Fatal Justice (Jack Lamburt #1)(11)

“Harold, Harold, Harold. Sorry to say, buddy, but I don’t think you understand the gravity of our situation.” I laid my hand on the Glock. “Now, in a few minutes, Mary Sue’s gonna come in here with her laptop and show us a little bit of history about our friend here.” I gestured toward Sammy with the gun. “I think once you see for yourself who this douchebag is, you’ll be a little more convincing in your ability to keep secrets until your death.”

He stared at me but didn’t speak. His lips were trembling and he’d developed a nervous tic in his shoulder. I pointed the gun at him. “So, I’m going to ask you one simple question. Do you think you can keep an open mind and read what Mary Sue’s going to show you?” I nodded my head up and down again, and he mimicked me. Yep, he was definitely in London’s league. I set the Glock back on my lap and nodded my appreciation to him.

“Good answer.”

Mary came hustling into the room, her laptop cradled in her arms. “I’ve found him!” She placed the laptop on the kitchen table and turned it towards us. “Holy crap, you won’t believe how evil this guy is.”





11





I was curious to see what Google brought up from the newspapers about Sammy and how accurate it was. If they had even ten percent of the story right, these kids were in for a rude awakening. Even someone as daft as Harold would have to agree with me.

“First we go to Google Images, to make sure that we have the right guy,” Mary Sue said. She clicked on the “Images” tab, and after a long delay caused by the TOR browser routing us through multiple servers to protect our location and identity, photo after photo came up of our Ostrich Boy.

At nightclubs dressed to the nines, walking in the street with a guy on each side and two behind him. At charity events, hobnobbing with politicians, getting into and out of limos, etc. Hundreds of them, proving that the clown on the floor was indeed Big Sam Rexanio of New York.

“Now we know it’s him, so let’s go to the news. Here’s where it gets good.” She clicked on the “News” tab, and a host of articles appeared on the screen. Most were recent, and a few included mug shots. He didn’t photograph well.

Every major newspaper from the New York Times to the Washington Post had numerous articles implicating Big Sam for extortion, murder, gambling, racketeering, loan-sharking, dog kidnapping, etc. Lots of indictments, few convictions, and even fewer jail stays. He seemed to have a guardian angel watching over him. I smiled. Not anymore.

Mary Sue looked at me. “So what now?”

I looked at Harold. “Do you understand who we’re dealing with here?”

“Maybe he’ll be thankful for us not killing him, and leave us alone,” he said.

Mary Sue rolled her eyes. “Jeez, are you for real? Didn’t you see what this guy was going to do to me?”

“Yeah, but I’m sure he wasn’t going to kill us. If we’d just played along, this could be over. But not now.” He gestured to me with his head. “Thanks to your friend here.”

I fought back the urge to bitch-slap him and instead let him continue his imbecilic rant. “He attacked a big-time mobster. Well, I’m not taking the fall for him.”

My restraint ended, and I reached for my Glock. Mary placed her hand on my arm.

“Don’t.” She looked at me and shook her head slightly.

I didn’t say anything.

“Okay, Harold.” Mary Sue turned back towards her friend, stooped down, and spoke to him like he was a ten-year-old. “Let’s just say that we played along. Do you think guys like this ever leave a witness to a crime? Someone who could testify in court against them?” She paused for added effect, then added, “They don’t. Which is why he has all those indictments against him, but hardly any convictions. Are you getting this?”

He waited a few seconds before answering. “So what now? We just going to murder him in cold blood?”

I’d had enough. I took the Glock and stuck it in Harold’s face. He whimpered like a scared puppy. I silently apologized to London for lumping this moron in the same category.

Mary Sue shrugged and surrendered the reins to me. She was good. “Sorry, Harold, I tried.” She walked away and stood at my side with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Wait, you just can’t let him shoot me.” His voice quivered and cracked like an overly excited preteen.

“I’m not going to shoot you…yet.” Now it was my turn to pause for added effect. “So here’s how this works. I’m leaving with Sam. Mary Sue will untie you after I leave. This way, you can’t be implicated in removing the body. And this whole night never happened. Capiche?”

“Ka-what?”

“Capiche. It’s Italian for ‘got it?’.” God, this kid lived a sheltered life.

“I don’t know, man, this whole thing sucks.”

“Yeah, it does. And it will play out in one of three ways. We go to the cops, and Sammy kills us all. Or: I leave with Sammy, and you tell someone what happened, and I kill you before you can testify against me. Not that I’d need to, because my word as Sheriff is much more believable then yours. But I would anyway. I mean, why take chances, right?”

I let him think for a minute, then continued; “Or: I leave with Sammy, you man up and live with our little secret for the rest of your life, and nobody else dies. And I can guaran-fuckin-tee you, that the first option ain’t gonna happen. Capiche?” I stuck the Glock in his face and nodded my head up and down, delighted with my new expertise in subliminal coercion.