When the Devil Comes to Call (A Lars and Shaine Novel Book 2) (2 page)

Her gun was put away in the drawer of her nightstand and she lay in bed, but Shaine couldn’t fall back to sleep. She hadn’t been scared by the intruder. She secretly wished Lars hadn’t woken up so she could have cornered the burglar on her own. What would Lars have thought then? To wake up and find Shaine with a prisoner at the end of her gun, he’d have to be impressed. Maybe she would have gotten a chance to shoot the kid. Lars may have been even more impressed.

No, she couldn’t fall asleep because of the phone call, of hearing his name. Nikki—the man who killed her father.

When her dad, Mitch, worked for Nikki as an accountant, they may have had a wonderful relationship. Shaine had no idea. Her dad never mentioned he used to be a mob accountant. But when Mitch told the prosecutor’s office everything he knew in exchange for immunity and a new life, Nikki put out the hit.

Shaine had difficulty drawing the line between the man she hated—Nikki—and the man she respected—Lars, because it was Lars who had been sent to pull the trigger. But when the time came, Lars hadn’t shot her dad. He hadn’t shot her. He’d almost lost his own life protecting her. Screw everything that came before, Lars she could trust.

Nikki was still a gangster. Nikki was still the man who sent her dad into hiding. A man who ran his own wife into the arms of someone else. A man who never let Shaine live her own life for fear of the shadows, the ever present feeling of
them
coming for him.

Them
had been Lars all those years.

Shaine knew if she ever had the chance, Nikki would die by her hand. Every time she shot at coconuts on the beach, she pictured Nikki, even though she’d never seen him. She fired round after round of practice shots at a blank face she didn’t know.

But Shaine did know, if she ever got in the same room with the old man, the fucker was dead.

Lars stood in the kitchen finishing his breakfast. He hadn’t gone back to bed after the phone call, after his brain had been filled with thoughts of Lenore again. A fully packed suitcase sat by the door when Shaine woke up and came out of her room.

“I’ve got to take a little trip,” he said.

“So I see,” Shaine said, eyeing the suitcase.

“Only for a few days.”

“Does this have to do with the phone call from last night?” No matter how deadly Lars could train her to be with a gun, her bluntness would always have more impact than her bullets.

“Yes.” He left it at that.

Shaine brushed away wisps of her tussled hair, evidence of a lousy night’s sleep. Lars put his bowl in the sink. He kept to his early morning ritual of yogurt with granola and thirty minutes of yoga on the beach. A life he never knew he wanted, and now one he felt reluctant to give up, even for a few days. To return to any semblance of his former life would feel like time travel. He hadn’t been back to New York in nineteen years. He knew the place from photos and vague memories. There was none of him there anymore. Seventeen years in the desert dried and withered it away. Now the island breezes kept any thoughts of the East Coast at bay.

“I want to go with you,” Shaine said.

“No. Not this time.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have things to do.”

“A job?”

Lars turned away from her steady gaze. “It’s not important why I’m going.”

“Look,” Shaine said, leaning against the counter. “Why am I going through all this training if I’m not going to use it? At least let me see you at work. I can help you, be your backup.”

“Okay, first off, your training is for your self-defense, not to make you a replacement for me. It’s no life for you. Second, do you have any idea how cold it is in New England in February?”

A sly way to change the subject, and also state a truth. Shaine had lived her whole life in the Southwest, had never seen snow, never suffered through freezing rain or sleet in the gutters. Even Lars knew his blood had thinned over the years. His first stop off the plane would be to buy a winter coat. He’d packed the only long sleeve T-shirt he owned and a pair of faded old sweatshirts. Beyond those, he was unprepared for winter.

“I want to see where my mom and dad lived. I want to try to have some kind of connection to them.” She didn’t mention anything about wanting Nikki dead. “Besides,” she continued, “you’re just going to leave me here? We’ve got people breaking in, who knows what will happen?”

Lars thought for a moment. He admitted to himself he’d thought it might be irresponsible to leave her alone. He’d sworn his life to protect her, but last night’s intruder proved even in their jungle outpost on the least traveled island in Hawaii, she wasn’t completely safe. And he knew deep down, if he didn’t want her to come, he’d have left before she woke up.

“Okay. But no bitching when it gets cold.”

They got off the plane at JFK to a grey sky, temperatures hovering above freezing, a steady wind from the East.

They’d changed planes in San Francisco and again in Denver. The last second tickets were expensive and inconvenient, but they had arrived—Lars to a home he’d thought was gone forever and Shaine to a home that could have been.

A sharp bite of wind greeted them from a gap in the walkway as they exited the plane.

“Jesus Christ,” Shaine said. “What the frigging hell?”

Lars gave her a look to remind her of their no bitching deal. She made him stop at an airport gift shop and buy a thick hooded sweatshirt with a silkscreened picture of the Statue of Liberty and the words “Empire State” written underneath.

Five o’clock and it was already dark. Lars knew the connections to take the train up to White Plains where Nikki lived, but he also knew how long it would take. They collected their bags and stood in line for a cab. Lars could tell Shaine wanted to complain about the cold, but she held it together.

They got into a cab and Lars gave him the address upstate.

“That’s gonna cost you,” the cabbie said.

“I got it,” Lars said pressing a wad of bills against the plexiglass partition.

“An extra hundred. For the drive back,” the cab driver said.

“Fine,” Lars said. He got the feeling the cabbie wanted Lars to skip the ride, the money wasn’t worth it to him to drive so damn far.

The cab driver shook his head and drove away into the bitter night. Lars made him pull over at a mall he spotted north of the city, paid the man $200 to wait for them as they each bought enough outwear to climb Mt. Everest.

They arrived at Nikki’s house a little after seven thirty.

Nikki had lived in Queens for a while, near to his operation. He grew up on the streets there, never thought he’d leave. Then time came when he couldn’t walk down the street without getting hassled by some greaser from the old neighborhood hitting him up for a favor, or some young gun looking for a way up in the organization. He also started to see the advantage to acting like a CEO. None of those guys lived in the city, unless it was a Wall Street type who had a six million dollar penthouse. And business was good, but not that good. So he packed up and moved to the suburbs.

The house was big. Seven bedrooms, pool out back, big fountain in the front. It took Nikki years to adjust to the sound of crickets instead of car alarms, to silence instead of sirens. But thirty years ago when he started to feel older, nightclubs didn’t interest him, being seen didn’t interest him. His wife said it would be good for the baby. His son. The one who would grow up to betray him like some community theater Greek tragedy.

Nikki made it to the city often enough and his absence made his myth grow a little taller. Now, he never left the house. Trapped behind well-groomed shrubbery.

A guy bulging out of a dark suit met Lars and Shaine at the door. Lars noted his hip holster tucked under his suit jacket. He wondered if Shaine made the same observation. The guy was pro wrestler big with a Marine haircut and Long Island accent.

“You’re the guy, huh?” he said.

“Yeah,” Lars said. “I’m the guy.”

The big man seemed unimpressed. Lars thought about spending the four seconds it might take to relieve the bodyguard of his firearm and put it to his temple, but he was tired from the flight.

“Anthony,” the man said, offering a hand. Lars shook, assuming the man knew his name already. He didn’t introduce Shaine.

Anthony gave an up and down look to Shaine, but Lars couldn’t tell his evaluation, then ushered them through into the dark, modestly opulent office.

Nikki stood up from behind his desk. The three hired gunmen in the room knew Lars was a man to be respected. Nikki didn’t stand for anyone these days. In the few steps it took to get around the side of the desk, Nikki was already wheezing.

“Lars, how the hell are you?” Nikki said. “Jesus H, look at you. All tan and shit. Retirement, huh? Should have been me.”

“Nikki, good to see you.” They embraced, slapped backs. “Nikki, this is Shaine.” Beyond her name, she needed no introduction. Nikki knew how they met.

“My goodness,” Nikki said. “Welcome to my home. I’m glad Lars brought you along. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time.”

Shaine forced herself to shake his hand. It felt dry, leathery, like the worn-out seats of the cab they drove up in. She wanted to look away, to never know the face of the man who wanted her father dead for so long. But she made herself hold his gaze. She made herself get to know his face, the deep lines and faded scars. Made herself say pleasant things.

“Nice to be here,” she said.

“How’s he treatin’ you, huh? Is he driving you nuts with all his yoga shit? All the bending and twisting and who gives a fuck, am I right?”

She smiled and said nothing.

She enjoyed when he had to sit down and loop a thin plastic tube over his ears and fit twin hoses into his nose. The slow release of the oxygen tank sounded to Shaine like the life leaking out of him.

“Sweetheart,” Nikki said to her. “Do you mind giving us a few minutes? We’ve got some catching up to do.”

“No problem.”

“Anthony, take her to the kitchen, see what there is to eat. Get her whatever she wants.”

“No problem, Nikki,” Anthony answered. Shaine left the room with the oversized doorman who greeted them. The other two hired guns left too, exiting off a subtle nod of Nikki’s head. Nikki and Lars were alone, the fire crackling in the fireplace.

Lars noticed the scraping of a tree branch against the window. Outside, so cold and unwelcoming. A hell of a homecoming. And inside, the dark walls and deep reds of the sofa and rug absorbed the firelight. Lars looked at the flames as Nikki took a few deep breaths to catch up and prepare himself to give the sales pitch.

A log popped, the damp wood shooting an ember past the iron screen and onto the rug. Lars stepped on it, turning the red coal black with the bottom of his shoe.
Back in town for an hour,
he thought,
and already this place is trying to burn me down.

“So who is it?” Lars asked, trying to adopt some of Shaine’s bluntness. He’d kept himself busy on the flights with reading, changing planes and sleeping, but now the need to know who killed Lenore burned in him.

“We’ll get to that. First, I gotta tell you why I needed you here.”

“Because everyone I’ve seen so far on the payroll wasn’t born until after Reagan left office?”

“While that is true, that’s not it.” Nikki paused while the tank of pure oxygen filled his lungs. Lars hated to see him this way, and wondered how long it would be for him to have tubes stuffed up his own nose. “That crack I made about retiring? Well, it’s time.”

Lars nodded his head, not entirely surprised.

“I’m cashing in,” Nikki continued. “But it’s not exactly the way I want to go.”

“Why not?”

Nikki gestured to the bar in the corner of the office. A dark wood hutch filled with bottles of amber liquids and spotless glasses. An old style soda dispenser sat on a silver tray. “Fix us a drink, will you?”

Lars stood and crossed the Oriental rug to the bar. He knew Nikki’s drink already.

“They’re coming for me,” Nikki said. “Like wolves at my door, I hear ‘em huffing and puffing. I ran out of guys I could buy. These ain’t local guys neither. The feds, Lars. The Federal Bureau guys.” Lars handed Nikki a double scotch, single malt, neat. He poured a single for himself. “I tried to buy a plane ticket. Barbados, get a little sun, y’know? Good for my lungs. Motherfuckers showed up at my door, asking me where I was going. I said, ‘Obviously you know, you little snoops’. Said they didn’t want me leaving U.S. airspace. Made it sound all official and shit, but they were probably bluffing, sneaky shits. They’re hounding me like I owe them my soul when my time is up, y’know? Hellhounds on my trail, as the song goes.”

“Didn’t think you were much for the blues,” Lars said.

“I am when I’m fuckin’ living it. After the shit went down with Mitch, they had some kind of an in. They started turning people, getting closer. I’m not blaming you, not by a long shot. I’m just telling you so you know why I did what I did.”

“Which is what?” Lars hadn’t touched his drink. Nikki shot his in one, steeling his reserve.

“I made a deal. I’m going into protection.” Nikki let the news settle on the room. Lars, always calm, didn’t react. “I figured I’d go to them before they came for me. I’m giving them names, places. Some, not all. I’m protecting my friends, y’understand? All the bastards who had it in for me all these years? Those assholes are going down.”

Lars set his drink on the edge of the desk, stood to refill Nikki’s glass. He knew how hard it was for Nikki to admit what he’d done. How hard it must have been to make the phone call, to sit with a list of his friends and enemies and decide who got to be spared. Like Santa, but instead of a lump of coal, he put prison terms in their stockings.

Lars started growing impatient for the name of the man he had traveled nearly five thousand miles to kill.

“But there’s one. One guy, Lars. I got nothing on him. Nothing I can give them. And when I go, he’s gonna step in and fill my shoes.” Lars delivered the drink. Nikki picked it up and swirled the scotch in the glass. “But I don’t want him in my shoes.”

“And this is the guy who killed Lenore?”

“He’s the guy.”

“Who?” Lars felt the anger inside him again threaten to boil over. It was always there, but usually under control. Usually.

“Leo Ramoni.”

Lars nodded his head. “Bruno’s father.”

It was Nikki’s turn to nod. Lars had been handed a crucial puzzle piece, fifteen years after he needed it. He’d suspected before, but now he knew. He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. Twice. Deep inhales, dropping the mercury inside his head.

“You got an address?” Lars asked.

“Right here.” Nikki pulled open his desk drawer.

“I’ll need a piece. They don’t let you carry on a plane any more.”

“Bunch a fuckin’ babysitters.” Nikki punched a button on his desk and the three bodyguards entered. “Anthony, give Lars your piece.”

Without question, Anthony handed over his gun, a Smith & Wesson. Lars preferred his Beretta, but it would have to do. Lars turned to the other two men. “Yours too.”

The men looked to Nikki for approval. He gave a single nod of his head. They unholstered their pistols.

“Three guns?” Nikki asked. “You grow another arm?”

Lars checked the clips in each gun, tested the mechanism for proper oiling and care. “One is for her,” Lars said. None of the men responded.

“I’ll see if I know anyone who can find out when he’ll be around, and how much protection he’s—”

“I’m going tonight.”

Nikki watched as Lars tucked away two of the guns. Maybe it was being back in New York, maybe it was the cold, but Lars hardened. His jaw set tighter, his heart went cold. Someone had to die tonight.

Nikki had been right. His finger had been off the trigger for two years, but it slipped right back into place as if no time had passed.