Chapter 19
Chubs
“Aria called. Said they were pulling out of Denver. Should be at the ranch by now,” Les says when I enter the hotel room.
Setting the bags of food on the small table, I turn to see him meticulously cleaning his handgun. Looking at my brother closely, I note that he’s tense and worried.
“They’ll be fine there, Les. Promise. I know those guys, and they’re not going to turn their backs on any woman asking for help. Even if the club hates me now, they’ll circle around Aria and Mom and keep their location secret.”
“I hope you’re right,” he mutters.
“Did Aria remember to buy a new burner?”
“Yeah, said she bought one in Denver and was going to trash the one you gave her after she was done talking to me. She wouldn’t forget something like that,” Les states.
“Good because Rex would be all over stealing her phone to get what he could find on it. Let’s eat and get going. It’ll be dark by the time we’re ready.”
“We’re going to the Vero lake house in Zion, right? Michael’s weekend house?” Les questions.
“Yeah. Since it’s a weekday, none of them should be there.”
We eat, gather our supplies, and hit the road. An hour later, we’re in a small fishing boat and silently gliding through the water. Using an oar, I guide the boat next to the dock. Les secures the boat, and we sit quietly, watching the lake house and the grounds around it. Seeing no signs of life, we move.
Keeping our heads low to stay unrecognizable if the cameras are active, we split up. Working fast, we lay out the explosives, connecting the wires as we go. It’s not long before we meet at the back of the house. Leaving Les there, I jog up the drive until I reach the garage.
Shining my flashlight through the window, I smile. Inside the large building are a few expensive classic cars, jet skis, ATVs, and all the toys needed to enjoy time at the lake. I carefully set the charge that will cost Michael Vero a shit ton of money and aggravation.
Joining up with Les, we make our way back to the dock. Les climbs in the boat, but before I can do the same, the entire property we just sabotaged lights up like a sunny afternoon. Unceremoniously, I dive headfirst into the boat, nearly dumping both of us into the water.
A loud shout comes from somewhere near, then a siren sounds. Les fires up the boat as I scramble to pull my handgun. Before I’m successful, I hear running feet, more shouts, then gunfire. The water near us explodes in a spray. Les hits the throttle, and we’re flying across the water, bow in the air, when I hear the unmistakable sound of bullets striking metal. Sound carries over water, and now they have an idea of where we’re located.
Standing, I shove Les to the bottom of the boat. Taking over the throttle, I twist it hard. We’re in complete darkness on the water, but those on shore with the guns don’t care. They’re spraying lead everywhere in hopes of hitting something, and I don’t want Les to be that something.
Lifting my handgun, I twist and fire behind me, aiming for the dock. I turn the boat to follow the shoreline, using other docks and boats as cover. Skimming along the water, it’s not long, and I know we’re out of range.
I don’t slow the boat even after the twin explosions rock across the water. Being on one of the Great Lakes in a smaller fishing boat in the dark and at a high rate of speed is dangerous and painful. By the time we make it back to our car, both my brother and I are bruised, battered, wet, and freezing.
Listening to the sirens in the distance, we drive in the opposite direction and take a long circular route back to Chicago. We enter our hotel room just as daylight breaks and collapse in exhaustion.
“The news said it was a gas leak that caused the explosion. No deaths but a few million in damages,” Les says.
“They’re kind of right. I tampered with the gas line leading into the house. Neither Vero nor law enforcement wants the truth known.”
“Look, there it is again. The news report about it is back on TV. Wow. Look at that damage,” Les breathes out.
Glancing at the TV, I’m impressed with our handiwork. There’s no repairing the damage. There’s a burnt-out shell of a Rolls Royce sitting sideways in the drive where it landed, and the house is barely standing. Burnt beyond recognition and needing to be leveled, Vero will have to rebuild from scratch.
Looking at me, Les smirks before asking, “What are we fucking up tonight?”
Making sure each person has food and water, we make the rounds of the warehouse. I ignore the name-calling and taunting I receive, knowing their goal is to anger me enough for me to make a mistake. A mistake that could cost me and Les our lives or give the men their freedom back. I won’t be making mistakes, and I double-check that Les doesn’t either.
“Who the fuck are you?” Leonardo spits as we set his food and water within reach. “Why are we still here?”
Neither of us responds, and that angers Leonardo enough that he then literally spits at me. Dodging it, I move onward, but I hear skin hitting skin and a loud groan before a stream of swearing starts.
Looking over my shoulder, I see Les shaking out his hand and Leonardo swiping at the blood streaming from his nose. I grin behind my mask but am a bit shocked when Les punches Leonardo a second time before stalking away. Guess my little brother has a mean streak when it comes to men who planned on forcing his sister to marry them.
Taking seats in my car, Les turns to face me.
“What’s the plan for all of them?”
“I’m not sure yet. Originally, I just wanted to have them come up missing to mess with the others’ heads and to take their numbers down. Now, I’m thinking of alerting the other families to their whereabouts and letting them take care of it.”
“They’d slaughter each of them immediately. Is that something you’re okay living with?” Les asks the same question I’ve been trying to answer for myself.
“Our other option is to alert law enforcement, but they’d just turn them loose if they don’t have warrants or pending charges,” I say with a sigh.
“Not if we left evidence of their crimes,” Les suggests.
I need to think on this because his idea has merit. It’s not as if there isn’t evidence to be found either. Some of these guys have been very careless, and that’s something we can use against them.
“Let’s get to work on that plan. I collected phones and computers whenever I could, so we’ve got a good start already. We’ll head back to our room and start pouring through their sordid little lives.”
At times like these, I wish I had Rex’s help. He’s not only tech-savvy but incredibly intelligent too. He has a knack for knowing what tiny little tidbits of information can lead to and where to look for more. More than once since leaving Denver, I’ve wanted to contact him for his help. This whole ordeal would be going much smoother and quicker with it, but I can’t ask him to choose between me and the club. After the hours I know he’s put in looking for me, Rex may not be willing to help anyway. I’ve burnt that bridge, and I can’t blame him if he outright hates me.
“You work in finance, so you dig in that area. I’ll sort through the other stuff and make notes. We can go over everything together later,” I say.
Les nods and picks up the first laptop. It’s password protected, but Les clicks “forgot password,” and the cell phone I’m holding pings. I reset the password, read it off to Les, and he gets to work.
It takes the better part of two days to work through the electronics, but eventually, patterns emerge. Who was in charge of what and who they answered to. Who is in charge of the money, weapons, sex workers, and so forth. Which capo each guy works for, and their duties. We get a wealth of information, but not nearly as much or as fast as Rex would have. I now have a greater appreciation for my old club member and his love of energy drinks.
“Let’s label everything and call it a night. After going through all their dirty dealings, I need a long, hot fucking shower and several drinks. Strong drinks,” Les mutters as he shuts a laptop and pushes it away.
“I need food.”
“That goes without saying. I’ll go buy food and booze before the shower while you finish up here,” Les states before standing.
“Sounds good. Don’t go skimpy on the food and remember desserts too.”
Les leaves, and I start sticking notes on the various electronics. Who they belong to, and the basics of what’s on them. When I’m finished, I stack them in a tote and take a quick shower.
An hour later and Les still hasn’t returned. I’m growing concerned, but I’m not panicked yet. Two hours later, panic is setting in. After three hours, I know Les isn’t going to return. Have I gotten my little brother killed?
Me: Dinner?
A few minutes later, I received a text back.
Les: Sounds good. Antonio’s in an hour?
Me: See you then.
I immediately gather my weapons and slide my backpack over my shoulders. Within a few minutes, I’m walking away from the hotel. Stopping behind it only long enough to insert a new SIM card into my phone and toss the old one in a dumpster.
I walk several blocks until I reach the parking lot where we left the old Harley we’d bought the day Aria and Mom left town. Paid cash to a guy that advertised it on Craigslist. I knew the day might come it could be useful. Pulling on the full-face helmet, I sit astride and fire it up.
Riding back to the hotel, I carefully case the area. Not seeing anything or anyone out of place, I return to my room. Moving the electronics into a duffle bag, I gather other items that I don’t want to leave behind. Changing clothes first, then returning to the bike, I strap down the duffle bag and slide everything else into the saddlebags.
Knowing that Antonio’s is a setup but needing to know by who, I ride toward that part of town. Leaving the bike behind a bar, I search for a way to view Antonio’s without being seen. Since the pizzeria has a small parking lot behind it with a back entrance for its customers to use, I surveil the surrounding area. Whoever is waiting for me to show, they’ll be coming and going from the back entrance, not the front. It’s what I would do.
The key to not being noticed is to act normal. Most people go through their daily routines without really noticing their surroundings, so don’t have your head on a swivel. Blend in clothing-wise by wearing neutral colors, and don’t draw attention to yourself by showing nervous energy. Hold your phone like you’re taking a call or texting because that’s a normal, everyday thing in today’s world. I employ all of these techniques while walking the neighborhood.
Knowing the changes I’ve made to my appearance since leaving Denver works in my favor too. Having lost a noticeable amount of weight along with the short dyed hair and no scruff, there’s little resemblance to Adriano Zanetti or Chubs. Taking it a step further, I consciously alter how I walk.
It takes several minutes, but I eventually find a place to observe Antonio’s back lot. In the yard of an older home is an extremely large lilac bush. Having had one in our yard while growing up, I know they’re not difficult to get inside. Not seeing anyone around, I push my way into the center of the bush. I break down some inside limbs to create enough space to sit or stand comfortably. Pulling out small but powerful binoculars, I scan the lot while knowing I’m completely concealed.
I watch as my car drives past, and I don’t need the binoculars to recognize the two men sitting in the front seat. The two Feds from Denver have somehow mustered up enough brain cells to locate and grab Les.
The car parks, and the men exit it. They enter the building but return a few minutes later. After speaking together, they take up positions to keep the car and door of the restaurant in view. I hunker down and wait.
After a considerable amount of time, they meet back up at the car. I pull my cell out and shoot off a text to Les, knowing they have his phone.
Me: Tired of waiting. Where you at?
Les: Parking the car. You inside?
Me: Yeah and I’ve ordered.
I laugh a little when one bolts for the back door and the other rushes toward the front. It’s a short wait before both storms out the back door in frustration and return to the car.
Les: You’re not here.
Me: I’m at Antonio’s in Naperville. Where are you?
I watch as they talk and apparently come up with a Plan B.
Les: Meet me at Mom’s. We need to talk. Found some things out.
Me: Your mom’s or mine?
I know this throws them for a loop when they go back to discussion mode before answering.
Les: Yours.
Me: Okay but I can’t until morning. Got things to do later.
Les: Needs to be tonight.
Me: Can’t. Have breakfast ready when I get there.
As soon as they get inside my car, I prepare to move fast. I need to get to the bike, locate the direction they’re heading, and follow them. After they drive past my hiding spot, I push out and break into a run.
Back on the bike, identity hidden behind the helmet, I ride in the direction they drove. Splitting lanes and pushing my luck at intersections, I finally see my car a half block ahead of me. I tuck in behind a UPS truck and follow. Staying unseen becomes harder once they’ve turned into a residential area, but I manage it the best I can.
I take note of the street and appearance of the house they stop in front of before I ride past. It has safe house written all over it, and I should know. I spent time being moved from one to another years back, and they all have a similar feel to them.
Knowing where they’re at for the time being, I leave to locate a new hotel and to finish moving everything to it. Once I’m set up in my new location, I pull up maps and bird’s-eye views of the house and the areas around it. I do my research and come up with a plan of getting my little brother back. I’d like to accomplish it without bloodshed, but a lot of that will depend on them.
In the middle of the night, I find myself once again creeping around a sleeping neighborhood. Locating the house is easy, but it has cameras, and I didn’t have time to disable them. Worse yet, it most likely has alarms too. The only plus side is that the homes are further apart than in most neighborhoods, with the safe house set even further apart and on the corner.
My movements are detected by a neighbor’s dog, and he vocalizes it loudly. Swearing quietly, I step behind a tree and go still. The tree’s not large, but I’m hoping it’s dark enough that I remain unseen. After several minutes and some hollering by its owner, the dog quiets down.
Making it to the house undetected by its occupants, as far as I know, is tricky, but I am soon leaning against the back of it. Sliding along the wall, I peek into each window as I pass it. Most are covered with blinds, but people seldom realize that window blinds should have the slats turned up, not downward.
On the third window, I see what I’ve been searching for. I can see Alessandro, in the dim light from a nearby room, sitting on a bed, back against the wall. He’s handcuffed to the headboard in an awkward and uncomfortable position but alive. The light isn’t enough to see if he’s injured or not, though. I watch silently for a few minutes before lightly tapping once on the window. No response from my brother at all. I wait, then tap again. This time, his body jerks slightly, and he raises his head.
I wave my hand and know the second he realizes what woke him. Les raises his hands and holds up one finger before pointing toward the door of the room. I nod, understanding his communication, and check the window. It’s locked, of course, because why would they have made things easy for me?
I jerk in surprise when Les starts hollering loudly but soon realize he’s doing what he can to distract his captor. Claiming that he needs to use the bathroom, I know this might be our only chance to get him free. Keeping close to the house, I move again until I’m standing outside the back door. With a little luck on our side, the bathroom is located on the opposite end of the house from where I’m now standing. Pulling a few tools from my back pocket, I wait to see if Les succeeds.
I can hear muffled voices from within, but I can’t hear the words clearly. Hoping against hope, I attempt to pick the lock. It takes longer than it should, but the lock gives way, and I slowly open the door. Slipping inside, I listen for movement. What I do hear is Les and another voice arguing from the direction of the bedroom. Moving as carefully as possible, I ease that direction.
“How many times can one man piss in a day, you fuckwad?”
“Give me water, and this is the result, dick face,” Les growls back.
“Piss yourself. I don’t give a fuck,” the agent says with a laugh.
“Really? I’m pretty sure this would be considered cruel and unusual punishment. Opening yourself up to a lawsuit,” Les warns sarcastically.
“Yeah, because that’s my biggest worry in this world. But, since I’m stuck here with you and would rather not smell you soaked in piss, I’ll take you to the bathroom. Warning you now, though, that if you give me any bullshit, I’ll shoot you in the fucking dick. Capisci ?”
“Yeah, asshole, I understand,” Les states.
I ease into the doorway of another bedroom while listening to the sound of the handcuffs jingling. When Les passes the door cuffed in front, I prepare to attack. The agent comes into view but inexplicably turns suddenly to face the room I’m standing in. Our eyes meet, his showing shock, and I lunge.
Slamming into him, I drive his body hard into the opposite wall of the hallway, enjoying the whoosh of air that leaves his lungs. Throwing an elbow at his face, he ducks it, and throws a punch of his own. It lands against my cheekbone and drives me back a step. Before I’ve recovered, he throws another. This one lands hard against my ribs. Then I get a few in on his body.
Les throws his cuffed hands over the agent’s head and bends him backward, giving my punches a clear path. The agent doesn’t give up, though, even outnumbered. The house takes damage as the fight rages on, and I know we need to end this and get out fast. When the agent finally drops to the floor, I see our chance.
“Drop him, and let’s go,” I rasp out, and Les immediately pulls his hands over the agent’s head.
Moving quickly to the back door, I exit and turn to find that Les isn’t behind me. Stepping back inside, I spot my brother rushing through the kitchen with a laptop and phone in hand. I reach out and take the items from him before heading back out the door. As my feet hit the ground, I hear a single gunshot. Whirling, I watch in horror as my brother faceplants in the doorway.
Pulling my handgun, I step over my brother’s prone body and fire once into the house in the direction of the last place I saw the agent. When another shot rings out, and the doorjamb shatters near my head, I drop low to keep Les behind my body. Seeing a flash of movement and knowing the agent is moving down the hallway, I fire again, this time at the wall. Hearing his grunt of pain, I know the bullet has struck home. Walls are seldom good cover, as he just found out.
Stepping around the corner, I find the agent laying on the floor, gripping his left side. I slam my foot on his hand then kick the gun out of his reach. Picking it up and tucking it into my waistband, I make my way back to my brother.
Les is struggling to get to his feet, so I wrap an arm around him and help get him standing. Bending, I pick up the laptop and phone I’d dropped when the shooting started. Then I get my brother moving. I force myself to only think of ways to get away and not about Les’s injury. Pulling him along, I move as rapidly as possible.
We make it to my bike, and I get myself and Les on it before starting it up. I lower Les’s arms over my head and around my waist, hoping he stays conscious during the ride. Still not having spoken, I hit the throttle, roaring away.
Once we’re a few miles away, I slow to avoid drawing attention. Staying away from highways and the interstate, I use smaller and less traveled roads until we reach the hotel. With quick movements, I get Les and I off the bike and into our room. Laying him on the nearest bed, I speak for the first time.
“Where are you hit?” I ask while barely breathing at all the blood covering his clothes.
“Head.”
My stomach bottoms out, and my knees begin to shake. Flipping on all the lights in the room, I turn back to my brother. Les has his cuffed hands up and cradling his head, so I gently pull them down. His hair, head, and face are caked in blood, but I don’t see active bleeding. I grab a washcloth, wet it, and start cleaning off the blood while hoping it’s not serious. When I finally locate the wound, I breathe in relief.
The bullet must have deflected or hit at an odd angle because it didn’t penetrate his skull. It’s deeper than what most would call a graze, and it’s going to leave a hell of a scar along his temple, but Les can live with a scar.
“My fucking head is splitting in half,” Les mumbles.
“It nearly did get split in half, but you’ll survive it.”
“Hurts to even open my eyes.”
“Then don’t,” I answer with a laugh.
“Your only brother is shot in the head, and you’re laughing?” Les accuses indignantly but in a quiet voice.
“Relief-induced laughter. Sorry, brother. I’ll get you some Tylenol. Then I have to go move the bike. I don’t want it sitting out front in case someone got a description,” I explain.
“Need something stronger than Tylenol.”
“It’s the best I can do for now. I need you to stay awake while I’m gone. I shouldn’t be long,” I say as I set a bottle of water and Tylenol on the nightstand.
“Okay.”
Checking myself in the mirror, I change my hoodie to one that’s not covered in blood and wash my hands before leaving the room.
I ride the bike for a few blocks until I find a place to park it. Before jogging back to the hotel, I cross the street and enter an all-night gas station type mini-mart. Walking the aisles, I pick up items we’ll need to lay low for a few days. Luck on my side, I spot spray cans of paint. Buying a few bright red ones, I pay for my stuff and leave. After I check on Les, I’ll return to the bike and change its color.
I find Les in the same position as when I left, except that he’s placed a pillow under his head. Unpacking the bags, I help him sit up against the headboard and realize he’s still cuffed.
“Good thing nobody busted through the door while you were gone. They’d have taken one look at these cuffs and gotten the wrong idea of the kind of man I am,” Les jokes while I work on the locks.
The handcuffs unlock, and I toss them aside. I grab another bottle of water and hand it to Les, watching him closely. His movements appear normal, and my worry lessens a little more. Grabbing the first aid kit, I disinfect the wound, then place a bandage over it.
“You need a shower but don’t get that wet,” I advise. “Any dizziness? Double vision?”
“No, just the headache. I’ll be careful.”
The next day is spent going through the laptop and phone we took from the safe house. As with the others we’ve acquired, I made sure to disable location tracking and GPS. We find nothing that indicates the two men were working with any of the crime families, and that’s a relief. Except for the fact that I shot a legit federal agent, that is.
“What’s our next move?” Les asks as I flip on the TV to the local news station.
My attention is immediately caught by the ongoing report and videos currently onscreen.
“Apparently, the war has escalated between the known crime families in the Chicago area. Our crime reporter has stated that there are several members of the Vero crime family that haven’t been seen in several days, a few for weeks now. Late yesterday, four bodies washed up on shore and yet were not identified as those of any of the missing men. The four were instead identified as members of the Bianchi family, a long-time known enemy of the Vero family. Authorities are questioning whether these murders are in retaliation for the missing men. Also, lending credence to this line of thinking is that there were two fires yesterday at Bianchi family businesses. Completely destroyed, the cost was in the millions of dollars.”
I watch as videos of the damage flash on the screen, followed by surveillance-type pictures of various members of both families. Things have heated up, and knowing the mentality of crime families, I know neither side will back down.
“They’re doing our work for us. I appreciate them for that,” Les states dryly. “If nothing else, mobs are full of predictable responses to anything that upsets their lives.”
“Yep, and we need to exploit that as much as we can,” I agree. “Let’s eat first, though.”