Trapped in his End Game (Series)

Melanie stays silent as I weave through streets where Jack frequents. His home is out of the question-there is undoubtedly a guard waiting for my ass to swing by. She asks me what my plan is, and I don’t have an answer. It’s not enough to kill Jack. The others will come after me just the same.

I need them on board.

How, though?

I switched the car out with another one using my contact at the chop shop. He never asks many questions, and I need a car that the others won’t recognize. He gave me a 2000 Ford Mustang. Totally not my style, but it’ll do.

Finally I find the motherfucker sitting outside the deli. My deli. Where I personally butchered dozens of people. It makes my skin tingle to be so close to him. More than anything, I want to gun his ass down in the street. Fucking piece of shit.

We stay there for hours, Melanie not saying a word. I think she’s afraid that they’ll hear her all the way down the block. Finally Jack gets in his car and drives away. I decide to follow him for a while.

Two blocks behind. I always stay at least two blocks behind my target. I follow him past the Brooklyn Bridge and Queens. I’m almost certain he’s heading back to his house, but then he takes the 295 up toward the Bronx.

“What the fuck?”

It’s almost as if he knows he’s being followed. We drive way out of New York City proper, passing Yonkers, then White Plains. Jesus. As far as I know, we don’t have any people in this area. In Valhalla, a dreary suburban town, he finally takes an exit and turns into the parking lot of some shitty-looking cafe. I drive right past it.

“Where are you going?” she hisses, looking over her shoulder.

“I’ll double back.”

I don’t want to take any chances raising Jack’s suspicions, and I’m really curious about why he’d travel so far just to get a cup of coffee. Is he working with new guys in the area? Maybe he wants to hire a hit man?

I have no idea. The car swerves around, and I enter the parking lot, pleased to see that Jack’s car is empty. The engine cuts off and we’re thrown into complete silence. The car ticks as it cools down and Melanie tightens her jacket around her body as the heating vanishes. I scan the cafe for Jack, but he’s nowhere near the windows.

“Fuck. We’ll have to go inside.”

“And tip him off? Are you crazy?” she hisses under her breath.

I feverishly search for Jack again, seized with an overpowering curiosity. Why the hell is he here? I know I should just get the fuck out of here, and wait until he’s alone, but I can’t help it. Then I see Jack moving against the glass, walking toward the back of the cafe. Luckily it’s one of those big chain breakfast restaurants, and it’s packed.

“Okay, let’s go.” Heart pounding with excitement, I open the door and get out. She quickly follows suit and grabs my arm in a vise grip.

“This is insane.”

I inhale a cold bellyful of air that stings my lungs. Maybe it is crazy, but I’m already this far and I’m out of ideas.

“Just act normal, babe. Act like you’re just getting breakfast with your boyfriend.”

From the way my arm is getting numb from the lack of circulation because her hands are wrapped so tightly around me, I gather that it won’t be that easy for her. I walk with her around my arm, and I have to admit that I’m comforted by her presence. The door opens for her, and she gives me a terrified look before walking through it.

It’s such a loud place that my nerves quell almost instantly. As we approach the hostess stand, I scan the heads of patrons, searching for a white head of hair. Finally I spot him against a back wall to the right. He’s surrounded by a couple other guys who I don’t recognize.

“I know which table I’d like,” I tell the young girl. I point in the direction and she nods.

Now this is the tricky part. I’m moving directly in Jack’s line of sight, but he won’t notice me unless I attract his attention. I take a seat in front of his table, at least three tables removed from his, my back facing him. Melanie’s face whitens as she sits down, giving me a meaningful look.

“Coffee, please.”

I strain my ears, trying to listen in on the conversation, but it’s too hard to make out in the din. Melanie leans forward and her hand grips mine hard enough to make my knuckles ache. “We need to leave now.”

Her voice is so low that I can barely hear her. “Not yet.”

“I recognize those men he’s talking to.”

“What?” I nearly give in to the temptation to look behind me, but instead I use a highly reflective piece of laminated paper to see a warped view of the man sitting next to Jack. He’s bald and wears a somber expression.

“Agent Palmer. He’s in the FBI. Tommy, they’re going to recognize me-”

The waitress returns with the coffee, and I don’t hear what she says as the dark stream of liquid pours into a chipped white mug. Melanie leans back into her chair, allowing her hair to cover her face as waves and waves of shock crash over me.

I wave off the waitress irritably, who huffs and stalks off without another word. “Are you fucking sure?”

Her lip curls. “I talked to that man for hours. Of course I’m sure!”

I swallow hard, unable to believe that the man I looked up to my whole life, who had such a hard-on for the rules, was a worthless, cock-sucking rat. My hand dips into my pocket and I retrieve my phone, handing it to her. “Take a photo.”

“What?”

“Take the goddamn photo, and we’ll get out of here. We need proof.”

She looks away from my face, pretending to scroll through my phone as she plants both elbows on the table and takes a shot. At least she has the presence of mind to silence the phone, because I don’t. Smartphones are the bane of organized crime, but for once I’m grateful I never listened to Jack and got one of those ancient flip-open phones he wanted us to use. I just was never a moron and never discussed business on my phone.

I hear her small intake of breath as she hands over the phone and I grab it roughly, scrolling through the pictures. Yeah, there are clear shots of each of them and Jack’s face is clearly visible. I look into Melanie’s eyes and know that she’s telling me the truth. Why would she lie? Still, I need to find out for myself whether these fuckwads are really FBI. I need to know for sure.

“Can we get out of here, now?”

Quickly I slap a few bills on the vinyl table and I stand up, grabbing her arm. If she’s right, I can’t risk them recognizing her in this place. I’m so intent on getting the hell out of there that I don’t even hear her whimpers of pain until she digs in her heels.© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

“You’re hurting me.”

The annoyance on her face melts away when I glance back with the heat of everything I just witnessed at the forefront of my brain. Her face dissolves into that subdued, shrinking look that I hate: fear. I’m probably looking at her as if I want to kill her.

“Sorry.”

A strained smile spreads across my lips and I let go of her, ignoring the chime of the hostess’s, “Have a great day!” to open the doors for her.

“Tommy,” she says once we’re outside. “What does this mean? Why is he meeting with the FBI?”

I shake my head violently and press my fingers to my lips. Jesus Christ, there could be agents watching the door. They might’ve already seen us.

Fuck!

We get inside the car and I peel out of there, gunning down the highway at probably unsafe speeds. I can’t think. I just can’t.

“Tommy! Answer me!”

“You better be fucking sure that those men are FBI agents,” I snarl at her. “You better not be fucking mistaken-I’m serious, Melanie.”

She looks taken aback by my anger, and even I’m confused. Why am I yelling at her? Why does my heart feel like it’s going to burst?

“I’m not mistaken. I’m sure.”

“How sure?”

“One hundred percent! There is no doubt in my mind. There, is that good enough for you?”

No, it’s still not good enough.

“God-fucking-damnit!” I take the next exit and pull over at a gas station.

I need to see it for myself. “What’s his name again?”

“Who?”

I nearly scream. “The FBI cocksucker you recognized.”

“Agent Eric Palmer.”

I look his name up on my smartphone, the dull pounding of my heart increasing to a dizzying thud, but I can’t find his name anywhere. Of course I fucking wouldn’t. The FBI doesn’t exactly have a LinkedIn page for this shit.

Then, trembling, I attach the photo to a message to Vincent, sending it without a comment. I turn the phone in my hands, Melanie focused on shredding her nails in sheer anxiety. My phone lights up immediately with Vincent’s call and I put it on speakerphone.

Vincent’s hostile voice crackles through the speaker.

“Where the fuck did you get that, huh?”

Forcing my voice into a state of calm, I raise the phone to my mouth. “Just tell me if that’s Agent Eric Palmer sitting next to him-”

“Yes, it is. They’re all part of New York’s Organized Crime Task Force.”

There’s a wall toppling over me. It’s at least twenty feet high, and at the top, heavy cinders fall down and smash into my body.

“Jesus Christ. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

Melanie jumps violently in her seat. My shaking hands almost drop the phone.

“You need to tell me exactly how you got those photos-now.”

“Vince-do you know what this means? That lying fuck’s probably a protected FBI informant. After all that bullshit about family and honor-”

“HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET THE PHOTOS?”

“I followed him myself to a diner in Valhalla. I took the goddamn photos.”

For a few moments there’s nothing but the sound of crackling static and Vince’s shaking breaths. I know how he feels. He can’t believe it. Neither can I.

“We need to talk. Can you come over to my place?”

The car echoes with my laughter. “So you can pop me? No thanks. I already took care of Paulie, and I’d rather not have to kill you, too.”

“Tommy, I’m not going to kill you in front of my wife.”

I look at Melanie, who chews resolutely on her thumb. “Fine. I’ll be there soon.”