JACKS ARE WILD Page 7

  A hundred twenty dollars.

  Jack exhaled as he grabbed the door panel. He pulled the panel out with a snap and dropped his wallet and phone inside. He started to hide things in the door after he first moved into a pretty rough neighborhood. Meth addicts would smash your window in, looking for loose change, but if they didn’t see anything valuable they left you alone. Jack patted his gun and got out.

  Mancini’s son’s house. He could have security. Unprofessional thug security, but security.

  He circled back until he approached the home. Small lights lined the long driveway on either side of the brick walkway. Three marble steps led up to a huge oak door. Jack rang the bell and waited.

  Her brother has one hell of an expensive house.

  He resisted the urge to look in the window. His hand reached out for the buzzer again, but the door swung open. An older, barrel-shaped Italian man stood smiling in the doorway. He had thick, curly gray hair that still had some streaks of black.

  The man from the picture. Orsacchiotto.

  Jack guessed him to be in his sixties.

  “Hi. I’m looking for Ilario.”

  “Ilario?” The old man smiled and nodded. “Buongiorno. Come stai?”

  Jack blinked.

  Shoot. I don’t know Italian.

  “Ilario?” Jack repeated.

  “Ilario.” The old man nodded his head and then stepped back. “Ilario si prega di entrare.” He motioned for Jack to follow him.

  Jack tipped his head, and then smiled back. “Thank you.” Jack stepped over the threshold and into the home.

  As the old man closed the door behind them, the lock clicked. Jack could hear many people moving around.

  “Nice and slow, kid.” The voice was the old man’s.

  He speaks English fine.

  As Jack raised his hands and turned around, seven other men came into the entranceway: two from the hallway, two from what looked to be a giant study, and three from the living room where the sound of a TV played in the background.

  Six pistols. One pump shotgun. Old guy has a damn hand cannon. Smith and Wesson .500 Magnum. That would blow me through the door.

  Jack kept his hands up.

  “Pat him down.” The old man looked Jack up and down.

  “I have a gun in a shoulder holster,” Jack announced.

  A very fat man stepped forward, took Jack’s gun, and handed it to a medium-built guy with a big nose. He then proceeded to pat Jack down but was unable to bend past his huge belly so he stopped at Jack’s knees.

  I have to get a boot gun.

  “Bring Ilario out,” the old man ordered.

  Two men stepped into the side room, but came right back, escorting a young man. They marched him into the hallway where he stared at Jack. He was short, with thick, curly black hair, but Jack could immediately see the resemblance to Marisa.

  Ilario. Marisa’s little brother.

  Ilario shook his head. “I don’t know him.”

  The fat guy with the shotgun raised it up, and the guy next to Jack screamed out, “Stop, you freakin’ idiot. I’m right next to him.”

  Jack kept his hands up, but shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. “Wait. I’m a friend of Angelica’s.”

  The two guys next to him kept moving away.

  “What do you know about Angelica?” The old man walked forward and stuck the barrel of the large gun in Jack’s face.

  “She’s missing. I think someone took her.”

  Ilario darted forward, but the old man held out a hand. The old man’s bushy brows knit together. “If she is…missing, how do we know that you didn’t have anything to do with it?”

  “One—and no offense intended—why the hell would I come here, trying to help, if I was a bad guy?”

  Don’t.

  Jack smirked.

  The old man cocked the revolver.

  “Two—in my shirt pocket, Orsacchiotto.” Jack tried his best with the difficult Italian word. The gun in Jack’s face trembled. Jack swallowed. “I don’t know what it means, but that’s what Angelica called you.”

  The old man nodded to the guy with the big nose, who reached into Jack’s pocket. He took out the photograph Jack had put there and handed it to the old man. When Ilario looked over his shoulder, his eyes went wide. He grabbed the photo out of the old man’s hand and held it up to Jack.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked.

  “It was the only photograph she had. Like I said, Angelica’s my friend, and I’m trying to help find her.”

  Ilario turned to the old man. “Paolo, we need—”

  Paolo backhanded him in the mouth. Ilario stumbled backward but didn’t fall. Paolo lowered the gun to point at the floor, and Jack exhaled.

  “What’s your name?”

  Don’t say anything that could tell them where she is.

  “Friend.”

  Paolo’s eyes narrowed while the other men shifted restlessly. “Why do you think something is wrong with Angelica?”

  “Someone saw her being taken into a car.”

  “Who?”

  Jack hesitated. “A friend of mine.”

  Paolo’s lips pressed together, but Jack saw the old man’s eyes.

  He knows I’m watching out for her. Part of him respects that. The other part’s bad.

  Paolo looked Jack up and down before he holstered the gun. “Follow me.”

  He led Jack down a short hallway to a door. Paolo held up a hand, went inside, and then closed the door. Jack waited in the hallway as Big Nose and Fat Man stood on either side of him. After a few minutes, Paolo opened the door and waved for Jack to come in.

  The room was a large study. From the thick red carpet on the floor to the paneled walls, the room felt expensive to Jack. At the back of the room was a thick oak desk, and standing beside it could be none other than Severino Mancini. He was almost six feet tall and looked as though he belonged in a boardroom. Black Armani suit, red tie, and perfect hair created the picture of a powerful businessman, not quite the image of the butcher Jack had read about.

  Jack stopped judging the man when he saw his face. Severino was in his late fifties. He was a handsome man, but his eyes were hollow. As he looked up, Jack could almost feel the man’s pain.

  “You’re a cop. I already got a call from the bastard who took my little girl away from me. Why are you here?”

  His voice was so smooth it took Jack an extra second to take in what he’d just said. “Who called you?”

  “You don’t get it. I ask—you answer.” He looked at Paolo, and Jack saw the way the old man shifted his gun so he was now palming the cannon.

  He’s holding it to pistol-whip. Don’t be a smartass. That thing would cave my face in.

  Jack nodded. “I’m a friend of Angelica’s.” Jack regretted his choice of words when he saw Severino’s scowl, but he continued. “She’s missing.”

  “So Prescott told me when he called. He said two guys might have driven off with her. Asked me if I was having any issues with anyone.” He scoffed. “The list to come after me is long. Prescott had no details. He thought she could be…away on a vacation. What do you think?”

  Jack shook his head. “She was scared about something. She thought someone was watching her.”

  Severino growled and his arm swept everything on the desk onto the floor. Glass broke, and papers went flying. The door behind Jack opened as Fat Man and Big Nose ran in.

  “Clean it up,” Severino bellowed at them. “That prick takes my daughter and can’t keep my little girl safe? Now I’ll fix it.” He took two steps forward. “Do you know what they look like?”

  “No.”

  “Race?”

  “No.”

  Severino stared at Jack for almost a full minute. As Jack’s jaw tightened, he could feel the sweat form on his back. Jack had been called on the carpet ever since he could remember. In school, it was a weekly visit to the principal’s office. In the Army, he had true experts try to stare him dow
n. They didn’t come close to Severino’s cold examination.

  “You got anything else?” Severino finally snapped.

  Jack shook his head.

  “You did your bit. Now get out.”

  Jack met his gaze. “If you get a call, I need you to let me know.”

  Severino looked at the floor before he raised his eyes again. “You think I’d go to the cops? You? For help?” He pounded his chest. “I’ll get my daughter myself. ME. Since you had the balls to come here, I’m going to repeat myself. Get the hell out while I let you keep them.” He turned and smashed everything the two men had been putting on the desk back off. Severino stood there, panting and glaring at Jack.

  Jack felt Paolo’s hand on his arm, and he looked at the old man. Paolo’s eyebrows raised and he looked to the door.

  He isn’t threatening me. He’s helping.

  Jack looked back at Severino, nodded his head, and walked out. Paolo escorted him to the front door. The guys in the hallway eyed him with awe and puzzlement.

  I guess they’re not used to seeing people walk out of that office still breathing.

  Jack stopped at the door and held out his hand. Paolo nodded, and a guy handed Jack his gun. Jack stared at the old man. “Paolo, if—”

  “Look, kid. You just asked Severino. Are you going to insult me and ask me now?”

  The two men stood toe-to-toe for a moment before Jack holstered his gun and walked out the door.

  Damn it. He wanted to scream. Mancini hasn’t heard from anyone. If someone abducted her…it has to be related to her father.

  Jack marched down the driveway and started down the street. He headed the opposite way from his car. He planned to double back and get the Impala but, as he crossed the street, he noticed the man at the corner. He stood in the shadow of a tree and Jack couldn’t make out his face.

  Jack looked back up the street but, as he did so, he unzipped his jacket, letting it hang open, giving him faster access to his gun. As he walked toward the man, he started to make out details.

  Short. Five five or five six. Curly hair…Ilario.

  Marisa’s brother nervously shifted back and forth as he waved Jack closer.

  “Is my sister okay? Have you talked to her?” He grabbed Jack’s arm.

  The family resemblance to Marisa caused a pain in Jack’s chest.

  “No. I told you all I know. Did anyone—?”

  “Bull.”

  “What?”

  “That’s BS. Either the guy who called knows more than you, or you’re lying.”

  “Why would I lie?”

  Ilario let go of Jack’s arm and he took a step back. “How do I know you even know my sister?”

  Jack’s hands went out.

  Besides the photo, what can I tell him?

  “How am I going to prove to you…?” As his head tipped to the side, Jack looked down the block. “There.” He pointed toward the side street. “Last Christmas I parked with Angelica right there.”

  Ilario’s eyebrows arched. “She didn’t come in?”

  Jack shook his head. “We sat there for an hour and she didn’t even say anything. Your sister, she’s good to me. I would have sat there all night with her. At midnight, she laughed. I asked why and she told me the two of you would exchange one early present, then. You forgot one year when you were little, so you took one of your father’s presents from under the tree and wrote her name on it. She gave you a Power Ranger and you gave her a corkscrew.”

  Ilario kept looking at the street, but Jack knew that wasn’t what he was seeing. Ilario held his hands up to his head and pressed them both into his temples. “The Fed who called kept asking about knock-offs. My father went crazy afterward.”

  “Knock-offs?” Jack shrugged.

  “Counterfeits.” Ilario looked at Jack as if he were slow. “You know, handbags, jackets, crap like that. It’s one of the rackets. Big money, low risk, low cost. My father has a piece of it but doesn’t control it.”

  “Who does?”

  “The Yakuza.”

  “Are the Yakuza against your father?”

  Ilario exhaled as he shook his head. “Everyone is against my father, but I don’t have anything to do with his business. I’m actually going to medical school.” He rolled his eyes. “But my sister…”

  “If someone did take Angelica, they’re going to contact your father.”

  “Yeah. My father’s already getting cash together, but what if they don’t call? What if it isn’t about money?” Ilario wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

  “Ilario, they’ll reach out to your family. You need to let me know right away when they do.”

  “How can I contact you?”

  Jack shook his head. “I need to reach out to you. What’s your phone number?”

  “You don’t trust me?” Ilario glared up at Jack.

  “The trust isn’t mine to give. It’s Angelica’s. I can’t betray that.”

  Ilario nodded but his eyes smoldered. Now Jack could see the resemblance to Severino. Ilario reached into his pocket to take out a cell phone. “Here.” He handed it to Jack. “It’s a burner phone. I have a drawer full. I’ll call you on it.”

  I actually said drop the knife

  Jack walked up the sidewalk as Ilario hurried back to the house. Jack went up the block and started the route to the Impala. Before he took the last turn, he waited. Besides a woman walking a dog, the side streets were empty.

  He quickly strode back to the Impala and slid behind the wheel. As he exhaled, he stretched and flexed his hands. Jack focused on his breathing, trying to calm the tremor in his leg.

  They already knew about Marisa. Prescott must have been fishing about the connection between the Asian guy Thaddeus saw and the Yakuza and Severino. Why would Prescott call him if he didn’t think there was anything to it? Unless he just wanted to rub salt in his wounds. Severino is a bastard. You can hate the guy, but it’s still his daughter.

  He popped the panel again, dropping Ilario’s cell phone in, too. Jack spun the car around to head for the highway. When he reached an intersection, he stopped abruptly. Four SUVs flew by him with Big Nose driving the lead car.

  They’re on the move.

  Jack waited for a few moments before he pulled out after them.

  Four cars. Easy to spot. Easy to get spotted if they bunch up.

  Jack didn’t have to worry too much about the caravan getting bunched up. To them, stop signs and traffic lights seemed to be merely suggestions as they plowed forward. They quickly made their way to the highway and headed for the city.

  I don’t know if Severino is with them, but I don’t think they’re going home.

  Jack slipped through the traffic as the row of cars moved into the left lane. The lead car, a giant, black SUV, would go right up on the bumper of the car in front of it until the driver pulled out of the way. As the outskirts of the city approached, the caravan suddenly shifted toward the off-ramp. Jack felt like a fighter pilot as he eased back into position to follow them. At the end of the off-ramp, he no longer had to wonder where they were going. A huge, red archway, with giant yellow letters, said it all: Chinatown.

  It’s not a caravan. It’s a war party.

  Jack weaved through the traffic until he saw the cars double-park in front of a two-story restaurant. There were plenty of people on the streets, but the car traffic here was light.

  Damn. I can’t drive right by them.

  Jack cut off a taxi as he drove down a side street to the right. The cab driver laid on the horn while Jack turned his body to hide his face as he flipped off the cabbie.

  I should have been far enough away that they could never tell it was me.

  He took a right as he saw a van pull out of a parking space, and then gunned it so he could slip right in. As Jack jumped out of the car, he popped the trunk. He yanked his jacket off, grabbed his gray sweatshirt, and slipped it on. He shoved a gym bag aside, grabbed a white baseball hat, slammed the trunk shut, and then
walked back toward the caravan. The baseball hat’s strap was too tight, so he loosened it and then pulled the brim down low. As he turned the corner to the restaurant, he slowed and fell in step behind two couples who were ambling along. When the people in front of him stopped to look in the jewelry store window, Jack did, too.

  He glanced across the street to see Fat Man and Big Nose by the cars. Fat Man spoke into one of the cars.

  At least three guys stayed in the cars. Did the others go to the restaurant? Or the department store next door?

  Big Nose kept looking up to the second floor of the restaurant.

  They have to be in there.

  Jack looked at his reflection in the window and frowned when he realized why the baseball hat he wore was too tight. It was Replacement’s. He scowled at the pink logo.

  The people Jack was using for cover moved on, so he walked as well. The next store was perfect—a coffee shop. He kept his eyes on the cars across the street while he tried to order the closest thing on the menu to a regular cup of coffee. Then he sat at the window and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. Paolo and a giant walked out of the restaurant, toward the waiting cars.

  That guy with Paolo has to be six foot six and three hundred plus pounds. I definitely didn’t miss Goliath in the house.

  Big Nose held the SUV door open for them. Once everyone was in, the cars pulled away. Jack sipped his coffee.

  They went to see who they thought was responsible. Prescott clued them in that the guy was Asian. Ilario said they’re arguing with the Yakuza. Paolo is either giving ultimatums or arranging a deal. Either way, someone in there knows something.

  Jack tossed his coffee in the trash and headed next door.

  The first floor of the building had a wide staircase covered in red carpet. A hallway went a short distance to a door with a keypad entry. Two gold lions stood on either side of the stairs. Next to one of the lions was a sign on a stand. An arrow pointed up and, printed beneath it was: GOLDEN BLOSSOM. Jack headed up the stairs.

  The second floor opened onto a large, dated restaurant. Huge, round tables for eight filled the room. Covered in white tablecloths, all the places were already set with silverware, water glasses, plates, and napkins. Jack took a quick glance at his watch.