Part 9 (1/2)

”I have to do something.”

”Don't you have today off?”

Jack nodded. Replacement tossed the blanket over, and Jack shook his head.

”No. I have to do this alone.” Don't take her. Too dangerous. Way too dangerous. ”It's nothing dangerous. I just have to do it alone...please?”

Replacement's mouth opened and then snapped shut. She nodded. ”Okay.” She exhaled as she lay back down. ”Thank you.” She snuggled back into the bed.

Jack paused at the door. ”For what?”

”For being honest. It makes me feel safe.” She curled up in the blankets.

I'm trying to keep you safe.

Jack nodded, and then closed the door.

I'm still a liar.

Don't be a smarta.s.s I'm an hour and twenty minutes away from the city. I'll go to her brother's house.

The Impala's engine roared to life. He pulled out his phone.

Be in here. Please be in here.

The GPS program appeared. Jack had never used it, but Marisa had.

Last Christmas. That's when she told me her real name, Angelica Mancini. She expected me to go in the other direction, but I didn't. She cried. Maybe it was Christmas that made her homesick. Maybe telling me and also opening up did it. She wanted to see her little brother. We drove all the way out there, and then she just looked at the house. But she used my phone to get us there.

Jack selected PAST DESTINATIONS and then looked for December 25th-Christmas Day.

Bingo. It's still here.

He pulled away from the curb and hit the gas.

Jack slowed down as he turned in to the upscale neighborhood with large houses set back from the road. Huge trees lined both sides of the street that curved lazily around in a long loop. Once he saw the street sign he was looking for, Jack set his phone down. He rolled to a stop at the intersection of the street with the Tudor home.

Two-story. Attached garage. Two big SUVs in the driveway.

He kept going a block, turned right, and then drove one more block before he pulled over to park. To be safe, he took all the cash out of his wallet.

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 h.e.l.l 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 d.a.m.n 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.”