“He says there’s sensitive financial records on there.”
“Bullshit! You think he stores his client’s routing numbers on his computer? That’s not how it works. If you weren’t such a Luddite, Jay, you’d know that. Sensitive financial documents? He’s fucking with you. You know who handles his security-the Commanderoes are no joke! You remember the Donatello Bakery murders? That was them. Three dead. Shot in the back of the head. Execution style. What the hell does Adam Lombardi need a security detail like that for? To keep trespassers from stealing two-by-fours?”
“I don’t-”
“Yeah, that resort is going to be huge. And Michael’s tough-on-drugs, pro-family horseshit campaign is big too. And both those things come crashing down if it’s revealed their father is a pedophile.” Chris grabbed my arm, making sure he had my rapt attention. “You’re my brother. I know you think I’m a wasteoid fuckup. Maybe I am. But I’m telling you the truth about this, and I need you to trust me. If you’ve ever believed in me, Jay, please, trust me on this.” He grabbed the backpack and practically shoved it in my gut. “Please. I don’t care what happens to me. Just look at the disc!”
“Okay,” I said, checking the mirror, jerking the Chevy in reverse. “We need to get out of here.”
But it was too late. I hadn’t backed up an inch before the swirling reds and blues filled the cab; high-pitched sirens shattered the still country air, regret stabbing at my heart.
But it was the look my brother gave me when he realized I’d betrayed him that cut the deepest.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
With my brother tucked safely in the back of a cruiser, I took in the magnitude of what I’d done: four police vehicles, including the spanking new SUV, parked cockeyed on the rock; Otis, Ramon, and the rest of Ashton’s finest, who’d been called on to bring down the big, bad felon, raising shotguns and hoisting bullhorns, milling about congratulatory following the successful bust. I’d sold out my own brother.
“Was all this really necessary?” I asked Turley.
They’d torn into the reserve like they were ready for a gunfight. But the showdown ended in a whimper.
Once Chris realized I’d turned him in, he lost the fight. He simply opened the door and placed his hands above his head. But he made sure to part with that final, searing gaze. It was the kind of look I’m sure haunted Judas for the rest of his days.
“It’s a big deal,” Turley said. He studied my pained expression. “That was smart having Jenny call us. No telling how ugly this could’ve gotten.” He forced a smile. “Boy, your brother sure fucked up Brody. EMTs had to load him up with morphine just to move him to the ambulance.”
“Chris had nothing to do with Pete Naginis’ murder.”
“Your brother’s going to have a chance to tell his side of the story.” Turley placed a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “I promise. Naginis ran with a rough crowd, everyone knows that. Just gotta follow protocol here.”
“What happens next?”
“We take him down to the station and talk to him until we get to the bottom of this.” Turley playfully punched my shoulder in a show of brotherhood. Weird thing was, given the events of this past week, it didn’t feel entirely misplaced. “You’ve come this far. Try and keep the faith.”
“And what happens when Brody presses charges for assault?” As if Chris didn’t have enough cards stacked.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I have a feeling what happened in Jenny’s kitchen was some good ol’ fashioned, big brother protection. Besides, Brody isn’t the most upstanding guy in the community. Folks with pasts like his can usually be persuaded to be reasonable.”
“Thanks, Turley.”
I stared at the back of my brother’s bad haircut through the rear window. He wouldn’t turn around. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was it: the final rotting of a relationship left to die on the vine long ago. I hadn’t felt this empty inside since my parents died.
Pat Sumner tapped the roof of the squad car, and the lights switched on. The rest of the cops stopped backslapping and climbed into their vehicles, patrol units reversing and K-turning, as Pat ambled between spinning tires, making his way toward us.
“You did the right thing,” Pat said, approaching with hand outstretched.
If I had really done the right thing, then why did it feel so lousy?
Through the glut of exiting taillights, I saw Lombardi’s 4x4 work truck bumping over the rocky terrain, swerving from the access road for a quicker route.
“What’s he doing here?” I asked.
“Adam was worried about your brother, and asked us to call when we caught him. Seemed the least we could do after all the trouble Chris has caused the Lombardi family.”
At the sight of Adam and Bowman stepping out of the truck, I felt myself tense up.
Pat slapped me on the back and headed to greet them.
“Relax, Jay,” Turley said. “The worst is over.”
“You have to do me a favor. You don’t let Adam Lombardi or that security goon of his anywhere near my brother.”
Turley squinched his face. “What’s up?”
“You promise me. I kept my end. I called you and gave you my brother. We can talk about this later, but when you get to the station, you have to give me your word that that guy,” as I stabbed a finger at Bowman, “goes nowhere near him!”
“No one but the police will talk to your brother. You have my word.”
Adam and Bowman marched over with Sheriff Sumner yipping at their heels like a puppy.
Adam Lombardi watched the police cars tool down the mountain with his prize, but Bowman kept his eyes peeled on me.
“Adam wanted to thank you personally, Jay,” Pat said. “He knows how hard this must’ve been for you. Don’t you, Adam?”
“Absolutely,” said Adam, joining Bowman in a fierce gaze.
“It’s for the best,” continued Pat. “We can’t have folks breaking into houses and job sites.”
“No, we can’t,” I said.
Adam dropped the eyeballing, reversing tack, and slipping back into his man-of-the-people persona. “You eat yet, Jay? How about you let me take you to lunch? Carter’s Steakhouse in Longmont is pretty good. Helluva rib eye. On me. We can even go to that diner you like so much, if you’d rather.”
“That’s all right, Adam. I’m not hungry.”
“Come on,” he urged. “We can catch up on what we were talking about yesterday.”
“Chris didn’t give me any hard drive,” I said, point-blank.
Adam laughed uneasily.
“Hard drive?” repeated Pat.
“Turns out Chris did take something from Adam,” I said. “Isn’t that right, Adam?”
Adam was too slick to get thrown off his game with any curveball tossed by me. Instead, he dropped his head, humbly feigning a mea culpa. “Sorry, Pat. I should’ve told you the other day. I didn’t want to say anything and get the guy in more trouble. But, yes, Chris came to be in possession of a hard drive of mine. Has a lot of private information on there.”
“Wait a second,” said Pat, slow on the uptake. “I thought you said Chris couldn’t get in the trailer?”
Adam repeated the same story he’d told me, in the same contrite tone, with the same genial appeal to help him retrieve his missing property. Except, today, it rang phonier than that politico smile of his. And I wasn’t buying a minute of it.
“-client finances, spreadsheets,” Adam droned on, “numbers and figures that Chris, in his drug-addled state, might’ve misconstrued. As I was telling Jay, I had hoped we could resolve this discreetly.” He made sure to catch my eye. “But I guess that’s not possible anymore. Doesn’t matter. As long as I get my property back.”