The Game Changer Read online

  “Again, thank you.”

  During the drive home, for the first time in a week, I felt a glimmer of hope.

  And, for the time being, that was enough.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Terra

  My day had gone from talking to Michelle to drowning my sorrows with wine. Still dressed in my pajamas, and midway through my second bottle, the sound of Michael unlocking the door caught my attention.

  He pushed it open and fumbled to remove the key. “Why haven’t you answered your phone?”

  Because I don’t want to talk.

  I glanced around the room in false interest. “I don’t know where it is.”

  “You’re not going to believe this.” The keys rattled together as he continued the fight to remove them.

  “You never come through the front door,” I said. “What are you doing?”

  “I parked in the drive,” he said over his shoulder. “I thought we could go eat in a minute.”

  “I’m not hungry.” I lifted the bottle to show him my evening’s accomplishments. “I’m on bottle number two.”

  Either overcome with excitement, or extremely nervous, he gave up his battle with the key and left it in the lock. With the door still partially open, he tossed his man-bag on the floor and walked to where I was sitting.

  He looked around the room. “Where’s Hank?”

  I tried to sit up, but didn’t totally succeed. “In his kennel, asleep. It’s late, Michael.”

  He looked me up and down. “What’s wrong?”

  I lifted the bottle of wine. “I can’t take it anymore.”

  “Maybe this will cheer you up.” He looked at me and grinned. “I’ve got some good news.”

  I motioned toward the door with my eyes. “You left the door open.”

  “I’ll get it in a minute. The key’s stuck. I’ve got good news.”

  “He’ll take the case.” My tone was flat and emotionless. I was quite certain nothing could fix the mess I was in. “Wahoo.”

  He sat down beside me, pulled the bottle from my grip and set it aside. “He’ll take the case, and he says he can get him out of jail.”

  More wishful thinking. I wasn’t convinced of anything. What little faith I once had all but dwindled to nothing. I looked at the bottle of wine, and then at Michael. “How can he say that?”

  “He’s got a lot of experience in high-profile cases.”

  “And this guy is some flake from nowhere’sville.” I wasn’t impressed, and I doubted Michael could say anything to change how I felt.

  “He’s from Wichita. It’s Kansas’s largest city.”

  “What makes you think he has any idea of what to do? We need someone from Chicago, or New York, or Los Angeles.”

  He placed his hands on my cheeks and looked right at me. “It’s Cap’s father.”

  My mouth fell open. “What?”

  “Cap’s father.”

  I pulled away. “Cap’s father is an attorney?”

  “A damned good one.”

  It was enough to give me hope. “Is he tough? Like Cap?”

  “He is. I wish you could have been there. He’s convinced that he can get a hearing set up right away.”

  “And he thinks he can get him out?”

  “He’s pretty sure of it.”

  I sat up straight. “Holy crap.”

  The thought of having Cap’s father as an attorney was an exciting one. I imagined Michael or Cap being an attorney and grinned at the thought of it. Cap’s father would have a personality similar to Cap and Michael, I was sure.

  “Is he like you guys?” I asked, excitedly. “Is he mean?”

  His insta-smile did little to reveal his thoughts. “I think he’s pretty tough in the courtroom.”

  It seemed there were a lot of things about Michael and Cap that I didn’t know. Maybe they were innocent, but I wondered just how many innocent things there were about them that I was never going to find out.

  “I had no idea Cap’s father was an attorney,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment that it was a surprise. “This is awesome. It’s—it’s perfect.”

  “It’s pretty close.”

  “What does Cap think?”

  “Well...” He glanced at the floor, and then looked at me. “Cap and his father haven’t spoken in some time. Years, to be honest. He did us a favor and called him the other night to set up an appointment for me to talk to him.”

  “Oh my God. They haven’t talked in years? What happened?”

  “Just some personal things.”

  “But everything’s okay now?”

  “Not entirely, no. But they’re talking at least.”

  “I’ve been depressed all day.” I motioned toward the bottle of wine. “Michelle came over, and she had nothing good to say, so I started drinking. But now I feel like I used to when I was a little kid and Christmas morning finally came.”

  “I’m pretty excited, too.”

  “Excited doesn’t come close.”

  “Have you eaten yet?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Not really. Did you?”

  He let out a laugh. “I haven’t really eaten a real meal since he was arrested.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Feel like eating?”

  “I think I’m too excited,” I said. “When will he know something?”

  “Sounds like maybe in a day or two.” He looked me over. “You don’t want to eat?”

  “Do I look bad?”

  “You’ll never look bad. You look...” He let out a sigh. “You look like you’re ready for this to end.”

  “I am.”

  “How about this.” He stood, and then leaned over and picked me up. “I’m exhausted. Let’s just lay in bed together. How’s that sound? We can talk about the wedding.”

  For the first time in what seemed to be forever, I went limp in his arms. I draped my arms around his neck, looked at him and smiled. “That sounds wonderful.”

  He carried me to the bedroom and, after getting undressed, joined me in bed. Side by side, we talked about everything, and about nothing. During that time, thoughts of my father escaped me. My only concerns were those that we discussed.

  The wedding.

  Our future.

  Building our dream house on the island.

  And—

  One day creating a family of our own.

  * * *

  I woke to the sound of nothing.

  I rolled to my side, causing Michael to stir. “I don’t remember falling asleep,” I said.

  He looked at me and smiled. “Neither do I.”

  Michael hadn’t worked since my father was arrested, and although it was midweek, it appeared he wasn’t planning on working at least for another day. I loved having him at home, but fully realized one day he would have to go back to work.

  “Not working today?” I asked, my voice infused with hope.

  “No. I thought we could relax today. Maybe go to The Plaza and get something to eat, and just enjoy the day.”

  “I’d like that.”

  He kissed me and then rolled off the side of the bed. “I’ll get us some coffee.”

  He went to the bathroom, and then smiled as he walked past. While I brushed my teeth, I heard him shouting.

  “Son of a fucking bitch!”

  I rinsed and looked toward the bedroom door, but saw nothing.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He came in the bedroom like he was on a mission, went in the walk-in closet and came out holding a pistol.

  “Michael, what’s going on?”

  He shot me a stern look. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  �
��What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

  My heart raced. I feared federal agents had come to arrest him for something. Frantically, I wiped my mouth and dried my hands, then sat beside the bedroom door, hoping I could hear something.

  In a matter of seconds, he stormed into the room.

  I jumped up. “What’s going on?”

  “I left my keys in the door.”

  “Oh crap,” I gasped. “And it was open. Is anything gone?”

  “The house keys, my car keys and...” He shook his head. “Cocksuckers.”

  I stared at him. “What?”

  He looked at me, and then looked away. “Hank.”

  “Oh my God. Did they hurt Hank?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “They let him out of the kennel?”

  “He’s gone, and the kennel’s gone.”

  My heart sank. As if it wasn’t enough to deal with the loss of my father, adding our precious dog to the list was just too much. I struggled to accept it as being the truth. “Why would someone—”

  “I don’t know,” he snapped. “We know he didn’t wander off, so there’s not much we can do to find him. And I’ve got a spare fob for the car, but I’ll have to change the locks on the doors. They’ve got the house keys.”

  “Who do you think it was?”

  “I have no idea. Could have been anyone.”

  “But you’ve looked around, and nothing was taken?”

  “They went through the car’s glove box, and it looks like they looked around pretty thoroughly, but nothing’s taken. Your purse still has your wallet, credit cards and cash in it. I put it in the kitchen.”

  “They left the money, but took the dog. That doesn’t make sense. Are there such things as dog thieves?”

  “I’m sure there are,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Might have been just that.”

  He looked to be more worried than he was admitting.

  “I’m going to look around a bit more. Stay here, alright?”

  “But—”

  “Terra.” He met my gaze, and held it. “Stay here. There’s no one here, in the bathroom or in the closet. It’s the safest place in the house. Let me look around a bit, okay?”

  I nodded.

  He kissed me, and then left, closing the door behind him.

  I sat at the foot of the bed, and realized my life would never be normal. Michelle was right. In Michael’s and my father’s line of work it wasn’t a matter of if, it was a matter of when.

  And this odd break-in was further proof.

  In a few minutes, he returned. “House is secure. Everything’s okay. Everything except for Hank.”

  “Bastards.” I looked right at him. “Are you sure they didn’t take anything else?”

  “Yeah. I’m just—I don’t know. Uncomfortable. Until I get the locks changed, they can come back in here whenever they want.”

  “How long will it take to change them?”

  “An hour. I’m going to have Cap pick some up. That way we won’t have to leave until it’s taken care of.” He kissed me. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  I should have known that a normal day—or at least one free from worry—was nothing but wishful thinking.

  As Michael showered, I thought of everything that had happened recently. In a matter of months, my brother had been kidnapped, Michael had rescued him, and then he and my father entered into some sort of business agreement.

  Soon thereafter, a federal agent had been killed, my father was arrested for the murder and our house had been broken into.

  There was something more going on than Michael was willing to admit, that was for sure.

  But I wondered if knowing what that something was would make me feel better—or worse.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Michael

  He intertwined his sausage-sized fingers and cracked his knuckles. “I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t like it, either,” I said. “But it’s pretty simple math.”

  “It ain’t Vinnie the Fifth...” He paused, pushed his plate to the side and shrugged. “We need to talk to the boss.”

  Sal and I were sitting in the restaurant where I met him—and the other men—for the first time. I had briefed him on hiring the new attorney, the half-assed break-in at my home and the disappearance of my beloved dog. Somewhere along the way, I gave my opinion regarding my desire to pay Vinnie the Fifth a visit.

  It was immediately apparent that challenging the credibility of a made man was much different than that of an associate.

  “How can you say for certain it’s not him?”

  He clenched his fists and leaned forward. “‘Cause it ain’t fuckin’ him.”

  I offered him a sarcastic shrug. “On to the next fucking subject, then.”

  With his eyes locked on mine, he lifted his chin slightly. “Vinnie the Fifth? His great-great-grandfather was Vincent D’Oro. The Vincent D’Oro. In 1905, at the age of eighteen, Vincent got his bones at a tavern in Little Italy on the Lower East Side. Killed three of the Jewish Eastmans—one with a shotgun, and the other two with his bare fuckin’ hands. His son? Junior D’Oro? He was made at the end of prohibition, and was the right hand of Lucky Luciano himself. Died of pneumonia in 1954—while doing life in the slammer because he wouldn’t talk to the cops. Five generations of D’Oros gets us to Vinnie the Fifth. It ain’t Vinnie.”

  “It’s somebody.”

  “It ain’t Vinnie.”

  “There were two ATF agents. One invited the other one into his investigation. Jackie was first, my guess is that he’s been investigating the family since day one,” I said. “How long had he been around?”

  He shrugged. “Years.”

  “Well, fuck.”

  The ATF governed the laws surrounding alcohol, tobacco and firearms. Because of their repeated exposure to criminals armed with the very guns they were investigating, the Department of Justice allowed them to practice in an almost lawless manner without repercussion.

  ATF agents were known for their violent behavior, coercive tactics and deep undercover operations. They would invest years to develop a case where other agencies would expect results in weeks.

  Their investigations often ended with violence. The Waco, Texas massacre of the Branch Davidians and the Ruby Ridge standoff with the Weaver family were two incidents that immediately came to mind.

  “The ATF investigates alcohol, tobacco and firearms,” I said. “How long has the family been investing in cigarettes?”

  “A long time.”

  “Any firearms investments?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  I tried to put pieces of the puzzle together with the limited information that was available. Everything pointed to Vinnie the Fifth as being the man we needed to talk to, regardless of Sal’s insistence that he wasn’t involved.

  At minimum, he could point us in the right direction.

  Sal laughed his signature laugh, and then cleared his throat. “We had one, but it fell apart.”

  “Had one what?”

  “You asked about firearms. We had one deal that fell apart.”

  “Oh. When was it?”

  He looked at me like I was stupid. “You tell me. The day Peter got kidnapped.”

  It seemed like a lifetime had passed since that day. “Oh. That one.”

  I recalled the multigun deal, the three bumbling idiots and the decision I made to allow Peter to be taken hostage. At the time, I cared not what happened to him. I felt completely different now, and realized my life—and my priorities—had truly changed since then.

  And then, it came to me.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Who
turned you on to that deal?”

  “What deal?”

  “Who gave you the details about the delivery of those weapons? The night Peter got abducted?”

  “Jackie Four Eyes,” he said. “Said he got the inside information on a big gun deal. We were supposed to get the guns and the money.”

  Son of a bitch.

  “Fuck.”

  “What?”

  “When Jimmy Cupcake came to visit me the first time. How’d the family find out I was even in the business?”

  He shrugged. “Jackie Four Eyes.”

  I pushed myself away from the table and stood. “Fuck.”

  “What?”

  “They’re investigating me, too. Or at least Jackie Four Eyes was.”

  “What? You think you’re special?” He chuckled. “If a man’s earning a living, he’s being looked at.”

  I realized I still looked at my business as mine, and the family as an entirely different entity—something I wasn’t involved with.

  “We need to talk to Vinnie the Fifth,” I said. “Not as a person of interest. But we need to find out who’s the biggest rat. So far, I think we’ve got the outsiders, but I think someone in the family is—”

  “Sit down,” he said.

  I did as he asked.

  He leaned forward. “Son-in-law of the boss or not, be careful what you say about a made man.”

  My phone buzzed. I raised my index finger and pulled it from my pocket. “Hold that thought.”

  I stared at an in-state number that I didn’t recognize. After a few more rings, I answered. “Tripp.”

  “I’m on my way to Kansas City. We’ve got a hearing at two forty-five. Federal Courthouse, courtroom C.”

  “Damn, that was quick. What kind of hearing?”

  “Presentation of a Motion to Dismiss based on lack of evidence. They lack even the most basic of circumstantial evidence. This was a poke-and-hope. They were hoping for a guilty plea.”

  “Can we attend?”

  “I don’t need a courtroom full, but a small showing would suggest he’s got close family ties.”

  “We’ll be there at two forty-five.”

  “I’ll call when I’m close.”

  “Thank you.”

  I dropped my phone into my pocket and looked at Sal. “Boss has a hearing at two forty-five. He’s trying to get the case dropped.”