Anthony DePaul Copyright 2005 by Anthony DePaul
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- Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter TwentyDorian escorted Alice into the rear seat of a limo dusted with light snow and a glimmer of morning sunlight. The driver, George “Jars” Malloy was an ex-cop Dorian knew personally. He did not want her to drive alone or to take a cab. “Good morning Dorian,” said Malloy. His ruddy complexion burned under sharp blue eyes while a bulbous nose puffed above a toothy smile. His chauffeur’s hat barely fit his pumpkin size head. His jacket was open under his open collar white shirt. His belly bulged against the steering wheel. “Please take us to Ms. Rowe’s office and remember the rules. No speeding and no drinking on the job.” Jars rolled his eyes. “You’re the boss.” Dorian closed the privacy window. “This is not necessary,” she said. “But thanks anyway.” Dorian poured a half-cup of coffee into a mug. Neither of them had eaten breakfast. He had not slept a wink. “We’ll drop you off at the office first. Then I’ll go to my office.” Alice gulped down half a bottle of spring water. “You need sleep and a shower. You can’t guard me day and night,” she said. Dorian patted her knee. “You lost your gun. Somebody needs to be your bodyguard. I’ve hired Jars here to chauffeur you. He’s carrying and will not hesitate to shoot anybody who comes near you.” Alice and he exchanged a knuckle high five. “Jars! What a funny name.” Dorian tapped the half filled bottle of whiskey. “He can out jar any whiskey drinkin’ man I’ve ever met.” Alice shot him her best, “you’ve got to be kidding me” look. “Comforting. You’ve hired a rummy to be my guardian angel.” Alice opened the window. “Can I breathe fresh air?” “Sure. It’s good for the baby,” said Dorian. Alice poked his chest. “You never let up! Just focus on the creeps who want to kill you and let me decide what to do with and for the baby.” Dorian shifted his body on the squeaky leather seats. She looked so appealing he wanted to kiss her but knew she’d resist. “Look unless I figure out what makes these secret societies tick, what motivates them to grab power, I cannot dismantle them.” Alice rubbed her hand in a circle over her belly. “It’s obvious. They want to protect their family.” Dorian nodded while an idea lit his mind slowly like the first spark of a bonfire. “Say that again.” She inhaled the air and exhaled a long sigh. “People thirst for power to protect themselves from the forces that have power over them. When you feel oppressed, you either fight or run, or submit. Over time, when people get tired of submission and running, they fight. Even a Quaker will fight if you threaten his family.” Dorian’s spark brightened into a low flame. Pieces of the puzzle interlocked. “Suppose the players are related. Some of them anyway. “ Alice raised her eyebrows in surprise. “That’s a curious idea. Which ones belong to which ones?” Dorian closed his eyes and sat in deep thought, a trance she’d seen before and a state of mind he is served by leaving him alone. He did not open his eyes except to say “Good bye” when she left the car.
She followed him into his office. “You look like hell. Did you sleep at all?” Dorian plopped into his chair with his head alight with a theory. “Why do you mother me so much?” Sophie threw up her hands. “Because I am older than you and I love you though you’d drive a Rabbi to drink!” Dorian stripped off his jacket. “What would you do to protect me from a hostile society?” Sophie removed her glasses and sat on the edge of her desk. “I’d do anything to insure that you were safe.” Dorian sat back and clasped his hands behind his head. “Would you marry an evil man or kill your enemies or find safety in numbers even if it meant mixing with other tribes around the proverbial camp fire?” Sophie ran the tip of the glasses along her nose. “I see your point, I think? I guess I’d do all of the above except marry a goniff.” Dorian took out a yellow lined pad. “Here is what I think is going on. Grace Lord and Joseph Goodway are fatherless. Call them circle one and two. Marian is a Lesbian but she is ambitious as hell. She is circle number three. ML is a minority, a Protestant in a Catholic city. His future is blocked by his religion. He’s circle four. Nate is an Israeli in a Gentile world. He understands safety in numbers. He is circle five. Goodway is the key. He is the Philadelphe, Il Segreto, and the man that unites the social orphans. I only need to resolve his relationship with Grace Lord to complete the picture. The wild card is Talarico. He is the ultimate threat that seals the bond between the partners. They know he will happily do their killing to shield the societies even if it means killing one of their own. Alice was an easy target. She’s an orphan. She has ambition. They reasoned that I can be neutralized through her. Miles stood in the way so they killed him and made Estelle a fall guy. They thought she was weak and stupid and would collapse in hysteria. But Estelle resisted when they expected her to cave.” Sophie puts up her hands. “Slow down Seabiscuit. You’re running too fast for this old nag. We Jews always stick together. But so do other people. So you’re saying that this Il Cigarette or whatever you call him used fear to bind all of these guys together. So why did Goodway do it? And how can you prove all of these monkeyshines can make enough sense to hang the thieves? I’m a bit lost.” Dorian snapped his fingers and shouted like he’d struck gold. “That’s the challenge!” Dorian swept out of his chair. “Hold my calls. I am going to the pillbox to have a chat with Ben and Franklin.” Sophie whirled to grab him but he was out of reach. “You are as crazy as you are smart,” she said as the door slammed in her befuddled and worried face. Dorian launched a search of police files on the name Gloria Lord and Joseph Goodway. He then tried a simultaneous search of all assault cases from nineteen fifty nine to nineteen sixty-one involving acid. His third search included old newspaper files from the same era. Joseph Goodway’s injury was planned to maim him in a way that saved his eyesight so he could spend a lifetime in pain and humiliation. It was calculated, personal revenge. While the servers ferreted through the past, Dorian plied a razor to his stubble. Talarico would like to shave him a lot closer. He bathed marine style in the washroom. Famished, he slipped out the rear entrance to a deli in the next block. The omelet and home fries fueled his mind and body. The morning rush was over and Broad Street seemed almost tranquil. A sign hung on a telephone pole, “We love you Miles”. Newly sprayed graffiti spelled out “Justice” in block letters across a boarded up storefront. Estelle and her son deserved justice and safety. Rejuvenated, Dorian returned to the pillbox. A two-inch stack of printouts stood in front of him. He poured over the pages but there was no mention of Joseph Goodway. He was ready to chuck the pile and start a new search but one nineteen sixty article in the old Philadelphia Bulletin caught his eye. “Man painted with acid. Police expect that Rafael “the painter” Lordi scarred a young Italian immigrant named Phillip Buonarotti as some kind of warning to opposing mobsters.” Buonarotti loosely translates to good way. Felipe Buonarotti was the founder of the Philadelphes. Excited, Dorian searched Raphael Lordi. Four minutes later, his police jacket printed out complete with a black and white photo of a handsome, middle age man with straight black hair and a pencil thin mustache. The report said that he was a hit man for a crime gang that rivaled Cosa Nostra. Camorra? Lordi was killed in a random street shooting two years later. He left a bereaved wife Carmella, a daughter named Gloria and a one-year-old granddaughter named Grace. So Lordi became Lord. And Buonarotti became Goodway. And the rebirth of the Philadelphes germinated from an act of passion. Hideously scarred, Goodway could never rise in the political world but his child could succeed. Father and benefactor, Goodway had protected his child just as Alice predicted. The marriage to Marian was a Cole Porter-Linda Porter type of smoke screen to hide her sexuality while keeping his hand on the pulse of the City. Each morning when he shaved, the mirror reflected a gruesome reminder that the world was a hostile place full of enemies. No balm could wash away the disfigurement and humiliation. Dorian created an email to Kelly, saved the file, attached it to the email, and sent it. He was about to close the file but changed his mind and searched obituaries for Agnes Buonarotti, Goodway’s mother. She’d died unexpectedly in nineteen seventy. An intruder had broken into her South Philly home and strangled her with a clothesline. The case was never solved. She had no known relatives. Hide in plain sight. Alice did not like liars so the fact that she’d lied to Dorian grated on her conscience. But it was best that he thought the twenty-two was swimming with the scum at the bottom of the river. She visited Marian right after Kelly called her. Alice closed the door, Marian dropped her glasses half way down her nose. “What is it? I am very busy with the McLain case. The Press is ready to burn me at the stake. They are calling for my resignation. They call the city Baghdad on the Delaware.” “I have bad news,” she said readying herself for the explosion. “What is it?” asked Marian. Alice sat on the edge of Marian’s desk, a practice Marian disliked. “Kelly called. Estelle refused the deal. She said she doesn’t want her kid to grow up with the stigma that his mother murdered his father. She remembers someone holding a gun in her hand.” Marian threw the glasses onto a pile of papers. “Shit, shit and shit! That woman is stupid. Look, why don’t you try to talk to her again. We need to make this go away.” Alice measured her words carefully. “I’ll do whatever you want, Boss. But while I am bound to obey your wishes, she has nothing to lose. She will regain her memory as I am doing without a taped play by play.” Marian’s veins popped out of her neck. Hope she bursts her bra. And a carotid artery. “Do you want to tell the Mayor yourself?” Marian sighed. “Nothing good comes easy. I’ll tell her. Look I know you are hurt about the tape. Without an incentive, you would have less likely to join us. Strange things happen to people who resist the inevitable.” Alice sensed an opening in Marian’s armor. “You mean like Jerry Stern?” Marian suddenly looked unnerved, flustered. She reached for her bottom drawer that held her brandy but stopped. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Alice leaned across the desk, nose-to-nose with a woman she despised as much as the man who used her. “Sure. I’ll talk to Estelle. But if I ever get a second visit from the stalker, I will kill him and you. Try that for incentive.” She slammed the door shut but stood outside. The bottom drawer creaked open. A moment later Marian‘s voice crashed through the door. “Joseph! We have a problem!” You sure do. Chapter Twenty-OneSitting on his bed, bored and restless, Talarico answered the call from Il Segreto on the first ring. “Ciao, Antonio. Are you well?” said Il Segreto. “I am always well. How may I serve you?” said Talarico. “I have called a meeting of the Council of the Philadelphes. I want you to join the meeting. Dress as a policeman and meet Marian and I outside City Hall on the west side at nine tonight. I have special news for you, my friend.” Antonio leaped up. Il Segreto never spoke so respectfully to him. “I will be there.” “Ciao!”
Antonio clicked off the cell phone. His heart raced like a schoolboy on a date. Il Segreto had read his mind. He was surely going to be appointed to the Council. He shook his fists and clapped his hands. The City was his! Talarico strode up Broad Street toward the clock tower atop City Hall. The whoosh of passing cars and chatter and laughter of passersby sounded like street music, a welcoming call from his new City. He’d live near the hotel in one of those red brick colonial style town homes. He’d eat at all the best restaurants. He’d be kind to his fellow Neapolitans by sending them money. He’d hire one to drive him and another to wait on his home. He wore no jacket over the uniform for he was on an adrenaline high that insulated him from the freezing cold. He’d learn American football and baseball. He’d find a wife or import one from Naples. He’d select a young one who did not know American ways. He’d have a son to follow in his steps. Perhaps his son will one day become Il Segreto! Il Segreto greeted him with a warm handshake. Marian merely smiled condescendingly. Talarico never accepted the fact that Marian declined to use her husband’s name. If she were his woman, her ass would wear the marks of a well-strapped belt. She was too wide in the middle. Her thighs and arms flapped with ugly flab. But somehow Il Segreto found a quality in her worthy of marriage. In the dark they were both handsome. Nate Stern and Grace Lord awaited them in the Mayor’s office. Grace attracted him but no one touched the daughter of Il Segreto. Haggard and bleary eyed, his tie twisted to one side, Nate looked like a beaten man. If he only knew how much pleasure Talarico enjoyed in killing his treacherous son, his defeat would be absolute. Talarico admired the shiny, twelve-foot walls adorned with picture of past Mayors and American Presidents. The portrait of John F. Kennedy depicted a man with a dream for the future. He wished he could sit behind the polished, rich mahogany desk. The room was the size of the flat his family shared in Naples. The furniture was worth more than his father earned in a lifetime. They sat at a long table with Il Segreto at the head. Talarico helped himself to a glass of water from a crystal decanter. He was feeling more at home by the second. The leader smiled as if to reassure them that all was well. Joseph then removed his glasses. The crimson blotches around his eyes drew all to him like a magnet. The gruesomeness hypnotized Talarico. Joseph spread his arms like a priest welcoming his congregation. “Welcome my friends. We have much to talk about but first bear with me for a digression that will help you understand my heart and mine. I want all of us to be on the same page and sure of our unity. I have studied the works of all the conquerors from Alexander the Great, to Caesar, to Napoleon and, yes, even the scoundrel of history, Adolf Hitler. But the one figure that fascinates me the most is the one whose empire most reminds me of our struggle within a great empire. I speak of Attila the Hun. He was a diminutive, malformed man full of guile, cunning and courage. He understood his enemies because as a boy he was an exchange hostage in Rome itself. He learned Roman ways, surveyed their strengths and calibrated their weaknesses. We could use him now.” Joseph walked around the table and stood behind Grace. He patted her shoulders with both hands. “We have a Mayor. We have a District Attorney. We have a Managing Director. We lost the police and must find out why. Still, we exact our mulct on a daily basis. Our wealth grows like wheat. But we, I should say I, have made misjudgments and fate has abandoned us. If Spaventa had not emailed Dorian Wilde, all would be well. If Estelle had not gotten pregnant, she would have capitulated and settled. We would have the City in our grip as though it was a ripe grape ready to be pressed into wine. We created enemies. Dorian is a clever man. He has no fear. Alice Rowe has shown remarkable courage. Whoever killed ML struck a blow at our security. So what do we do? Do we destroy Dorian?” Talarico slammed the table. “Yes!” Joseph smiled too benevolently for Talarico’s taste. It was the same smile Marian bestowed upon him earlier. Doubt seeped into his mind. His stomach tightened. Il Segreto pointed a finger at him. “Be calm and listen. Do we expose Alice and ruin her? Do we force a long delay in Estelle’s trial? After his defeat at the battle of Chalons, Attila advised to never underestimate a determined enemy. He also counseled his chieftains to regroup to fight another day. We should follow Attila’s wisdom. We should lay both murders on Pocky Miller and Pugface. The Knights will sacrifice them for a guarantee that one of their men will replace Downs as Police Commissioner.” Antonio’s doubt spread into a draining realization he’d not felt since his father died. Joseph wet his lips. He laid his palms open like a priest offering the Eucharist. “We should leave Dorian alone. We should return all the videotapes to Alice. We should withdraw because withdrawal strengthens us and weakens our enemies.” Joseph moved to Talarico’s rear. “This man is a brave man. He has earned our gratitude by taking great risks on our behalf. Today I sent twenty thousand dollars to a Swiss bank in his name. He will go to Naples for a while and rest until we need him again.” Talarico stiffened from his pelvis to his neck. Infuriated and embarrassed by his foolish self-delusion, he cried out like a wounded animal, “No!! I killed for you. I risked my life for you. I deserve to be accepted as an equal!” Marian burst out laughing. “You are a thug. I jail people like you every day. Equal? Hah! For you, Equal is a sugar substitute!” Grace and Marian laughed aloud. Talarico threw the decanter against the far wall. “Nobody laughs at me. You are no better than the passa novante! You are as corrupt as all of them!” Joseph flushed, his nostrils flared. He put on his glasses to hide his anger. “Enough! Antonio, please sit down.” Antonio grudgingly sat on the arm of his chair. He fought the urge to scream and the redness in his cheeks. His chest pounded. Grace leaned across the desk. “Antonio, we all appreciate your work. The Council invited you here to thank you. Accept our gratitude and enjoy a well deserved vacation.” Talarico bolted up. “Antonio does not take favors from women. I am a strong man not like your weak Americans.” He hunched low, his back humped like a leopard ready to attack. “I can kill all of you!” Nate stood ramrod straight. “Did you kill my son?” Joseph moved between the two men. “That is a ridiculous question!” Talarico and Nate locked stares. “Is it a dumb question?” asked Nate, his fists curled into balls of iron. “I said that is enough,” said Joseph. “Look at us at tearing at each other’s throats like rabid dogs. We are not cut throats!” Talarico smirked. “I am a cut throat and you made me what I am. I will go to Italy when I want to. And I go on my terms, not yours. I want a million dollars or I will kill one of you until I get it.” He pointed to Nate. “Jew! You are first. That will make two Jews I killed!” Nate sprang for him but Talarico was ready. He caught Nate with a perfectly timed kick to the testicles. Nate crumbled to the floor in pain. Talarico ground his heel on the back of Nate’s hand until the bones snapped aloud. Talarico laughed. “Old men and women! What an army! I am the new man in this city. I will call you with my terms. Don’t send any one after me. They’ll die a rapid death. I am Attila the Hun and you fools are the fat Romans.” Talarico backed away. “Ciao mio amici.” Outside, he walked at double time. He called the hotel and ordered his bags to be packed and ready and a cab on hand to drive him to the airport on an emergency. The statue of William Penn stood high above not like a beacon welcoming him to his new home but as a lighthouse warning him to stay away. His heart skipped a beat so he paused at a street corner. The traffic sped past while he caught his breath. This was no time for a heart attack. He’d just started a war, one he was determined to win. He’d shed his uniform, take a cab to the airport and then take a second cab and a third to a new hotel. He’d move every day like a guerrilla at war against an occupying army. The cold air nipped through him. He hailed a cab. “Napoli e sempre mio casa.” He was too preoccupied to notice the limo on his tail. The last time Alice rode in a limo was in June three years ago, on her thirty-fifth birthday. Dorian had leased a white stretch Cadillac complete with a television, CD player, wet bar, fridge full of cheese and a tray of fruit. He picked her up at ten in the morning. They shared champagne during the one-hour cruise to the shore. He wanted to go to Cape May but she preferred a shorter ride to Atlantic City and the black jack tables. She won the debate. Tonight she was grateful for the comfort and safety of an armed driver and the privacy of tinted windows. Tired, she wanted to go home to a half bottle of wine, a hot bath and no phone calls. But the sight of a uniformed policeman hailing a cab tweaked her curiosity. The cop entered the cab under a streetlight. His violet eyes glowed under his cap. She froze but quickly collected herself. “Jars! Follow that cab.” Jars cast a quizzical look. “Why?” “Because I said so. Stay on him while I call Dorian.” Jars was dying for a double shot of Tullamore Dew Irish whiskey and a bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. “Whatever you say.” She reached Dorian on the third ring. “Dorian. It’s me. I am in the limo with Jars. Talarico just got in a cab near City Hall. We are following him down Broad Street.” “Jesus! Be careful. If he spots you, he’ll react. I’ll get dressed and meet you and take over the tail.” Alice checked to make sure the twenty-two was loaded. “I can handle this problem.” “Put Jars on!” She hung up. The cab turned left on Locust Street running East around Washington Park to Third Street. The cab bumped along the cobble stone road until it stopped at the Sheraton. Alice wanted to arrest him. “Stay put and don’t call Dorian,” she said. “He pays me,” said Jars. “No calls or I’ll fire you and you can explain to him why you left me alone.” She got out but no sooner reached the front door than Talarico came toward her. Luggage in his hand, he crashed through the front door, so close she could smell his after-shave. Before she could get to her gun, he’d thrown his bags into the back seat of the cab. “Drive,” he commanded the cabbie. Alice made a mental note of the cab’s license plate and raced to the limo. “Stay on him, Jars!” The cab sped down I-95 South in the left lane. He’s going to the airport to escape. She pulled out the gun. Her hands sweated under her lamb’s wool gloves. The city whirled by as they shot past Lincoln Financial Field and toward the airport. Dorian could never reach her in time. She and Jars would have to take on Talarico. “Faster! We can not lose him.” The tires thumped along the concrete cannon. “Faster, damn it!” The taxi reeled to the right and shot off the exit. She called Dorian but got his voice mail. “He’s going to the airport,” she said. “Hurry!” Overhead, a jet roared into the night sky. He cannot escape. The cab tore at break neck speed down the exit ramp. Jars maneuvered around an eighteen-wheeler, narrowly avoiding a collision but he was losing ground. Surprisingly, the taxi took the “arriving flights” fork in the road and pulled over at a cabstand. Talarico leaped out of the cab and rushed to a second cab. “Pull along side!” she said as she cocked the gun. “Back me up!” She ran to the cab and threw open the door. She was ready to shoot him. “You’re under arrest!” she said. Talarico yanked her forward by her wrist into the cab. The gun discharged creasing his face. He twisted the gun free and pressed it to her forehead. “Bella Mia. So nice of you to see me off,” said Talarico. “Drop it,” said Jars. Talarico shot him in the chest. The big man stumbled backward and landed heavily on the macadam. The cab driver held up his hands. “Don’t shoot!” said the Asian man, as he pulled off his plaid jeff cap and bowed his head. Talarico grabbed Alice by the collar and thrust the gun under her chin. “Drive!” said Talarico. The driver floored the accelerator. Talarico tilted the gun under Alice’s chin so she strained her head upward, afraid it may go off accidentally. “You are so lovely,” he said. “You and I share a taste in twenty-twos. How nice!” “Go to New Jersey,” he ordered the driver. The cab lunged forward through slower traffic, veered to the right and flew onto the Walt Whitman Bridge. Minutes later, the cab rocketed down the Atlantic City Expressway. Talarico riveted his eyes on Alice. His lascivious leer turned her stomach inside out bit she held very still. Her cell phone rang from inside her coat pocket. “I’ll answer it,” said Talarico. He took the phone and read the caller ID as it rang a second time. “Ciao, Mister DorianWilde. This is your old friend Antonio. Our mutual lady friend Alice is in my custody. I will treat her well.” “You cowardly bastard,” said Dorian. Antonio handed her the phone. “It is your man. Tell him you are well. No tricks. You are my passport and as they say in pinochle, my ace of trump.” Alice cleared her throat. She was parched to her lungs with fear. “Dorian, he has a gun pointed at my head. There is no percentage in disobeying him. He has all the cards. Don’t gamble with my life. Do as he says.” Talarico grabbed the phone. “Your woman is wise beyond her years. Stay close to the phone. I will call you later.” He tossed the phone onto the seat. Talarico lowered the gun to chest level. “Sit back so I can admire you. Driver, keep going but slow down. Drive in the middle lane. If the polizie try to stop us, I will kill you. Am I clear?” The man looked ready to cry. “Yes. I drive at sixty. No more than sixty. No shoot please! I have family. Three kids and a wife.” Talarico leaned against the seat. She could not bear his smell, his touch, and his oily presence. Her skin crawled as though a caterpillar crept up her spine. “I am sorry but you should not have tried to arrest me. I vowed to never be taken alive. I’ll kill all of us but I’ll never go to jail.” Alice sensed that if she showed her fear, he’d want to devour her like a wolf. Alice spit at him. “You can go to hell.” He cuffed her hard across the head. Her mind spun as she fell against the door. “Speak to me with respect, Caro Mio. I am not a weak American. I am Cammoristi.” Alice struggled to the seat. Talarico offered a hand. “Caro Mio, you need to learn to love me. She accepted his hand. He pulled her close and kissed her full on the lips. She opened her mouth and let his tongue rove her mouth. She reached the cell, hit the speed dial button and placed the phone on “mute” so Dorian could listen. Talarico fondled her breasts with his free hand. “You are a beautiful woman,” he said. “I wish I could take you with me.” Alice had watched the tape twice. Now that his rough hands kneaded her body memories of the night he violated her raced through her mind in a collage of shame and revulsion until a cold fury iced her into a single-minded vow to kill him. “Drop me off in Atlantic City. It’s only thirty miles away.” Talarico placed her hand on his crotch. “You tempt me. First I have to deal with the imp who drives this taxi.” Alice stroked his aroused penis. “Let him go. He’s harmless.” Talarico breathed heavily. “You like to please me.” Alice wanted to snap off the damn thing and beat him to death with it but he had the gun pressed to her side. “Yes. I still think of the orgasms we shared.” Talarico smiled, his eyes alight with pleasure. “I don’t disgust you?” Alice plied his crotch in a rolling motion. “You are a man who takes a woman’s breath away.” Talarico kissed her neck. “Ah, Bella! You must know I will have to kill you yet you make me feel like a god. What am I to do?” Alice pushed back. “Take me to the Atlantic City Hilton. I will give you a night you’ll never forget. You can tie me up and escape afterward.” Talarico put the gun to her head. “You are a devil. I should shoot you and run to New York. I could hide there forever.” Alice bowed her head. “Get it over with. Do it and be done!” Talarico lowered the pistol. “Driver! Pull over.” The driver eased to the roadside. “Get out and run into those woods. Run for your life. Leave the hat on the seat. Go now!” The cabbie nodded furiously. “Yes Sir! I shall run into the woods.” The cabbie ran down an embankment and raced head down zigzagging into the woods. “Sit beside me,” said Talarico. Alice thought of running but he’d kill her for sure. “As you wish,” she said. She pocketed the cell phone. Hurry Dorian.
“I see there’s an airport at the next exit. We’ll go there,” said Talarico over the phone. They were ten miles ahead of him. He blasted past at one hundred miles per hour. The tree lined exit swerved up a steep ramp. He’d take her into the woods, have his way with her and then kill her before he stopped at the airport. Dorian slowed down enough to search every cut off. Ahead, a car turned right. Dorian floored the accelerator but the car pulled into the driveway of a private home. The thought of him raping her drove Dorian to accelerate past one hundred miles per hour. He barely held in his lunch. “Come into the back seat with me,” said Talarico. “Yes,” she said. “Undress. Take all of your clothes off. I want to taste all of you under me.” Dorian let down the window. The air whipped his face as he cried out, “Nooooo.” “Pronto,” said Talarico. “Please don’t kill me. I am having a baby.” “You lie! You’d say anything to keep me from killing you.” “I swear on the soul of the Pope.” The crack of a hard slap resonated through the night. “Heretic!” “I am sorry,” said Alice. Dorian spied a cutoff. The narrow lane cut between tall trees. There were no lights except for his high beams. The trees clouded out the sky. He was driving in a natural tunnel. The Jag bounced along the rutted dirt road. He flashed his high beams. A parked car blocked the path. “Who’s that fool?” asked Talarico. Dorian roared ahead, his gun in hand until a bullet shattered his windshield. A piece of glass nicked his eyeball. The Jaguar swerved into a pine tree. The dashboard of the Jaguar collapsed, releasing the air bag and pinning Dorian to the seat. His gun had fallen to the floor. Helpless, he watched in fear as a dark figure approached the car. Talarico laughed. “Ah, Don Quixote comes to the rescue of the damsel. I will enjoy shooting you.” Talarico smashed the driver side window with the butt end of the twenty-two. “Buona sera and Ciao. For now you die.” Alice stood naked from the waist up, a revolver in her hand. Talarico aimed at his head. “Fuck you!” said Dorian. Talarico spit in his face. “I took your woman. Now I take your life!” Alice stood ten feet away, a pistol in her hands. Feet squarely pointed, she aimed and, gun steady, Alice fired. Talarico’s face exploded in blood and gore. His lilac eyes rolled back into his head as he slid down the side of the car. Alice stood over Talarico’s body. Her chest heaved but she was numb to the frigid night. “Are you all right?” Dorian’s head ached as the seed of glass pricked further into his eye. “I’ll live. Are you okay?” Alice dropped the gun. “I’ve never felt better. He would have killed you and me and my baby.” Dorian opened the door. Woozy, bleeding from his damaged eye, he tried to stand but the pain was so great, he collapsed on Talarico’s body and moaned in pain. Blood dripped down his chin onto Talarico’s corpse. The dead man’s eyes glowed brilliantly like a perpetual flame. “Dorian!” she shouted. “I’m okay. Call nine one one! Thanks. You got the bastard.” Alice wrapped her arms around her chest. “He dropped a gun on the seat. I’ll throw on my top.” Dorian struggled into a sitting position. The wind shook the trees so hard they creaked and yawed breaking an eerie silence. Relieved, he rested his head against the Jaguar wondering where the second gun came from. A hard rain pounded the top of the Sheriff’s car carrying Alice home across the Ben Franklin Bridge. The clouds shrouded the city in a gray, misty pallor. Killing Talarico was justifiable homicide. No one would care. She’d be a hero. But the City was still under Grace’s thumb. Her job was far from over. The car crawled through the wet streets. Thunder cracked and a bolt of lightning illuminated Independence Hall. She felt as though time had leaped backward in time. How far has our society advanced from the cave? A bevy of reporters and cameramen surrounded Alice as she exited the Atlantic County sheriff’s car. The throng blocked her front door and steps as she tried to push her way though. The questions came rapid fire. “Are you okay?” “Have you spoken to the Mayor?” “Has Dorian Wilde been blinded for life?” “Did you know Jars Malloy was saved by the flask in the vest coat of his pocket?” ”Is it true that the man you killed murdered ML McLain?” Weary but anxious to answer their questions, Alice put up her hands until the questions stopped. “It’s been a long night and morning but the City deserves some answers so I will address a couple of points then I am going to sleep. First of all, I owe my life to Dorian Wilde who chased down an International hit man, a terrorist linked to a secret criminal society called Camorra. The man’s name is Antonio Talarico from Naples, Italy. He’s wanted there in the slaying of another police officer named Spaventa. Ballistics matched his gun to the bullet that killed Commissioner McLain. The other gun was mine.” “How’d the police determine which was which?” asked a reporter. Alice had planned her answer carefully. “Simple. I shot him with my gun. You certainly don’t think I disarmed with my bra off? No more details but I assure you I was not raped, thanks to Dorian.” “What is Dorian’s condition?” “Dorian has a scratched retina and will be sent home in a few hours. I am happy that Jars survived. He’s a brave man. The Mayor and I are meeting at an undisclosed location so I can make full report to her. She may hold a press conference afterwards. That’s it for now. I am taking my phone off the hook and crashing in a nice warm bed.” She fled inside while the reporters shouted and sang, “For she’s a jolly good fellow and so say all of us!” They could not hear her muffled sobs as she ran to the bathroom to vomit from a mixture of fear, guilt and morning sickness. Directory: app -> download download -> Pupil bulletin week beginning monday 15th December 2014 download -> Branch Secretary : Alan V. J. Eley download -> ‘Stronger Together’ download -> Mobile Computer Repair Price List (2014) download -> 2015 Commercial Space Industry Snapshot as seen through the eyes of the International Symposium for Personal and Commercial Spaceflight (ispcs) download -> - download -> Android-Lint Plugin download -> End2end ci/cd pipeline with Bamboo and Atlassian tools download -> Summer art workshops at City Lights Art Gallery Thanks to a Henderson Loves the Arts Download 0.73 Mb. Share with your friends:
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