belt clip. He stared at Kharrazi; a crumpled heap of flesh and bones and nothing else. Nothing that could ever threaten him or his family again. He could almost see the malevolence dissipate from Kharrazi’s corpse.
“You have the right to remain silent,” Nick said. “Forever.”
Chapter 41
The line of parked limos stretched over the horizon down Pinewood Lane adjacent to the cemetery. In a black-clad semicircle three hundred friends and family members stood around the casket that held Don Silkari. The casket was draped with an American Flag. A priest in a dark silk robe recited nuances of distinction fit for a war hero. A distinction Silk had earned. Behind the priest were enough flowers to fill an Olympic swimming pool.
Nick stood front and center, Julie clutching his left hand, his cousin Tommy to his right. Tommy still wore a large, flesh tone bandage across his cheek, while just a trace of gauze wrap could be detected under Julie’s black hat. The remainder of the front row consisted of stern looking men with practiced steely glares. Occasionally one of them would glance over at Sal Demenci, who stood to the right of Tommy Bracco. Sal was holding it together, but as the ceremony progressed, so did his temper. He kept looking at the priest as if he were speaking a foreign language. He’d shake his head and stare out over the casket, seeming to be searching for an answer.
As the casket was lowered into the ground, the men formed a line and one by one they dropped playing cards, dice and other paraphernalia into the grave. The most common item dropped was a single bullet that was palmed just before it left the donor’s hand to remain with Silk for eternity. Apparently Silk’s slight of hand act was more popular than he suspected.
Matt and Jennifer Steele dropped flowers into the opening, while Julie passed by the coffin and broke down. She caught up with Silk’s mother and the two of them shared a convulsive hug.
When it was his turn, Nick looked down at the box and tried to come to terms with his judgment. He felt the need to pray and purge his soul full of remorse. It seemed like just last week they were teenagers and Silk was showing Nick and Tommy how to sneak into Pimlico Race Track from the backside stables. The three of them risking capture so they could save two bucks for the daily double. He whispered, “Forgive me, Silk.”
Nick reached into his back pocket and slid out a folded copy of that days Racing Form. He held it over the grave and was about to drop it when he felt an arm drape around his shoulder and a second Racing Form appeared next to his. He looked up to see Tommy duplicating Nick’s ritual. Tommy winked at him. They both looked down and let go of the Forms at the same time.
Tommy probably sensed Nick’s composure about to get away from him, so he patted his cousin’s back and encouraged him to move on and allow the line of mourners to progress.
As the ceremony wound down, the crowd spread out in different directions, heading towards their cars or limos, shaking their heads.
Matt took Julie’s arm and directed her toward an open limo door where Jennifer Steele waited for her. He looked over at Nick and gave a silent nod.
Nick then nodded to Sal Demenci and the two men headed for a separate limo. A group of Sal’s men fell into step behind them. As they approached the limo, a large man pulled open the back door and Sal offered Nick the honors. Nick slid down the long bench seat and watched Sal do the same directly across from him. Tommy sat next to Sal and chewed on a red toothpick. It only took a few seconds for the rest of the seats to fill up. The door closed and the silence began. Nick hadn’t smoked a cigarette in fifteen years, yet he craved one right now.
Sal broke the silence. “So, how was dinner at the White House?”
“Yeah,” Nick said, “it was good. Julie’s still buzzing over it.”
“Good, good,” Sal said, his hands clasped over his stomach.
More silence.
Finally, Tommy said, “Look, Nicky, you gonna tell us what happened?”
Nick knew he should tell them the story. So he did. Everything. Even the part about him sending Silk into an ambush. When he was done, his elbows were on his knees and his head was down. He could hear Sal sigh.
“Of all people,” Sal said. “You’re the one.”
Nick stared at his shoes.
“You’re the one who insults Silk,” Sal said.
Nick looked up.
Sal sat upright with his arms folded. He turned to Tommy next to him. “You buying it?”
Tommy shook his head. “Nah.”
“What are you talking about?” Nick said. “Those are the facts.”
Sal flipped his index finger back and forth between Tommy and Nick. “You two grew up the Three Musketeers with Silk. Was there ever a time one of you pulled the wool over Silk’s eyes? Ever?”
Nick made eye contact with his cousin. Without either of them saying a word, Sal had made his point.
Sal leaned forward now and was only inches from Nick’s face. “I’m gonna tell you something, Silk not only knew it was an ambush, he walked into the damn thing just awkward enough to be taken lightly. If he didn’t, that Kharrazi character would’ve picked him off with a night scope and Silk wouldn’t be able to plant that chip thing. He knew exactly what the fuck he was doing.”
Sal leaned back to murmurs of support from his crew.
“C’mon, Nicky,” Tommy said, disappointed. “You know better than that, huh?”