Furious Jones and the Assassin’s Secret (23 page)

Trish didn't look up. I pushed the hair out of her eyes. “I saw your picture in a photo album of witnesses. There were a bunch of people in the album. There are only two of them
still alive, and yours is one of the last pictures. The Salvatores are killing the witnesses, Trish. They want to silence you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Whatever you witnessed. They want to silence you.”

Trish looked up at Mike and then back at me.

“I didn't witness anything. I'm not in the program because of what I saw.” She paused. “It's what I did.”

“What did you do?”

She started to answer when Mike interrupted.

“Trish! No. We don't even know who this guy is!”

“I killed a guy,” she said. “A very bad guy.”

“Who?” I asked.

She looked up at me, her eyes wide and watery. “My dad.”

Trish continued. “Our dad was a bad, bad dude. He had worked for the mob my entire life. Collecting money. Breaking bones. That kind of stuff. One night he brought the violence home.” She started crying again. “I had to save my mom.”

“Whoa.”

“My mom went to the police and told them she would testify against him, and the Salvatore family, if they could protect me.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “That's how we ended up here. In this stupid little town.”

“Oh, man!” I suddenly remembered the other woman in the photo album. “Your mom! Do you have a picture of her?”
I stood up. “There was one other woman in the photo album. Her picture was right before yours.”

Mike ran to the living room and grabbed a picture of Trish and a woman sitting on a dock.

“Here,” he said. “This is our mom.”

I looked at the photo and my heart sank. “That's her,” I said. “That was the other woman in the book.”

“Are you sure?” Mike asked.

“I don't forget much,” I said. “Where is she now?”

“At work.”

“Call her right now. Tell her to leave wherever she is and meet us behind the Piggly Wiggly.”

Mike didn't move.

“I'm not messing around, Mike.” I helped Trish to her feet. “Grab your phone and call her from the truck. We've got to get out of here now in case Anton is coming here to kill Trish first.”

“Who's Anton?” Mike asked.

“Bailey's dad,” I said. “He's a former CIA assassin who now works for the Salvatores.”

T
he three of us jumped
into Duane's truck and headed toward town while Mike tried to reach his mom.

“She's not answering!” he yelled.

“Try her at work,” Trish said.

“I did. I called her cell and her work. No one is answering.”

“Where does your mom work?”

“Cannova's on Main,” Trish said.

Of course she does
, I thought.
I should have guessed.

“It's almost dinnertime,” Mike said. “How can no one be answering at the restaurant?”

I stepped down harder on the gas. The truck sprung forward and let out a roar.

“Why do you have Duane's truck?” Trish asked.

“I was walking out here to warn you guys when Duane and his buddies pulled up.”

“Duane
and
his buddies?” Mike repeated. “Geez, Finbar, don't tell me you broke their noses too.”

“It's Furious. Remember? Furious Jones. And no, I didn't break their noses. Let's just say my good-luck amulet ended up actually being good luck.”

“That ugly eye thing?”

“No. A different one. I think the eye was
un
lucky.”

“I think you're right,” Mike agreed.

“Who are you really?” Trish asked. “And how did you get mixed up in all of this?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but I recently found out my mom worked for the CIA. And the CIA found out about all the Illinois state witnesses being placed in Galena. They sent an assassin to Galena to investigate. Well, it turns out he was working for the Salvatores.”

“And that was Bailey's dad?”

“Yup,” I said. “Instead of helping, he started killing the witnesses in town. And he made them all look like accidents.”

“God, of course. The hay baler, the family at the bait store, that guy with the milking machine, all of those were murders,” Trish said.

“I hadn't heard about all of those, but yeah,” I said. “That's the kind of stuff he was doing.”

“How do you know all of this?” Mike asked.

“Well, the CIA sent my mom here after Anton, Bailey's dad, wasn't stopping the murders. She figured out that Anton was working for the Salvatores—so he killed her.”

“How do you know all of this?” Trish asked.

“Well, my dad used to be an investigative reporter, and he came to Galena after my mom's death and investigated.”

“Where is your dad now?” Trish asked.

“He's dead,” I said. “The Salvatores killed him, too. But not before he wrote everything down. He—”

“Look!” Trish interrupted, pointing up the road. “That's Duane and his buddies.”

“It looks like they're up and moving again,” I said.

“That's too bad,” Mike said.

Duane must have recognized the roar of his truck, because he and his buddies were all moving to the middle of the highway.

“Are they really going to play chicken against a two-ton truck?” I stepped on the gas and brought the truck up to sixty-five miles an hour. The increased roar frightened two of the guys, but the other four stood fast. We were about three-quarters of a mile and closing fast.

“This guy is crazy.”

Another one of Duane's buddies bailed. The three smart ones were standing on the right side of the road. I figured I could swerve to the left and miss the guys in the street.

I stepped on the gas a little more, and the last two guys called it quits. Now it was just Duane versus Duane's truck.

“Slow down, Fin—or Furious. He's crazy. He's not going to move,” Mike said.

I took my foot off the pedal a bit.

“He'll move,” I said. But we were closing fast and Duane wasn't flinching. Was he blind? Could he see us? Had the ghost pepper permanently blinded him? I took my foot completely off the gas and began to coast. The roar of the truck let up a little. We were now two hundred feet from crushing Duane but still had plenty of room to move off to the shoulder and cruise right past him.

Just as I was about to turn the wheel, my head was slammed against the cab wall.

“Screw that!” Trish yelled as she stomped on the gas pedal. Duane never did flinch, but I managed to swerve and miss him by a couple of inches.

“My god, Trish, you could have killed him!”

“We weren't going to kill him,” Trish said, “but I'm tired of bullies like Duane ruining my life.”

I
parked the truck in
front of Cannova's.

“That's weird,” Mike said. “The
CLOSED
sign is in the window.”

We climbed out of the truck and looked in the window. The restaurant was empty. I wiggled the door handle. The front door was locked.

“The alley,” Mike said. “There's a door off the alley.”

We ran around the block and found the door. I motioned to Mike and Trish to be quiet as I opened it. The kitchen looked empty. We stepped inside.

“Where's my mom?” Mike cried. “She's not here.”

I stepped quietly into the restaurant dining room.
Nothing. I opened the door and looked down the street.

“I think that's Douglas's car down there.”

“Who's Douglas?” Trish asked.

“My mom's old boss,” I said.

“At the CIA?”

“Yeah. I saw him in town earlier this week. I think he's working with the Salvatores too.”

Mike checked the bathrooms and I checked behind the bar. No sign of Anton, Trish's mom, or Douglas.

“What now?” Trish asked. “Where is she?”

“Sheriff Daniels,” Mike said. “We have to tell Daniels.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. We had no other choice. “Let's walk down the alley.” I didn't need another run-in with Douglas.

We all walked back into the kitchen and headed for the door when a sound came from behind us. I turned around to see a man closing the door to the walk-in freezer. Our eyes locked. No one said a word. I recognized him from the picture. It was Bailey's dad.

“Hello,” he said.

“Where's my mom?” Trish demanded.

“I'm afraid I don't know what you're—”

Trish started to cross the room and the man pulled a gun out of his waistband.

“Now, now, missy. Let's just calm down.”

“Where is she?” Trish demanded again.

“Oh, she's close. You'll see her soon enough.” The guy cleared his throat. “I'm actually glad you're all here. It saves me a lot of running around.”

“Sheriff Daniels is on his way,” I lied. “He's got Bailey. He knows all about you, Anton.”

The guy stared at me. I felt like I was going cry. He looked cold. Brutal.

“You're not a very good liar, Furious. Your mother would be so disappointed. But maybe you take after your dad. He also had a hard time making things up and felt the need to steal other people's stories.”

I felt my chest expanding and could hear the blood pumping hard through my ears. My face was burning. I could tell he was dead set on killing us all.

“Did you kill my mom?”

Anton chuckled a little and started to speak when a small explosion cut him off. Trish had thrown a metal pan at him. It smashed into the metal freezer door just above his head.

He had deflected the pan with his left arm and raised the gun with his right. “You just made my job easier. I don't normally enjoy killing young people, but now . . .” He walked to the oven and turned on a large exhaust fan. It rattled and shook to life. “Muffles the gunfire,” he said. “And the screaming.”

“There are a ton of people out there on the street. They'll hear you. Please don't,” Mike begged.

“Really? They didn't hear your mo—”

Trish was halfway across the room before he could finish the word “mom.” I heard another scream and then a gunshot. Trish's body hit the floor. She was five feet in front of me. I could see blood pooling around her as I raced to her side.

Anton pointed the gun at me.

“Back!”

I put my hands up in the air but stayed by Trish's side.

Mike fell to the floor crying.

“Shut up, kid.” He pointed the gun at Mike.

Bang!

Bang!

Two more explosions. These were louder than the last. The sound echoed off the ceramic walls and floor. I leaned over to cover Trish's body. My ears were ringing. Mike was screaming, and Anton fell to the floor in front of me.

“What the—”

I was yelling, but I couldn't hear my own voice. I looked up. It was Douglas. His face was now bandaged. He looked just like Duane. And he was pointing his gun at me now.

“Don't move,” he commanded.

I looked down at Trish. She had been shot in the shoulder. She was bleeding badly.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Her lips moved, but I couldn't hear her response. My ears were still ringing. Mike was yelling. Blood was pumping.

“Back up, Furious,” Douglas yelled as he pushed Mike toward me.

I covered my ears. God, it hurt. I stood up and walked backward. Mike was yelling something that I couldn't make out.

“What? My ears.” I covered my ears again. “I can't hear.”

Douglas kept his gun pointed at me as he walked toward Anton.

He was yelling now. “I told you to back up. Now!”

I put my hands in the air and continued to back up.

“Against the counter. Both of you.” Douglas motioned for Mike and me to take several more steps backward while he leaned over Anton and checked for signs of life. I backed up until I hit the counter.

Douglas was opening his mouth to say something and then turned toward the door when three more shots rang out. These were muffled. Soft deep thuds. I watched as three bullets ripped through Douglas's soft down vest. Small feathers flew from the holes as Douglas collapsed on top of Anton.

A
ttorney General Como's athletic body
filled the doorway to the dining room. I swore he was wearing the same effortless politician's smile he had worn the night I'd met him at my dad's lecture.

“Hi, Furious,” Como said, holding a handgun with a long silencer on the end. “I got your message. I'm glad you reached out to me.”

“I'm glad you showed,” I said as I lowered my arms. “How did you find me here?”

“Well, I've got a friend or two at the CIA. They told me how to find Douglas and, given Douglas's concern with your family, I figured Douglas would find you. And I was right.”

“You knew Douglas was working for the mob?” I asked.

“The mob?” Como asked, sounding offended. “No one uses that term anymore. Mobsters are uneducated, unorganized street punks. The syndicate is a multinational concern with great wealth and power.”

“The Salvatore syndicate. You knew he was working for the Salvatores and you didn't stop him?”

“Douglas working for the syndicate?” Como laughed. “Don't be silly. What would they want with him? He's a Boy Scout, for crying out loud. A real pain in the rear.”

“I don't understand,” I said, looking at Trish bleeding.

“Obviously,” Como said, pointing his gun at me. “You don't get to where I am in life, Furious, without having the right friends. The proper connections.”

“The Salvatores?
You're
working for the Salvatores?”