The Assassin's Case (30 page)

THIRTY-EIGHT

Six months later: Chicago, Illinois

With one last tug, Grant made certain the Kevlar vest was in place on his fiancée’s torso.

              “Easy, not so tight,” Jaime said.

              “Sorry.”

              Two agents from the local field office stood nearby, leaning against their government issue sedan. It had taken some time to track down Anthony Delfuco, oldest son of Carmine Delfuco. According to Tedesco’s file, and their own investigation, Delfuco’s eldest son had been kept away from the family business. He was educated in high profile boarding schools, finally attending Harvard. Apparently Carmine had grand plans for his son.

              Jaime slid her blazer over the vest. At 8:30 in the morning there wasn’t much traffic either on the street or the sidewalk, but they still didn’t want to announce their arrival any sooner than necessary.

              “You sure I can’t convince you to wait here,” Grant said.

              “Uh, uh. No way. Somebody has to make sure you don’t go all psycho in there.”

              Grant clutched his heart. “Ouch.”

              He reached through the open window of the car, grabbed a folder from the seat, and extracted a photo. He passed it to the two agents. “One of you cover the alley. One the front.” Grant tapped the face in the photo. “This is our guy. Anthony Delfuco. You guys know him as Vince Stone.”

              In spite of Carmine Delfuco’s efforts to make his son appear respectable, the apple indeed did not fall far from the tree. Though keeping a lower profile than his father, Anthony was still a thug. And, according to Tedesco’s file a multiple murderer, a psychotic killer with a penchant for causing pain. Anthony owned the bar down the street, where he kept an office. Though never arrested, the Chicago police had suspected the man of racketeering and drug dealing for quite some time. But the pending murder charges trumped their current investigation.

              “Ready?” Grant said.

              Jaime nodded.

              “When we go in, you hang back. All I want you to do is make sure I don’t get shot in the back. Give me plenty of room.”

              They struck out on the sidewalk, turned the corner, and walked the half block to Anthony’s establishment, The Lucky Lady. A tavern and off-track betting parlor. The perfect home for a scumbag like Anthony.

              Jaime matched Grant’s stride, walking abreast of him on the sidewalk. “Are you going to be okay?”

              He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” And that was the truth. He was fine. Oh, he still missed his family, but he had Jaime now. His sister was also now a part of his life, as well as his nephews. Grant was working hard to make up for lost time by spoiling them at every opportunity.

              The experience with Jimmy Tedesco had been a chrysalis. Grant had started out as a grief and anger stricken shell of a man and emerged almost whole.

              When they reached The Lucky Lady Grant released Jaime’s hand. He made sure the SIG under his blazer rested easy in its holster before pulling open the front door. A bell tinkled over their heads, announcing their arrival. There weren’t any customers. The bar appeared to be an upscale replica of an English tavern, the only thing ruining the illusion were the rows of flat screen TV’s mounted on almost every vertical surface. The monitors would allow the patrons to keep track of the horses, dogs, or sports team they had placed their bets on.

              Jaime moved to the right of the door, standing with her hands clasped in front of her, right hand within easy reach of the holstered pistol at her hip.

              Anthony Delfuco sat at a poker table in the back room, poring through a stack of papers. Two men moved to intercept Grant as he moved toward Anthony. Grant had discovered that the youngest Delfuco was behind several of the attempts on his life, revenge for Carmine’s death in prison.

              The two bull-necked men stepped to block Grant’s way, arm’s crossed. Both were well over six feet. They wore expensive suits but their bulk made them seem as if they had been stuffed into them.

Grant smiled. “I need to see Anthony.”

              In unison both thugs’ eyes narrowed at the use of the name. The one on the left spoke. “There’s no one here by that name. And we’re closed.” He took a step toward Grant. “You need to go.”

              Grant opened his coat enough to flash the badge clipped to his belt. “I really need to see
him
.” He pointed at Anthony. “Now.”

              The men glowered at Grant.

              “Come on fellas. This doesn’t have to be difficult.”

              “You’re outa here.”

              As one, both men reached out to grab Grant’s arms. They apparently intended to throw him out of the bar bodily.

              Grant drove the ball of his foot into the stomach of the man on his right, then grabbed the wrist of the other man, and spun beneath his arm while keeping the grip on his wrist. The arm broke with a crack and Grant released his hold, but continued his spin a full 360 degrees, and slammed a palm into the man’s sternum. Grant followed with a side-kick and the man stumbled back until he spilled over the half wall separating the bar from the poker room Anthony occupied.

              “You son of a bitch.” The second thug sprang from the floor and unleashed a vicious haymaker toward Grant’s head.

              Grant stepped to the side. Using the palm of his right hand he blocked the punch on the outside of the arm, and closed his hand over the back of the man’s wrist. Grant pulled. As his attacker came abreast, he slammed his left palm onto the back of the man’s elbow. The arm snapped and the force of the blow sent him crashing headfirst into the plank wall. He fell and didn’t get up.

              Adjusting his coat, Grant turned to Jaime. She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows.

              “What?” Grant held up his hands and shrugged his shoulders.

              Striding into the poker room, Grant pulled out a chair and sat across the table from Anthony.

Grant leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Hello, Mr. Delfuco.”

Anthony stared, the color drained from his face.

“I take it you recognize me?” Grant said

“Yeah. What do you want?”

“Hmm? What I want is to take that pen from your hand and jam it into your eye.”

“Wait a minute, now. You must have the wrong idea.” Anthony glanced toward Jaime, white FBI lettering visible through her open coat. “You can’t just walk in here and kill me for no reason. I’ve got nothing to do with that business with your family. Nothing.” The man sneered. “Besides. You aren’t a cop anymore. You’re nothing.”

Grant un-clipped his badge and tossed it onto the table. The beads of sweat that sprouted on Anthony’s brow made Grant warm and fuzzy all over.

“I run an honest establishment here. You’ve got nothing on me. Whatever you think you’ve got, it won’t stick.” Anthony smiled. “I have lawyers who eat guys like you for breakfast.”

Fists clenched, Grant’s anger brimmed, threatening to erupt. Images from the funerals, loneliness, pain, guilt, and lost possibilities raced across his thoughts causing his blood to boil. Killing this man would be justified. But he had a future now. He looked over his shoulder at Jaime and his heart rate immediately slowed. The sight of the women he loved beat back the demon of vengeance welling within him.

Grant slapped his palms on the table and stood. Startled by the noise and the sudden movement Anthony flinched. Grant reached beneath his blazer and allowed his hand to rest a moment on his gun before reaching for the cuffs in the pouch at the small of his back.

Sometimes life can turn on the smallest of things, the most seemingly insignificant of circumstances. Intercepting that case forced Grant to confront the man he always believed was solely responsible for the death of his family. In the end Jimmy Tedesco had saved Grant’s life, both literally and figuratively. The man had also restored Grant’s faith. The killer who shared a large part of the responsibility for taking everything from Grant had in the end given him his life back. What greater irony could there be?

Grant edged around the table next to Anthony, pulled him to his feet, and cuffed his arms behind his back. Grant gave the cuffs a vicious tug and pulled the man close. “You’re under arrest for the murder of my family.”

“But—”

Grant yanked on the cuffs, silencing the argument. He leaned in close and whispered in Anthony Delfuco’s ear. “Jimmy Tedesco sends his regards.”

Author’s Note

Residents and frequent visitors to Gulf Shores and Orange Beach, Alabama will probably notice that no mall exists of the type I described in the first chapter of this book. I have a special fondness for this area and wanted to use it in my story, so I took a few liberties.             

Even though I portrayed a soldier as one of the villains, this was by no means intended as a criticism of our armed forces. I have the utmost respect and admiration for those that serve in our military. We all owe them a debt of gratitude we can never repay.

Also, remember, this is fiction. That means I made it up.

Thank you to my fans, friends, and family for your overwhelming encouragement and support.

About the author

Craig Alexander
is a member of the International Thriller writers and served two consecutive years as a judge in their best hardcover novel competition. His first novel,
The Nineveh Project
, was honored with a best of Mississippi award.

He holds black belts in Tae Kwon Do, Hapkido, and Han Mu Do, and has studied many other styles. He is an instructor at Sun Bi Martial Arts in Madison, MS and has competed and trained internationally.

He loves to play tennis, watch good movies, and of course read.

He lives in Mississippi.

E-mail him at [email protected]