Chapter 22
Ringo
That mustache needed its own criminal code.
I’d stared at it in photos long enough I thought I was hallucinating when I caught the upturned face in the crowd.
But a trained eye looks not at the details, but what stands out.
Like one upturned head when the main attraction was playing out in the river below.
Or that thick-as-fuck mustache on a baby-soft face.
Ellie had disappeared with Kat somewhere, so it was easy to slip out of the party.
I was only leaving so I could cross the bridge and drive a knife between his ribs.
Then I’d dump his body into the river and return before anyone noticed I was gone.
The crowd would only see the body fall, nothing else.
It was the perfect crime with a million suspects and none of them would be me because I was in the building across the street, right?
I ran the deed through my head, trying to analyze it like Mario would. I timed my walk to the crowds vying for an empty ledge along the river. There was constant motion but none of it focused on going far. Just pushing and shoving and anonymous faces.
Johnny stood out because he wasn’t watching the boats. He stared up at CCI like he could burn it down with his eyes.
The seeds I’d planted this week bore fruit.
I’d worked multiple angles. The bar patrons who knew Ellie was going to watch from CCI while the Journeymen Plumbers Union dyed the river green.
Alfonzo was at CCI because I’d arranged the event through him. He’d provide a bullet-proof cover story for me. Edward would, too.
Vincent knew I was at CCI because I’d dropped the legal documents off with his team for their signature and mentioned it, knowing they weren’t invited.
That was sure to irritate them enough to seek out Porciello and “ask” him for one more hit.
It was subtle, and a long shot, but apparently, it had paid off.
Killing Pornstach was the only way I could ensure Ellie’s friends were safe. And with Kat along, Ellie was safe. This was my chance.
Johnny glanced around.
I slipped between a moving cluster of parents and children who were complaining loudly enough that one more adult not making eye contact with others was a common sight. With a step to the side where a light post blocked Johnny’s view, I re-checked his location.
Shit. He was on the move. Something must have spooked him. It wasn’t me because the urgent glances he shot over his shoulder were in the wrong direction.
I doubled my pace, which was too damn slow because the crowds were insane.
Americans thought swimming upstream on dry land was fun?
It was a nightmare. Pickpockets, or assassins could have a field day with this hunting ground.
In fact… I blocked the thief’s hand just as he reached for the open purse of a distracted mother.
He frowned, but I slid into the crowd so quickly the crime was thwarted in an instant.
Johnny checked over his shoulder again. I spared a quick moment to scan the street. Nothing stood out. Odd. A tingle went up my spine.
I glanced at CCI which was beginning to fade into the skyline. I should get back before I was missed.
But Porciello was a meager thirty meters away.
It might as well have been a hundred because the crowds blocked my path forward. The next bridge span across the river was packed with bodies. I dodged left to use the street’s gutter instead of the sidewalk. Porciello headed south, opting to cross the multi-lane street against traffic.
Cars honked. Heads turned.
The chase was on.
I scanned for a group I could blend in with as the traffic resumed its struggle to escape the mob of green.
It was the color of the day. Everyone wore something with an emerald hue.
A hat, a scarf— whole outfits of bright green.
For the unfortunate, vendors sold lighted bands with blinking shamrocks that bounced on springs over the wearer’s head like alien antennae.
It was all too commercial for me.
Ellie had the foresight to buy me a green tie. With it, I blended in as one of the slightly better-dressed festival-goers.
Even the dogs wore the color. Damn.
I made it across traffic and hustled down the side street Johnny dipped into.
The block was bisected by an overhead train.
The “L” as it was called here. When Ellie pointed it out, I thought she was pulling my leg and naming it after herself.
Then I looked it up. Chicago was a strange city.
A street ran under the tracks. It was barely wide enough for a car, and yet trucks zipped down the path at top speed.
They drove worse than my woman did.
I scanned for Johnny.
If he hadn’t looked back at that moment, I’d have missed him. But he did. I ran under the elevated tracks, dodging traffic and nearly getting run over. He’d spotted me and turned into an alley.
Perfect.
I ran after him, heedless of the puddles and trash. He turned north again as the block ended.
There was a moment he was out of my sight. That cost me.
By the time I emerged from the alley, Johnny had disappeared.
I halted under a movie theater’s marquee and looked for likely avenues of escape. A metro entrance was barely yards away. The rumbling of the platform informed me I had little time.
I ran up the steps, jumped the gates, and scanned the crowds for his dark hoodie.
There. He slipped into a train car just as the warning bell rang. I ran to intercept him and was foiled by the doors sliding shut.
My hands hit the glass where his face mocked me.
He mouthed, “Fuck you!”
I pointed at him and mouthed, “You’re dead.”
He had the gall to laugh and flash a middle finger at me as the train began to move.
I backed off, not willing to get dragged under the wheels and glared at him until he was out of sight.
The train was heading south. I made a mental note to check the map and determine if it would land him near the bar. If it did, it meant he had a base near Ellie’s condo. Which made a lot of sense.
“Ringo Devlin. I see your quarry escaped.”
A gun poked me in the ribs. I turned my head to note one of Vincent’s men as the bearer.
“George.” I’d made a point to know the remaining faces and names.
“Boss wants to talk to you.”
I’d bet he did. “You do realize who you’re holding a gun on?”
Another man joined him from my left, boxing me in.
“Hey, Phil.”
“Don’t make this difficult,” Phil commented. His head turned and I noted two others waiting at the steps.
A transit police officer watched from the safe distance of the security alcove. He dipped his head at the blatant display of force and turned away.
That’s how it was going to go down, huh?
“Where is Vincent?”
“Not far. Walk.” George indicated the stairs with his head and poked his gun into my flesh a little harder.
I sent another glance toward the police officer.
Another had joined him. Both deliberately ignored our group.
I knew the Outfit and the Organization worked together, but I hadn’t realized how closely until this point.
“Lead the way.” If I was going to kill these bastards, I’d like to at least not get shot by police while doing so.
Divide and conquer, Don Manca whispered in my memories.
We hit the street, and they steered me toward a stairwell door next to a tourist attraction. The circus-style signage promised torture, courtesy of the Medieval era.
I glanced at the grotesque image of a man in a bright red executioner’s hood as we walked past that entrance. Too bad we weren’t going in there. I knew at least a hundred ways to use the tools and devices behind that door to kill these bastards.
Two flights of stairs later, my guards were winded, and I saw an opening.
Phil was the first to fall. I elbowed George, putting my weight into the shove so I could pin him against the wall.
With my body so close, Phil hesitated to take the shot.
I squeezed the trigger twice, taking him out with a bullet to the chest and another to the head.
George struggled, stumbling down a step and teetering on the edge of his balance. I spun, using the momentum to swing my gun into his face and ending his chance with a single shot. He fell backward, and I let him go.
As he fell, he took out one of the men behind him. I shot the other as he raised his weapon. It took three bullets to take him down.
The other rolled with George’s bulky form down the entire double span of stairs, only losing a small amount of momentum as they hit the landing between the first floor and the second.
Above me, a shot rang out and the bullet gouged the plaster by my head. I went to a knee, returning fire and ending the threat. As he slid down the steps face-first, I tapped him a second time.
The man at the bottom groaned and shoved George off him. I fired down the slope and missed. My bullet hit the glass door, but the heavy glass absorbed the brunt of it.
Bulletproof. Figured.
I fired again, then an itch made me pay attention to the top of the stairs.
Two more men opened fire on the stairs. I rolled, only breaking my momentum to snatch at the door frame of the second floor and flatten my body in the recess.
Using it to block the bullets from above, I timed my return fire.
But they were well-concealed by the framed opening above.
A third joined them and chewed up the wood with his automatic.
I shot the door behind me to break a hole in the heavy wood. Chancing it, I kicked the knob and slipped inside as the frame splintered from a bullet that landed too close to my head.
A piece wedged into my shoulder. I pulled it out and rolled into the narrow hallway. At the end was a window.
I hoped like hell it had a fire escape because my welcome was definitely revoked. I fired, shattering the glass and praying the fall wouldn’t be hard as I dove out the opening.