He’s holding his right hand way behind him as he moves toward me. You can see the swing coming a mile away. Don’t get me wrong, if it connects, it’ll do some serious damage. But it’s so easy to telegraph, there’s more chance of Elvis hitting me than Pellaggio.
I dodge backward as the punch comes and watch as he hits thin air. His momentum carries him all the way around nearly, so as he’s spinning I smash my right elbow into his right temple. He drops like a stone and skids toward the edge of the walkway.
I bend over, resting my hands on my knees while I catch my breath. I look over at Chambers and see her making her way slowly to her feet.
“You… okay?” I ask, out of breath and barely able to speak.
She’s holding her head, but seems unscathed for the most part.
“I’m fine,” she replies. “You?”
I stand up straight and stretch my back, making the ‘okay’ gesture with my right hand. She looks at Pellaggio, then at me. She takes a deep breath and walks back along the gantry to where I dropped my Beretta. She picks it up by the barrel and walks back over to me, holding it out to me.
“It’s unfortunate I wasn’t able to make an arrest,” she says. “What with Danny Pellaggio catching a stray bullet during a shoot-out…”
She raises an eyebrow, but never quite manages the smile that should’ve gone with it. I take the gun from her and nod. Pellaggio’s making his way to his feet, holding on to the railing as he drags himself up.
“Okay,” he says, with a desperate, fatigued laugh. “You got me. Well done you! I’ll come quietly. Due process, and so on.”
Leaning back on the railing, he holds his hands out at Chambers, his wrists together in a gesture of restraint.
She finally manages a smile before turning her back on him.
“Wh-what are you doing?” he asks, panicking. “I’m surrendering!”
I take a step forward, raising my gun so he looks directly down the barrel. “You’re past the stage where you get to just come along quietly and sit in a jail cell,” I say. “The FBI know you died on Alcatraz.”
“B-but I’m still alive!” he says, his eyes widening as the panic makes way for fear. “I’m giving myself up! I’m surrendering!”
“To who?” I ask calmly with a smile.
Without another word, I pull the trigger and put a bullet through his left eye. The force of the impact pushes him through the old, wooden railing, and he plummets two stories, landing with a sickening thud on the ground below. I glance over the edge, seeing his crumpled body staring back at me. A large, dark red splatter has formed where his head impacted the ground.
I should’ve done that twelve months ago — it would’ve saved me so much trouble.
I look back at Chambers, who’s walking toward the edge.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” I say. “You don’t need to see that.”
She looks at me, her jaw clenched and her eyes looking the darkest I’ve ever seen them. “Yes,” she says. “I do.”
I nod and walk off down the gantry toward the staircase, leaving her to have her moment of closure. I walk down the stairs and retrieve my other Beretta. I take a quick look around the old Quartermaster building, my eyes resting for a moment on Gregovski before heading over to stand in the doorway. I look out at the prison complex down the East Road. It’s dark and the sky above me is being periodically lit up slightly by the fireworks from the Jeremiah.
After a few moments, Chambers appears next to me.
“What now?” I ask her.
“I need to call Wallis,” she replies. “I left him in charge on the Jeremiah.”
I nod.
“What about you?” she asks.
“That depends. Am I still a person of interest to every agency in America?”
She smiles. “After this? I wouldn’t think so. Not by the FBI anyway — I’ll see to that.”
“Thank you.”
“Any idea if you’re going to stick around? Maybe help us with the aftermath of all this?”
“I don’t think so. I think the best thing for me to do is put some distance between myself and this city for a while.”
“I guess you’ve earned a little holiday,” she says with a shrug and a smile.
I look over my shoulder, back at the bodies of Pellaggio and Gregovski one last time, and then set off walking. I stop after a few paces. I look back at Chambers and make a gesture with my left arm, silently asking her to link it.
“You coming?” I ask.
Without a word, she strolls over to me, takes my arm, and we set off together down the East Road once again. This time, taking the easy route back to the harbor.
27
After Chambers and I had made it back to the mainland, we linked up with Wallis on the Jeremiah, where he told us they’d been able to track down Pellaggio’s men and find where they’d planted their bombs on board. I was then taken away in an ambulance, courtesy of the FBI, and driven to the hospital where I got patched up. Chambers had ridden with me, holding my hand the whole time.
We’d both got some much-needed and long-overdue sleep at the hospital, and in the early hours of the next day, we’d returned to the Field Office and de-briefed Josh on what had happened. He said he’d seen some of it on the satellite feed but got worried when he’d lost contact with me.
Chambers was escorted off to give the official de-brief to Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge Webber, so Josh and I had taken that as a sign to leave quietly. We made a quick call to Robert Clark, thanking him for his support and offering our services in return, should he need them. He was grateful and we left it at that.
We ate, drank, and rested for the next day, keeping a low profile as we watched the various news channels around the city report on what had happened. Or, at least, what the authorities had told them had happened. I suspected some of the official statements given had omitted a few of the grittier details.
Then I got a call from Chambers to say that the FBI had arranged a funeral service for Special Agent Johnson, and that we’d be welcome if we wanted to pay our respects. I watched that man get gunned down in the line of duty right before my eyes, because of a situation I still hold myself accountable for. So, despite our initial differences, I absolutely had nothing but respect to give him.
It’s early afternoon now, and the sun’s beaming down as I stand in the National Cemetery on Lincoln Boulevard. Close friends and family are sitting in two rows of chairs directly in front of the open grave. FBI agents are standing solemnly just behind them. I can see Chambers stood beside to Wallis. She’s wearing a black trouser suit and even in mourning, she looks as great as always.
The coffin’s in front of the grave with the American flag laid over it.
I’m standing further away under the shade of a large tree with Josh beside me. We decided it would be best to keep a respectful distance. I've cleaned myself up and I’m on the mend, wearing my jeans and boots, a black shirt and my leather jacket. Josh is wearing his usual t-shirt and jeans with sneakers and a zip-through black hooded top. We don’t really have the wardrobe for this type of thing. We usually just focus on putting the body in the ground, not pausing to pay our respects afterward as well.
I bury my hands in my pockets and stare at the ground, lost in thought. I can feel Josh staring at me.
“What?” I ask, without looking at him.
“Nothing,” he replies.
I sigh. “Come on, out with it.”
“There’s something bothering you,” he says. “I can tell, so don’t waste your time denying it. If you don’t wanna tell me, I’m cool with that, I guess. But I’m worried about you. This has been a really shitty week, Boss. Are you sure you’re alright?”