American Criminal (39 page)

    Burnside concentrated on driving the speed limit as he made his way through town. When he reached the small downtown area clustered with stores, he was especially careful. He eased up on the gas pedal as he spotted a cruiser in a dark gas station parking lot with its lights turned off. Glancing in the rearview mirror, Ray felt relieved when the cop didn’t pull out and follow him. The last thing he needed was an overzealous officer attempting to finish out his overnight shift by citing him for something mundane like a broken taillight.

    Ray wasn’t sure what he would do if a cruiser activated its flashing lights and tried to pull him over. If he was discovered in this area - at this time in the morning - he would automatically become a suspect in Jones’s murder. The stolen handgun rested on the passenger seat within easy reach, but that didn’t mean he would necessarily use it. But what other choice would he have? There was no way he was going back to prison.

    The digital clock on the dashboard read 5:08 AM. Burnside didn’t encounter any cars on the road until he reached the highway. As he pulled off the exit ramp, he joined several cars piloted by desperate wage slaves willing to get up ridiculously early for a paycheck. He still felt a faint trace of adrenaline in his system, but he was coming down fast. The pain in his gut felt worse, but he ignored it. Ray turned on the radio and tried to concentrate on rock music, but he found it annoying. He turned if off.

    Burnside was disappointed because he thought he would feel better about obtaining revenge on one of his old comrades. In prison, thoughts of vengeance had kept him going, but now that it was a reality, he felt let down.

    Unwelcome thoughts of Jones’s wife and kids broke through his mind’s defenses like an expert burglar cracking a safe. He remembered attending a cookout in the small backyard of Jones’s old house on the outskirts of the city several years ago. Jones had two kids: one boy around four years old and a girl about two years. The boy would be at least six now and the girl four. What would happen to them without a father to support them? Without their father’s paycheck, the family would have to move back to the city. Ray suddenly felt like he was going to throw up.

    Pulling into the breakdown lane, Ray leaned out the door. He heard cars rushing past him as he vomited onto the road.

    So much for that great steak I had for dinner.  

    Apparently, vengeance was overrated. Instead of feeling elated, he felt sick. He spit out the last of the disgusting mixture, shut the door, and stared at the silhouetted buildings beyond the highway. The sky had lightened from black to midnight blue as dawn approached.

    Ray started the car rolling, glanced left, noticed the highway was clear, and pulled out of the breakdown lane. He cracked the window and lit a cigarette to take his mind off the nausea roiling in his stomach like a fetid brew. If there had been anything left in his stomach, he would have lost it. He felt slightly better after finishing his cigarette and arriving in front of his apartment building. Locating his designated spot, he parked. The sky had lightened from midnight blue to soft gray.

    Burnside exited the car and trudged toward the building’s main entrance. It felt like a failed liquid chemistry experiment was bubbling in his stomach. Ignoring the pain, he ascended the steps, turned his key in the lock, and entered the lobby. His stomach lurched as he rode the elevator to the third floor. The doors opened and Ray dry-heaved several times as he entered the hallway.

    Arriving at his apartment, Burnside fumbled through his keys until he found the right one and turned it in the lock. He felt like he was arriving in a sacred sanctuary as he pushed the door open and stepped in. The journey from Jones’s house to his apartment was only about forty minutes, but it had felt like many hours. He was glad to be home.

    Ray flicked on the hallway light as he moved from the foyer to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he took out a bottled water. Drinking deeply, he walked to the living room and collapsed into the recliner. As his system became hydrated, he began to feel better. The churning and bubbling in his stomach altered to a slight fizzing. Leaning back in the recliner, he closed his eyes and the world faded to black.

    Ray woke up to bright sunlight streaming in through the living room window.

    Oh fuck, what time is it?

    Checking the digital clock in the bedroom, he saw it was already 11:40 AM. He was supposed to be at work at 12 PM. There was no way in hell he was going to make it on time. Ray called the Club and left a brief message on Alicia’s answering machine to tell her he was running late.

    Great. The second day on the job and already I’m fucking up.

    Burnside felt like he had a nasty hangover. His head was pounding and his stomach still felt queasy. He took a quick shower and made some coffee. He also toasted a bagel and ate some cereal. His stomach felt better after he ate and his head felt better after he drank a cup of strong coffee. He got dressed, shaved, and lit a cigarette. Glancing at the digital clock, he saw it was 11:55. He was making good time. At this rate, he wouldn’t be more than a few minutes late.

    Ray donned his warm black topcoat and broke all the building’s rules by smoking his cigarette in the hallway, elevator, and foyer on his way out. He took one last drag and ground it out under his heel as the reached his car. He made sure he didn’t catch his topcoat in the door as he got in. Despite traffic, he made great time and arrived at 12:15 PM. Alicia smiled at him as he approached the bar.

    “Hey, big guy, I thought you said you were going to be late,” she said, winking at him.

    “Well, technically, I am,” Ray said, grinning sheepishly like a truant student as he went to the back office to hang up his topcoat and suit jacket. He emerged wearing the typical white dress shirt and black dress pants of a Palladin bartender.

    “I don’t consider anything under a half hour to be late,” Alicia said, playfully. “Did you go straight home after work last night?”

    Ray’s face turned pale at the mention of the previous night. His mind flashed to an image of the terrified expression on Jones’s face as he cowered on the front steps of his house. Ray’s stomach suddenly felt queasy again. He felt lightheaded as if he was going to pass out.

    “Hey, are you all right? You just turned as pale as a ghost,” Alicia said, as her eyebrows raised with apparent concern.

    “No, I just had a rough night. I ran into some old - I mean I visited an old haunt of mine and it didn’t work out so well.”

    “I’m sorry to hear that,” Alicia said, placing her slim hand on Ray’s muscular shoulder. “As soon as I mentioned last night, all the color drained out of your face.”

    Ray’s mind flashed to images of Jones’s smiling kids at the Strike Team’s cookout three years ago. He imagined their expressions turning somber as they approached their father’s casket.

    “I had a bit of a rough time last night,” Ray, said, grabbing the bar for support as he was assailed by dizziness. “I just need a moment, I’ll be right back.”

    The ex-cop walked away from the bar and went into the back office. He pressed his face against his forearm as he leaned against the wood-panels and tried to pull himself together.

    Come on, you’re at work. Get yourself under control,
he thought.

    He closed his eyes to stop tears from forming.

    I have to stop thinking about Jones’s kids, but Jones should have thought about them when he testified against me at the trial.

    Ray’s rationalization didn’t work. He felt despair creeping into his mind like a giant black spider.

    I need to think about what happened to me in prison to get back on track.

    Ray thought about his worst experience in prison: the shower rape. As he imagined the ugly, leering face of one of his attackers, his despair began to fade and rage began to build. He remembered the pain, the helplessness, and humiliation he felt as he was brutalized. He remembered thinking he was going to die. Then, he remembered leaning forward and clamping his teeth onto his antagonist’s nose like a Great White Shark clamping onto prey. The soft flesh tore surprisingly easily as the warm blood flowed over his face.

    “Ray, are you all right?” Alicia asked from the doorway.

    “I’m okay,” Ray said, keeping his face buried against his forearm so she wouldn’t see his bloodshot eyes. “I just need a minute, that’s all.”

    “Is there anything you want to talk about?” Alicia asked, concerned.

    “No, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”

    “Okay,” Alicia said, leaving the doorway and returning to the bar.

    Come on, get it together. You have to get it together,
Ray thought.

    An image flashed into his mind of his hands wrapped around one of the rapist’s throats. The Warden told him afterward that his assailant had suffered brain damage from lack of oxygen.

    A sequence of unsettling images from prison flooded his mind like water from a burst dam. He imagined plunging a shank into the gut of the
Skinhead
leader in the Yard. He remembered warm liquid spilling over his fingers as he pressed the blade deeper into his flesh. He imagined scenes from the bloodbath that followed.

    The scene from the Yard faded and his mind flashed to an image of the Warden and the Internal Affairs Chief talking to him in the Warden’s office. They told him he only had to make it one more year and he would be sent to a medium-security prison. Only one year. His mind began to clear.

    Ray opened his eyes and focused on the brown, wood-paneled wall. His eyes drifted to the faux Classical paintings nearby.

   
Water Lilies by Monet. French Impressionism at its finest.

    He didn’t know why an idea from an ancient art history class would enter his head, but it was welcome compared to images from prison flashing through his brain.

    Ray took a deep breath and felt better. Wiping his face, he glanced around the office. The office furniture caused him to remember his erotic dream from two nights ago. The images conjured up from the dream caused a crooked smile to form on his lips.

    I’m all right. I’m going to be fine.

    Squaring his shoulders, Burnside returned to the bar with Alicia. He apologized for his emotional lapse and murmured something about not feeling well. Alicia accepted his apology and continued his training as if nothing had happened. He was glad to set his mind to some practical work. After a few hours, he forgot all about his descent into despair. He concentrated on making drinks and serving customers. The easy routine soothed his mind. Alicia must have thought he needed some time alone because she went into the back office to do some paperwork.

    By 3:30 PM Ray still only had a handful of customers at the bar. He served everyone what they wanted and awaited further orders. The middle-aged businessman at the far end of the bar was sipping a gin and tonic like it was an exotic ambrosia. Two twenty-something females talked and laughed at the center of the bar as they drank Bacardi and Cokes. Ray leaned on the end of the bar near the office and gazed out at the club. At this time of day, the dance floor was as deserted as any wasteland. The restaurant appeared to be bustling though. Most of the tables appeared full and the waiters looked stressed-out as they came and went with orders.

    Ray’s eyes drifted toward the main doors; he spotted a hulking figure wearing a suit and a thin figure dressed in blue approaching the doors from the sidewalk. The hulking figure pushed one of the doors open and Ray saw it was Big Frank. The blood froze in his veins when he saw the second figure step through the doors. It was a blue-uniformed cop.

    Even worse, there was something familiar about the cop. An instinctive dread hit Ray with the force of a battering ram. He thought his stomach had settled, but he started to feel queasy again. The cop was tall, thin, and wore glasses. He and Big Frank cut through the restaurant toward the bar. Ray felt his stomach drop as if he was ascending an elevator at a high rate of speed. The cop was none other than his old partner, Devlin, and he was moving toward him. 

    Burnside turned to face the mirror on the back wall and watched the blue uniformed figure become steadily larger in the reflection. His heart hammered like an engine operating in the red. He hadn’t thought it was a good idea to bring his stolen handgun to work, so he had left it in the Camry under the passenger seat.

    Scanning a row of bottles, Ray picked up the heaviest looking one – a large clear bottle containing hundred-proof
Smirnoffs
vodka. He lowered the bottle slowly to his side until it was concealed behind the bar-top. Adrenaline pulsed through his system as he prepared to spin around and smash Devlin in the face if he got any closer.

    As Devlin moved to within twenty feet of the bar, he veered off suddenly toward the doorway containing the stairwell leading to Salducci’s office. Ray used his peripheral vision to watch Devlin and Frank disappear through the doorway. Ray thought he could actually feel his pulse slowing as he placed the large bottle of
Smirnoffs
back on the shelf.
 

    What the fuck is Devlin doing meeting with Salducci?

    After a few moments of contemplation, he came up with a theory. Devlin was a dirty cop. Burnside had always suspected that Devlin and the rest of the Strike Team had Underworld connections they used to launder stolen money and sell stolen drugs. How else were they able to get away with it for so long? If several hundred thousand dollars suddenly showed up in their bank accounts, it would be obvious they were on the take. Instead, they gave the money to the Mob to hold and picked it up a little at a time. That way, they wouldn’t attract attention. Maybe Devlin was the one assigned to pick up the cash.

    What if laundering money isn’t the only reason Devlin is associating with Salducci?

    Given their reputation, it was highly probable that the Strike Team’s relationship with the Mob was more complex than simply laundering money and selling drugs. Ray guessed they might also be acting as enforcers to eliminate competition. Maybe they were even using legitimate busts to take out Salducci’s competition. With them, anything was possible. They were willing to send one of their own away for up to twenty years when they thought he might turn them in.  

    The twenty-something females stood from their seats and picked up their purses. One of them tossed a dollar on the bar-top as they walked away, giggling. Ray scooped up the dollar without thinking and placed it in the tip box.

    He couldn’t believe his old partner was here - at his place of work. Why was he meeting with Salducci? Why was Big Frank escorting him to the upper office? There must be more to the Strike Team’s relationship with the Mob than just laundering and holding their money.

    An hour went by and there was still no sign of Devlin returning from his meeting with Salducci. Ray made sure to use his peripheral vision to keep an eye on the doorway to the stairwell at all times. Alicia returned to the bar and asked him if he wanted to eat at the restaurant again for their break. Ray was distant and distracted. He had a hard time concentrating on a conversation with Alicia when his old partner was upstairs having a conversation with the Mob Boss.

    “Ray, are you okay?” Alicia asked. “You seemed a lot more relaxed yesterday.”

    “Sorry, Alicia, I have a lot on my mind today.”

    “Do you want to talk about it?”

    Burnside saw two figures emerge from the doorway to the stairwell. He turned away from Alicia to watch Devlin and Big Frank cut across the bar area toward the restaurant. Ray’s face went pale and he had a sickening feeling in his stomach as he watched his old partner walk away.

    “Ray, this is what I’m talking about,” Alicia said, nudging him, playfully. “You seem distracted like you’re not even here.”

   “I’m not, really,” Ray said, forcing a crooked smile. “My mind is miles away. Don’t worry – I can still do the job.”

    “I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you.”

    “Don’t worry about me,” Burnside said, forcing another smile. “Trust me, you don’t want to get involved with my problems.”

    “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You’re an enigmatic guy; you’re like a mystery waiting to be solved,” Alicia said, smiling and touching his shoulder. “My Mother always told me I would get into trouble because of my fascination with ‘bad boys.’”

    “Well, I’m certainly that,” Ray said. “But you should listen to your mother.”

    At that moment, Ray was distracted by Big Frank moving toward him from across the bar area. Frank made eye contact with Ray and motioned for him to come out from behind the bar. Ray excused himself from the conversation with Alicia and met Frank by one of the tables.

    “The Boss needs to see you. Right now,” Frank said, pointing toward the doorway to the stairwell.

    “Sure, no problem,” Ray said, trying to calm his racing mind.

    Is it a coincidence Salducci wants to meet with me after meeting with my old cop partner?

    “Don’t make him wait,” Frank added, gruffly, as Ray appeared to hesitate.

    “Don’t worry, I won’t,” Burnside said, forcing a casual smile as he turned away from Frank and headed for the stairwell.

    Ray’s heart hammered in his chest and sweat developed on his palms as he climbed the stairwell. He felt his stomach drop as if he was ascending a roller coaster track. He entered the receptionist’s lobby and forced a smile for the bleach blonde at the desk.

    “How’s it going?” Ray asked.

    “Fine,” the receptionist said without making eye contact as she filed her nails. “Don’t make him wait. He’s in one of his moods.”

    Great. Just what I need; Salducci all riled up,
Burnside thought.

    He passed the receptionist’s desk and approached the closed door to the inner office. He knocked twice.

    “Come in!” a gruff voice barked from inside.

    Ray entered and found Salducci pacing in front of the window as he gazed out at the dance floor.

    “Sit,” Salducci commanded without making eye contact.

    The Boss continued pacing as Ray sat down in the uncomfortable chair in front of the big executive desk and waited. Salducci muttered something unintelligible as he walked back and forth. His face appeared more pale and drawn than before. He reminded Ray of a desperate, starving, dangerous wolf. His shoulders were hunched and his head was thrust out in front of him as if he was stalking prey. Finally, Salducci turned, focused his glinting eyes on Ray, and stalked over to his chair. The Boss loomed above Ray like the silhouetted statue of a wolf-demon.

    “I need you to do a job for me tonight. Are you up for it?” Salducci asked, glaring down at Ray like a rabid dog.

    “Sure, whatever you need,” Ray said.

    “Good,” the Boss muttered and turned away abruptly.

    Salducci took long strides toward an unobtrusive brown closet door tucked away in the corner that Ray hadn’t noticed before. He entered a code in an adjacent security panel. The door clicked open and Salducci flicked on an interior light in a large closet. Ray couldn’t see what was contained within, but he knew it wasn’t clothing. Clothes didn’t gleam like metal.

    Salducci exited the closet with the handle of a black metal case clenched tightly in a white-knuckled hand. He slammed the door shut with his free hand. The mob boss approached Ray and dropped the metal briefcase at his feet. Without saying another word, Salducci returned to the executive chair behind his desk and collapsed into it.

    Ray watched him fumble in one of the drawers for what seemed like an awkward amount of time and then take out a pack of cigarettes with an expensive-looking gold lighter. Salducci lit the cigarette with a slightly trembling hand and didn’t offer one to Ray.

    Salducci closed his eyes as he inhaled the smoke like a drowning man inhaling his first breath of life-giving air. He sucked in the smoke, held it there for several seconds, and blew it out in a thin gray stream. His piercing gray eyes focused on Ray like the luminous eyes of a night predator.

    “I’m going to need a hundred percent from you tonight. This job is too important to fuck up.” Salducci paused and took another drag from his cigarette. Ray didn’t know if he expected him to respond or not. Instead, Salducci continued glaring at Ray like a wolf-pack leader sizing up its meal. “The problem is that we need a fucking cop whacked. Not only is he fucking with our operation, but he’s fucking with our connections in the police department. No matter how many of his Internal Affairs guys meet with unfortunate accidents, this fucking lieutenant won’t let up. He’s a god-damned ex-Marine who served in the first Gulf War and he doesn’t give up easily.” Salducci paused to take another drag from his cigarette. He spun around in his chair to face the window. Ray could only see a spot of slick black hair above the chair-back.

    He wants me to kill a cop?
Burnside thought, trying to adjust to the news. He didn’t have a problem killing bad guys. But a cop? One of his former brothers?

    “It has to be done,” Salducci said as smoke drifted around the chair-back like a haze. “Try to do it as low-profile if possible, but I’m authorizing you to go all-out if necessary. This ex-Marine is a paranoid fuck. After we took out two of his Internal Affairs guys, he bought himself a fully armored Hummer from a contact in the military. The fucker even had bulletproof windows installed. We made the deaths of the Internal Affairs guys look like accidents – we ran them off the road. But with this guy, we need to do something that makes a statement. You have to take him out at his house with his family sleeping upstairs. Do you have a problem with that?”

    “Not at all,” Ray said after a brief hesitation. His pulse raced as his brain throbbed with panic.

    How the fuck am I going to be able to kill a cop? And a real cop to boot – not a corrupt piece of shit like Jones.

    Salducci spun around in the chair and faced Burnside again. He snuffed out his smoldering cigarette butt in a gold ashtray on the desk as if he was squashing a small animal.

    “This fucking Marine, he doesn’t get it. We think he whacked one of our guys last night. The fucking balls on this guy! One of our cops gets his neck snapped in front of his own house. It was done with military precision. Who else but that sick Marine fuck could have done it?”

    Adrenaline pulsed through Ray’s system as he flashed back to Jones’s murder. He tried to remain calm.

    “No, he’s got to go. There’s no way around it,” Salducci said, standing from the chair and pacing over to the window. “It goes against protocol, but he’s killing our own now and it’s got to be done. I’m sending you out tonight with four of our best guys. They’ll tell you what to do. They don’t even know they’re being sent yet. I had to feel you out first – make sure you’re up for the job.” Salducci approached Burnside, loomed above him, and glared down.

    “Do you have a problem killing a cop?” Salducci asked, eyes gleaming.

    “Not at all,” Burnside said, maintaining a calm expression on the exterior while inside his mind crackled and flashed with intersecting bolts of panic lightning.

    “Okay, that’s all I need to know. The fucker is working the three-to-eleven shift tonight, so we do it tonight. We can’t knock him off the road because of that fucking Hummer, but we can get him at his house. You have to keep working in the Club for the rest of the night as if all we talked about here in this office was sports statistics. Don’t let on to anybody that I gave you an assignment. Take the briefcase and stash it in Alicia’s office. Finish out your shift with her and then start your next shift as a bouncer. Around ten-thirty my guys will come and get you. Don’t forget to bring the case. Sound good?”

    “Absolutely,” Burnside said, trying to steel himself with resolve.

   
I have to do what I have to do to survive.

    “Go back to the bar and act like nothing’s happened. Got it?”

    “Got it.”

    “Then get the fuck out of here.”