Making Angel (Mariani Crime Family Book 1) (2 page)

“I know. I know. One more minute.”

“The big man’s gonna kill us if we’re late. You know how important this drop is.”

“The drop’s at three, right?”

He nodded.

I glanced at my watch. “Then don’t worry about it. We got plenty of time.” It was too early for rush hour, and little things like traffic weren’t exactly a big deal for my family. Our technical guru had the city wired and could control the lights from the comfort of his hidden office.

“Plenty of time? Aren’t you forgetting something?” Bones gestured toward my body.

I followed his gaze and swore. T-shirt, jeans, sneakers; I needed to change and had forgotten to bring a suit. We’d have to stop by the condo, which would add another twenty minutes to our commute.

I swore again and ran for the exit.

“Angel.” Bones’s tone held laughter, causing me to stop and look at him. He grinned and held out a garment bag. “Who’s got your back?”

I patted his shoulder as I took the suit. “Aw, you picked up the cleaning? What a good butler you make.”

He flipped me off.

Laughing, I headed for the locker room to change. Bones followed me, grumbling like some fed up old woman. I dressed and we took the elevator up to the ground floor, emerging into the busy plastics manufacturing plant that served as a front for my father’s technical development business. Nobody even glanced our way as we hurried toward the garage.

“Keys?” I asked.

He tossed them to me. “She’s all gassed up.”

I climbed behind the wheel of my black and silver Hummer H5 with tinted bullet-resistant glass and tires designed to resist deflation when punctured, glancing over my shoulder into the backseat. Blankets hid the inventory, and I did not check under them. The less I knew, the better.

“Thanks for making the pickup. I’m really close to figuring out a way to keep the—”

“You’re really close to making us late.” Bones tapped the clock on the dashboard. “Twenty-three minutes. I’m calling Tech.”

I nodded and put the Hummer into reverse. As we pulled away from the building, Bones spoke a code and the dashboard screen came to life. The screen blinked, requiring another password. Bones rattled off a series of numbers and then placed his thumb in the center of the box.

The face of a man I’d known for years, but had never met in person, appeared. “We are secure, Bones, how can I help you?” Tech asked. Nobody but my father knew the real name of the head of the technical department. To the rest of us, Tech was the autonomous human version of a digital personal assistant and knowledge navigator.

“We’re in a hurry and need a clear route from Plant A to Drop…” Bones pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and scanned it before adding, “Charlie-four-niner-alpha.”

Everyone who worked for my father spoke in code. Codes changed frequently, and were issued on an as-needed basis. Bones—for all his strengths—had one weakness. He couldn’t memorize the damn codes. But he was one of the few people Father allowed to write them down. Bones guarded his codes like they were a matter of life and death, and essentially, they were.

“Got it,” Tech replied. “I’m sending the navigation now. Everything is covered.”

Confident that Tech had control of the lights and eyes on the cops, I stomped on the gas and maneuvered through traffic. Lights turned green before we reached them and once we cleared the downtown congestion, the Hummer ate up the distance between us and the little blinking light on the screen. We were less than a mile from our destination when Tech’s face reappeared on the screen.

“You have incoming. Blue. Next light,” he said, before disappearing.

“What the hell?” I took my foot off the gas and hit the brakes. A siren blared to life. I’d only slowed to eighty in the sixty-mile-per-hour zone.

Bones swore. “What’s going on, Tech? You said we were clear.”

The screen stayed blank, but Tech’s voice came over the speakers. “You’re supposed to be. He’s off route. I’m calling it in.”

“What do I do?” I wondered out loud. It had been years since I’d been stopped by a cop. The family spent millions to make sure such encounters didn’t happen.

“Just keep going,” Bones said.

“And go where? If I don’t stop now, more will come. The last thing we need is to create a scene.” I glanced behind me. If this ended in some high-speed chase, the pigs would search my car and we’d rot in the can. Father could only cover up so much, and there wasn’t a rug big enough to hide the evidence in the back of the Hummer. “I gotta pull over. Maybe I can reason with him.”

“What? No! That’s a horrible idea,” Bones objected.

“I’m working with my contacts at the station, but a team has been routed to your location just in case. Be careful, Angel,” Tech said.

I slowed the vehicle and veered to the outside lane, rolling to a stop just beyond an on-ramp. Bones reached for the gun in his jacket pocket. I also had a gun in my jacket and another under my seat, but didn’t reach for either since I had no intention of using them.

“This is a cop. He’s just doing his job,” I said, eyeing Bones’s pocket.

Bones stiffened. “And I’m doing mine. At least trade me spots?”

“No. I can handle this, and I can do it without violence.”

I looked into my rearview mirror, watching as the cop sat in his cruiser, radio in hand.

“He’s calling it in,” Bones said.

Tech’s face materialized on the screen again. “You may have a problem, Angel. The officer has been ordered to return to the station, but refuses.”

Damn.
“Tech, I need information. Who am I dealing with here?”

“I’m pulling his file now. Roger Hill, typical beat cop, no marks in his file, married, two kids, a third on the way. His family just moved here from the Denver area. That’s all I’ve got, but I’m still searching.”

It would have to be enough. The door of the police cruiser swung open and Roger Hill climbed out. He marched toward us, wearing a stern glower with the same efficiency that he wore the signature tan uniform of the Metropolitan Police Force. Clipped to the top of his shirt was a lapel mic with a wire that led past his name badge to the radio at his hip. Clipboard in hand, he tapped on my window. I pasted on my friendliest smile and rolled down the window. Hot, dry Nevada air gushed in.

Officer Hill leaned forward and looked us both over. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he took in our nice suits and the tricked-out Hummer, weighing it all against the orders from his department to leave us alone. He had to be wondering who we were.

“You boys in a hurry?” he asked.

I nodded. “We’re businessmen, Officer, always in a hurry. But I apologize, I didn’t mean to speed.”

His eyes hardened, telling me I’d get no mercy. “I clocked you at seventy-nine, and your brake lights were on. License and registration.”

I glanced at Bones, and we both eyed the glove box. Even if registration paperwork existed, there was no way it was in my name. My father had taught me to officially own nothing, that way the IRS couldn’t officially take it away. I hesitated, wondering if I should pretend to search the glove box or just go straight for the fake ID in my wallet.

A burst of static came over the officer’s radio, followed by a female voice with a hysterical edge. “Officer Hill, you are not on radar. Please report.”

He frowned. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said to us, before stepping back and answering.

“Tech, what’s going on?” I asked.

“I’m working on it, sir. Don’t worry. The team is almost to you. Sit tight.”

I knew what teams did, and therefore needed to come up with a plan to diffuse the situation before they showed up.

Officer Hill reappeared in my window. “License and registration.” His request had morphed into a demand.

Desperate, I lied. “We have this important meeting we’re late to and my car broke down. I had to borrow my father’s car, and I can’t find his registration. Can you just write me a ticket and we’ll be on our way?”

“Officer Hill, we need you to check out a possible ten-seventy on Wedgewood Drive. What’s your status?”

Keeping an eye on me and Bones, he pressed the button on his radio and said, “I’m still at the four-thirty-eight.”

Static. Then, “Officer Hill, you are not authorized to proceed with that four-thirty-eight. You have been ordered back to the station by the chief.”

He tilted his head to the side, his eyes hardening. “Your father could be the devil himself, I don’t care. Nobody’s above the law.”

I shrugged, wondering what the dispatcher had told him. Wondering why the hell he wouldn’t follow orders. “I told you, we’re just a couple of businessmen trying to get to a meeting.”

“Oh yeah? What type of business are you in?”

“Officer Hill, report. What’s your status?”

He didn’t even blink.

“You should probably get that.” I nodded toward his radio.

“Don’t tell me how to do my job.” His hand slid to his holstered gun. Sweat glistened across his forehead. “Now, hand me your goddamn license.”

I took a resigned breath and slid the ID from my wallet. Righteous anger radiated from the cop and I understood his frustration. He was from Colorado, a good cop who didn’t understand how we played the game here.

He studied my fake license and chuckled. “John Frank, huh? They’re not going to let me run this, are they?”

I didn’t reply. Even if they did, he wouldn’t find anything.

“You part of one of the families?” he asked.

He knew about us. Hell, he was probably some wannabe savior who thought he could bring us down. Thought the good guys would win. In a last ditch effort I switched tactics and tried honesty. “I’m just a man trying to save another man from making a big mistake. Christmas is coming and you have two kids and one in the oven. Am I right, Roger?”

That surprised him. His eyes widened for a second before hardening again. Maybe he’d come around after all.

“You’re in a lot of danger right now, officer, but not from me.”

He pulled his gun. “Don’t threaten me, and don’t talk about my family.”

I tried to pretend the Glock didn’t affect me and opened my wallet again, this time reaching for the bills in the back. My fingers wouldn’t stop shaking, making it difficult. “You’re a good cop, going above and beyond, so why don’t you accept this token of our appreciation for your service and get back in your cruiser while you can still drive away.”

“Officer Hill, do you read me? You are not authorized to proceed with that four-thirty-eight,” the dispatcher said again. “We need you to return to the station. Now.”

I slowly withdrew seven hundred dollars, and then added another three. “Last chance. Think of your kids, Roger. Don’t you want to see their Halloween costumes? To spend Thanksgiving with them? And Christmas? They need their father. Your wife needs her husband. Nobody has to get hurt. Just take the money and walk away.”

His jaw clenched. He didn’t even glance at the cash, and I knew he was screwed. “I’m an officer of the law and not interested in your chances. Now, hand over your real license and registration before I arrest you both and impound your car.”

I sighed. “You have no backup. Nobody’s going to impound my car, and there’s no way you’re taking me in. In a few minutes a car full of men will come and they will… overreact to you pulling a gun on me.”

Officer Hill’s hand began to tremble.

The screen on my dashboard lost its connection. I didn’t have to look at my phone to know I had no bars. All electronics in the area were blocked. I was out of time.

“Incoming,” Bones whispered.

My rearview mirror showed a black SUV pulling up behind the cop car. Doors opened. Officer Hill turned toward the sound. Six shots rang out and Mrs. Hill became a widow.

Bile rose in my throat. My vision swam. I lowered my head and closed my eyes, trying to block out the image of Roger Hill’s head exploding.

“Angel?” Bones asked, patting my shoulder.

I took a couple short breaths and opened my eyes. A dead father lay on the other side of my door, and I had to pretend it didn’t faze me. My stomach clenched and I swallowed back the bile, knowing I couldn’t show weakness in front of the men swarming the scene. Keys were tossed, and then the police cruiser started up and drove away. Suits blocked the body from view of freeway drivers and bagged up the officer. Someone handed me back my fake ID.

He should have taken the money. He should have walked away.

My dashboard screen lit up and Tech’s face appeared. “Get out of there, Angel,” he said.

“There was nothing more you could have done for him,” Bones said. “You tried. The fool should have listened.”

A couple of the men were watching me. I felt them measuring my reaction, judging whether or not I was ruthless and apathetic enough to lead their merry band of murderers. Shaking my head at my father’s sick bastards, I slid the Hummer into gear and merged back onto the freeway. In my rearview mirror, I watched them load the body bag into the SUV. He was a good guy—a good cop—and now he was dead. In Vegas, nice guys didn’t just finish last. They didn’t finish at all.