Spy Catcher: The J.J. McCall Novels (Books 1-3) (The FBI Espionage Series) (58 page)

“All right, WFO is on the way,” Tony said. “Listen, you think you could wrap this up on your own? I need to make an important stop before we meet Director Freeman.”

Chapter 54

Saturday Evening – Irving Street

Santino cradled his cell phone in one hand while sipping a Campari and soda from the high ball glass on his nightstand. He wrangled with the urge to call Tony and invite him over for a chat about his roommate every time he looked at the screen and didn’t see a call or a text from “Katherine.”

“Where the fuck is she?” Santino mumbled as he stood to his feet again. He’d nearly paced a groove in the floor between his chair and the bedroom window. With his initial reluctance now justified, he’d loaned his car to Katherine hours earlier and now felt like a fucking moron for trusting that she would ever keep her word. His momentary stupidity left him vulnerable in a way he’d never allow if he didn’t owe Nicky Mumbles 25 Gs by Monday; apparently he was wrong when he assessed she needed him more than he did her. Just as he pressed his hand against the first cell phone button, he heard a car pull up in front of the house. He exhaled and walked to the window and grumbled.

“Mother-fuck!” he yelled as he tamped out his cigar in the ashtray. He stuffed the cellphone in his pocket, tromped down the steps and opened the door before his unexpected guest could knock.

“Wondered when you were gonna show up,” Santino said.

Tony stood silently with his eyes narrowed.

“So what?” Santino said. “You gonna let the grass grow under your feet or you comin’ in?”

Tony strode across the threshold and Santino closed the door behind him. Ten years had passed since their last meeting, but there they stood, face to face, mirroring one another in size and stature, staring each other down. With a lightning quick strike, Santino yoked Tony at the neck and jammed him up against the wall. Through clenched teeth he growled, “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here, after everything that happened.”

Tony pulled out his Glock and pressed the tip into Santino’s temple. “You got two seconds to let me go or I will blow your fucking brains into Christmas.”

Santino tightened his grip as Tony put a bullet in the chamber.

“You’re lucky I don’t put two in the back of your head for Jimmy Toots,” Santino said, releasing his grip. “Make it quick. I was on my way out.” 

Tony looked Santino up and down and narrowed his eyes. “Shorts and a T-shirt in November? Yeah, I can see that.”

“Who are you? Donatella Versace, you fucking rat?”

“You don’t even know what you’re talkin’ about! Bet you still believe in the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny too, huh?”

“Hey, when only one side’s got the balls to do the talkin’ whadaya gonna do? What they have to say sounds a lot like right to me.”

“You know as well I do, nobody—not Jimmy Toots, not Nicky Mumbles, not even my father was going to listen to me after I became a Fed. They couldn’t hear shit over this badge,” he said, pointing to the golden metal dangling from his belt.

“That’s true,” Santino said.

“So what? I should do rectal gymnastics and jump through my ass tryin’ to make ‘em believe me? Hell no. I just steered clear,” Tony said, taking a seat on the steps. “But think about it, you’ve known me since we first caught the bus together to P.S. 128. You know what I know. You’ve seen what I’ve seen. I’m a such a freakin’ moron that I’m gonna target somebody in my own father’s family when there’s four other families I coulda hit? That’s crazy. Oobatz!”

“Sounds like bullshit to me.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass how it sounds. This is how it is,” he said. “Why am I in D.C. chasin’ Russians instead working undercover, trying to worm my way into the family? It ain’t like they didn’t ask. I’m not in New York because I made a choice not to be a part of that life…on either side.”

“He got pinched right after you left for the Academy and you’re tryin’ to tell me you didn’t have anything to do with it? I dunno, Ton’. The timing was awfully coincidental.”

“Was it?”

Santino’s eyebrow scrunched. “What’re you trying to say? We got a rat in the family?”

“Think about it—who gained the most by pinnin’ this shit on me? That’s the question you should be asking yourself. For my money, I say Nicky Mumbles. From what I heard, he moved up to capo when Jimmy Toots got pinched. All those fucking so-called Einsteins in the family, and yous couldn’t figure that one out?”

Santino sucked in a deep breath, scraped his fingernails across his scalp, and shrugged. Tony had a point. Everybody knew Jimmy Toots was gunnin’ to become capo regime. But even if Tony was a fed, it would take some pretty hefty
stugats
to pin the blame on the boss’s son. On the other hand, Tony had never been a liar.

“I dunno what to tell you. I ain’t got shit else to say.”

“How about you tell me what brings you to D.C.? Nothing significant in your world’s happenin’ here.”

“Needed money,” Santino said. “I was ordered to pay restitution to Nicky Mumbles. Owe him 25 Gs so I’m finding creative ways to pull the money together.”

“Restitution? What is he, Judge Judy? For what?”

“The boss made the deal. For…Rosa.”

Tony nodded, glanced around the room, and noticed a woman’s jacket hanging on the coat tree. “Who’s stayin’ here with you?”

Santino allowed the silence to linger before answering. The bus Santino had been waiting all day to throw Katherine under had just pulled into the station, primed and ready to thrust her body beneath it, the backstabbing bitch. “What business is that of yours?” 

“Who is it?”

“My goomar. She’s visiting from Jersey. We’re heading back tomorrow,” Santino said. “Now get outta here. I’ve got some place to be.”

Tony took one last long look around the house. “All right, all right already. I’m leavin’. Just make sure you keep your nose clean until you get outta town,” he opened the door and stepped outside. “You don’t have my back…I don’t have yours. We clear?”

“Fine with me,” Santino snapped. “Everybody knows you can’t trust a Fed anyway.”

As he peered out the window and watched Tony drive away, Santino’s mind churned over everything Tony had said. Could that snake Nicky Mumbles be responsible for the lie that put the wedge between Tony and his family? Thinking back to when they were kids, Tony told the truth even when confessing was to his detriment. Honest to a fault, drove Santino nuts. How could he convince Tony’s brother Dante or his father that they’d been wrong about him all along? They were as stubborn as Tony was forthright, but they needed to understand what Nicky Mumbles was capable of. He might make a move on the boss next.

Since he was already downstairs, Santino wandered into the kitchen to grab some food from the fridge. He bought some nice prosciut’ and bread from a little Italian bakery in Arlington, Virginia. It wasn’t like home, but it was good enough to make a snack. No sooner than he pulled the handle, the front door opened. The sound of footsteps was followed by a loud thump that shook the floor. He poked his head into the hallway and saw Katherine’s body sprawled out, face down; she moaned like a dying cow, either sick, in pain or both.

“Ow!” she groaned, struggling to turn onto her back. Then she kicked out her foot to shut the door. “Ugh. I don’t feel so good,” she said, her words slushed and slurred together.

Santino ran to her and kneeled beside her, the whiff of liquor so strong he thought she’d been swimming in it. “Holy Mother of God, what’ve you been drinking?” He fanned his hand in front of his face.

“The bar. All of it,” she replied. “Do you smell that?”

“If you mean the booze, yes. You are seriously hammered.”

“No, the smell of quicksand. I’m up to my eyes in it,” she said, her words running together. “It’s over. My life’s over. You’re over. I’m over. It’s all over.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he said.

“Look in thish package,” she said. Her body wobbled as she emitted a loud, acrid belch. She struggled to sit up but didn’t have enough arm strength. “Look and shee for yourshelf.”

Santino peeked inside the package and saw the stacks of money, more than enough for him to pay Nicky back. He didn’t understand the problem. “Money’s in here.”

“Yep. But no passa-porta,” she said, attempting to mimic an Italian accent. “I’m stuck in this godforsaken country for-fucking-ever!”

“Can’t you just tell them you need a new one?”

“No, I marked the signal telling them that I received everything okay,” she said. “They’re standing down operations assuming that tomorrow I’m on my way to France. Now, I’m trapped here. And if I can’t leave, I can’t give you money to pay back your people either. To put the situation in porn terms—we’re seriously fucked.”

“Shit!” Santino said, letting his head fall in frustration. If he didn’t pay Nicky back by Monday, he was as good as dead. Both of their death warrants would be signed. No, he needed to get a passport as much as she did. And fast.

Santino calmed his thoughts long enough to think of who to call. He had a few contacts but would any of them have access to one ready to go by the next day?

“Here, let me help you upstairs,” Santino said, gathering her limp body in his arms and lifting her from the floor. Like Superman, he’d come to her rescue yet again, maybe not for the reasons she suspected. He carried her upstairs, only banging her head against the railing once or twice. Then he moved into her bedroom where he gently laid her on the bed and pulled the trashcan over to catch the inevitable vomit spree.

“What am I gonna do?” she moaned, suddenly releasing a crushing round of sobs. “I want to go home. I want to go home,” she cried.

Santino gazed upon her face. Never before had he seen her so vulnerable, so helpless. Yet, she had never been more attractive to him than she was at that moment either. He wanted her in what, for him, was the worst way. He wiped the tears from her eyes. “Stop crying. I’m gonna make a couple of calls. I think I can find you a passport, but it’s probably going to cost ya ten Gs at the very least.” 

She bolted upright from the bed and pressed her hands against her head as if to keep it from exploding. “I’ve got it. Whatever. I can pay it.” Then she grabbed Santino’s hands and gazed in his eyes. Her face brightened with hope. “You’re not kidding me, are you? I mean, you have a legitimate contact?”

He nodded and smiled. “Let me make the call. You should take a shower and get some rest. We’re probably going to have a long day tomorrow.”

She caressed his cheek and leaned forward to kiss him but he pulled back.

“After your shower,” he chuckled as he stood to leave.

He walked to his room and closed the door behind him, then scrolled through his phone to find the number to the D.C.’s most connected middleman. Santino figured that’s how he got the nickname “D.C.” He’d only met the guy a couple of times, but he’d left a strong positive impression. Certainly didn’t hurt that Santino was Italian and
The Godfather
was his all-time favorite movie.

The Jack of all Trades and master of none, if D.C. didn’t have direct access to what you needed, he could point you in the direction of who did. Then he made a nice commission on whatever service he provided and kept his hands clean. He hoped this single call would be the only call he had to make. “Yo’, D.C. This is your
Godfather
friend. I need a favor. A big one.”

“My man, Castellano!” he said in his usual upbeat voice. “Leave the gun, take the cannoli.”

Santino chuckled for D.C.’s sake and rolled his eyes. “Listen, I need a passport…not for me. Let’s just call her Italian. You think you could hook me up? I need it tomorrow by 10 am.” 

“Hmmm. A passport for a woman?” D.C. replied. “I might have something for you. But it’ll cost you eight Gs and a kickback for express service.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it. Knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

“Email her photo and vitals to this account,” D.C. said reading off a Gmail address. “I’ll call you later with a location. We’ll meet tomorrow.”

He hung up the phone just as Katherine poked her head in the door. Suspicion in his gut told him the call was too easy. He questioned whether D.C. should’ve needed more time to call some people and get back with him later.

“Any luck?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Santino said. “Which makes me wonder…I thought it would’ve been tough to find something at this late hour.”

She nodded. “It should’ve been. I think we both know how the FBI operates. When something sounds too good to be true, somebody usually winds up in Supermax.” She held up her index finger. “Give me one second.”

Katherine disappeared from the doorway and reappeared a short while later with a canvas blue bag the size of a large envelope and a roll of aluminum foil.

“What’s at?”

“A trick I learned in my old job,” Katherine said. “I need the passport even if it’s FBI made.” 

Santino agreed. “I know.”

“Fortunately, I’ve got a plan to ensure we got both get the hell out of here as scheduled. When he calls you back with the meet location, we’ll take a ride.”