“Knock it off,” Steele said. She dropped her tablet onto the chair next to her and stood between the two combatants. “Both of you want the same thing so let’s not allow testosterone to get in the way.”
Tommy smiled a big affable smile. He returned his toothpick to the corner of his mouth. “I always did like you,” he said to Steele. “You’ve got …uh …” he snapped his fingers, “what’s the word I’m looking for?”
“Chutzpah,” Julie said.
“Yeah, that’s it, chutzpah.”
Now everyone smiled except Matt. Here was Tommy being Tommy, getting everyone comfortable with his streetwise humor, acting dumb, playing the innocent buffoon. It was something he did so well, Matt almost fell for it. But Matt had seen Tommy operate and there was nothing innocent about his motives. He never made a move that wasn’t calculated.
“Why can’t you two work together?” Julie asked.
“Come on, Jule,” Matt said. “Be sensible. I know he’s family, but …” he waved his left arm toward Tommy. “He’s also part of a different family. A family that doesn’t have a lot of respect for the law.”
“Oh really.” Julie folded her arms. “I’m curious. When Kemel Kharrazi was terrorizing our nation and killing innocent civilians, who did you and Nick go to for help to track him down?”
Matt just shook his head. Some decisions came with ghosts, but that one was going to haunt him a lifetime.
“And who did the FBI go to when they needed underground information about the blasting caps,” Julie continued. “And why did …”
Julie went on, but Matt didn’t need to hear any longer. He knew the direction she was headed and Matt’s argument was tepid compared to the solace Tommy’s presence offered. After all, her husband was just a few feet away recovering from a gunshot wound.
Matt moved to the window, pulled up the blinds and looked out over the stretch of grass that surrounded the hospital. A camera crew from a local TV station was setting up their equipment in the parking lot. The sheriff had just been shot and it would certainly remain the lead story for another day or two. A slow parade of cars meandered past the news crew, while pedestrians were pulled aside by a female reporter eager for a scoop.
Matt still felt like a foreigner in the mountains of Arizona. He wouldn’t be there if not for reuniting with Steele … or his ex-partner deciding to leave the Bureau for a simpler life. Matt wasn’t sure which circumstance drew him more.
He felt Steele’s fingertips on his shoulder.
“Tommy just wants to help,” Steele said.
“I know what he wants,” Matt said to the window.
The truth was, Matt didn’t know how hard to press. He missed Nick’s direction. Nick and Tommy were closer than most brothers. It would be so much easier if Nick were lucid enough to share his thoughts.
A hearse slowly made its way around the perimeter of the parking lot. It was there for Afran Rami’s body. Something about seeing the hearse gave him a sudden sense of perspective and he reached over his shoulder to touch Steele’s hand on his back. She responded by leaning closer. He’d never thought about spending his life with the same woman before he’d met Steele. Now he was getting caught up in the moment. The hearse slowed as it passed in front of the room. Hodgen’s Funeral Home was stenciled on the side of the door. Matt got a good look at the driver as he went by.
“Maybe we should all go and have ourselves a talk,” Matt said.
“Now you’re making sense,” Tommy said.
• • •
Kemin Demir slowed the hearse to a crawl as he observed the reporters doing the dance of the news story. Nothing excited Americans like a juicy story. And Kemin was prepared to give them a grand one. The sheriff who was shot would be killed while recovering from an assassination attempt. An assassination which would have been successful had Kemin fired the rifle and not Temir Barzani’s nephew. Unfortunately, Kemin wasn’t in the position to question the decisions of his leader.
Barzani was clever enough, however, to allow Kemin to finish the job that his nephew couldn’t accomplish. Nick Bracco and his partner were both going to pay for killing Kemel Kharrazi, the greatest leader the Kurdish Security Force had ever known. The KSF needed to appear cohesive and there was no better way than retribution.
Kemin parked the hearse in the exact spot the regular driver had instructed-just before Kemin slit his throat. The ceramic knife he carried was sharp enough to decapitate a two-hundred pound man, yet light and invisible to a metal detector.
Kemin got out of the hearse and pushed the buzzer next to the large white door in the rear of the building. A moment later, a man in blue scrubs and a fabric mask dangling around his neck glanced at the hearse and waved Kemin in.
“You here for the Rami kid?” the man asked.
Kemin nodded.
The man gestured to a silver gurney where a teenage boy lay naked. Rami was a severe shade of white, as if his entire body was sucked dry of blood. The room was dark, but for the silver spotlight which hung directly over the kid’s body. The place smelled like a giant pail of antiseptic cleaner.
“Hey,” the man said. “Where’s Larry?”
“Sick,” Kemin said. “I just started on Tuesday, so this is all new to me.”
The man seemed to understand and as expected, he appeared eager to show Kemin how much he knew. These Americans and their bold appetite to exhibit their knowledge.
“Do you have the paperwork?” the man asked.
Kemin produced the proper sheets of paper and the man pointed to a doorway. “Through that door and up the stairs to the Administrator’s office. Ask for Merle. He’ll sign the papers for you, then come back and I’ll help you load the body.”
Kemin smiled. “Thanks.”
Once he was inside the guts of the hospital, he knew precisely where to go. His informant scouted the vicinity hours ago and relayed all of the necessary information. One deputy was guarding Bracco’s door and two FBI agents were inside the room with Bracco’s wife. They would not be expecting such a brash attempt and Kemin was salivating at the opportunity to surprise them.
Adrenalin rushed through his veins as he walked up the stairs and entered the second floor of the patient rooms. He spotted a directory and counted down the numbers on the doors like the launch sequence of a rocket ship. When he was within thirty feet of Bracco’s room he spied the deputy sitting on a chair next to the entrance. The man appeared tired. His legs were spread and his arms were folded across his chest. At first Kemin thought the deputy was examining something on his shirt, but as he got closer he realized the man was asleep. His eyes were completely shut and his chest rose and fell with the cadence of a deep sleep. It alleviated the need for Kemin to slit his throat.
Kemin took a deep breath and grasped the ceramic knife inside his coat pocket as he leaned against the oak door and pushed himself into the room. Two steps inside the hospital room and he knew right away he was in trouble. Nick Bracco wasn’t in the bed as expected. Instead, a man wearing a brown leather jacket sat on the end of the bed with a purple toothpick in his mouth. The American gangster. The same man who helped the FBI locate Kemel Kharrazi.
“How ya doing,” the man said. “Glad you could make it.”
Kemin was about to charge the man when he sensed a presence to his right. Sitting on a plain, armless chair was the FBI agent, Bracco’s old partner. He was aiming a pistol at Kemin and seemed ready to fire it.
“I wouldn’t move any further if I were you,” the agent said. He was wearing an FBI windbreaker and jeans. Kemin looked around and found no other agents.
“I am here to kill you and your partner,” Kemin announced.
The gangster laughed. “He’s got large ones, G-man. You have to give him that.”
“Take the knife out of your pocket and drop it on the floor,” the FBI agent said.
Kemin thought about his options. He could lunge at the gangster and kill him before the gunshot would put him down.