Sacrifice (27 page)

“
I could really use that drink about now, Nicci,” David mumbled as his face paled to a deathly white.

I went to Val’s liquor cabinet and surveyed the contents. I grabbed a bottle of brandy and brought it to David.

He took the bottle from me and looked at it. “Brandy?” He frowned at me. “Darling, I’m not a St. Bernard.” He handed the bottle back to me. “Real men drink whiskey when they’re hurt,” he advised.

I quickly took the bottle from him. “Excuse me for not knowing the appropriate alcoholic beverage to serve after having the crap beaten out of you. They didn’t teach us bartending for broken bones in nursing school.” I walked back to the cabinet and pulled out the bottle of Glenlevit Irish Whiskey.

David looked down at the bottle I handed to him. “That’s more like it. Something a man can get drunk on.”

I left David in the kitchen, putting back a few fast swigs of whiskey, as I searched the house for scissors, tape, and hydrogen peroxide. I was leaving the first floor bathroom when I thought I heard the sound of the back door by the kitchen closing. I figured it must have been my imagination because David could not even stand without my help and no one else was in the house. I collected my materials and walked as quickly as I could back toward the kitchen. But as I emerged from the hall, I nearly dropped my armload of supplies when I saw who was standing next to David.

“
Well, kid,” Uncle Lance proclaimed as he nodded to David. “I guess you found your ghost.”

“
It’s good to see you too, Lance.” David said. “You will excuse me if I don’t stand up.”

I walked over and dumped the medical supplies in my arms on the table in front of David. “Uncle Lance, what in the hell are you doing here?”

Uncle Lance held up some papers in his hand. “You told me to drop off the medical records I had for you. I still have my own set of keys to Valie’s, so I thought I would just leave them on the kitchen table.” He nodded at David. “Guess we don’t need them anymore. Good to see you, David. So how have you been?”

David tried to smile. “I’ve had better days, Lance.”

Uncle Lance turned his green eyes to me. “You should have told me, Nicci. You should have said something to your father and me.”

“
Nicci couldn’t say anything to anyone, Lance. She has kept me a secret in order to spare everyone a lot of unnecessary problems,” David explained, struggling with each breath as he forced the words out.

“
And I guess some of those problems have to do with Simon La Roy,” Uncle Lance surmised.

“
Good guess,” David remarked. “He’ll kill anyone who gets in his way or at least tries to.”

Uncle Lance leveled his eyes suspiciously on David. “And is your resurrection all of his doing or all of yours?”

David frowned at Uncle Lance. “Simon is the mastermind here. He thought he was protecting his property and has been keeping me under wraps for a while. But I’ve recently made other plans for myself.”

Uncle Lance looked David over. “You’ll need to pop that shoulder back into place. Gonna hurt like hell.”

David held up the bottle of whiskey in his right hand. “I know.”

Uncle Lance scanned the supplies I had just dumped on the table. “Nicci, get me some towels and a big role of duct tape. I think Valie keeps some in the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink.”

I stared dumbfounded at my uncle. “Duct tape?” I croaked.

“
A thousand and one uses for the stuff. I’ve popped quite a few joints back into place, kid. I’ll show you how it’s done.” He bent over and inspected David’s naked chest. “I’d say you got some bruised ribs to by the looks of it.” He glanced up at David. “And the guy who did this?” he asked.

“
Gerard. A hired thug of Simon’s, but not a problem anymore,” David told him. He grimaced when Uncle Lance pushed his fingers into the purple bruise on his chest.

As I darted around the kitchen, grabbing dishtowels and duct tape, I listened to David’s account of his fight with Gerard.

“
After Gerard surprised me in my studio, I fought him down the stairs. When I finally got him in the kitchen, I got a hold of one of the long kitchen knives from the butcher block and stabbed him in the throat. I made sure he was dead before I grabbed my things and hauled ass out of there. I came here because I knew I needed help.”

“
Who owns the place where you were staying? Do they know about any of this?” Uncle Lance inquired.

David nodded. “A local gallery owner named George Elliot was lending me his carriage house. He’s a friend and knew of my past. His was one of a number of places I used to hide from Simon. Gerard had George’s keys on him. I figure George is probably dead.”

“
When the cops find your friend, they’ll go to his house. When they find your place ripped apart and Gerard’s body, they’ll be looking for the guy who walked away.”

David sucked in a painful breath as Uncle Lance gently lifted his left arm and placed it on the table before him. “My new identity is Dan Goldvarg. I’m supposed to be an art dealer out of Dallas. I’ve got my ID with me, but there are paintings signed by Goldvarg still in the house,” David reported between gritted teeth.

Uncle Lance frowned as he took the roll of duct tape from me. He pulled a long strip of tape off the spool and placed it on the table in front of him. “We need to make sure the cops don’t find anything in that house.”

I looked over at my uncle. “How?”

My uncle apprehensively eyed David. “I’ve got some friends that can make it look like nothing happened there. Even get rid of the body for you, but it will cost you.”

David’s gray eyes studied my uncle’s face. “Go on,” he insisted.

“
Carl Bordonaro is an old friend and very well connected Italian gentleman. He will do this as a personal favor for me, but he will require something from you in return. Do you understand what I’m saying? You will owe him, and one day he will ask you to return the favor.”

“
If he can clean up that mess, Lance. I’ll pay his price. I have no problem with that,” David stated and then took another long swig from his whiskey.

Uncle Lance nodded to me. “Nicci, you’re gonna have to hold his left shoulder back while I pull on his left arm. Wrap your arms around his chest and pull against me.”

I felt my body go weak. “Maybe we should get him something for the pain first?”

“
Just do it, Nicci,” David shouted.

Uncle Lance wrapped a long dishtowel around David’s forearm and then twisted it tight against the skin. He looked over to me and then at David. “Ready?” he asked.

David took one last, long swig from his whiskey bottle and then put the bottle down on the table. He nodded at Uncle Lance. I stepped behind David and wrapped my arms about his upper chest. David cursed loudly when I braced his body against mine.

Uncle Lance leaned over David’s arm and lifted the towel in his hands. “All right. Nicci, no matter what, don’t let him go.”

Uncle Lance quickly tugged on the towel with one swift motion. David screamed as my uncle pulled against his dislocated arm. I held David’s shoulders back against my body with all of my might as I fought back my tears. Then a loud crack could be heard as the shoulder fell back into place. David almost passed out against the table when Uncle Lance let go of his arm. He then positioned David’s left arm against his chest, wrapped the towel around his arm and shoulder, and then placed duct tape over the towel. He took the roll of tape and started wrapping it around the injured shoulder and arm, making a sling. I watched as the sweat began to pour from David’s face. I could feel his body shivering from the pain beneath my hands. I wanted to break down and hold him to me, but I knew I had to be strong.

Finally after a few agonizing minutes, Uncle Lance tore the end of the tape off and pressed the tail of his homemade sling into place.

“
Let’s get him into bed,” Uncle Lance instructed as he lifted David from the chair.

We practically carried his dead weight up the back stairs and along the balcony to my bedroom. David only grunted and winced every now and then as we jostled him around. When we finally laid him down on my bed, he was out cold.

“
I need to make a phone call,” Uncle Lance said as I took a seat next to David on the bed. “He’ll be a lot better tomorrow.”

I glanced up at my uncle. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“
Been in a lot of fights in my time, kid. Every guy learns how to tape ribs and pop dislocated joints back into place sooner or later. In my day you only went to the doctor if you got shot, stabbed, or had the clap.”

I held up my hand to him. “I don’t even want to know which one of those three you had.”

Uncle Lance smiled. “I’ll go call Carl. What’s the address of David’s place?”

“
1012 Royal.”

He quickly exited the bedroom.

I looked over at my David, beaten, bruised, and passed out on the bed beside me. I snuggled my body against his right side and tenderly kissed his cheek.

We had been through so many false starts on our road to happiness that it seemed we were two people destined to never have our storybook ending. I guess being robbed of our opportunity to plan a life together made me learn to appreciate the time at hand, instead of dreaming about the time ahead. Like a battle-hardened soldier, I had given up my girlish notions of a fairy tale ending for a more realistic view of our relationship. Survival had surpassed romance, and happily ever after had been replaced by the desire for just a few uninterrupted moments of bliss.

***

Dallas came back to find Uncle Lance and me sitting at the breakfast table in the kitchen. My uncle had taken a bottle of Val’s Veuve Clicquot Champagne from the refrigerator and opened it. At his insistence, I had quickly downed two glasses of the bubbly liquid to help calm my nerves. The champagne had helped to relax me for a time. But as soon as Dallas walked into the kitchen, all of my anxiety quickly returned.

“
Lance, what are you doing here?” Dallas yelled as he stared at my uncle.

“
He walked in on me and David,” I explained.

“
He did what? Nicci, this is just what happened last time we were working under cover. Does your family have to be privy to every damned moment in your life?”

Uncle Lance put his glass of champagne down on the table. “I came over to deliver some papers to Nicci. I let myself in and found a badly beaten, but very much alive, David in Valie’s kitchen. I’ve got a friend taking care of George Elliot’s place so the cops won’t find anything,” he said as he winked at Dallas.

Dallas placed his hands on his hips. “Who?”

“
Carl Bordonaro,” Uncle Lance replied.

“
Damn it, Lance! I’m trying to keep all of us out of prison. And a mafia heavyweight like Carl Bordonaro would not just involve himself in all of this without a really big incentive. What did you promise him?”

Uncle Lance shrugged. “A favor for a favor.”

“
Well, I hope his people can work fast because I saw three police cars heading down Royal when I was walking back from David’s place.”

Uncle Lance stood from the table and pulled his cell phone out of his front trouser pocket. “I’ll call and find out what’s going on,” he said as he started for the kitchen door.

“
What about George?” I asked after Uncle Lance had left the room.

Dallas looked at me, but I could tell by the scowl on his face that the news was not good. “I overheard a local news bulletin on a television in the bar around the corner. George was found murdered in his art gallery on Magazine Street. So far the police are chalking it up to a robbery gone bad.”

I covered my face with my hands. How many more innocent people would Simon sacrifice before this was over?

“
Now that the press has picked up on George’s murder, you’re going to have to contact Caston and tell him this was Simon’s doing,” Dallas instructed. “Maybe that will motivate him to move on Simon.”

“
You’re going to need more than that to motivate Caston,” David’s voice said from the kitchen doorway.

I looked up to see David leaning heavily on the doorframe. His face was pale and sweaty. I went over to his side and took the right hand he was using to steady himself and draped it around my shoulder.

“
Should I even ask what you’re doing up?” I inquired.

“
Been thinking about how we can turn this around to our advantage,” he replied. His voice was weak and his breathing labored as I eased him into a chair by the breakfast table. “Work a deal with Caston. Tell him we will give him whatever he wants to helps us get rid of Simon,” David suggested as he slowly sat back in his chair.

Dallas frowned. “Caston has already named his price.” He nodded over to me.

I shrugged at David. “Greg wants me to endorse the Jennys he has as legitimate.”

David shook his head. “I should have made sure none of you were dragged into to any of this.”

I heard my cell phone ringing from the living room.

“
I’d better get that. It might be my father,” I said as I went running out of the kitchen and down the hallway. I found my purse by the living room door and pulled the phone out. But I didn’t recognize the number flashing back at me on the display.