A Mighty Fortress (21 page)

“What do you want to know, C-Rod?”

He crossed his arms. “I want to see the video.”

“The video?”

He nodded. “You heard me.”

“Could you be a bit more specific?”

He leaned forward. “Come on, Porter. I’m talking about the Scalzo video.”

“The Scalzo video?” I felt a lump in my throat. I wanted to make sure he hadn’t misspoken and hadn’t meant to say McSwain.

“Yeah, what other video is there?”

“From what I hear, there may be a few videos out there. All I know is Scalzo made them. I don’t know about him appearing in one.”

C-Rod studied me for a minute, trying to gauge my sincerity.
 

“On my mother’s grave,” I said.

“Then it sounds like I’ve already told you something you don’t know.”

“There are other videos,” I said. “Wilcox has one of them.”

“You’re sure he still has it?”

I nodded. “As far as I know.”

He said something in Spanish to the waitress—apparently that he was ready for the check, because she wasted no time scribbling down the total and leaving the bill on the table.

He thanked her, stood and laid a twenty on the table. “You can pick up the tip,” he told me.

I glanced at the check and then back to him. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
 

“Oh yeah, I owe you a fact, don’t I?” He glanced around the dining room before he lowered himself back into the booth. “Remember that guy you saw at the funeral, the mean Italian?”

I nodded, felt something catch in my throat.

“His name’s Giuseppe Calcavechia. He’s well known to be Art Scalzo’s muscle, and suspected of numerous homicides on behalf of the family.”

Great, I thought, it couldn’t get any better.

But, oh yes, it could. C-Rod made sure I was paying attention. “And he was seen scoping out your house around three this morning.”

“You sure about that?” I made sure my voice didn’t quiver.

He nodded. “Only one reason he’d be doing that.” He waited a moment, as if to make me worry. “Actually, that’s what Shields is checking out this afternoon. It turns out the Scalzo family has a hit out on you.”
 

Something sparkled in C-Rod’s eyes. “They want you dead, Porter.”

I called Mattie while driving east on Columbus, and I wasn’t happy. If C-Rod knew this Giuseppe guy was staking me out, it meant that the cops were watching me, too. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t like knowing the cops were watching me, but if the alternative was having only a coldblooded killer looking after me, then I supposed I didn’t mind the cops being in the mix.

I got Mattie’s answering service and left a message for Mattie or Kara to call me back as soon as possible. Had Mattie answered, I probably would have quit right there on the spot. But he didn’t, and I needed somewhere to take my pain and frustration. So I took it to Rico’s.

I parked in the parking lot behind the garage. The rear garage door was opened, and a few of the guys were in the back taking turns flipping a tire. I ripped my suit off, stripped down to my briefs. The asphalt was hot under my bare feet. I hadn’t thought that morning to pack my gym bag, so I hurried inside to look for clothes. In Rico’s office I found a pair of shorts too short for me and a t-shirt a few sizes too big. Both smelled like they’d been hiding out there, unwashed, for a few years. But they would do. There was also an abandoned pair of cross trainers in the corner. Not ideal for squatting or pulling, but fine for blowing off steam. Which was all I wanted to do today.

Now dressed, I returned to the tire. There were four guys taking turns with the hunk of rubber. Two would flip the tire across the parking lot until they reached exhaustion, while the other two waited in the wings. Then they’d switch.

“What’s up, Fortress?” one asked while catching his breath.

I told them I was working in. Their rest periods were going to get longer. I wanted to work alone.

The kid who’d just greeted me pointed to the rubber. “Have at it.”
 

They say Tampa is at its hottest around three in the afternoon. The sun is long past its zenith at that time, but it has something to do with the heat that’s accumulated through the day. Knowing that, it sure as hell felt like it was three o’clock.
 

I took a few practice flips, just to warm up and grease the hinges. At 600 pounds, this was the biggest tire we kept in the quad. It usually took a minimum of two guys to budge it. I could have warmed up with a smaller one, but this was more efficient. A few half raises and I was good to go.

“He’s really going to flip that? Alone?” one of them asked.

“Just watch,” said another one.
 

It was time for a work set. I got in my best pull position, hips just right. Took out the slack. Up and over. It went quick.
 

I set up again. This one was quicker. Felt like someone was helping me. But it was just me.

Before I knew it, I’d flipped the tire about a dozen times and moved it all the way across the parking lot. I was gassed, and had lost a good part of the skin on my right palm.

Two of the kids followed me, toe for toe, and asked if I wanted them to take over. I shook my head. Reversed position. Time to move it back to where I’d started. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that a small crowd had assembled outside Rico’s to watch. I tried ignoring them, but I knew they were there.
 

I flipped twice more and noticed my shin was bleeding from the contact, and I was drenched. That was fine, except my hands were drenched too. And my grip was slipping. And my palm burned where I’d lost skin. I had to grab farther beneath the tire to get a grip, and that slowed me down and killed my leverage. I struggled with another flip.

Then a slower one.

Then I stalled.

It was just then that I remembered it had only been four days since my attempt at the 800-pound deadlift. I felt something in my back laugh at me. I let go and stood up.

I guess the blood rushed out of my head. Vertigo took my hand and began spinning me in circles. I swore I heard artillery firing, and I wanted to crawl under the tire for cover.

The last thing I remembered seeing was the roof of Rico’s garage. It was in need of repair.

I awoke to an icy burn. I lay prostrate on Rico’s floor with an icepack taped to my neck. The window A/C unit rattled, and the door was closed.
 

I sat up and saw Rico seated at his desk, Val standing near him. She was holding a phone. Rico saw me open my eyes and spoke first: “I told you we didn’t need to call the ambulance.”

Val put the phone down and slowly shook her head in my direction. She was dressed for the gym, but she wasn’t happy.

“What’s with the family reunion?” I asked, as I sat up very carefully. “I haven’t seen you two together for ages.”
 

Rico smiled at her. “Yeah, Sis came by today to tell me about the mobsters who think you killed this Scalzo guy. I guess finding you here unconscious didn’t help.”

I tried standing, but realized the vertigo lingered. I had to lie back down.

“Did you go to the police?” Val’s voice was dry and weak.

“Actually, I just met with Detective Rodriguez. Sounds like you’d beat me to them.”

Val hovered over me for a moment. I thought she was going to give me the third degree. Instead, she stormed out. Left the door to his office open. A rush of warm air entered. It was a welcome change of climate. Rico stood and closed it, and the arctic conditions returned.

“Fortress, something tells me you’re in some trouble.”

I sat up again, slower this time. I pulled myself to my feet just as slowly. When things started spinning, I took a seat where Val had been sitting. “Yeah, I think my electrolytes are low,” I muttered.

Rico sat back in his swivel chair, all three hundred pounds of him crunching its base. “Don’t screw around here, Fortress. Val cares for you. I never seen her care for someone like that.”

I looked down at the odd cross trainers on my feet. Dressing for the tire throw felt like yesterday. “I care for her too, Rico.” He glared at me, letting me know I hadn’t said enough. “I care for her a lot.”

He leaned forward. “So do I.”

“Well, let’s be honest. I’m not the only one who causes her grief. Your money problems, that’s not too good for your sister’s nerves either.”

“You know what? You’re absolutely right. And you know what I told her last night? I’ve learned my lesson. No more debts for me I can’t afford. I promised her.”

“Good.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t do foolish things all the time and expect God to bail me out.”

At least something was going right this week. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

“It’s like I’m always telling you: iron sharpens iron. I need you, Fortress. I need you to keep me in check. And I’m going to be doing the same thing for you. So now it’s your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

“To learn your lesson, and tell Val you’ll stop.”

“Rico, this isn’t a bad habit or something that I just quit. This is my job.”

Rico shook his head. “I’m not going to argue with you, Fortress. The problem, and I didn’t tell Val this part, is I’m worried this job is going to get you killed.”

“And that may well be a valid concern.”

“So let me help you with it.”

I shook my head. “There’s really nothing you could do.”

“’Cause I see a recurring theme here.” Rico leaned further forward, the chair creaking underneath him.

“And what’s that?”

“Anytime you come here, that lawyer calls for you.”

“He called?”

“Not him, but someone from his office.”

“Kara?”

He nodded. “I think that was her name. I told her you were indisposed.”

“When was this? How long was I out?”

He shrugged. “Maybe fifteen minutes ago.”

I got to my feet, but the excitement seemed to feed the vertigo. I steadied myself against Rico’s desk.
 

“Take it easy, Fortress. Have you eaten anything today?”

I thought of the feast I’d had with C-Rod and wanted to toss it.

He handed me a bottle of Gatorade. I chugged it.
 

“Let me guess, you’re going to see that lawyer?”

I nodded, maybe shamefully. “I got a few stops to make first.”

I entered the gym, greeted by the sound of grunting and iron clanging against iron.

On the far side of the gym, Val was doing snatches on the platform with bumper plates, anger burning on her face. The weight flew over her head. It was a good snatch, but not close to a personal record.
 

Next rep, as the bar sailed up, she apparently caught a glimpse of me watching her.
 

She lost it, missed the lift. Slammed the bar against the platform.

She screamed and walked away.

I was going to follow her, but I’d caused her enough pain for the day. So I left. I got to my car and tried calling Kara back. I got the answering service again.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “She and Mr. Wilcox are in court the rest of the afternoon. Can I take a message?”

I said that wasn’t necessary. There was only one reason they’d be back in court.

Mattie addressed the court from the lectern. “Judge, this is newly discovered evidence. We just received it, and it’s material.”

Judge Sanders held his head in his hands like he was praying, if not crying.

I closed the door as softly as I could, but everyone in the courtroom turned and checked me out. Even the judge perked up and seemed to jot something down at my appearance. Maybe it was what Mattie had just said, but I doubted it.

Most heads turned back to watch Mattie and the judge, but Kara was still staring at me from Mattie’s table, her eyes drilling me hard and asking where the hell I’d been all afternoon. I shrugged and took a seat a few rows behind her. She finally gave up and turned her attention back to the hearing.

Judge Sanders sighed. “It sounds to me, Mr. Wilcox, like another attempt on your part to get this trial continued.”

Mattie was at his wit’s end. “I’m not asking for a continuance. I’m asking to amend my exhibit list to include this video, which proves without a doubt that Mr. McSwain knew damn well what was going on in the leased premises.”

“Watch your language, Mr. Wilcox.” Judge Sanders gestured small. “You’re this close to getting a look at my contempt cell in the back, do you understand me?”

Mattie nodded, took a deep breath. “Yes, your honor. My emotions got the best of me. But this video shows that the entire claim of the landlord has been an utter sham.”

The judge looked at McSwain’s lawyer, Roy Dyer. I hadn’t got a good look at him during the last hearing, since Dane Parker, Scalzo’s lawyer, had the floor that day. Dyer was a good counterpart to Mattie: stocky, strong, clean-cut and conservative, a good looking defense attorney. Dyer stood to address the court. “Judge, we obviously object to this eleventh-hour amendment. Before I even talk about prejudice, let me point out that under no circumstances could this video be admitted. We know nothing about its authenticity.”

“Have you seen this video, Mr. Dyer?” the judge asked.

“I have not, but I have been told its contents.”

“And what is your understanding of the contents?”

Dyer looked around the courtroom, nodded at the court reporter. “Judge, I think it’s best to discuss the contents in chambers. And my client and I would appreciate doing so under seal.”

Judge Sanders took a deep breath and looked at the clock. “Well, we’re not going to be able to do that today. I’ve got hearings in chambers all afternoon. I was barely able to fit you in for this.”

“Well, that’s fine,” Dyer continued. “Because there’s something we want on the record. And that is that the tenant’s CEO is extorting my client with a related video.”

Judge Sanders raised his hand and lowered his shaking head. “Stop, Mr. Dyer. Just stop. I’m not hearing that today, so just stop.”