The Evil That Men Do Read online

  He pulled the door open and let her in, embarrassed he was nearly naked. Joe watched Lisa Carter scan his body.

  She smiled and looked at the fire poker on the table.

  “You don’t have a fireplace in this room,” Lisa Carter said.

  “No.”

  “What’s it for?”

  “Protection. I brought it here from work.”

  “I got your letter.”

  She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. She wore a long skirt and white blouse. She peeled the long black gloves off, placed them on her lap. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun. She looked like she was going to a funeral. Maybe she was still in mourning.

  Joe found a pair of slacks and pulled them on. Then he sat at the desk across from her.

  “Why was Connor O’Neill at your husband’s funeral?”

  “You don’t make small talk, do you?”

  Joe Tenant shook his head. “Not when my family is threatened.”

  “My husband used to donate to O’Neill’s campaigns. O’Neill came to offer his condolences.”

  “Used to?”

  Lisa nodded. “I don’t get into my husband’s affairs, but Connor was a friend of the family. I know my husband and he went out on fishing trips, out for dinner. We’d even been to the O’Neills’ home for holiday parties. But in the last year that all stopped.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did O’Neill say anything to you at the funeral?”

  “Just that he was sorry for my loss.”

  Joe Tenant walked over to the bed. He wasn’t sure why. He was drawn there somehow.

  “Is it an election year for O’Neill?”

  Joe didn’t follow local politics unless he was going to lose his job because of one of the president’s plans to jump-start the economy.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Did your husband donate to a campaign?”

  “He didn’t tell me. He was very secretive about it this year.”

  “You need to go to the press with this. Say he did. Say it’s what got him killed.”

  “I can’t do that. I would be lying.”

  “That doesn’t matter. You just need to get their attention.”

  “And if they come after me?”

  “They won’t. I’ll take care of it.”

  Joe nodded. Things were making sense. He was glad she came.

  “I’m sorry about what happened at your home last month. I was worried about my family.”

  Lisa Carter stood and placed her hands on his shoulders.

  “You’re a very interesting person, Joe Tenant. Your wife kicks you out of your home, and yet you’re still protecting her.”

  She knew more than he’d told her. Lisa Carter had looked into his life.

  “Not being able to protect her is what got me kicked out. It’s why I’m here. I don’t want to be. I love my family.”

  She ran her hands down his bare chest. What was she doing? And why was he letting her do it?

  “I miss my husband.”

  Because it felt good, that’s why.

  “We’ve only met once,” she said. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

  “You want to help.” She shook her head.

  “No. It’s more than that.”

  She stood on her toes, angled her head, and kissed him on the lips. The kiss was soft, and the message behind it was evident.

  He didn’t want this. He wanted to be back with Caroline. But Lisa was attractive. He wondered if she missed her husband like he missed Caroline. He wondered if she was making this happen for the same reasons he was going to let it happen.

  They kissed again, her mouth opening. Her hands ran across his stomach, then found the button of his pants.

  He pushed her away. “I can’t,” he said.

  Her eyes met his. “Your wife?”

  “And daughter.”

  She nodded. “I like you, Joe. You seem like a good man.”

  “I’m trying,” he said.

  Chapter 31

  Bryan Hackett didn’t get off the train in Hoboken. He took the PATH to Exchange Place, then caught the Light Rail into Bayonne. While it wasn’t the safest time of night to make this journey, he thought he could risk it. He wanted to take one last look before he and Jill ran off.

  The feds wouldn’t be after him this quickly. Not if they wanted him to think they needed his help.

  He walked down Avenue A, the air still warm even at three in the morning. A homeless guy sauntered across the street, pushing a shopping cart. Otherwise, the street was empty and silent. Hackett tried to look like he belonged.

  He reached the end of the road, the Starting Point bar on the corner, a left turn to nowhere the only option. The Bayonne Bridge to Staten Island, lit up in red, white, and blue, hovered in the distance. To Hackett’s right was a grassy marsh area. A quarter mile beyond that a train carried freight toward Port Newark. He could smell the dead fish, shit, and sewage from the Hudson and Hackensack Rivers. It smelled like the world’s biggest toilet.

  Texaco used to own this land. A new ethanol company was supposed to be moving in.

  Hackett’s anger made his hand shake. This whole area was bullshit, unused and untouched. Soon, the government would have its control of this area, trying to slow the ethanol company down.

  But that didn’t matter. It should have been his.

  ***

  Delshawn Butler did a lap around the house, checking for open doors, easy entry, and any way to escape. Everything was locked. Butler saw the woman sitting in the kitchen, poring over papers. Damn, it was late, her husband wasn’t home, and she was up paying the motherfucking bills. His target wasn’t around.

  For now.

  He sat back, pressed against the brick house, waiting. He needed a plan, a way to get his target here. What did Hackett say his name was? Donne? Yeah, that was it. Part of the fucking family.

  He thought for a while. Hackett told him not to hurt the girl. But he didn’t say not to scare her. Or use her as bait.

  Butler could go in there, scare the girl into calling Donne. Get him here. Kill him.

  He could leave the girl alive.

  No, shit, that wouldn’t work. Because then the girl would recognize him. Shit, shit, shit.

  A car rolled down Upper Mountain slow. Butler tensed and watched as it passed. Nothing to worry about.

  But, watching the car, he realized his plan would work. He could kill Donne, let Hackett finish whatever he had to do with the girl, and then Butler could come back and kill her.

  A hit man just starting out needed practice.

  ***

  “I’m going to call it in,” Iapicca said. “No. Don’t. I want to handle this.”

  “Bullshit. This is someone’s life. Your sister’s life.”

  “You gave me eight hours.”

  “Unless things got fucked up. Which they are now.”

  “What are you going to do? Call your Rutherford buddies? And fuck up your career?”

  Iapicca hesitated before answering. “No, I’ll call Montclair.”

  “And say what? There’s a suspicious SUV sitting outside a house on North Mountain? It’ll take fifteen minutes for them to get there. We’ll be there by then.”

  “Fuck.”

  “You’ve come this far with me.”

  Iapicca didn’t respond. He didn’t radio anyone, either.

  The car sped up. Donne appreciated what Iapicca was doing, breaking a lot of rules to do what was right. He wondered if he would have done the same thing when he was a cop. Probably not. He turned in his own partners. What did he care about some random guy?

  No, Iapicca wasn’t like him.

  “I don’t like this,” Iapicca said.

  Donne blinked and turned toward him.

  “You can’t call it in. I need to handle it. We’ve come this far.” Iapicca said slowly, “We’re ten minutes out.”

  “I know. Thanks for all of this.”r />
  Iapicca shook his head. “I just want the good guys to win.”

  ***

  Delshawn Butler followed the house around to the back deck. Before climbing the deck, he checked the kitchen window and saw that the sister had left the room. Where the hell had she gone?

  The way he thought it, he’d get into the house by getting her to answer the tapping at the sliding door, and take her there. But if she wasn’t in the kitchen, she might have decided to go to sleep. Odds were she wouldn’t even hear a tapping at the glass door.

  Tugging at the handle confirmed that the door was locked. Shit, he wished people still left their doors open. He was going to have to do this the hard way.

  Butler pulled his gun, holding it by the barrel. He brought it down like a hammer, watching the glass shatter when he made contact.

  The screaming started before he was able to step through the door.

  Chapter 32

  Fourteen hours

  They pulled up to the house, and Donne was out of the car before Iapicca was able to shut the engine off. His instinct was to rush the house, get to Susan, and get her the hell out.

  Good thing Iapicca came along. “Wait,” he said.

  Donne froze at the edge of the grass.

  Holding a finger up, Iapicca walked to the SUV. He placed his free hand on the hood.

  “Been here awhile,” he said. “And he’s not in the car. He could be anywhere.”

  “You knew that hood would be cold.” It had to be cold. Susan had called twenty minutes ago.

  “Of course.” Iapicca grinned. “I just didn’t want you running up the hill and getting your head shot off.”

  Asshole.

  “So, what do we do?” Donne asked.

  Looking at the house, they saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just like every other gigantic house on the block. All the lights were out at four in the morning, most everyone probably asleep. Cicadas hummed in the distance.

  “You go left, I go right. Check the windows, check the doors, but be careful and be slow. Don’t go inside yet and we’ll meet at the back.”

  Donne nodded and stepped across the grass. It smelled like it had just been cut. Looking through the first darkened window, he could see nothing except his own reflection. With the lights out, the room was black, and he couldn’t even make out outlines of furniture. He moved on to the next one, pressing himself close against the wall. The edges of the bricks tugged at the fabric of his clothes.

  The next window was less dark, the illumination of the moon curling around the neighbor’s house. He could see the kitchen, the silhouette of the table, and the counter. But no people. Nothing out of place.

  He pushed on, feeling the weight of Iapicca’s spare gun on his hip. He wanted to hold it at the ready, but was afraid he’d fire it accidentally and attract more attention than he needed. His nerves were making his hands shake. He wasn’t going to pull the gun unless he needed to.

  Turning the corner of the house, Donne saw Iapicca standing alone on the deck they’d shared coffee on only hours earlier. He didn’t move, and his face looked pale. Donne hoped it was just the moonlight.

  Stepping closer, climbing the wooden stairs, which needed to be stained, he saw that it wasn’t the moonlight. Mike Iapicca stared at the shattered glass all over the inside carpet.

  When Donne reached him, Iapicca said, “He’s inside.”

  “What do you want to do now?”

  “Your call.”

  “Let’s go in.”

  Iapicca nodded and stepped through the broken window. Donne pulled out the gun.

  ***

  Delshawn Butler followed the screaming all the way through the darkened house. He wanted to move quickly, before a neighbor heard them and called the cops, but he kept tripping over furniture. Sure as hell there were going to be bruises on his fucking shins. He even almost dropped the gun once.

  The screaming was coming from upstairs. He took the staircase quickly, counting the steps as he went. Twelve. He wasn’t sure why, but that seemed to be an important number to remember. Maybe his hit man instincts were getting better. Maybe all the practice was finally kicking in, like playing basketball against better opponents.

  Eventually, you get good too.

  The screaming was coming from a bedroom across the hall. Delshawn barreled down the hall and slammed into the door, and it came flying off its hinges.

  As soon as Delshawn was inside, the screaming stopped. The girl lay on the bed. She went silent, and he could see the tears in her eyes. He trained his gun on her and felt around the wall for the light switch. He made the room dark.

  “Call your brother, yo. Jackson Donne.” He tried to say the name in a whisper, all stone-cold killer.

  She moved ever so slightly in the dark, and it seemed like she was confused.

  “I already did,” she said. “So he’s on his way?”

  “No. I saw your car and told him to get the hell out of here. I don’t want my brother hurt.”

  Fuck.

  “Get him here.”

  “No.”

  He stepped up to the bed and pushed the gun’s barrel into her stomach. She inched back, but tried not to. Bitch was trying to be brave.

  “Call the motherfucker or I will shoot you.”

  “You can’t.”

  He pressed the gun harder against her. “And why the fuck not?”

  “Because your boss needs me alive to pay for my husband.”

  And the words Hackett said swam back to Delshawn Butler. He was going to break his promise in order to get Donne here.

  ***

  The stairway was dark as they climbed. Iapicca went first, trying to keep the stairs from creaking. They were lucky. This was a million-dollar house.

  Stairs don’t creak.

  ***

  Delshawn Butler held the woman down as long as he could. She did not resist.

  What should he do? Call Hackett.

  He felt around for his cell phone, then remembered he’d left it in the Escalade.

  “Stay here,” he said.

  He stepped off the bed and over to the front window, wanting to know how far the Cadillac was parked from the house. Could he make it before the girl ran?

  Peeling apart the blinds, Delshawn saw his Cadillac. Hell yeah, he could make it. This bitch couldn’t escape if he went downstairs. He’d see her. Just before he backed away, he saw the car parked out front. It looked like an unmarked.

  Shit.

  The cops were here.

  ***

  There were twelve steps. Iapicca must’ve missed the last one. He lost his balance and fell forward into the hallway. He grunted as he fell forward. In the silent hallway it sounded like thunder.

  Then the gunfire started.

  The hallway exploded with flashes of light. Bullets whizzed in their direction from his sister’s room. Donne went down, pressing his body against the stairway, trying to avoid a ricochet. He looked up and saw Iapicca jerk across the stairway from the impact of bullets. He was firing back, but Donne couldn’t tell if he was hitting anything.

  Like Butler. Or Susan.

  Donne grabbed Iapicca by the ankle and hauled him back down the stairs, sliding him gently out of the line of fire. The gunfire stopped, probably so Delshawn Butler could reload.

  “Susan?” Donne called, against his better judgment. Delshawn would know he was alive, but Donne needed to know if Susan was okay.

  “I’m okay,” she called back.

  “Shut the fuck up.” The voice must have belonged to Butler.

  Donne found Iapicca’s throat and pressed his fingers against it to find a pulse. It was faint. Iapicca’s breathing was shallow, and if he could speak, he wasn’t trying to.

  Pulling the gun from his waistband, Donne pressed himself against the closest wall. Across from him, as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw framed pictures on the wall. One was of Franklin and Susan’s wedding. Another was a collage of pictures of children. The wall was a ver
itable hall of memories.

  Footsteps tapped against the floor above him. Someone was coming this way. He held the gun tighter, ready to shoot. He had to be alert, however. Delshawn could have sent Susan ahead of him.

  The footsteps got louder, heavier. Trying to judge the weight, Donne guessed it was Delshawn. He aimed the gun and waited.

  The steps paused.

  The outline of a huge, thick body spun around the corner. Donne’s guess on the weight of the footsteps was correct. It was a man.

  He pumped three bullets into his chest.

  ***

  Delshawn Butler felt the impact: one, two, three. They were quick, and hard, and hurt like hell.

  As he fell backward, he knew he’d made a mistake. Maybe he hadn’t learned anything after all.

  ***

  Donne called Susan’s name. She answered by turning on all the lights and rushing into the hallway.

  “Oh my God,” she said.

  “Call nine-one-one and check on Iapicca.”

  He pushed himself to his feet and they switched places. Kneeling next to Delshawn, Donne felt for another pulse. His was even more faint.

  Donne looked Delshawn over as Susan yelled instructions into the phone. His eyes were glassy, but he was talking. Air wheezed in and out of his mouth, and blood pumped from his chest. It was all over Donne’s hands.

  “Shoulda called Hackett,” Delshawn said. And then the breathing stopped. The pulse was no longer there.

  Susan must have heard what was said too as she put the phone down. They made eye contact, and she nodded.

  “Jesus Christ,” Donne said.

  Chapter 33

  Thirteen hours

  Pain woke Franklin Carter. Something was on top of his broken arm. The pain shot up his arm through his shoulder, across his neck. He screamed, squeezed his eyes shut, and really let it out. The rest of his body convulsed, his cheek splashing back into the puddle he’d passed out in.

  Then he realized it wasn’t something on his arm, but someone. He tried to roll over to see who it was, but he didn’t have to. He knew.

  “Found the door, Carter?” Hackett said, even more menace in his voice than earlier in the evening.