“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because Dwayne Robinson didn’t just seat himself. If he was supposed to sit next to Marcozza that day, it would have to have been arranged. The question is, who did the arranging? Who’s the man with the plan?”
Sorren resumed reaching for his next cigarette, sliding it into his mouth. Out came a Zippo lighter. I could practically see the wheels spinning in his head as he lit up and took a deep puff. Jesus, these cops and robbers really liked their nicotine fixes. First Sam Tagaletto, now Sorren. I moved a half step away from him, upwind. Both of my parents had smoked like chimneys, and both had died of cancer.
“Let me sleep on it,” he said. “In the meantime, whether it was Pinero, D’zorio, or the tooth fairy, you still need police protection, Nick. We need to keep you alive. Is that okay with you?”
He extended his hand to shake mine. With his other hand he was returning the lighter to his pocket – only he missed. It fell to the ground, skipping off the asphalt and landing at my feet.
“I got it,” I said, bending down.
That’s when I got my head blown off.
JESUS CHRIST! What now? What the hell just happened? Not my head – but damn close!
The back window of the ambulance had just shattered, shards of glass falling on me like jagged rain. A split second earlier and that window would’ve been my head, a bullet right between the eyes.
“Move! Move! Move!” I heard. It was Sorren, and he was shouting at me.
Tucked in a low crouch, he began pushing me toward the front of the ambulance as the booming echo of the gunshot was drowned out by the collective scream of the street. The neighborhood crowd was scattering everywhere at once. It was pure pandemonium. Run for your lives!
“Whoever wanted you dead still does,” Sorren had just said to me.
You ain’t kidding…
A second shot pierced the side of the ambulance about a foot from my chest, the blast from it ripping through the air. My guess was that the shooter didn’t have the right angle yet.
Not yet.
The shooter, wherever he was, was obviously using a long-range rifle.
Then came a completely different sound. Pop! Pop-pop-pop! Pop! Pop-pop-pop!
Those were handguns – and aimed in the opposite direction. It was return fire. That’s what you get, asshole, for shooting up a street filled with cops!
I peeled around to the front of the ambulance, the small of my back practically glued to the bumper. Sorren followed right behind me.
“You okay?” he asked, out of breath.
I was gasping for air, too. “Yeah, I’m all right. You?”
“Peachy. Just great, Nick. All in one piece. I don’t think I like hanging out with you, though.”
Then, as quickly as it had started, it was over, no more fireworks. All the screaming and confusion gave way to an eerie silence.
No one was standing up yet, though. No one wanted to come out into the open.
Twenty feet away I locked eyes with a woman who’d been ducking behind the crimson bricks of a stoop. Her expression said it all. Is it really over?
“Maybe for you, lady,” I could have told her.
Not for me.
David Sorren gripped my arm. “Stay here,” he said. “Do not move.”
“Where are you going?”
“To see if they got the shooter.”
Sorren came up out of his crouch, peeking over the hood of the ambulance.
“Hey, be careful,” I said.
He nodded before cracking a slight smile. “Still think that police protection isn’t necessary?”
I’m sure Sorren thought it was the most rhetorical question he’d ever asked, but as he dashed off I couldn’t help wondering if the answer was so clear. I’d just been surrounded by cops, and I’d come dangerously close to getting nailed by two separate gunshots. The policemen were New York ’s finest, but as to how much they’d be able to protect me, I wasn’t so sure.
That’s when something off in the distance caught my eye. It was a bright block of yellow at the far end of the street. There was a white light on top of it, and I could swear it was calling my name. C’mon, Nick, let’s get lost… Let’s get the hell out of here.
Chapter 70
I HAD THOUGHT about going to Courtney’s apartment, but that was somewhere they might come looking for me. So I went someplace else, someplace safer.
“How much did the taxi cost?” asked my sister, Kate, cradling her mug of chamomile tea at the head of her kitchen table. At one a.m., it was the only decaf she had had in the cupboard.
“One hundred and seventy-six dollars,” I told her. “Plus tip.”
Kate shook her head in disbelief. “You know, you could’ve negotiated a flat fee with the driver up front. Saved yourself some money, Nicky.”
I started to laugh. It felt good, but only for a moment.
“What’s so funny?” Kate asked. Then it occurred to her. “Oh yeah, you’re right. Given the night you’ve had, maybe the money wasn’t so important.”
“No, that’s not it,” I said. “I still can’t get used to you being the frugal one in the family.”
Of course, truth be told, I wasn’t surprised in the least. When Kate’s husband had been alive, they’d had lots of money, thanks to his job as an oil trader. After he died, she had even more from his insurance policy. But gone forever was her sense of security. In its place was a newfound appreciation for the value of everything, starting with life itself. Somewhere down the list was the true meaning of a dollar.
Kate took a sip of her tea. “Life is just one big curveball, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” I said.
A sleepy voice suddenly chimed in from the door to the kitchen. “You can say that again. Life is one big, nasty curveball.”
We both turned to see Elizabeth standing there in her pink pajamas.
“What are you doing up, young lady?” asked Kate. “You have school.”
Elizabeth flashed her great smile, the one she’d inherited from her mother and father. “The blind have a heightened sense of hearing, remember?”
“How are you, sweetheart?” I said.
“I knew it was you, Uncle Nick.”
“Let me guess… was it my cologne?”
She laughed. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.”
“No, you don’t. You’ve got school tomorrow,” said her mother again. “You need to get to bed.”
“Actually, that makes two of us,” I said, standing up from the table. “Walk me to the guest room, Lizzy, okay?”
“Certainly. Be my pleasure.”
I followed my niece toward the stairs to the second floor, marveling at how she had every step, every corner, every piece of furniture, mapped out perfectly in her mind. She didn’t need to reach out for anything, including my hand.
“Will you be here tomorrow when I get home from school?” she asked, halfway up the steps.
“I don’t know,” I answered.
She stopped, turning back to me. “Wow,” she said. “When most people say ‘I don’t know’ to a question like that, they usually do know. But I can tell in your voice. You really don’t know.”
Elizabeth was spot-on as usual. I had no idea what the next day would bring, or where it would even bring me. I was running from the police, albeit their protection, choosing instead an out-of-the-way home in the woods of Weston, Connecticut. “The pizza delivery guy can hardly find it,” Kate always joked. “Or even FedEx.”
Still, just to make sure, I had had the taxi driver circle around a bit before pulling into the driveway. All quiet on the Weston front. There was no one following us.
For one night at least, I was safe.
Tomorrow – probably all hell would break loose again.
I PULLED THE freshly cleaned and starched sheets, the blanket, the duvet – everything – over my head in Kate’s very comfortable guest room bed at the end of the hall. For some reason I thought that would help me sleep. It didn’t exactly work out that way.