Joe was so wrong to get rid of his pictures of Nicky. I needed pictures. I needed the memories. Lots of them.
I only had one picture of him. The one with him and Nicky already on my Dead People I Love Shelf.
Well at least that was a timesaver. I wouldn’t have to move it.
I laughed, the sound was harsh and the feel of it bit at my throat.
Then I felt a tear slide down my face.
My mind moved to my daughters. I didn’t know what time it was but they’d know when they got home something was wrong. Then they’d have to find out Joe was never coming home. Then I’d have to find a way to put the pieces of us together again.
I felt another tear slide down my face but this time it coincided with a sob sliding up my throat.
I choked it down and put a hand to the glass as my legs started trembling because I knew I was clean out of emotional glue. This one had broken me. I knew it. I felt it. I was broken. There were no strong arms to hold me together. No big, hard body to climb into bed with and hold onto. Not this time. Never again. Not… ever… again.
“Let’s move,” I heard an impatient voice saying and I whirled around to see one of Hart’s henchmen moving closer to me.
“What?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. He grabbed my arm and dragged me out of the room.
I dropped the robe on my way out.
“I’m Frankie,” she whispered.
“I’m Violet,” I whispered back.
“Cal’s woman,” she said and I swallowed.
“Yeah,” I replied and that one word broke because I was, for a short, glorious period of time where me and my girls were able to make him smile, make him laugh, give him what he always wanted.
Hell, just that morning he was teasing me.
And I’d told him to go away.
And he did, to tell my girls good-bye for me after seeing to it that they got ready for school.
I closed my eyes tight as the memory assaulted my brain.
She was silent a moment then she said, “He’ll be okay.”
“They killed him,” I told her.
“What?” she asked, her voice getting louder, tighter, pissed.
“Quiet!” the henchman barked.
Sitting in the back of the car, Frankie and I got quiet.
Then she reached out and took my hand.
Then she squeezed.
“House’s clear. They hauled ass,” Pryor told Cal and Benny.
They were standing on the sidewalk outside Hart’s house. There were cop cars everywhere, Chicago PD and Feds crawling all over the place.
“Any clue where they’d go?” Benny asked.
“Got men out everywhere,” Pryor answered, his eyes on Cal. “They musta got a tipoff that we were comin’.”
“Frankie,” Benny muttered.
“Boss,” a uniform called as he walked to their huddle. “We got film,” he said when he stopped and all the men’s eyes turned to him but he was eyeing up Cal.
“Film?” Pryor prompted.
“Civilians,” the uniform murmured, using his chin to indicate Benny and Cal.
“Spill it, Krakowski,” Pryor bit out.
The uniform looked at Pryor and nodded. “They took him,” his head jerked to Cal, “to a warehouse with cameras. Feed went to the house. Boys figure they hauled ass when he,” another jerk of the head to Cal, “took down Hart’s two boys then drilled rounds in their legs.”
“Self-defense,” Benny stated instantly.
“Right,” the uniform replied, his gaze shifting to Benny, his mouth hard, “by the way, did I mention we got film?”
“We’ll sort that out later,” Pryor cut in then went on, muttering to himself, “so he saw Joe got loose and took off where?”
“More film,” the uniform said and Pryor’s eyes focused on him.
“Jesus, Krako, spit it out,” Pryor snapped.
“Security of the house. They got a brunette too. She was sittin’ in her car outside,” he pointed at a sweet, old model, red, Nissan Z car at the curb. “They nabbed her, took her into the house, five minutes later both women were in a car with a coupla Hart’s boys and headin’ out. Hart followed in another car. Got the cars and plates. They’re already out on the line.”
Pryor looked at Cal. “It’s somethin’.”
Cal stared at Pryor and didn’t reply. It was something, this was true, it just wasn’t fucking much. And after Benny and Pryor briefed him, now Cal knew that Hart knew Cal had called Sal for the hit which meant his motivation had shifted. He also knew that Cal was loose and he likely knew the Feds were on his ass. The man was whacked which meant, him knowing all that, he wasn’t going to follow script. He was going to be unpredictable. This was evidenced by the fact that he drove Cal all the way to Chicago to finish him off. Outside his MO. Hart normally didn’t fuck around. Hart wanted Cal in Chicago because Hart wanted it filmed because Hart wanted to watch him die.
Cal wasn’t a chore, a mess to clean up. This was retribution.
And he had Frankie and Vi.
“Fuck,” Cal muttered.
They all turned when a paramedic jogged up to them.
“Gotta get the girl to the hospital,” the paramedic said and all eyes shifted to the ambulance where Lindy was sitting on the back and another paramedic was squatting by her leg. “You comin’?” the paramedic asked Cal.
“Nope,” Cal replied and the paramedic’s gaze moved through both of Cal’s graze wounds before they went back to his eyes. “I’m good,” Cal finished.
“You need those seen to,” the paramedic advised.
“I’m good,” Cal repeated.
“But –” he started, Cal’s body shifted slightly and he stopped speaking then muttered, “right.” He nodded to Cal then Pryor then hoofed it back to the ambulance.
Cal started to move away, saying, “We’ll be at Sal’s.”
Benny moved with him when Pryor called, sounding surprised, “You waitin’ this out?”
“Not much else to do,” Cal responded and headed to Benny’s SUV.
“Um…” the uniform mumbled loudly, “we might have some ques –”
“Later,” Cal heard Pryor cut him off.
“But –”
“Later.”
Cal swung into the passenger side of Benny’s SUV as Benny climbed behind the wheel.
Benny turned to him. “We goin’ to Sal’s to wait it out?”
“Fuck no,” Cal replied, “we’re gonna find Ricky.”
“Cal,” Benny said low and Cal turned to him.
“Ricky, Benny.”
Benny stared at him, got that crazy motherfucking grin on his face again, started the car and then shot from the curb.
“What the fuck, Danny!” Frankie and I heard the minion’s angry shout from the other room.
“Don’t,” Daniel Hart returned.
“This shit is fucked,” the minion shot back. “We don’t got a situation. We got fuckin’ four.”
“I’m handling it,” Hart retorted.
“Yeah, right,” the henchman snapped, “you’re not handlin’ shit. You’re still chasin’ twat. Fuck! We shoulda took him out in Indiana. Crazy ass shit, bringin’ that fuckin’ guy to Chicago.”
“I wanted to watch,” Hart replied and I closed my eyes and pulled in breath.
Frankie grabbed my hand.
“Like I said, fucked,” the other man was still shouting, “two boys down there, Danny. Took out two of ours down there. Cops in our business everywhere for weeks. And I got sources tellin’ me the Feds got the books. Giglia’s boys are on the hunt and our men are scramblin’. And that guy’s stone cold. You saw what he fuckin’–”