Dirty Power (15 page)

“I am going to kill you two,” Breno said. Then he started muttering in Portuguese. I’d picked up enough to know he was pissed.

Reese rolled her eyes. “Cut the dramatics. It happened before. This time we just dealt with it solo.”

“Yeah, we figured out it was our passports tipping them off. So everyone got new ones. And none of us have been followed since. Chill,” I said.

“Chill?” Christopher didn’t seem to want to chill. “If it was your passports, then they were able to tell every damn time that you disappeared in Spain. You led them to us.”

“Fuck off. Spain is big. Needle in a haystack.” Reese waved him off.

Breno started cursing in Portuguese again. Ryan and Christopher started cursing in English.

“Guys, calm the fuck down,” I said.

“She’s right,” Christopher said. Breno and Ryan looked at him like he’d lost it. “We can yell later. Right now we need to leave the country.”

Breno sighed. Loudly. “Brazil?”

“Yes. You and I will travel separately,” Christopher told Breno. “The kids will use their new passports”—he glared at me and Reese—“and fly out from here.”

“Did Adriana give you any useful information?” Breno asked.

“Yeah, what’d she say?” Ryan asked.

“Well, she wanted to see you,” I said.

“Damn, girl, I know that. I’m hot as fuck,” Ryan said.

Reese, Christopher, Breno, and I all sighed and shook our heads. When we managed to overcome that statement—which took a while—Reese and I launched into the story. We stopped telling it at the part where we got to the apartment. They didn’t need to know all the details.

“The Feds have been watching us for weeks?” Breno asked.

“I guess.” I shrugged. “Sounded like it.”

“So they know what Breno and I look like and that we are involved?” Christopher asked.

“Shit.” Reese.

“Fuck.” Ryan.

“And they also know by now that we left. They may have even followed us. They could be outside right now.” Breno pointed at the front door.

Ryan’s eyes got wide. “Fuck that.” He ran back into the living room, grabbed his backpack, ran back to the kitchen, and started to muscle the window open. We were on the third floor. Not smart.

“Ryan, stop.” I grabbed him and pulled him away. “Don’t be a dumbass.”

“No, Coop. We gotta go.” He pushed me aside and started to shove his bag out the window.

I pulled the bag back out and body slammed Ryan into the wall. “They didn’t follow you.”

“How the fuck do you know?”

“Because if they followed you they would already be in here arresting our asses.”

“Oh.” He thought about that for a second. Then he closed the window. “My bad.”

“I’m assuming you guys left out the back and took the long way to the backup car. Like I told you too,” Reese said.

“Yeah. Okay, you’re right. I’m dumb,” Ryan said.

“We still need to get going,” Christopher said.

“Yes, the longer we wait, the better chance they have of catching us,” Breno said.

“Which airport?” Reese asked. “They’re probably waiting at Jerez.”

“But if we drive too far, there’s a chance they will have alerted the authorities to stop us,” Christopher said.

“I think Seville is our best bet,” I said.

“What about Málaga?” Reese asked.

“That could work,” Christopher said.

“I agree.” Breno nodded.

“Málaga, then.” I didn’t give a fuck where we flew out of. I just wanted to be gone.

“Bro.” Ryan picked his bag back up.

Christopher and Breno nodded. In five minutes, we had grabbed our bags and were on our way.

*

Christopher and Breno dropped us at the front of the airport, then left to park the car somewhere else. They would take a cab back to the airport. We weren’t as worried about them being followed, so they were going to catch a flight directly to Brazil.

Reese and Ryan and I were supposed to fly to somewhere in South America. Wherever we could get the soonest flight to. Ryan and I hung back, pretending to get our backpacks in order. It was a ruse. The bags just had clothes. Breno had all the important paperwork for our bank accounts. We had destroyed all the documentation that would screw us if it were found. So all we had were our real passports and the passports we would be using.

Reese scanned the flights until she picked the best one. It stopped briefly in London, and from there would take us to Bolivia. If we thought anyone was following us, we could lose them in Bolivia before crossing the border into Brazil. Thank God Reese knew her geography.

Everything went just like it was supposed to. At first.

Reese bought our tickets with a credit card that routed through about eight accounts or something. Breno assured us it was untraceable. They checked our passports. Gave us the tickets. In an hour, we were seated on a flight to London.

For the stopover, we decided to stay in our seats, obviously. The passengers who were leaving got off. The passengers who were getting on got on. It was the middle of the night. The flight was relatively empty.

And then the flight was delayed. Technical difficulties. We waited thirty minutes.

When four guys in uniform got on the plane, we knew we were fucked. Ryan and I slouched down in our seats as if that would help. Reese held her head high. She knew we weren’t getting away this time.

They were very polite as they led us off the plane and delivered us in handcuffs to a waiting group of cops.

That was when they separated us.

Sometime late the next evening, I was taken back to the airport by more Interpol agents than I thought was necessary. I was cuffed to a not-very-talkative FBI agent before boarding the plane. She looked like she could keep me from running with very minimal effort. So I thought the cuffs were a little bit much. I was also wondering what her plan was if either of us had to pee. That questioned was answered when her partner joined us. He was even less talkative.

I slept for most of the flight. I hadn’t gotten much sleep, and I like sleep. Plus, I wasn’t sure how comfy prison beds were, but I was betting this plane was better than that. Better to get as much sleep now as I could. At least here I was protected by guard dogs. I didn’t think I was going to do very well in prison.

At the airport, I was taken to a waiting undercover cop-type car. It looked very similar to the cars Vito was so fond of. American, big, dark. I thought that was a little ironic.

They didn’t book me, but they gave me a change of clothes from my bag. And a toothbrush. I thought that was nice of them. But I still didn’t like them very much. I really didn’t like them when they put me in an interrogation room. The chairs were uncomfortable. And it smelled funky. Stale, like old sweat, which didn’t bode well for me. Also faintly of fast food. Which made me hungry and nauseous at the same time. There was a massive mirror facing me. I thought they only had those in cop shows, but apparently not. I turned my chair to the side to give ’em my gorgeous profile, and shut my eyes.

I must have fallen asleep because when the door opened, my back felt like it was bruised from the chair and my foot was numb and tingly. A cop tossed in a fast food bag. I decided to be cool and sit up slowly. There was a burger and fries inside.

“What? No ketchup?” I asked.

The guy shut the door.

I was starving. I seriously considered eating the burger. But I figured after nearly a decade of not eating beef, it would probably make me sick. So I pulled out the patty and had an awesome mayo and lettuce sandwich. Yum. After two bites, I poured my cold fries onto the bun. Much better.

Some time went by. I didn’t know how long. Long enough to know I really didn’t like interrogation rooms.

The door opened again. It was a woman this time. She was in a suit. A nice suit. A guy’s suit tailored to fit her slightly muscular frame. She was old. Or what I considered old. Maybe in her late forties. Short hair. No makeup.

Smooth. Send in a dyke to get the little dyke to talk. That had to be a new method. How progressive.

“Hello, Vivian. I’m Agent Ogilvy.” She sat across from me.

“Cooper,” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“My mother is the only one who calls me Vivian.”

“All right, Cooper, then.” She smiled like we were going to be friends. Bitch. “The boys were wondering what was wrong with the burger? Your friend did the same thing.”

“We don’t eat beef.”

“Ahh. Are you still hungry?” She turned to the mirror and made a gesture.

Was this good cop? I didn’t like good cop. I was thinking I really wouldn’t like bad cop.

“I don’t really care about food right now. I’ll grab something once I get the fuck out of here.”

“All right. Just answer my questions and that can be arranged. I would like to come to an agreement. You help me, I help you.”

“I don’t really feel like talking.”

“Why not?”

I imitated Reese and glared.

“Your friend Ryan is singing right now.” Ogilvy raised her eyebrows as if she had just given me an awesome reason to talk.

I smiled. “I bet he is. How do your guys like the Buddy Holly songbook?”

It was brief. The smallest break in her smiling façade.

I started laughing. “Darlin’”—she really didn’t like it when I called her that—“you may as well let us go.”

Ogilvy made a sad face. “I don’t see that happening anytime soon.”

“Sure it will. You haven’t charged me with anything. So I’m thinking you can’t hold me for that long.”

“Would you prefer I charge you?”

“With what?” Not a question I should have asked.

She stared me down. Hard. Fuck. This bitch was good cop and bad cop. Scary.

“I would like you to answer some questions.” This was the not good cop asking.

“No shit. I want a lawyer. Then I’ll answer your questions.”

“All right. That can be arranged.” Ogilvy stood. She made a little signal at the mirror again. Guess I wasn’t getting any more food.

The door opened and a guy in a suit came in. Same dude who had stared me down on the flight. He was carrying a box.

Ogilvy waited until he set it down. Then she lifted out a laptop. She clicked some shit and turned it to face me. Guard dog pulled out some other shit. My old Chucks in an evidence bag. He set those on the far edge of the table. Then he set out three photos. Mug shots. On the other end of the table, he set five stacks of photos. Each from a different folder.

Ogilvy hit enter on the laptop and they left.

Left me with a video of myself shooting a guy. It was back in Vegas. The parking garage where Vito had tried to kidnap the twins. I’d lost my temper and shot Vito’s guy in the knee. Fuck. I couldn’t even remember the guy’s name.

The video was on loop. I tried to be cool like I didn’t give a fuck about the pictures. But I was curious. And if the rest of their evidence against me was half as good as this, I was so fucking screwed.

The mug shots with my shoes were all dudes I had watched Esau kill. I didn’t know if that was good or bad. I hadn’t killed them. But I’d watched them die. I was guessing the Feds had pulled their blood from the shoes. Why the fuck did I keep those things? What else had they found in the house in Spain?

I decided not to worry about that. They had blood from some dudes who were missing. Esau didn’t leave corpses. So the dudes were just missing. Maybe I got in a lot of bar fights. Maybe those guys liked to bare-knuckle box and I had a weird gambling problem. There were a lot of maybes. I’d commit to the lie when I needed to.

The other stacks of photos weren’t great either. But they weren’t horrible. Alexis DiGiovanni and her merry band of thugs. Also me. I was really happy right then that Alexis managed to stay so far away from her own illegal dealings. By default, the photos only showed us and a bunch of thugs in weird locations. And I was pretty sure they couldn’t put me away for having sucky friends.

The video was the worst part. But assault in Vegas. That was like jaywalking anywhere else. Probably only got you a ticket.

Okay, maybe not. But I wasn’t going to sweat this shit. Decent lawyer could probably spin it as self-defense.

I was feeling pretty decent about my self-defense, bare-knuckle boxing addiction, bad friends excuse. So good that when Ogilvy and her thug came back in, I smiled at them.

“Ready to let me go?” I asked.

“As soon as we get these questions answered.” Ogilvy spun the laptop and did some more clicking. Thug boy packed up the photos. Then he started putting out new ones. Oh great, time for a repeat. This time there were more evidence bags. And they all had bullets and shells. I wasn’t liking the look of this shit.

“Why are you showing me this? I’m fucking bored. Where’s my lawyer?”

“I’m showing you this to entertain you until your lawyer arrives.” Ogilvy smiled. It was a good smile. Mocking and kind of sexy. Which pissed me off even more. “Of course, we can make this all go away if you answer a few questions.”

I rolled my eyes. Ogilvy hit enter. They left.

It wasn’t a video this time. It was an audio recording of a 911 call. I listened to myself report a body count and a series of GPS coordinates.

I had well and truly fucked myself.

I didn’t need to look at the photos. The details of that night were immortalized in my fucking nightmares. I felt a little bad about Vito’s guys. We hadn’t meant to kill the one who’d bled out. And I’d heard that Gino’s shoulder never totally recovered. He still didn’t have his full range of motion.

But Tommy I didn’t give a shit about. Hell, I was glad I’d killed him. The fucker needed to be put down or locked up.

Not that it mattered. I’d killed two men. Not that they could necessarily link me to them. Maybe I’d just been walking and I’d stumbled across them. Thought it was my civic duty to report it.

No. That sounded thin, even to me.

And if they couldn’t pinpoint the actual shooter, they still had three suspects. All of whom were in custody. I couldn’t let the twins go down for this shit.

“Hey, Ogilvy,” I shouted to no one. “Fuck the lawyer. I’ll answer your damn questions.”

She kept me waiting. I didn’t shout again. I’d made my move. I wasn’t going to beg for an audience. Time started doing that weird thing again where I couldn’t tell how much of it had passed. When the door finally opened, I had to fight every instinct that told me to run, to fight my way out of there.

“You said you wanted to speak with me?” Ogilvy asked.

“Yeah, I’ll answer your questions.”

She smiled. One of her minions came in and packed away the evidence. Then left me in that airless room with her.

Ogilvy sat down. Folded her hands on the table. “I would like you to tell me everything there is to know about the DiGiovanni family.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll let me go?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Bitch. “Yeah, you did. I answer your questions I get to leave.”

“If you only answer my questions, then I can arrange for some leniency in your case.”

“Blow me.” I crossed my arms, shut my eyes, and reclined in my chair.

“The DiGiovannis want you dead, don’t they?”

“The DiGiovannis want everyone dead.” I didn’t bother opening my eyes. This wasn’t earth shattering information.

“If we arrest you, put you in lockup, how long do you think you’ll last? Will you even make it to trial?”

I opened my eyes but didn’t sit up. “Have you seen this face? I’m fucking hot. Someone will want to keep me alive.”

“That’s it? Pretty people get farther in life?”

“It’s worked so far.” I was bluffing. Obviously. I didn’t really have much leverage. Just arrogance and a pretty face. But I was thinking Ogilvy wanted something else from me. Whatever it was, I would give it up.

“I can arrange to make this all go away, but I’ll need more than information.”

“Darlin’, just tell me what you want,” I said with a sigh.

“I want to put the DiGiovannis out of business. If the information that you have is enough—which I doubt—then you can go. But if I need more, then I want you to go back to the DiGiovannis. Gain their trust. And bring me enough to take them down.”

I thought about that. There was only one slight problem. “I go back, Vito will kill me.”

“Not if we give you something to make them trust you.”

“There’s nothing that will make them trust me,” I said.

“Are you aware that Lawrence DiGiovanni has put a contract on his grandson’s head?” she asked.

“Not really surprising. He hates Ryan.”

“All we need to do is release reports that Ryan has been killed and that you are sought for questioning. You go to the don and demand payment.”

“You’re fucking insane,” I said.

Ogilvy smiled. “What do you say?”

“I want immunity.”

“That can be arranged.”

“And I want to see Reese and Ryan.” Even though Reese would probably kick my ass.

“I’ll think about it.” Bitch.

“They get immunity too.” I thought about that, then added, “For anything they might have inadvertently done.”

“That’s reasonable.”

I reached across the table and offered my hand. I didn’t know if she had any honor, but I did. It was all I could offer. Ogilvy shook my hand.

What the fuck did I just get myself into?