The Game Changer Page 7

  “Car’s got a dead battery,” I said. “I was hoping to get out of here for some breakfast.”

  “I could eat,” he responded.

  The phone went dead.

  I admired Agrioli and his men for not talking on the telephone about the day-to-day activities of their organization. Something as simple as where we were going, what we were eating or who we were going to meet was never discussed on the phone. Overall secrecy was one of my earliest discussions with Agrioli, and he was adamant that I maintain it. If nothing else, anyone investigating him would have to infiltrate his organization to get information.

  Doing so would be close to impossible, however, considering the lack of trust the men had toward anyone outside their group.

  “He’s on his way.”

  Cap and I were eerily silent until Sal showed up. During that time, the significance of the dead man being a federal agent sank in completely. If he had been missing for a week, I couldn’t help but wonder just what he was trying to do by selling us stolen cigarettes—and who else may be involved.

  The sound of Sal’s hand pounding against my door startled me from my semiconscious state. “Come in,” I shouted.

  The door opened, and Sal peered inside cautiously. “Just you and him?”

  I nodded. “It’s safe.”

  He stepped through the door, shoved his pistol inside the waist of his slacks and let out a sigh. “What the fuck’s goin’ on?”

  “You happen to catch the news?”

  “I watched the Moolie with the gap in his teeth.” He shrugged. “What did I miss?”

  “Guy we tossed in the river was an ATF agent. He’d been missing for a week before he met us, according to the news. And he was listed as being killed while off duty, which means either he was deep undercover, or his cigarette business was on the sly.”

  “You were right. He was a fuckin’ cop.”

  “Who turned us on to the cigarette deal?” I asked. “To Wesley or Kevin Gatlin, or whatever his fucking name was.”

  Sal sat down beside Cap. “Came down from Jackie Four Eyes.”

  “How long’s Jackie been around?” I imagined an Italian man with thick black-framed glasses, hence the name Four Eyes. “You trust him?”

  He glanced at the scotch, and then at me. “What’s with the bottle?”

  “Eighteen-year-old scotch. We had some after watching the news.”

  He gestured toward the glass. “Have some manners.”

  I pulled a glass from the drawer, and poured three healthy shots. “I’m going to be an alcoholic before I know it.”

  Sal cleared his throat and reached for the glass. “Jackie Four Eyes has been around for a few years. He’s an associate. A friend of a friend.”

  “Trust him?”

  He took a sip of scotch. “I don’t trust anybody that isn’t made.”

  “Fair enough,” I said with a nod. I doubted he trusted me or Cap for that matter, and opted to change the subject. “Do you need to tell Agrioli what happened?”

  “After we pay Jackie Four Eyes a visit.” He drank the scotch, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and slid the glass across my desk. “You two ready?”

  Given the look on Sal’s face, I decided our visit may be more of an interrogation and much less of a visit. I reached into my drawer, grabbed my pistol, an extra magazine and my silencer.

  “I am now.”

  * * *

  “When it comes time to catch a rat,” Sal said as he parked the car, “you never let ’em know you’re coming. If they’re really a rat, you don’t wanna give ’em time to make up a lie or get rigged with a wire. You always wanna catch ’em off guard.”

  As the three of us sat in front of his house in broad daylight, I wondered just how secretive our visit could be.

  “Let me ask all the questions,” Sal said.

  “I ain’t much of a talker,” Cap replied. “I’ll just listen. Unless he does something stupid.”

  Sal looked at me.

  I offered a healf-hearted shrug. “No arguments here.”

  He reached for the door handle, and then paused. “You ready?”

  I nodded. Cap opened the door. Sal did the same. I had no idea what we had planned, but I wasn’t opposed to following Mad Sal’s lead. In fact, the thought of being wrapped up in an investigation of any sort made me uneasy. Figuring out who was at the bottom of the botched cigarette deal was now on the top of my priority list. Whoever tried to set us up would simply continue until we were all behind bars—unless we caught him before he exposed us to the cops.

  I stepped out of the car behind Sal and Cap. As we walked along the sidewalk, I wondered what the neighbors might think if they saw us. I always liked to believe I was the most intimidating man in any room. Realistically, I wasn’t overly muscular or frightening in any way—my confidence and attitude were my best weapons.

  Cap and Sal, on the other hand, were a different story altogether. They looked like linebackers for the local professional football team. In short, they didn’t blend in well.

  We stepped onto the sidewalk and began our short journey to Jackie’s. After a few steps, I cleared my throat. “What’s the plan?”

  “Haven’t got one,” Sal responded over his shoulder.

  This should be interesting.

  It bothered me that he operated in a by-the-seat-of-your-pants fashion. I preferred having a plan, and it was clear that he didn’t see the value in it.

  As we nonchalantly sauntered along the sidewalk, I glanced at the homes on either side of the street. Based on my knowledge of real estate, I guessed they ranged in value from one million to one million, seven-fifty. I couldn’t help but wonder just what Jackie was involved in.

  Cap glanced at Sal. “So, what if this guy’s a rat?”

  Sal slowed his pace and turned toward Cap. “You’ve seen that game at the arcade, right?”

  Cap paused, and then shot Sal a confused look. “What?”

  Sal chuckled. “Whack-a-mole.” He raised his clenched fist in the air, and then began pounding it against his open palm repeatedly. “You know, the one with the gopher that pops out of the holes. They got ’em on Coney Island.”

  Now stopped on the sidewalk in front of the house next door to Jackie’s, Cap scrunched his nose and stared.”Yeah, the one where you hit the mole on the head with the mallet?”

  Sal gave a nod and turned away. “That’s the one.”

  Cap tossed his hands in the air. “What the fuck’s that got to do with anything?”

  I felt the same way, but preferred to stay out of the conversation. We were three hit men mere minutes away from whacking a snitch, and an arcade game was the topic of discussion.

  Sal paused, turned toward Cap and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “We whack rats.” He chuckled. “Whack-a-rat.”

  Cap nodded as if satisfied, and then glanced at me. I shrugged.

  Sal stopped on the sidewalk that led to Jackie’s house. The home, a Tudor style that was centered on a large well-landscaped lot, sat a hundred feet or so up the walk. I admired the home for an instant, and quickly became envious. The modest home I lived in had been sufficient for me, but now that Terra and I were getting married, I felt that it was inadequate.

  Especially for a family.

  I diverted my attention to Jackie’s home, made note of all the blinds being pulled, and then turned to Sal. “What’s this Jackie guy do for a living?”

  He shrugged and turned up the walk. “Why?”

  I gawked at the rambling two-story brick home. “This house has got to be worth a million, at least. Especially in this neighborhood. Just wondering.”

  “Who fuckin’ knows.”

  We walked to the door no differently than if we were invited. Knowing Jackie recommended
the deal with the ATF agent made me feel uncertain about him, and everything about our manner of approach made me anxious about the visit.

  The home’s solid wood door was adorned with nothing more than a doorknob and a brass knocker. When combined with the obstructed windows, we were left with no way to see inside.

  Sal looked at the doorbell button, and then the brass knocker. As he reached for the knocker, my level of tension rose slightly.

  He rapped it against the brass backing plate a few times, and took a step back. The unmistakable sound of the floorboards creaking gave all the proof I needed that there was someone inside the home, but no one opened the door.

  Sal knocked again.

  I looked at Cap, motioned toward the door and nodded. He nodded in return.

  “What?” Sal asked with a shrug. “What’s with you two?”

  “Someone’s in there,” I whispered.

  “Says who?”

  “Says me,” I said. “I could hear someone walking around.”

  Sal glanced in each direction, pressed his shoulder into the door and then pushed every ounce of three hundred-plus pounds against it. A second or so later, the door’s frame splintered and he all but fell into the entrance.

  Jesus.

  Although my training told me to pull my weapon prior to entering the home, I didn’t for fear of any onlookers seeing me. From what anyone could tell, at least so far, three men had walked up to a home, knocked and entered. Considering the significant distance to Jackie’s closest neighbor, no one would be able to tell that Sal opened the door without invitation.

  Cap and I entered no differently than if we were conducting a raid on an enemy-occupied compound. As soon as I was in the house, I swept the door closed with my foot, and then screwed the silencer onto the barrel of the pistol.

  Cap’s eyes searched the entrance and he then confirmed it was clear with a nod of his head. I advanced to the closest opening, an open door that led into a den. After verifying the room was unoccupied, I nodded and motioned toward the next doorway.

  Sal walked toward a staircase. With my pistol pointed directly in front of me, I kept my position to the rear of Cap. Immediately after turning the corner, Cap began barking out orders.

  “Don’t fucking move,” he shouted. “Hands, motherfucker. Let me see your hands.”

  Ten feet in front of us, a clean-cut man of average build raised his hands. Dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and wearing a baseball cap, he looked like a typical thirtysomething father on his way to a ball game.

  “How many more people are in here?” Cap asked.

  Jackie’s eyes darted around the room, making his nervousness about the situation clear. “None. I’m the, um... I’m the only one,” he muttered.

  Sal stepped to my side and peered over my shoulder. “What’s with the getup, Jackie? The Royals’ season is over.”

  “I was—I was just—I was headed out to, um...”

  “You’re full of shit,” Sal said. “How’d you get a lock on that cigarette deal with Wesley?”

  Jackie’s focus shifted from Cap to Sal. “I, um...”

  “Sit down,” Sal demanded. He shoved his way past Cap and me and pointed to the dinette table in the breakfast area behind Jackie. “Tell me about your cigarette-selling buddy. Wesley, or whatever his fuckin’ name was.”

  Cap and I stood at either side of the table. Jackie glanced at each of us, and then complied with Sal’s demand, nervously pulling out a chair and taking a seat. He looked up, and then rubbed the side of his nose with the web of his palm.

  “Who? Wesley?” he asked.

  He heard you, he’s buying time, Sal.

  “Yeah, the man with the truckload of smokes for sale. Remember him?”

  “Oh, yeah. Wesley.” His eyes fell to the floor. “He, um... He...”

  Based on my interrogation experience, he was lying, and doing a poor job of it. I glanced at Cap, who returned an eye roll.

  Sal didn’t seem to be convinced, at least not yet. “‘He, um... He...’ What? You nervous, Jackie?”

  If he wasn’t, he sure looked like he was. He nodded. “I was upstairs when you came. Didn’t hear you knock. It scared the shit out of me when you guys came in.”

  If you didn’t hear us, how’d you know we knocked?

  “Tell me about Wesley.” Sal sat down across the table from him. “You two old pals?”

  I’d seen about all I cared to. Sal’s methods were lackluster at best, and his demeanor was far too calm. I wondered if Agrioli paired Cap and me with him to test our abilities, and if so, I couldn’t help but further wonder how we were doing so far. To be viewed as substandard was unacceptable to me, and if Sal didn’t pick up the pace, I was going to, whether Agrioli liked it or not.

  Still standing beside the small dinette table, I glared down at Jackie. After a moment, he looked up and made note of my stare. “These two are making me nervous, Sal.”

  “The fuck, you say. Want me to ask ’em to leave?” Sal asked, his voice thick with irony.

  “Have ’em go in the other room.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Sal replied. “Tell me everything you know about Wesley.”

  “My notebook.” He turned and looked over his shoulder, toward where Cap stood. “I keep it over there in the desk. Let me get it, and I’ll be able to tell you anything about him. Anything.”

  “Grab the fuckin’ thing, then,” Sal said.

  Jackie glanced at Cap, and then me, and started to get out of his seat.

  Don’t let this prick get up.

  Sal stayed seated, making no objection to Jackie getting up. I quickly walked to his side and pressed my hand against his shoulder. “Just stay where you are.

  “Where’s it at?” I asked. “I’ll get it.”

  His face went stark white. “I think...” His eyes shifted toward the kitchen cabinets. “Maybe over there. In one of those drawers.”

  “You looked over there,” I said, motioning toward a wooden built-in desk at the corner of the kitchen.

  “I, um...”

  “Search that desk, Cap.”

  Cap opened the desk’s drawer, pulled out a pistol and chuckled. He raised it in the air. “You wasn’t after this fucker, was ya?”

  “Glock?” I asked.

  Cap nodded.

  “Hand it to me.”

  It was a Glock Model 22, a 40mm pistol typically issued to federal government field operatives. While Jackie stammered an unintelligible response, I pressed the magazine’s release, removed it and inspected it. At the top of the back side, it was clearly marked.

  RESTRICTED

  LE/GVT ONLY

  The type of high-capacity magazine that was in the pistol was limited for law enforcement and government use only. Jackie, no differently than Wesley, appeared to be a cop.

  “Looks like your man’s a cop, Sal.” I tossed him the loaded magazine. “Read the markings on the back of that.”

  His head shook in denial, but his wide eyes gave indication of his guilt. “Hold on. I’m no cop.” He looked at Sal. “Sal. I’ve been nothing but good to—”

  “Shut up,” Sal grumbled. He looked at the magazine. “I think you’re a fuckin’ rat.”

  “Let me explain—”

  “You can explain it to the boss.” Sal looked at me. “We need to get this dumb fuck out of here. We’ll take his car.” He looked at Jackie. “Where’s your car, rat?”

  Jackie scooted away from the table and began to rock back and forth in his chair like an unsettled child. “We don’t need Agrioli—”

  Sal stood. “Where’s the door to the fuckin’ garage, rat?”

  Jackie bent forward, pressed his chest to his thighs and began moaning. I stepped back and stared, uncertain of just what it was that h
e was doing—or trying to do. With his head between his knees, he continued to groan until I told him to stop.

  “Sit up,” I demanded.

  He promptly complied, and when he did, he was holding a pistol; undoubtedly one he had concealed in an ankle holster.

  He pointed it at Sal’s chest. “Don’t move, Sal. I mean it.”

  “There’s three of us, you dumb bastard,” Sal growled.

  “I don’t give a shit. I’ll get you for sure. That’s all I care about. Now have these two back off,” Jackie snarled.

  Are you fucking kidding me?

  While I pointed my pistol at the head of the second cop we’d encountered in less than a week, Cap did the same from behind him. Jackie’s pistol—and his eyes—stayed fixed on Sal.

  The last thing I wanted to do was kill another cop, but Sal’s and my life were in danger. I couldn’t speak for Sal, but I had plans for a long time to come, none of which included getting killed.

  And if I was being tested by Agrioli, I was pretty sure, regardless of what Sal’s wishes were, I didn’t want him to die.

  At least not on my watch.

  “Fuck you,” Sal said. “Shoot me, you fuckin’ rat.”

  Are you fucking kidding me? Sal’s bravado behavior may have looked good in the eyes of his fellow mobsters, but I saw it as nothing less than an act of stupidity. When unarmed and standing in front of a man who was pointing a pistol at you, a “shoot me” instruction was the talk of an idiot.

  Or a maniac.

  I cleared my throat, hoping to garner Jackie’s attention. “Toss it on the floor,” I said flatly. “I won’t repeat myself.”

  It was his one, and only, chance.

  He continued to glare at Sal as he gave his response. “Fuck you, buddy. Toss yours on the floor, or I’ll put a bullet in his chest.”

  I wasn’t a medical doctor, nor was I an expert on muscle behavior. I had, however, shot two men in the head, both of whom dropped the weapon they were holding without discharging it. Their muscular functions seemed to all but cease as soon as the bullet penetrated their brains.

  All I could do was hope that Jackie followed the same pattern. I aimed directly for his left eye, and without further warning, squeezed the trigger.