Chapter 14 #4
Hayes sighed. He’d really hoped his partner would forget about his brother’s request. It wasn’t that Hayes technically objected to killing an evil man like Mario, but he’d prefer not to be involved with ridding the world of Mario Rosario.
“I would strongly advise against that,” Gill said sternly.
“Not only because it’s a crime you would certainly go to prison for, but also because while your lovesick fool of a brother might think it would rid them of the problem at hand, it’s not a solution now.
It might have been before the FBI’s involvement, but it’s not the way to go on this.
They might look the other way regarding the import business for now, but if there is any proof of human trafficking, they’ll need someone to take the fall, and if Mario is no longer in the picture—it’ll surely get pinned on the next man in line. ”
“So?” Beckett said. “Let the fucker go to prison—he nearly got my brother killed.”
“Pretty sure Franklin did that himself,” Hayes observed, because Franklin was not some na?ve teenage boy. He had a good head on his shoulders and was a well-recognized expert in the field of psychology. He’d been fully cognizant of the shit show he was getting into.
“While I certainly don’t condone the Mafia’s criminal activities—I also don’t believe Matthew should be punished for the crimes of his uncle.”
Beck sighed and hit his head against the dash.
“So what now? We just sit on our fucking hands? Pretend to go back to normal?” Beckett was annoyed and frustrated that he was not permitted to fix the situation.
“I’m sorry, son—really, truly. I wish there was something you or I could do, but it’s out of our hands. We just have to let the FBI do its job.”
“Oh goody—trust the feds, the answer that never disappoints,” Beckett replied sarcastically.
Hayes had to bite down hard on his bottom lip to keep from chuckling.
“Alright, thank you, Gill,” Hayes said, recognizing that they’d reached an impasse, and there was nothing productive to add at this point. “We’ll call you when we’re back home,” he promised.
Their boss responded with a quick goodbye and cut the call.
In the subdued glow of the dash instruments, Beckett looked defeated and stressed.
While there was some relief in finding out his brother was alive after all, it wasn’t enough to improve his outlook.
Hayes could empathize. Beckett was a fixer by nature.
When there was a problem, he solved it. His inability to act on the problem facing his brother was getting to him.
Beckett sighed and banged his head on the dash a few times, like that might help.
“So—we go get Nickel and head home?” Hayes said, fishing for ideas about what Beckett was planning for them to do next.
Beckett turned to face Hayes and started to say something but suddenly screamed, “AH!” as he pressed himself back against the passenger door, eyes wide with shock.
Hayes reached for his weapon just as he heard three light taps on his goddamned window.
“Beckett Thérault?” a suave, cultured voice asked.
Although it was too dark to discern facial features, Hayes guessed from the voice and stature that it was an adult male. Hayes flicked on the overhead interior light so he could see the guy’s face.
The man standing next to the driver’s door was the very definition of sleek.
With slicked-back, dark brown hair, and a closely trimmed beard, he looked like a runway model in his Gucci suit.
His eyebrows lifted in amusement, as if he’d anticipated their reaction to his unannounced approach.
Standing there patiently waiting for them to speak to him, he had the knuckle of his index finger bent and ready to knock again should they decide to ignore him.
“Agent Thérault—if you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to have a little chat.” Even though his voice was slightly muffled because of the closed window, his pattern of speech indicated his inherent arrogance and belief that he had the world at his feet.
“Why do I feel like this fucker is the man I currently want to strangle?” Whether Beckett was talking to himself or to Hayes was debatable.
“I can hear youuu,” the man said in a singsong voice and smiled brightly.
“How many years would I get—” Beckett pondered, clenching and unclenching his fists as he tried to decide what to do.
When Hayes looked at him inquiringly, Beckett completed his question. “For the murder of a mob boss. How many years in prison?”
Hayes snorted and replied, “There’s a freshly-dug grave just 20 feet away. There’s only a crime if they find the body.” He didn’t want to get involved. But he hated being caught off guard.
Beckett mulled that over for a minute.
“Gentlemen, please. I’m only trying to help—all I’m asking for is the opportunity to have a discussion.”
Something about the exceedingly polite manner of speaking got on Hayes’ last nerve. The irony of this guy possessing that trait was not lost on him.
With a sigh, Beckett reached across the middle console and Hayes’ chest to press the button to lower the window.
“Matthew Rosario, I presume,” Beckett said coldly.
“In the flesh.” He gave them a regal nod. His voice was melodic—soothing almost. It made Hayes want to sneer and bare his teeth at the posh bastard.
“I should make a coat out of your goddamned flesh for the mess you’ve made of my brother’s life.”
A look of vulnerability and guilt crossed Matthew’s face.
“Yes—and if I thought that might help, I’d happily let you, but there is, I believe, a better way to help.”
And just like that, he’d said the magic word that would let him into the treehouse.
Beckett sighed again and unlocked the car doors.
“You’re riding in the back,” Hayes informed the oldest son of the infamous crime family, real-estate mogul, and apparently Beckett’s new brother-in-law.
This situation was such an unlikely reality that it only served to confirm what Hayes already knew: he’d gotten involved with the craziest family in Canada. There was no doubt about it.
There had been some hesitation in determining where exactly they should go. The general consensus was that discussing things in the parking lot of a public cemetery was not appropriate, but beyond that—
But then Matthew had asked Hayes to drive through the now-darkened streets of Montreal, giving him directions towards the edge of the city. They approached a recently constructed complex of condos with a giant sign in front identifying it as the Rose Complex.
“Just a young couple looking for an investment opportunity, are you not?” Matthew asked as they pulled into the visitor’s parking area.
He and Hayes gazed in wonder at the humongous complex.
In total silence, they followed Matthew into the building. Beckett had snapped back to reality after getting into the elevator, looking at Hayes with panic in his eyes that he hoped Hayes would correctly interpret as “please tell me you’re armed.”
Of course, Hayes had always been an excellent mind reader. Coughing, he turned sideways to cover his mouth with his bent arm, offering him a quick look at his holster on his hip.
Beckett relaxed a bit after that. After all, Hayes never missed—but that didn’t make him bulletproof.
“You’ll have to excuse the lack of staff, but—” Matthew said, as they exited the elevator at the penthouse level and started down a narrow hallway that led to a single door.
“I thought it best to keep this meeting—quiet.” He waved his hand in front of the door and the door latch released.
He pushed the door open and invited them in with a dramatic, sweeping gesture that was similar to that of a magician on stage.
“In case you’re wondering—” Beckett said, as he stepped in front of Hayes, “—that fun little door opening trick was not in the curriculum.” Because Beckett could pick lots of locks, but biometric locks were way above his pay grade.
Hayes chuckled.
“I can get you a key card, if it would help—relations,” Matthew suggested, overhearing their conversation.
Beckett pointedly ignored him.
Matthew’s place was, in some ways, not entirely how Beckett had imagined it.
It was expensively decorated, just not in the way he’d anticipated.
Everything had been chosen and placed with great care.
It was unusually warm and inviting for a space occupied by such a cultured, wealthy man.
From the beige paint to the soft greens and blues used throughout the space, the condo was very welcoming. Beckett hated how much he liked it.
“You don’t live here,” Hayes said, having arrived at that conclusion while Beckett was wandering around aimlessly, admiring the décor.
“I don’t,” Matthew conceded, as he moved around the kitchen, pulling glasses, various ingredients, and several bottles from the cupboards.
“But I—we—came here often. It’s a—neutral space, of sorts.
We all need somewhere without cameras and bodyguards.
Somewhere we can disappear. This complex is 100% legit and has amazing views during the fireworks in July. ”
“You—the family? Or you—Franklin and you?” Hayes asked, pushing for specifics.
Beckett loved this man. He did. He always did, but right then—he worshipped him like he was a god.
Partnership was not an equal sharing of burdens.
It was the ability to complete each other in times of need.
Beckett was barely functioning, a state he’d been in ever since his mother had called him about Franklin’s death.
Fortunately, Hayes had stepped in and handled everything incredibly smoothly, completing him and providing safe harbor even when Beckett was going out of his mind.
Right now, he felt completely out of sorts and off his game.
Like he’d never held a normal conversation before.
Hayes, on the other hand, was his usual self: as sharp as a tack.
“This complex is in my name alone. Hence, it is the Rose Complex,” he explained, aiming for total transparency.