Asa

 

They always said that what got to you in prison was the boredom and monotony. I thought that was partly right. What really got to me was that the boredom and monotony gave me time to think. It was impossible for me not to worry about what was going on outside. About what was going on with my case, with Rassi, with Joseph and War Cry, and, of course, with Corinne. I tried my best to find out, but I was still kept in the dark. Agents Quint and Hamlin were still trying to break me, and isolation was a good technique. By giving me no information, they allowed my imagination to run riot. I could see the smoking ruins of Fiona's bar in my mind's eye, the corpses of my War Cry comrades, and some of the images that my subconscious summoned up of Corinne had me shaking in a cold sweat when I awoke from the nightmare. Your brain could sometimes be your own worst enemy.

 

As the days passed, any optimism I might have been able to cling to had slowly dissipated. I was going to jail for a long time and would never see Corinne again. Making my mind up to that should have helped. By banishing hope, I should have been able to settle into grim, but resolved acceptance. But banishing hope is a hard thing to do, and the bad dreams continued to come.

 

It was from the midst of one such dream that I found myself shaken awake one night. I tried to leap up - years of instinct telling me that I was under attack - but strong hands held me, silenced me, and dragged me to my feet, out of my cell. What the hell was happening?

 

My first thought was, of course, that Rassi had found a way to get to me, and I was about to be taken outside and shot. But something about that didn't add up. For starters, Rassi's boys would surely have just put a bullet in my head as I slept. Why go to all this trouble? It was not impossible that Rassi would want to see me first, to gloat, nor was it impossible that I had information he wanted and that there might be a deal to be struck. But then there were the men who kidnapped me. If you spent any amount of time around the criminal element, you got a sense of them, and I would have bet all the money I had that these guys were not mobsters. There was a silent efficiency to them. They seemed to communicate fluently, yet wordlessly. They moved like jungle cats through the corridors of the station. As we reached the outside door, a bag was placed over my head, and, shortly after, I was dumped into a vehicle of some sort. We drove for, I guess, the next hour or so, in total silence. Of course, I had questions, but it wasn't like I was going to get answers, so I decided to prove that I could play the dumb act as well as my captors.

 

What the hell was going on?

 

The vehicle stopped. We got out. After a few minutes of walking, I was forced down into a chair and the bag was pulled from my head.

 

I had resolved in the darkness and silence to be unsurprised by whatever the outcome was. No matter what happened, I would play it cool. But I suspect I blew that, as the first faces I saw were those of Brian Dugas and Porter Crucero.

 

"Hi, Asa," said Porter.

 

"Good trip?" Brian inquired.

 

"Bumpy."

 

"Water?"

 

"Please." I drank gratefully. "Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

 

"War Cry busted you out of jail."

 

I shook my head. "No way was that War Cry."

 

Porter shrugged. "Well, sure, you know that. But tomorrow it's going to look pretty much like War Cry did it."

 

I frowned. There was obviously something going on here that I did not fully –grasp. In fact, I did not grasp it at all. "I'm going to need a little more than that."

 

"Rassi has Corinne," Dugas said, hard and simple.

 

Only then did I notice the ugly wound on his forehead, still healing. I suspected the man was barely holding himself together.

 

"What do you need me to do?" I asked.

 

"When a sheriff's daughter gets kidnapped," Dugas continued, "Even assholes like Quint and Hamlin have to pay attention. They gave us permission to put this into operation, on the understanding that you'll be back in their custody at the end of it."

 

I nodded. That didn't matter remotely.

 

"We've made it look as if War Cry sprung you," Dugas explained. "Now that Rassi thinks you're back on the scene, he's going to be trying to get a message to you, to use Corinne to put the screws on you. You're going to tell him you want a meeting."

 

I nodded again.

 

Dugas eyed me steadily. "You understand there's a chance that he may just put a bullet in your head and have done with it?"

 

"Yeah," I said.

 

"For what it's worth," Dugas continued, "I don't think that's Rassi's style. He's a man who does the absolute least necessary. He's going to want you and War Cry out of the way, without going to war over it. If he kills you, then he knows War Cry will retaliate against him. My guess is he'll want to do a deal."

 

"War Cry leaves town, and he lets Corinne go."

 

"Exactly."

 

"You want me to make the deal?" I wasn't one-hundred-percent sure what the end game was here.

 

"You think that'll help?" Dugas asked.

 

I shook my head. "Hell no. Rassi's got no reason to trust me. He'll want to keep his hold on me even after I leave town, just to make sure I don't come back. Maybe he'd let Corinne go, and maybe not. But, either way, she'd be living with a permanent death sentence, just waiting for it to be carried out."

 

Dugas inclined his head slowly. "That's pretty well what we thought too. As long as Rassi is out there, then Corinne’s not going to be safe. And there's a whole bunch of other people to be considered, as well."

 

You had to admire him for trying to be a good cop, even when he was a distraught father.

 

"So, I lead you to Rassi?"

 

"You wear a wire," Dugas went on. "When we've got what we need to put that scum away for the rest of his life, SWAT will go in, guns blazing."

 

"Sounds safe."

 

Dugas's eyes flicked up. "Is that a concern?"

 

"Not remotely."

 

"Because I don't want you doing this if you can't..."

 

"I'm doing it."

 

Dugas nodded. "I figured."

 

"What now?"

 

Dugas shrugged. "Wait. I don't think it'll take Rassi long to get in touch."

 

# # #

 

Although it wasn't part of Dugas's instructions, I told the rest of War Cry what was going down and my role in it. I could tell that not all of them were completely happy with helping the police, but the idea of taking out Rassi, once and for all, was clearly one that resonated with them. Since I had been out of the picture, the mafia's grip had been extending, more businesses had been hit, and friends had been targeted. If this was the best way to end that, then they were onboard.

 

As Dugas had thought, it didn't take Rassi long to get in touch. A message arrived that afternoon, with just a time and a place, and the words, 'Come alone,’ heavily underlined. I kept the rendezvous and, for the second time in as many days, had a bag placed over my head and was dumped into the back of a car.

 

"Frisk him," said a voice - the last sort of voice you want to hear saying things like that.

 

I was glad that the bag on my head hid my expression. Technology these days is something incredible. I remember when a wire was a bulky thing taped to a person's chest. You couldn't miss it. Now, the same job can be done by something that can be stitched into the lapel of your jacket, but is still powerful enough to pick up every word said. It even doubles as a tracker, as well. Still, when you're wearing a wire, and you hear the word 'frisk,' your heart still does a few calisthenics.

 

"He's clean."

 

God bless technology.

 

It was a long drive, but I daresay that they took me in a few circles to make sure I wasn't memorizing the route. Finally, we arrived at our destination, and I was marched inside, where they removed the bag from my head. We were inside what looked like an abandoned warehouse, but not one I recognized (you get to know abandoned warehouses pretty well in my line of work). There were ten mafia thugs standing around, all armed, and a further four flanking Frank Rassi, who was seated in a large chair in the center of the room. Rassi has always struck me as a guy who takes care of himself, but, I swear, I'd never seen him standing up. The chair seemed to go with him wherever he went, like it was glued to his lazy ass. Behind him was Corinne. I tried hard not to react to seeing her. I'm not sure I was entirely successful, but I at least managed to suppress the urge to run across the room and take her in my arms. That probably would have ended with me being shot. She was gagged, but I saw her eyes widen when she looked at me. I wish I knew what she was thinking. Was she pleased to see me? Was she trying to tell me something?

 

"Thanks for coming, Mr. Covert," Rassi said.

 

"Thanks for inviting me."

 

"I think this is the most civilized way in which to work out our differences."

 

"Do you?" The urge to tear his arm off and beat him over the head with it was a strong one in me, but I managed to suppress it.

 

"So much more gentlemanly than just fighting."

 

I managed to keep my voice relatively level, a trick I had learnt from Brian Dugas. "You think that kidnapping women is gentlemanly? Or civilized?"

 

Rassi spread his hands expansively. "It's so hard to get people to sit down and talk."

 

I sat. "Well, it worked. I'm here. So, talk."

 

"You know what I want."

 

"You want War Cry out of town."

 

"Out of the state," Rassi clarified. "And you want Miss Dugas here released, unharmed."

 

"I do."

 

"I can confirm that she has not been harmed to this point," Rassi said.

 

"She'd better not have been." The rage was rising in me once again.

 

Rassi laughed. "I think threats, under the circumstances, are a bit silly, don't you?"

 

I went back to negotiating. "So, you release Corinne, then War Cry leaves."

 

Rassi raised a finger. "Tiny misunderstanding. War Cry leaves, then I release Miss Dugas."

 

"I would prefer the other way around."

 

"But I hold all the cards."

 

"If that were true, I'd be dead."

 

Rassi laughed. "Yes, you would. But, still, I must insist."

 

"What assurance do I get that you'll set her free after we're gone?"

 

Rassi shrugged. "I assume my word is not enough for you?"

 

"Correct. I know how many times you've done this before and how many times you've gone back on it." I was edging matters in the direction of an admission.

 

"Never," said Rassi, bluntly.

 

"Albert Brosnan?" I had been given a long list of names by Dugas, none of which he could prove, but all of which should mean something to Rassi. I had spent the afternoon learning the details. I hadn't done this much homework since I was in school. And it was getting homework like that had led to me quitting school.

 

"Never heard of the gentleman," Rassi said, poker-faced.

 

"He disappeared mysteriously a week before his brother was going to give evidence against you. The brother reversed his testimony, and neither he, nor Albert, were ever seen again. Which strikes me as quite ungrateful on your part."

 

Rassi shrugged. "It strikes me that the Brosnan family are obviously quite unreliable and not to be trusted. I would imagine the guilt of having implicated me in a matter in which I was entirely innocent must have weighed heavily on his mind and, perhaps, contributed to his disappearance."

 

"Would you also say that about Amy Sanchez?" I asked.

 

"You'll have to remind me, again, I'm afraid."

 

"That's okay, I understand you've done this a lot of times."

 

Rassi shook his head. "I don't know what you mean by 'this,’ but I can assure that that, if I had ever previously made a deal with someone that I would release a captive friend or relative in return for some very small concession on their part, I would have followed through with it to the letter. I am a man of principle. My word is my bond."

 

"Your word didn't do Matt Shipman a lot of good," I pointed out. "He turned up buried in landfill."

 

Rassi tutted. "Landfill sites can be awfully dangerous places. A person can trip and fall on something."

 

"Matt tripped and fell onto three bullets. Head first."

 

"Accidents will happen," said Rassi, in a tone that made it sound like a promise.

 

"They seem to happen a lot to people who cross you."

 

"I like to think of it as God redressing the balance."

 

"You're going to sit there and tell me that none of these people's deaths was anything to do with you?" In my frustration, I was starting to push. I had been interrogated so much recently that I seemed to have picked up the tone of my inquisitors.

 

"That's exactly what I'm telling you," Rassi said. "And I find myself somewhat surprised that you're not dropping it and getting on with negotiations."

 

"I want some guarantee that Corinne won't be harmed the way that Chelsea Grant was. Or Leo Turner. Or Melinda Watts."

 

Rassi's eyes narrowed. "My, you have a command of names."

 

"Oh, those ones you recognized?"

 

"They are all names of people who have in some way been tied to me by ugly rumor and corrupt law enforcement, but what interests me is the level of research you seem to have done before coming here." Rassi made an airy, matter of fact gesture. "Perhaps it's a personal prejudice, but I never considered bikers to be heavily into research."

 

I had gone too far. I had made the man suspicious. The important thing, now, was Corinne's safety. Unfortunately, Rassi knew exactly what I was thinking. His hand moved like a striking snake, grabbed Corinne, and pulled her in front of him as a human shield.

 

"If I'm going down, she's going first, Mr. Covert!"

 

The world seemed to slow in front of me as options scrolled behind my eyes. All of them sucked. Any second, the SWAT team was going to burst into the building, but what could they do? If they went in guns blazing, then Corinne was dead. If they let Rassi go with his hostage, then she was as good as a dead. Rassi would want to punish the people who had tried to trick him. Rassi's minions all around him were armed, so if I tried to help Corinne now, then I was as good as dead.

 

But Rassi, himself, did not seem to carry a weapon. It would ruin the line of his suit, and he was the sort of man for whom such things mattered. If I moved quickly, then perhaps I could get Corinne away from him. His men would be afraid to fire with their boss that close, so Corinne would be safe. Then, when the SWAT team entered, Rassi would be unprotected. I would be as good as a dead, but Corinne would have a fighting chance.

 

It was a no-brainer really.

 

The guns started firing the moment I launched myself at Rassi. I felt the shock of the first bullet, but the pain, for the moment, seemed not to hit. The second bullet tore through my shoulder. From behind me, I heard an explosion. The SWAT team had arrived. Perhaps they had been waiting for me to make my move, but, either way, their timing was excellent, as assorted minions now had something to fire at other than me.

 

Rassi cried out as I bore down on him with murder in my eyes. He gripped Corinne tightly around the throat, trying to threaten me, but actually just making me madder. I grabbed his arm, pulled it loose, and was delighted to see Corinne sharply elbow the mobster in the ribs and tear herself free.

 

"Go!" I yelled. I might have known that wouldn't work. Corinne Dugas seldom did as she was told. She grabbed my hand, pulling for me to follow her. But now, Rassi was scrambling out of the way, trying to get himself to safety, and, without him nearby, I had once again become a target for his men. I saw the guns turn towards us, almost in slow motion. Without thinking, I pushed Corinne as hard as I could out of the way.

 

The guns fired.