The Evil That Men Do Page 10

  Susan squeezed harder and waited for her mother to respond. Mom slowly turned her head and looked at her. Gazed deep into her eyes. As Susan met the glare, she was certain there was recognition in the gray orbs.

  “My daddy works on the docks,” Mom said.

  “No. Mom, come on. I need you right now. I need you to come back to me. I need someone to talk to.”

  “He walks me to school in the morning when he comes home.”

  “Mom, your dad’s been dead a long time.”

  Mom squeezed her eyes shut and started shaking her head. “No. No. No.”

  Susan stood up, letting go of her mother’s hand. Putting her hands on her mother’s shoulders, she gently shook her. If only there was an inheritance. If only there was money left. And her mother could just die. Tonight. And Susan would have the money.

  “Mom. Franklin is gone. I can’t get the money. We’re in trouble. I need you to tell me it’s going to be okay. Even if it isn’t. I need you to be my mother. Tell me Franklin will come back.”

  Mom’s eyes shot open. “That fucker is a liar!”

  Susan stepped back. She was still shocked that her mother used such language. Her mom never swore before she got sick.

  This wasn’t her mother anymore. Her mother was gone. This disease had taken her mother. And left this bitch—this unresponsive bitch—in its place.

  Susan imagined her hands pressed harder on her mother’s shoulders.

  It would have been so easy.

  She remembered the woman who was no longer her mother losing complete bowel control on their couch. She saw her cursing at Franklin, letting loose all sorts of bile and hatred to a man who’d done nothing to her. She saw the frustrated woman, unable to remember why she had gotten up from her seat. The woman who couldn’t even bathe herself. Who needed to be tended to like a child.

  This is no longer my mother.

  Susan pictured her hands wrapped around the woman’s neck, starting to squeeze. The woman’s eyes would bulge and her mouth would shoot open, trying to gasp for air.

  “I can’t take it anymore!” Susan yelled. “I want my mother back!”

  The woman’s head would shake back and forth, her eyes looking like they’d pop out of her head.

  “How could you do this to us?” Susan screamed.

  ***

  Donne and Iapicca pulled into the parking lot off Berdan Avenue. It took them only twenty minutes to get to Wayne from Rutherford, the mall traffic at a relative lull for eight in the evening. They had the Yankees on the radio, and John Sterling was telling them how good Jason Giambi would be by the time the season really got under way, even though it was well past the All-Star break.

  “I can get the FBI involved. It’s kidnapping, Jackson,” Iapicca said as they approached the front door of the nursing home. “It can only help.”

  “They said no police, no authorities.” Donne nodded at the receptionist, who buzzed them in.

  “Your sister just went in,” she said.

  They walked through the door only to see nurses running toward his mother’s room. We are too late, he thought. She’s already dead. And her secrets had gone with her.

  Donne jogged toward the room, listening to an old woman scream that she hadn’t gotten her ice cream yet. Through the door, he saw several nurses in a crowd watching his sister yell.

  Susan hunkered over his mother, a high-pitched howl escaping from her lips. Donne stepped through the crowd and grabbed Susan by the shoulders. He had to pull once, twice just to pry her away.

  “Let go of me!” Susan struggled against his grip.

  She shook herself free and ran toward the door. Iapicca caught her and held her.

  Donne’s mother was coughing up phlegm, and tears flowed from her eyes. Her shoulders shook, and between coughs she kept saying his grandfather’s name, Joe Tenant. One of the nurses stroked her hair and whispered that it would be okay.

  Donne turned toward Susan, trying to push the memory of his sister’s pain-filled yell out of his head.

  “Sue, what happened?”

  Susan sank to her knees. Her hair was ragged and sweat poured from her brow. Her entire body shook as if she were cold. She stuck a weak hand out and pointed toward the bed.

  “That,” she said, “is not my mother. She can’t help me.”

  Chapter 23

  Hackett drove in circles. It was too early to settle into a hotel room for the night. And he wasn’t going to stay with Franklin now. Carter needed to think for a while, sit in his own filth and worry. And he didn’t want to call work. Not when it was about New York.

  Could they know he was the culprit? No, that wasn’t possible. He’d been careful, gloves, false names, unmarked vehicles. Paid in cash for the materials. Even the research in the library was done with a false library card. No one could know it was him.

  He drove along MacCarter Highway. Newark was quiet, nothing going on at the PAC Arts Center, and the Bears minor league team must have been on the road. A wino stood on the corner, panhandling. Hackett ran the red light.

  As much as it pained him to admit it, the FBI was good. They would figure it out eventually. The plan was to be in the Bahamas by then. It was too soon. They shouldn’t know about him.

  Not knowing was driving Hackett nuts. Finally, he reached for his cell phone and dialed a number he wished he’d forgotten.

  “Detective Marshall,” his old boss said. “Jason, this is Bryan Hackett.”

  Hackett always liked Jason Marshall, even though he was a black guy with an Irish name. Shouldn’t pretend to be Irish if you aren’t, Hackett thought.

  “Hackett, how you doin’?”

  “I’m all right. I was on vacation. My wife just happened to check our messages.”

  “Sorry to disrupt. What have you been up to these days?” Hackett hated the small talk and wanted to know what Jason Marshall’s real intentions were. He also knew, though, that forcing the issue would arouse suspicions, so he played along.

  “I’ve been working at Ploch’s Farm, helping sort shipments, test fertilizer, that sort of thing. A few months ago, I did some technical advising in the city.”

  “Technical advising?”

  “Yeah, one of those Law & Order kind of shows was filming, needed a bomb expert.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been keeping yourself pretty busy.”

  You don’t know the half of it. Or do you?

  “I try.”

  “Well,” Marshall continued, “I hate to interrupt your vacation, but we need your help.”

  “We?”

  “The FBI called me in. You heard about the explosion on the Upper East Side?”

  “I’m on vacation, sir. Not hibernating.”

  Marshall chuckled. “Good. Are you within driving distance?”

  “I’m in Point Pleasant.”

  As he drove along the Passaic River, he noticed the rotten metal bridges and Harrison out across the way. Despite the attempt at gentrification, it still felt like Newark and the surrounding area were falling apart. He wished he really was staying in Point Pleasant.

  His call waiting beeped and Hackett pulled the phone from his ear to see who it was. Delshawn Butler. What the hell did he want now? Hackett would call him back.

  “Well, do you think you can cut it short and get up here tonight?” Marshall asked.

  “Why?” Hackett’s stomach tightened.

  “I know we let you go. You were a hothead, Hackett, and we couldn’t have that. But I always trusted your instinct. Some of the materials that were used, the clues we have . . . We think it was a cop. Someone on the inside who knew how to make us look the wrong way.”

  Hackett had to keep from laughing out loud.

  “We want you to come in and help. See what’s going on without arousing suspicion. The FBI doesn’t want the regulars working it, because it could be one of them.”

  “You want me to help investigate the case?”

  “Yes.”

  This was too g
ood to be true. “I’ll be there tonight.”

  Marshall took a deep breath. “Good. We’ll be here.”

  Hackett listened to the address he already knew and hung up. A drive from Point Pleasant to New York would take nearly two hours, so he had time to go back to the house and tell Franklin Carter the good news.

  ***

  Delshawn didn’t think that much when he hit the road to find Carlos. He thought it would have been easy to find the kid. A phone book, maybe drive around the area where he dropped off the gun. He’d met Carlos before, or at least was pretty sure he had. How hard could it be to find him?

  Harder than expected.

  There had been a ton of Ramierezes in the phone book. And calling each one and asking if Carlos was there wouldn’t have worked, because when he had called the first five, three of them had Carloses in the house. The other two hadn’t spoken a fucking word of English.

  Delshawn drove up and down street after fucking street with no luck.

  Sometimes this job sucked. But it was a safer way to make money than dealing, which was what Shemiah thought he did. He knew people who’d make close to twenty grand a month dealing, but there was too much competition. Too many gun battles. Hell, he even heard about some guy down Central Jersey trying to take out all the competition in one shot.

  Nah, killing people was easier. Bang, one shot, ten grand at least. And if you did it right, no one came after you.

  Times like this, when you made a mistake, that’s when it was a pain in the ass. But fuck it. Every job had its drawbacks.

  His cell phone buzzed. It was Bryan Hackett finally calling him back.

  “We got a problem,” Delshawn said without a greeting. “I’m having a good day. It better not be too bad.”

  “The cops have my gun.”

  “What gun?”

  “The one I used the other day.”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ. We can’t talk about this now.”

  “I just need to know what you want me to do.”

  “Well, as far as I can tell, you have something to take care of.

  You know who found it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So take care of it. Permanently.”

  The line disconnected. Delshawn didn’t even think about not being able to talk on the phone. He didn’t think about the possibility of other people listening. He’d never had this problem before. Then again, this was only his third assignment. Once he left the Bloods, he’d had to find something to do. Freelance had seemed like a great idea. It was just a matter of drumming up publicity.

  Fucking up like this was not a good way to do it. Hackett was right. He was going to have to take care of the situation.

  Otherwise, he’d have to get a real job.

  Chapter 24

  Eighteen hours

  “I’m so sorry,” Susan said to Donne. “I just—I just couldn’t take it anymore. If you knew—if you knew what I was thinking.”

  The nurses and aides had been kind enough to give them some space. Even Iapicca stood back, talking to a few of the nurses, assuring them that he could take care of it. That the Wayne cops didn’t need to be contacted. He was calm and he was smiling, and it seemed like whatever he was saying was working.

  Donne sat with Susan, his hand on her back, quietly listening. “She’s going to die anyway, Jackson. She doesn’t have much time left. If it just happened a little quicker, we could end this nonsense. Franklin and I could get on with our lives. And I could see her dying in my head. I wanted it to happen.”

  Taking a deep breath, Donne said, “There’s a lot more going on here than Mom being sick, Sue.”

  “I know,” she said. “But it started with Mom being sick. That started all of this. Before you were even around. And now Franklin’s gone. One of the restaurants is gone. Our life is ruined. And you’re going to go back to New Brunswick and forget this ever happened.”

  He took his hand off her back.

  “I’m not going anywhere right now. We’re going to solve this together.”

  “No,” she said. “You’re a quitter. You probably want to leave right now.”

  “What I want to do has nothing to do with what I’m going to do.” Susan took her face out of her hands and looked at Donne. “You mean that?”

  “I do.”

  “We only have eighteen hours to go. Before they kill him.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m not going to be able to get the money.”

  “We’ll figure things out. Just need to find out who took him.”

  “Do you think I can see her?” she asked.

  He looked at the group Iapicca had corralled.

  “Probably not tonight,” Donne said. “I think the screaming freaked everyone out.”

  Susan nodded but didn’t speak. “Let’s get you home. I’ll drive.”

  She slowly gave him the keys to her car, but she didn’t move from her seat. He walked over to Iapicca.

  “I think they realize that sometimes stress gets to be too much. Next time your sister visits, though, they’re going to be in there with her for everyone’s sake,” Iapicca said.

  “Of course. Want to follow me back?” Donne asked. “I’m going to drive Susan home.”

  “I’m not gonna get my night off, am I?”

  Donne’s watch told him Susan was right. They had only eighteen hours before Franklin’s kidnapper’s deadline. Hopefully, Donne could find him by then.

  “Not if you want to help.”

  Iapicca shrugged. “My wife’s on vacation, so I have nothing to do anyway.”

  “Good. I just need to talk to my mother.”

  “You got time to do that?”

  “She might be able to help us.”

  The nurses who were talking to Iapicca were moving off in different directions now, sensing they were no longer needed. And that they didn’t have to worry anymore.

  “How about this? I’ll drive your sister home. Ask her a few questions. Maybe she’ll tell me something she wouldn’t tell you. And when you’re done, you drive her car back.”

  “Sounds good,” Donne said.

  Susan would find out he called the cops sooner or later.

  Following the scattering nurses, he walked down the darkened hall toward his mother’s room, hoping she’d continue what she’d started to tell him days ago.

  ***

  Susan Carter sat in the passenger seat of the detective’s car. It smelled like cigars and the cherry air freshener that hung from the rearview mirror.

  She put her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes, then reopened them.

  The detective, who on the way to the car had introduced himself as Detective Mike Iapicca, started the engine and smiled at her.

  “Hell of a night,” he said.

  Susan met his glance but didn’t say anything. Jackson had called the police. She’d trusted him and now here she was sitting next to a detective. Son of a bitch.

  They pulled out onto Berdan Avenue.

  “You know,” Iapicca continued, “I remember when my mother-in-law died. She suffered from Alzheimer’s for years.”

  Fuck this. She was not going to let him get in. She knew the tricks, and there was no way she was going to let this sob story get her to talk to him. The cops could not be involved. No story about how this guy’s mother-in-law died of Alzheimer’s was going to get to her.

  “She wasn’t that bad. Not according to my wife. I wasn’t around much, was working a lot. Just went on what she said. But there was this night when Kerri had to go out. I took the night off and stayed home.”

  Big fucking deal.

  The detective turned right onto Valley Road. Mini-malls on the left were closing, and the apartment complexes on the right were waiting for the renters to come home.

  “I make dinner. Nothing fancy, I think it might have been Manhattan clam chowder, right? So we sit down to eat and I’m slurping this stuff up and my mother-in-law’s not eating. She’s got her mouth squeezed
shut and she’s shaking her head no.”

  That never happened with Susan’s mother. Her mother was always good. Just that one time to Franklin. No, her mother didn’t deserve to be in this home. Didn’t deserve to have this disease eating away at her brain. Didn’t deserve to have someone as awful as Susan as her daughter.

  “I ask her to eat her soup. Nicely, right? ‘Mom, you gotta eat.’ And my mother-in-law, you know what she says?”

  “Did she tell you to go fuck yourself?”

  Iapicca took his eyes off the road. “Yeah, actually she did.”

  “Get that a lot, huh?”

  The detective laughed at that one.

  “Anyway,” he said when he was done laughing, “I ask her again. And she crosses her arms and tells me to go fuck myself again. And now I’m pissed off. It’d been a long week, I was working this robbery case, and I was getting nowhere with it. And now this old woman is giving me shit? I get out of my chair and I’m yelling at her to eat her soup. Yelling.

  “And now I’m in her face. ‘Eat your soup!’ Ridiculous, right? And she’s still refusing, and finally, I don’t even know what came over me, but I just up and slapped her. And her face was red from my hand. Her eyes teared up. So did mine, if you want to know the truth. After that, I poured her soup bowl out. I never told my wife and I don’t think my mother-in-law did either, if she even remembered it.

  “It wasn’t too long after that she passed away.”

  Susan looked over at Iapicca, whose eyes were now back on the road.

  “She didn’t deserve that,” Susan said. “You didn’t have to hit her.”

  “I know. Sometimes you just think they’d be better off if they died. Better off if they went quick. Better off for themselves, better off for everyone. If she had a heart attack, I’d have never been pushed to that limit.”

  Susan put her head back.

  “My husband is going to die. I can’t pay. And I wanted my mother to help us.”

  “Yeah,” Iapicca said, stepping on the gas. “Let’s talk about that.”

  Chapter 25

  Something had been awakened in his mother. Donne didn’t know what doors Susan unlocked during the incident, but his mother was a ball of energy. Two nurses were standing over her, preparing a sedative.