 
### The Lonely Road

### By James Dow

### Copyright 2018 James Dow

### Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook nay not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### Chapter 1

Fat Freddy's was a dive, a wannabe classy joint that had the misfortune of being squeezed in between a warehouse and UPS depot. The chairs were covered with simulated leather, the walls with simulated oak paneling, the chandelier with simulated crystal. Its owner had great expectations for his creation when it first opened. Despite its poor location he believed he could turn it into the "in" place for the elite of Carlton Beach. And Carlton Beach had plenty of elite. The once run down area had been enjoying a renaissance in recent years, as real estate along the Jersey Shore became more in demand, and more expensive. Moneyed refugees from New York and Philadelphia were snapping up any piece of run down property that was within walking distance of the boardwalk. They rid the landscape of undesirable buildings and undesirable people and erected a yuppie Xanadu.

In time, Freddy realized the clientele he was counting on were more apt to frequent a yacht club or a trendy sushi bar than a humble establishment embedded within a decidedly working class area. Fortunately for Freddy, the warehouse workers and UPS drivers held no such prejudices and he did a healthy lunchtime trade. This is not to say that the movers and shakers in town were totally ignorant of the eatery. It was a place where a man of means and his paramour could share a dinner with virtually no chance of running into Mrs. Man of Means. Most of Carlton Beach's fine ladies would rather die than be seen in such a venue - and fear of what they might discover kept the rest at bay.

So when big shot banker William Paterson Hillman entered with a stunning thirtyish redhead clinging to his arm, no one so much as raised an eyebrow. The couple was guided to a table in a discreet corner. Hillman settled his fifty-eight year-old, two hundred sixty pound frame onto a creaking wooden chair. His looks were as bland as his personality, eliciting neither excitement nor revulsion from the opposite sex. His wife had been mainly attracted to his checkbook, and now spent most of her time adding to her considerable collection of art, perhaps hoping the artist's passion would in some small way make up for the absence of the emotion in her own life.

William had no need of passion, sex was so much better and less complicated when paid for, a simple business arrangement that left both parties satisfied and unfettered. Tonight was an exception. Julie Ryan had gotten in touch with him and suggested the engagement. William was enough of a realist to understand that Julie was way out of his league, but he had something she wanted. Julie owned a construction business she inherited from her father. She had done quite well with it, so well that a year ago she gambled all her assets on the purchase of some prime beachfront land and began building luxury condos. Although the company was operating on a tight budget, the work was progressing on schedule. Until the labor problems began.

Tommy Fitzgerald, the cantankerous old prick that ran Construction Local 182, started pulling his workers for the slightest of infractions: not enough overtime, too much overtime, not enough safety precautions, too many safety precautions. It seemed that Julie couldn't win no matter which way she turned. So, as with most problems in life, Julie's troubles boiled down to money. The constant delays and shakedowns from the union had eroded Ryan Construction's bankroll to dangerously low levels, and Julie desperately needed a loan to keep the project going.

Hillman, a trustee of Shore Savings and Loan, could guarantee the money, but he wasn't about to. The fact that she'd suggested they meet at Fat Freddy's told him what she had in mind. Well, she would find out that he wasn't as out of his league as she thought. He'd lead her on, right into the sack, and then tell her to get lost. The thought of using and disposing of a woman who would normally heave, or worse, laugh, at the very suggestion of them in bed together, gave him a perverse thrill he had never had the opportunity to experience before.

The banker ordered for both of them, leaned back in his chair and waited in silence; a malevolent monarch awaiting the desperate, but ultimately hopeless, plea of a troublesome subject.

Julie leaned slightly forward, "Have you had a chance to go over the updated proposal, William?" (Hillman was never addressed by such crass diminutives as Will, Bill, or God forbid, Willy. Indeed, when introducing himself he invariably used all three of his names.)

"As a matter of fact I have. Unfortunately, the situation has not changed. You simply do not have enough collateral to protect our investors should your project meet with failure, which, I must say, seems more likely every day."

"You're looking at the short term," Julie persisted, "and missing the real value of what I'm offering. We're putting up 120 units at half a mil per. We already have commitments on a third of them, more than enough to cover the note we're requesting. In addition we are willing to cut the bank in for a percentage of the monthly maintenance fees, giving you a steady stream of income long after the initial debt has been satisfied. I don't see how you can possibly take a pass on a deal like that."

Julie knew the pompous asshole wasn't going to take the deal, no matter how much she sweetened the pot. A labor problem was one sure way of sending the corporate moneymen diving for cover. They were not, as a whole, a courageous or adventurous lot. But it was okay, the rejection she knew was coming was just the opening salvo of a game she had every intention of winning.

William pretended to ponder the point as the waiter delivered the salads. "These commitments you speak of are merely five per cent deposits your buyers have anteed up thus far. You will not be seeing any more money from them until the units are nearer to completion. So in fact, you are still a very long way from having 'more than enough to cover the note.'"

Silence, occasionally broken by snippets of banalities, punctuated the remainder of the meal. William was quite pleased with the way the evening was going. He had rejected Julie's best offer, and now enjoyed watching her squirm as she realized she only had one card left to play.

The waiter placed dessert menus before them. Julie placed her hand over William's as he reached for his. "I have a better idea," she whispered.

In the summer, the Laguna Motel was a bargain overnight stop for budget-conscious travelers on the way to Cape May or Atlantic City. It was clean rather than opulent, and situated just off the Garden State Parkway. Now that another summer had come and gone, the staff had settled into a leisurely routine, centered around the few late- September guests, mostly truck drivers, who wandered in seeking shelter for the night. Julie pulled her Escalade in front of unit 18, a room positioned around back, invisible to traffic on the main road.

William parked his Lincoln several spots away, he'd wait a couple of minutes after she entered before he went in himself. A very cautious man, Julie mused, but his precautions would not save him tonight.

The banker cast furtive glances about him as he made his way to the room. It was doubtful his wife would even care if she discovered his extramarital activities; he just didn't want to give her lawyers ammunition in the event of a divorce. He closed the door carefully behind him and locked the deadlock and slid the security chain into place.

He didn't waste any time talking; after all, they were two business people here to close a deal. The fact that he had no intention of actually signing the papers he was sure Julie had stashed in her purse did not mean he wasn't going to accept what she was offering tonight. He made no commitments to her, and she, therefore, had no reason to expect any.

Julie remained motionless as the obese moneyman slobbered and fussed over her. He thrashed around like a beached whale, as Julie stared at the ceiling and considered the best way to allocate the funds he was about to approve.

Finally satisfied, William rolled off and lay next to her, his considerable paunch rising and falling as he sucked in the room's stale air. Julie got up from the rumpled bed, reached into her purse and sat down next to him. She held some papers in one hand, and a pen in the other.

"I already said no," William reminded her.

"So you did," Julie replied, smiling. "Sign the papers, anyway."

Still gasping, he got up and started dressing. "I am not going to sign those tonight or any other night. You think you can play with the big boys. Well, since you're not getting anything else tonight, I'll leave you with this: It takes more than a screwing from a small-town slut to buy your way into this game, honey. And frankly, I've had better, much better."

Julie spun around and, without bothering to get dressed, headed for the door. William froze, wondering what she was up to.

Julie turned to the banker, smiled briefly, unlocked the door and then stepped out into the night air.

"Rape!" she screamed, in a voice much louder than her petite frame would suggest.

"Somebody help, I've been raped!"

William Paterson Hillman, still half-dressed, reached the door just in time to see a police cruiser pull up. Two officers got out as Julie ran to the bed and threw a blanket around herself.

One of the officers, a veteran of too many years on the force, positioned himself squarely in front of William and barked, "What have you done?"

The banker, his face pale, stammered, "N-N-Nothing, I swear."

The other officer, younger than his partner, but not by much, stood beside Julie, as if prepared to defend her from further attacks.

"He raped me," she stated, pointing at the banker.

William was beginning to regain some of his composure. "She invited me here, whatever happened was with her complete consent."

The younger officer turned toward Julie, "Is that so miss?"

"No, it is not. He was supposed to sign some loan papers for me. We met at a restaurant, but he said he left the papers in his motel room, and we'd have to come here and get them." Julie spoke the words with no emotion, like a representative reading a statement into the Congressional Record. "When we got here, he insisted I do other things before he signed. I said no and started to leave. That's when he threw me on the bed and attacked me."

Hillman may have been an egotistical jerk with an over inflated opinion of his own importance, but he wasn't stupid. Although caught off guard at first, he was quickly recovering. "She's lying," he blurted out. "This room isn't even in my name, she rented it."

"That's easily enough checked out," the older officer said. He spoke into the walkie-talkie clipped to the shoulder strap of his shirt. In less than a minute a bored-looking young man was led into the room, closely followed by a second man. The second man appeared to be in his early forties, clothed in civilian garb, not tall, but powerfully built despite a slight bulge in the midsection. Although he was more than capable of handling himself in a physical confrontation, he rarely had to; he had the look and sense about him of someone who was better off left alone.

"You the desk clerk?" the officer snapped.

"I am," the young man answered.

"Who reserved this room?"

The desk clerk pointed at Hillman, "He did."

Hillman took an angry step toward his accuser before being restrained by the veteran cop. "You lying little piece of shit," he bellowed. "Show me the credit card receipt."

"You paid cash," the clerk responded.

Hillman pondered this for a moment. "Bring the register in here, I never signed it."

"No you didn't," the clerk agreed, "you printed your name in the book – Smith, I think it was."

"Smith?" the younger officer smirked.

The clerk shrugged his shoulders. "It's the slow season; we don't ask a lot of questions."

The banker exploded. "This is all a bunch of bullshit! It's a bullshit setup. You people don't know who you are fucking with." He jabbed his finger at the cops, "I'll have your badges," he turned on the clerk, "and your job." He glared at Julie. "And you, you little whore; the only way you're ever going to make any money is by selling blowjobs for five bucks a piece on \- -

Hillman gagged as the civilian grabbed him by the throat. "It's okay, Manny," Julie intervened. "Let him rant. He's already lost; he just hasn't realized it yet."

"I've lost?" the banker bellowed. "I've lost? You're the one who is going to regret this day. None of this bullshit will hold up in court."

"It doesn't have to," Julie suggested. "How many of your country-club buddies are going to stand by you when they hear the word rape? How long will your Board of Directors allow the name of their beloved bank to get dragged through the mud along with yours? I'm guessing not long. Oh, and let's not forget the church. You're one of the Elders in your congregation, aren't you? Now you can no doubt fight this in court and win, but you'll have precious little left in the way of money, friends, or reputation when you're finished. You see Willy (she emphasized the name) the difference between us is that I'm willing to go down and take you with me if I have to. Are you willing to give up everything just to spite me?"

Manny retrieved Julie's papers from the bed. "Sign these, then get dressed and get the hell out of here." The banker did as he was told, then stormed out of the room.

Manny handed an envelope to each of the officers, who then quickly disappeared. He slipped a fifty to the desk clerk and ushered him to the door. Standing in the doorway, Manny turned back toward the room. "You want me to hang around?"

"No, I'll be fine," Julie assured him. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

### Chapter 2

Mike Ryan slammed his palm against the top of the kitchen table, making the salt and pepper shakers dance frantically before they toppled to the floor. "Damn!" he exclaimed.

His twin sister, Val, calmly looked up from the several textbooks laid out in front of her. "Having a little trouble, are we?" she asked, sarcastically.

"Shakespeare," Mike returned, as if that explained it all.

"Oh, so it's the English language that has you stumped again," Val observed as she returned the errant shakers to the center of the table next to a chrome napkin holder.

Mike loved his sister but hated when she affected that superior air. They were twins all right, but somehow Val had managed to hog most of the brainpower that had been allotted to them. She could comprehend in minutes things that it often took Mike most of a semester to grasp. It wasn't that he was stupid; he just didn't have the discipline or desire to pore over pages of text again and again until the general concepts wormed their way into his head.

"This crap is not English," he protested. "Besides, I doubt I'll have use for this stuff in the Army, anyway."

Val put down the book she had been studying. "The Army?" she asked.

"Yeah," Mike answered, excitedly. "You know those recruiters who have been around campus this week?" Val nodded. "Well I talked to them today. Do you know that I can sign up now, and leave right after this semester? I can get a GED in the service, and never have to step inside a school ever again."

Val clapped her hands, feigning elation. "How wonderful for you," she gushed. "Off to find fame and glory on the battlefield. Gosh, you have no idea how much I envy you right now. But tell me, how do you plan on getting Julie to agree to this grand scheme of yours?"

Mike drew himself up in his chair and smiled. "That's the best part. Julie has no say in this."

"Well, correct me if I'm wrong," Val began, "but doesn't someone have to sign for you since you're only seventeen?"

"They sure do," Mike agreed, "and that someone is Mom, not Julie."

Val shook her head; Mike could be endearingly dense at times. "Mom is not about to do anything Julie doesn't want her to, or did you forget who pays the bills, including Mom's bar tab, around here?"

"Well, I think it's a great idea." Sandra, the oldest of Doreen and the late Frank Ryan's children entered the kitchen and headed for the refrigerator. "You need to get away from this place and live your own life, make your own choices, experience the world beyond this stinking little hovel."

"Like the way you're experiencing it from behind the jewelry counter at KMart?" Val asked.

"I've seen plenty, and done plenty," Sandra retorted, testily.

"Sure," Val agreed, "until the guy you're with gets tired of you and dumps you in the middle of nowhere. Then you head right back to the 'stinking little hovel,' don't you?"

Sandra snagged an apple from the crisper and flicked the refrigerator door shut. "My plans may have not always worked out, but at least they were my plans. I can actually do things without checking with Julie first. Ever wonder what that's like, Val? To have an original thought in your head, to do something because it's what you feel like doing? To do something that – Oh, my goodness! - Julie might not approve of?"

Val mumbled something under her breath.

"If you have something to say, speak up," Sandra challenged her.

"Okay," Val began, angrily. "I said, two years older and ten years dumber."

Sandra glared at her younger sibling. That was a saying their mother, back when she still had lucid moments, liked to use to compare her two eldest children. Julie, although younger, was the smart one, the determined one, the golden child. Sandra had amazingly good looks and a killer figure. Assets she had admittedly squandered thus far on one worthless man after another. Well, that was going to change. People were going to find out real soon that Julie wasn't the only Ryan who could shake things up in this town. She shook her head, "Maybe one day Val..." she whispered.

"Anyway," Sandra continued, "I think Mike's plan is great, I hope he sticks with it." She squeezed Mike's shoulder as she spoke.

"It is a great plan," Mike responded, "and I am going to stick with it, whether Julie likes it or not."

The door swung open as he was speaking, and Julie entered. "What am I not going to like?" Julie had decided to stop by her mother's house and check on the twins on the way home from the motel.

"Mike's joining the military," Val blurted out. "Don't you love it?"

It was immediately apparent she didn't. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Mike turned in his chair and shot a defiant look at Julie. "I'm enlisting in the army. Mom's going to sign the papers tomorrow."

Julie advanced on her brother, leaning so close to him that a few strands of her red bangs brushed against his forehead. "Get this through your head right now, Cowboy," she said, employing a nickname she had tagged him with when he was four and someone had given him a cowboy outfit for his birthday. He would have worn that damn thing every day if they had let him. "Mom is not signing those papers tomorrow, or any other day. And don't think you are going to get her to sign them when she's too stewed to know what she's doing. I'll have every lawyer in New Jersey at the recruiting office the same day to explain why that signature is worthless."

Which was exactly what Mike was planning on doing. He stood up suddenly, toppling his chair in the process. "Fine," he bellowed, "keep me from enlisting. But I'll tell you something, I'm done with all the crap around here. I'm done with school, with this house and," he jabbed his finger at Julie, "I'm done with you." He spun toward the door, threw it open and dashed out.

"Mike!" Julie called after him.

"Oh, let him go." Sandra, who had been quietly taking in the scene, intervened.

Julie turned on her older sister. "I don't know how much of a hand you had in this...this stupidity, but get this straight – you stay away from her," she said, pointing toward Val, "and," she swept her hand in the direction of the still open kitchen door, "you stay the hell away from him. You can take up space in this house, or you can hit the road with the next slime ball that winks at you, I don't care. But do not infect Mike or Val with your idiotic notions. Because when that happens, then I do care, and then I will do something, something I can guarantee you are not going to like. Is that clear enough?"

Sandra stared at Julie, unable to muster a response. She was like a sapling caught in a tornado, desperately hoping to stay rooted long enough to survive the maelstrom. It took several seconds before she was able to summon the strength to dash from the room.

"Mike," Julie sighed, rubbing her temples and heading for the door.

"Let him go," Val advised.

Julie stopped. "So you're agreeing with Sandra now?" she asked.

Val chuckled. "As much as it pains me to admit it, she happens to be right – this one time. He's just going to stomp around for a couple of hours until he burns himself out, then he'll come slinking back home."

Julie stared at the walkway beyond the door before deciding to take Val's advice. "Okay, I guess you have a point." She closed the door, picked up Mike's chair and settled down at the table. "Besides, it will give us a chance to catch up. What's new and exciting in your life?"

"Oh, the usual: school, cheerleading, work," Val answered.

Julie didn't like the hint of fatigue she detected in her sister's voice. "Maybe you should cut back on some of the extracurricular activities. Your grades are more important than that job of yours."

Val rolled her eyes.

The gesture wasn't lost on Julie. "I know, here she goes again, right? But come on, I'll pay you twice what you're making to sling hoagies at the Sub Shack, you can work when you want and take off when you want, for any reason or none at all. I'm still going to pay you no matter what."

Val had to admit it was a tempting offer, one that, considering the amount of time it took to maintain straight A's while still fitting in cheerleading practice, work, and some semblance of a social life, was becoming increasingly hard to refuse. But Julie had done all that, as well as act as surrogate mother to herself and Mike after their father died and their mother became increasingly enamored of the bottle. She was going to be strong and independent. Like Julie, she was going to be the one people turned to for help, not the one, like Sandra, who was always screwing up then begging for others to bail her out.

Val leaned toward her sister. "I promise, if I ever feel that I'm getting overwhelmed, I will tell you right away." She smiled before adding, "Then you can charge in and make it all better"

It was Julie's turn to chuckle. "All right," she conceded. "But I expect you to keep your word. You come to me right away if things start getting out of control."

### Chapter 3

Mike rushed out into the street, not really caring where he was headed, as long as it was away from that house. It was a cool, early - autumn night, made even chillier by a biting wind that whipped off the ocean and rattled windows. He wished he had grabbed a jacket on the way out, but he wasn't about to go back now. He headed down Main Street, past shops that were closed or closing for the night. In the summer, the stores stayed open until midnight, raking in every last dime they could from the crowds that inevitably lingered on long after the beach closed. There were no crowds tonight, though. Traffic lights blinked red and green, regulating the sparse flow of drivers making their way through town. Papers and candy wrappers danced along the sidewalk, urged on by the gusting wind.

Mike took little notice of his surroundings. He was trying to sort out the jumble of thoughts that were jostling around in his head. While Val was content to emulate her hero, Julie, Mike had his own plans for the future. He didn't quite know what those plans were just yet, but he knew they didn't include anything that was connected in even the slightest way with either his sisters or this town. He needed to get away, and Julie had just crushed his best hope for that. He didn't want to become one of those hopeless, drug addicted runaways you see on TV documentaries. But neither did he want to wait almost a year until he would be old enough to get out on his own.

He continued down a couple of side streets until he found himself climbing the ramp that lead to the boardwalk. Some towns, in the interest of cost effectiveness and durability, built their "boardwalks" out of concrete. The residents of Carlton Beach rejected such modernization in favor of a traditional boardwalk constructed of diagonally placed wooden planks. Mike crossed the walkway and descended the steps that led to the beach.

His feet sank into the sand as he trudged toward the water. Stopping at a spot where remnants of waves lapped the shore and trickled about his sneakers, Mike stared out at the ocean. In the darkness of the moonless night, he sensed more than saw the vast expanse of water that stretched out before him. How great would it be to hop on a boat and sail away to a place where his problems and disappointments were no more than faded memories? Mike knew that somewhere there was a place where he fit in, where his defects were assets, where he could do more than simply survive from one day to the next, a place where be could breathe.

He turned and looked behind him. The row of street lights that lined the boardwalk curved away to his right, following the contour of the shoreline. There was not an inch of this beach that he had not explored. Familiarity made it seem small now, although there had been a day when it seemed infinite - and scary.

The incident occurred about two years after his father died, when Mike was five years old. At that time his mother was still more or less a social drunk, which is to say she still had the occasional sober day. On one such day, having suffered a rare pang of motherliness, she decided to treat her two youngest to a day of sun and fun.

Toting a blanket, oversized umbrella, and sand chair, they made their way to the beach. It was a hot, humid Saturday in mid-July and it took some searching before they found a spot to claim for their own amid the throng of bathers. Doreen smoothed the blanket onto the sand, snapped open the umbrella and settled down in her chair. She pulled two plastic pail-and-shovel sets out of a large tote bag, tossed them to Mike and Val. "Have fun," she encouraged them, and opened a book.

It didn't take the five-year-olds long before they got bored with filling up the pails, emptying them, and then repeating the process. They were about halfway between the ocean and the boardwalk. Mike could see people in the water splashing each other, riding the waves, and throwing Frisbees. They certainly seemed to be having a lot more fun than he and Val were having with their stupid pails.

He grabbed his sister's arm, "Let's go," he urged her.

Val bit her lower lip, considering what to do. She certainly wanted to go, only they should ask Mom first, but she had fallen asleep, and one lesson they had learned in their young lives was that waking their mother was a sure way to get yelled at and banished to their room. "We can't go without asking Mommy first," Val said.

Mike grimaced. "She's gonna sleep forever," he whined. "I'm not waiting. He stood up and faced the water. "You coming?" he asked.

"No," she insisted, "I'm not going, and you better not either."

Mike shrugged his shoulders and started off. Val shrugged her shoulders back at him. Let Mike get in trouble if he wants, she thought, and shoveled some more sand into her pail.

Mike was quite pleased with himself. All around him people were running, laughing, jumping in and out of the water, and just having a great time. This was loads better than sitting on that boring blanket listening to his mother snore. Water swirled around his feet and ankles as he stood there. He was a little nervous being this close to the ocean by himself, but it felt good, and he liked the way the salt water foamed as it bubbled up onto the shore.

As the water receded, Mike squatted down and started digging for sand crabs. He had several holes dug but wasn't having much luck locating the thumb-sized crustaceans when someone ran past him, feet slapping against the wet surface. He looked up and just caught a glimpse of a bright orange bathing suit like the ones the lifeguards wore, before the figure disappeared around a bend. Suddenly it seemed as if everyone on the beach had decided to follow.

The young boy was bursting with curiosity. He had to find out what was going on. A glance back up the beach showed Val still playing with the pail and shovel, and his mother still sleeping. Well, he'd be back before they realized he was gone. Mike took off at full speed, although he had no hope of keeping up with the grownups who sped by him.

He ran and ran, passing jetty after jetty until he finally had to stop to catch his breath. Whatever it was that was causing all the commotion was further away than he had thought. He was about to turn back when a growing crowd in the distance caught his eye. That must be it, Mike decided, and took off once more.

There was a huge circle of people, the ones in the rear craning their necks toward the center of the gathering. Mike was much too small to hope to see over their heads, so he tried wriggling his way forward, but could not make much headway against the dense forest of legs that blocked his way. He retreated and was considering what to do next when the shriek of a siren drew his attention toward the boardwalk.

An ambulance came to a rest at the nearest stairway. Two men in blue uniforms threw open the doors, grabbed some equipment and raced toward the scene. The mass of onlookers parted to let the EMT's through, and for a moment Mike saw two lifeguards hovering over a third person who was stretched out on the ground. The crowd closed in again and he saw nothing more until a stretcher was brought to take the victim away.

Now that the show was over, the spectators began drifting off to resume their various recreations. He looked up and down the beach, trying to figure out how to get back to his mother and sister. One way looked much the same as the other. He took a few uncertain steps in one direction, but somehow it didn't seem right. He took the opposite path instead, feeling confident he had made the right choice.

The small boy walked and walked, his eyes constantly searching among the multicolored umbrellas and blankets for his mother and Val. It seemed as if he had been walking all day. Had he really gone that far? Should he turn around, or keep on going? Was he ever going to see home again? Would they come looking for him? If they did, how would they ever find him?

The people around him, the beach, the boardwalk, all became one confusing, blurry mass as tears welled up in his eyes. Mike realized he was lost. For good. No one knew where he had gone, so no one would know where to look for him. He collapsed onto the sand and started sobbing.

"Mikey," he heard a voice call. He rubbed his eyes and looked up. Julie was rushing toward him. "There you are, Cowboy," she gasped, as she picked her brother up and squeezed him desperately, her arms weaving a cocoon of safety about him. It was a feeling that no amount of years or arguments could ever fully erase.

The chilly wind graduated to an icy blast. Mike slowly made his way back up the beach and headed for home.

### Chapter 4

The headquarters of Construction Local 182 was a storefront in a strip mall. It was flanked on the right by the Cup O' Joe and on the left by a dollar store called The Buck Stops Here. Inside it looked pretty much like any travel agency or insurance office. A reception counter adorned the front, followed by a row of five desks, with cubicles lining the walls. A heavy wooden door set into the back wall bearing a sign that read "PRIVATE – NO ADMITTANCE" marked the entrance to Tommy Fitzgerald's lair.

The Local could easily afford more luxuriant digs, but Tommy preferred the unassuming, humble look the storefront afforded; it showed the rank-and-file that their dues money wasn't being spent on unnecessary extravagances. Tommy's office, however, was an exception. Since members rarely made it into the president's inner sanctum, few ever beheld the expensive furnishings, the plush carpet, or the fully stocked bar.

The dichotomy between appearance and reality didn't cost him any sleep. If not for him, most of his members would be busting their asses for some scumbag boss who paid them shit for their efforts. Employers were not an especially altruistic bunch; it took a lot of arm-twisting and head-cracking to get them to do the right thing for the workers.

He started with the union forty-eight years ago, at the age of twenty. A day laborer at first, it didn't take the leaders of the then-fledgling organization long to recognize Tommy's passion for the movement, his organizational skills, and most importantly, his ability to get others to believe in and follow him. In only ten years the young man had gone from hired goon to president of the local, a position the membership re-elected him to year after year by landslide margins. The lives of the hard working laborers had been significantly improved, due largely, to Tommy's efforts. If, in return, he grabbed a small perk for himself now and then, it was a more than fair exchange.

In fact, there was something on the other side of his desk that he wouldn't mind grabbing right now. Sandra Ryan was pissed about something. Her arms swung wildly, as if her angry words were things of substance that she could literally throw at her target.

All the fuss was lost on the target, however. Tommy leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, eyes fixated on the twin peaks that rose and fell as Sandra got angrier and her breathing became more labored. How he wanted rip that tight red sweater right off of her, latch onto those beauties and revel in the rhythm: inhale, exhale, oh keep breathing baby, inhale, exhale...

"Damn it listen to me!" Sandra shrieked, pounding both fists on the desk.

The union boss reluctantly roused himself from his reverie. "What?" he asked, calmly.

"What," Sandra echoed, exasperated, "have you been doing about my sister's stupid condo project? I just came from there and, guess what? There's work going on. Why is that, Tommy? Why is there work going on there, when the whole, shitty mess should be rotting in the salt air? Why?" Sandra was shrieking again.

Tommy hated the shrieking, but loved the way she tossed her head when she screamed, the way her disheveled locks hung loosely about her neck and shoulders. It made her look vulnerable, and unbelievably sexy. He spread his hands out before him in a "What can I do?" gesture. "She somehow managed to get financing, "he replied, softly.

"I don't care how much fucking money she gets," Sandra shot back, "she can't build shit without workers – your workers. Why are they still there?"

"We've used about every excuse we can come up with, and your sister has addressed every complaint we've made, no matter how ridiculous or trivial."

"Then find something else," Sandra demanded. "I don't care how you do it, but shut that damned project down."

The union boss leaned forward in his chair. For a moment, he was about to deny her request. Truthfully, he admired Julie Ryan; they had a lot in common. She had rescued a dying business and built it into a solid concern, much the same as he had done with the Local. Neither was afraid of a fight, neither was beyond getting their hands, or their souls, dirty when necessary. But, Tommy was almost ashamed to admit, at his age another piece of ass of Sandra's quality was unlikely to come his way again. Grudgingly, he dialed an extension on his phone. "Come in here," he ordered, and hung up.

Less than a minute later, the heavy door swung open and Matty Ross entered the room. Matty was as different from his boss as a thoroughbred was from a plough horse.

While Tommy looked the role of a rough-and-tumble union organizer, Matty might easily be mistaken for the CEO of a multinational corporation. He was in his mid-forties, dressed in custom-made suits, and wore his graying-at-the temples hair combed back, every strand perfectly situated and in its proper place.

Matty frowned at Sandra, who, in return, stuck her tongue out at him. The two made no attempt to hide their mutual animosity. Matty didn't like the amount of influence the woman had over Tommy. As the Number 2 man in the Local, he felt it his duty to closely monitor any peccadilloes his boss might get himself entangled in, especially if it might later reflect poorly on the union. He considered Sandra an evil that needed to be excised at the earliest opportunity, and made no secret of his feelings. ."We need to shut down Carlton Arms again," Tommy announced.

Matty shook his head. "We've wasted more than enough time on that vendetta," he glanced at Sandra before adding, "the more we interfere with that project, the more paydays our members lose." Ross was one of those rare leaders, business or labor, who actually cared about the people for whom he was responsible.

"Well, they've had additional violations," Tommy informed him.

Matty's eyebrows rose. "Really?"

"Two weeks ago," Tommy began, shuffling through some papers on his desk, "one of our men was seriously injured due to faulty equipment." He pushed a folder toward the other man.

Matty picked it up and skimmed the contents. "This guy came back from lunch drunk and broke his wrist falling off a steamroller."

The union leader was unfazed. "The incident was never properly investigated. I want our guys pulled until all the mechanical gear is recertified by our safety people."

"Tommy," the younger man persisted, "our safety people have already spent more time at that site than all our others combined."

"I want it done – now." The look of stubborn determination on the boss's face as he uttered the edict made it clear the discussion was over.

"Why don't you run along and take care of that right away?" Sandra piped in, wiggling her fingers in a goodbye gesture as she spoke.

Ross shot her a look as he turned to leave.

When they were alone again, Sandra rubbed the back of her neck, a nervous gesture she was aware of, but could never quite rid herself of. "There's something else I need to talk to you about."

Tommy rolled his eyes, reluctantly beginning to wonder if, despite everything, this little side project of his was becoming more trouble than it was worth. "What now?"

"Well, yesterday, when I was leaving the nail salon, these two suits came up to me. At first they didn't say anything, just stood there blocking the way to my car. When I asked them to move they pulled out ID and said they were federal agents."

Tommy, who had been idly fiddling with some knick knack on his desk, pushed it aside and leaned forward. "What did they want," he asked.

"I don't really know." They just asked a lot of questions about things that didn't really seem to be any of their business."

"Like what?" the union boss demanded.

Sandra was rubbing her neck hard enough now that she'd probably end up with a nice, splotchy red mark back there by the time she was done. "Mostly about you and me. Like how we met, how long we know each other, what's the nature of our relationship, do I work for the union? That kind of stuff."

Tommy leaned back in his chair and frowned. "So what did you tell them?"

"Not much. Just that we were friends, and that's all they needed to know."

"And they were okay with that?"

"I guess. They gave each other this kind of smug smile, like they were in on some joke that no one else knew about. Then one of them nodded his head and said, 'Okay,' and they left."

Tommy rose from his chair and circled around to the front of the desk, taking Sandra gently by the arm and leading her toward the door. "If they come back, you tell them you got nothing to say, no matter what they do. Then you call me right away."

Sandra nodded, still puzzled by the incident. She had hoped Tommy would have shed more light on the matter, but he was clearly not in the mood to share what he might know or suspect. "Tonight?" was all she could muster as he ushered her out of the office.

"Sure, sure. I'll call you," he promised as he closed the door.

Once alone, the aging union chief slumped down into the gentle caress of the oversized, leather armchair that would have relieved one of his members of a couple of weeks' wages if they wanted one of their own. Sandra didn't know anything about union business, he was sure of that. Then what was the FBI trying to accomplish with this stunt?

Tommy went over in his mind places they had gone, things they had done, people they met. He stopped there. People. While Sandra knew nothing about the business he conducted, she had certainly met many of the people he conducted it with, people who would not appreciate seeing their names connected with a federal investigation, dangerous people. People Sandra Ryan could link him with.

Tommy Fitzgerald stabbed a number on the interoffice phone. "Matty, get in here," he barked.

### Chapter 5

Manny guided his Range Rover to a spot next to the only other car in the beach parking lot. So Julie was already here, he mused, as he got out and shoved the door closed. He had gotten a text message from High Flyer to meet him at the Carlton Arms job site early the next morning. Julie laughed at him when he insisted they use code names when corresponding (his was Eight Ball, fitting for a guy who, when he wasn't busy helping "fix" various problems for Ryan Construction, owned and operated a pool hall). He had learned over the years that while honesty was not necessarily the best policy, caution usually was.

He made his way to the boardwalk and immediately spotted Julie. She was leaning casually against a lamppost. She wore jeans and a red sweatshirt that bore the name of her alma mater, Rutgers, across the chest; her hair billowed in the steady breeze. Manny hadn't seen her since the Laguna Motel business a few days back.

"Bright and early," he said as he drew near.

"I know," Julie responded, smiling apologetically, "you're not really a morning person."

"Only when necessary," Manny agreed.

"Well, this is necessary," Julie assured him. "Let's take a walk."

The couple proceeded in silence. Manny was not big on small talk, he was content to wait for Julie to get to the point. He observed the beach as they strolled. The waves were restless today; huge breakers raced to the shore, some of them spraying salt water into the air as they crashed against rock jetties. A few surfers were out testing their skills in the turbulent waters. A man jogged along the shore line, accompanied by a Golden Retriever that jumped playfully alongside him.

They reached a railing that signaled the end of the boardwalk. About a hundred feet beyond that, the skeleton of a fifteen-story tower rose from the sand. Backhoes, cement mixers, dump trucks, shovels, wheelbarrows, and other equipment, silent and unused, littered the site. Only the sand, stirred by the wind, lent any sign of movement to the otherwise sterile scene.

Julie came to a halt. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Manny nodded agreement. Even with all the problems that continued to plague the job, the work that had been done so far was impressive.

"We've got marble coming in from Italy, a chandelier from France, mirrors, tiles, windows, window treatments,... all of the finest quality. I haven't bought so much as a doorknob without being satisfied that it was the very best available. I've immersed myself in page after page of architectural digests, manufacturers' catalogs, consulted interior designers, exterior designers, painters, anyone who might have even the slightest idea of how to turn several tons of mortar, brick, and steel into the gem I envision." She turned toward Manny and grinned. "I sound obsessed, don't I?"

"You'd pretty much have to be, to pull off something like this, especially considering all the obstacles you've had thrown at you."

"And here comes another one," Julie frowned. "I'm sure you've noticed all the wonderful, high-powered equipment lying around in the sand, unmanned and useless."

Manny nodded. "What now?"

"Now," Julie informed him, "the union has pulled its workers because of unsafe conditions"

"What conditions?" Manny retorted, surprised. He knew how much effort Julie had put into complying with the Union safety rules. The guys working on this project were safer at work than they were sitting in their own living rooms.

"Some drunken asshole fell off a piece of equipment and hurt his wrist. It's too bad the piece of shit didn't split his head open while he was at it."

"That can still be arranged," Manny smiled.

"No," Julie answered, slowly, momentarily lost in thought. "I've got something different in mind."

Manny waited in silence. Many of the men Julie Ryan had business dealings with, especially those who were adversaries, made the mistake of thinking they could anticipate her response in a given situation. He had fallen into that trap himself the first time they met. Fresh out of college and armed with a degree in Architecture and Structural Design, she tackled the task of reviving her late father's defunct contracting business. She salvaged whatever equipment she could that was left over from the original Ryan Construction, hired some workers, and put a downpayment on a rundown house with the intention of renovating and reselling the property at a profit.

The project was going well, so well in fact, that Julie already had an anxious buyer who was willing to pay a premium in return for a quick turnover: the sooner the job was finished, the more money she would make. And time and money were something not only Julie, but the whole Ryan family, had little of at the moment. Her mother had just about finished drinking away the payout from her father's life insurance, bills were piling up, Sandra was off somewhere with her latest lowlife, and the twins needed to be taken care of.

Unfortunately, the subcontractor she hired to do the electrical work somehow got wind of the pending sale. Knowing that Julie was going to rake in a bundle on the deal, he ripped out most of the wires in the house and then informed her that due to "unforeseen problems" he was going to need three times the rate they originally agreed upon to finish the job. It was a tough spot for the young girl. She couldn't afford the expense or the delay a lawsuit would entail, and getting another electrician was pretty much out of the question since people in the building trades were notoriously reluctant to step on one another's toes.

In desperation, she turned to an old friend of her father's, Tom Garrity, a sergeant on the Carlton Beach police force. He told her there was nothing the police could do, but suggested she contact Manny Malachov, an ex-Carlton Beach cop who now owned a pool hall over on Crescent Street.

Manny remembered their first meeting vividly. Tom had called and told him to expect her, but he merely said she was a young lady who needed help with a business problem. He failed to mention the flowing red hair, the alluring face, the elegant figure. Most of all, he neglected to mention the riveting blue-grey eyes that could reflect the azure serenity of a calm ocean on a summer's day one moment, and the threatening violence of a nor'easter the next.

It was about three o'clock in the afternoon when she entered the pool hall, too early for the regulars, so they had the place to themselves.

She extended a hand, "Julie Ryan."

He took the hand; her grip much firmer than the slender wrist and delicate fingers promised. "Manny," he responded.

"I don't know how much Tom told you about my predicament," she began.

"Not much," Manny conceded.

She proceeded to give him a synopsis of the situation and the electrician's demands. He was impressed with the no nonsense way she presented the case, sticking to the salient facts, avoiding useless displays of anger or frustration.

The ex-cop nodded his head, "I think I know what you're looking for." He didn't realize his mistake until the young redhead shot back, "Do you really? Then why don't you tell me what it is that I want."

Manny forged ahead, "I think you'd like me to have a talk with this guy, straighten him out."

"And what if he doesn't want to be 'straightened out'?"

"A broken finger or two can make a very convincing argument."

"Wonderful," Julie shook her head. "Then all I have to do is wait six weeks for his fingers to heal before I can get my wiring fixed."

Manny began to say something but Julie cut him off. "Besides, as much of a prick as this guy is, I don't want to alienate him. The contractors in this town are a very close-knit community, if word gets around that I had one of them hurt, I'll never get anyone to work for me again."

"Well, if you have something else in mind --" Manny began, before Julie cut him off again.

"I do. The best way to get him to help me is for me to help him. I've done some research, and it turns out our electrician is a fine, upstanding, law abiding, tax paying pillar of the community."

Manny shrugged. "That doesn't help us."

"No," Julie agreed. "But his son is a meth addict with two convictions to his credit. In fact, he's still on probation for his last screw up. If he gets busted again, he's going to do some serious time, and from what I've been able to find out, there isn't much Dad wouldn't do to keep that from happening."

Manny was beginning to get the idea. "And I don't suppose your plan is to wait and hope the kid gets arrested sometime soon."

Julie shook her head. "We help things along. I'm guessing you have some friends in uniform that would be willing, for a price, of course, to make sure this kid gets caught possessing the kind of stuff that will get him shipped off to Rahway Prison for a few years."

"I can arrange that," Manny agreed. "But how does that help you?"

"It doesn't, not until I let our recalcitrant wire-splicer know that I have the means to make the whole mess disappear, provided he develops a more reasonable attitude toward our own dispute."

It made him so reasonable that he finished the job for free. Even after paying Manny and his associates on the force, Julie still ended up way ahead of the game. It was an outcome the ex-cop was to get used to in his dealings with the redhead. Which is why, even as bleak as things looked for Ryan Construction at the moment, he had no doubt Julie would eventually come out on top.

The sound of Julie's voice wrenched him back to the present. "I'm going to call Tommy Fitzgerald and give him one more chance to send his workers back. If he refuses, I'm going to spend the weekend hiring a new workforce, and start building again by mid-week."

"Scabs?" Manny shook his head. "The union'll never let them within a hundred yards of this site."

"The union can't really stop them. All they can do is picket, and yell, and make threatening gestures.

"They might do more than simply threaten," Manny suggested.

"But they might not," Julie countered, "and we need to make sure they do."

The ex-cop chuckled. "You want trouble," it was a statement, not a question.

"Sure. It's the best way to put the union on the defensive legally, and bring some good old-fashioned public outrage down on their heads."

Manny smiled, "How?"

Julie took him by the arm. "Let's walk," she said, and proceeded to unveil to him the details of a rather simple plan designed to resolve an otherwise complicated situation.

### Chapter 6

Mike pulled his 2009 Mustang into the parking lot behind Manny's Family Billiards. Julie bought the car for him when he and Val turned 17 this past June. Julie could certainly have afforded something newer and pricier, but she wanted her younger siblings to appreciate and value what they had, even if it wasn't the flashiest or most expensive. Val had chosen a 2013 Mazda 3 Sport.

He slammed the door shut, and entered Manny's through the rear entrance. The place was not fancy, but exuded a clean and inviting atmosphere. Light-colored wood paneling lined the walls; the floor was covered by a green carpet that matched the green felt surfaces of the eight pool tables that dominated the room. A foosball table and a few video games filled the corners of the room.

"Hey, Mike," Manny, the owner, called to him as he entered. Mike always felt uncomfortable around Manny. The older man was friendly enough, but he was always asking questions: how was school going, how were the girls treating him, what was he planning to do after graduation? None of it was any of his business, so Mike told him just enough to satisfy the man's strange curiosity. Not knowing the relationship between his sister and Manny, and that the pool-hall owner had promised Julie he'd keep an eye on her brother whenever possible. Mike figured the questioning was the old fart's way of rekindling memories of his own long-ago youth.

"Hi," Mike mumbled in response.

Manny was busy refilling the soda vending machine. "So, you need a table?"

"Not yet," Mike answered, "I'm waiting for Casey."

Manny rolled his eyes and groaned. The two of them had been over this ground many times before; Casey wasn't the type of person a good kid like Mike should be hanging around with: he had a bad reputation, one that was well deserved, if you asked Manny. Trouble was, nobody, certainly not Mike, was asking.

Mike spoke up before the older man could voice his usual objections. "We come in here a couple of times a week," the youth began, agitated, "we pay our way, follow the rules and most of all we mind our own business, why don't you do the same?"

Manny turned from his task. The ex-cop had a way of looking menacing without making overt movements or gestures toward whoever his adversary might be at the moment: something to do with the eyes. "Because," he forced his words through gritted teeth, "that guy has been trouble since the unfortunate day he was born. He's headed for a bad end, and anyone who gets involved with him is going to get dragged down with him."

Mike made a dismissive gesture with his hand and put some change in one of the video games, signaling an end to the conversation. Manny took the hint and resumed restocking his soda.

A few minutes later, Casey Lonighan burst through the front door. Casey was twenty years old and sported medium-length blonde hair that never seemed quite able to fall into place. He was constantly in motion, living life as if tied to an uncertain timetable whose final entry might be recorded at any moment.

"Hey, Manny," he called, flashing an overly cheerful smile. "How they hangin', buddy?"

"Piece of shit," Manny mumbled, not bothering to turn around.

"You got a problem, old man?" Casey demanded.

Manny faced his adversary, he didn't like Casey, but he had to admit he did see some of the defiance and fearlessness that marked his own youth in the youngster. "You better learn to control that temper, before you end up like your old man," he responded, more harshly than he intended. Casey's father had gotten himself knifed to death in a bar fight over some meaningless bullshit a couple of years earlier, his mother had left them both before he was old enough to spell his own name, and for his part, he was just as happy to be rid of both of them. "Maybe I will, but you won't be around to see it." Casey took a couple of menacing steps toward the pool-hall owner.

Mike jumped in between the two, "Come on Case, let's get out of here," he pleaded.

The two foes glared at each other, but in truth, this was a fight neither of them wanted at the moment. "All right," Casey conceded, "let's go."

Once outside , Casey took a deep breath, "That guy really fucking bugs my ass," he offered as he exhaled.

"At least you don't have to live with him," Mike said, as he swung open the car door and slid into the driver's seat.

Casey ran around to the passenger side and climbed in. "Sounds serious."

Mike merely shrugged his shoulders in response.

"C'mon, tell Father Casey all about it."

Mike gave the Reader's Digest version of the latest argument, emphasizing how tired he was of putting up with shit from his sisters, how he needed some independence. "Maybe I'll just pack up and get the fuck out of here altogether."

"Not a bad idea," Casey agreed. "But not yet. You're still a minor and that puts them in the driver's seat - for now. You need to bide your time until you're eighteen, then we both flip this town the bird and get the fuck out."

Mike sighed. "And what do I do until then? Let Julie decide how I'm going to spend every minute of my miserable fucking life?"

"Sometimes you gotta swim in the crapper before you find a way to climb out," Casey opined. "That's life."

"That sucks."

"Sure it does. But we've got a plan."

Mike looked uncertain. "We do?"

"Yes. You know Metal Mania?"

"The club over on Melbourne Street, sure."

"Well, my cousin (Casey didn't have a mother or father, but he seemed to have an endless reserve of cousins) is tight with the owner. He said he can hook us up with a couple of jobs."

Mike shook his head as he fired up the Mustang. "They serve alcohol, which means you have to be twenty-one to work there."

"Not if we're just taking tickets at the door." Casey pressed his case, before his friend could dream up any more objections. "We work Friday and Saturday nights, for five hours, pocket two hundred bucks each every weekend. If we sock that all away for the next year, we can blow this town in style, and everyone else can go fuck themselves."

Mike had to admit his friend's idea sounded pretty good. The only problem was going to be getting around Julie's objections which she was sure to have. He pulled the car out of the parking lot and into traffic, feeling that maybe there was a glimmer of hope after all.

### Chapter 7

Val shifted uncomfortably on the bleacher seat. She watched a collection of brown and red leaves scurry past her feet, propelled by a harsh, biting wind, a reminder that even in early October, winter had a way of flexing its muscles. Cheerleading practice had ended some time ago. Practice always tired her out, but in a good way, a way that left her feeling, well, exhilarated would probably the best way to describe it. After all, cheerleaders these days did a lot more than shake pom-poms and yell "Rah, Rah."

No. Today's routines consisted of some very complicated, potentially dangerous "stunts," like preps, cupies, split-lifts, and basket tosses. Many of these feats require the flyer to stand atop human pyramids, be hoisted high in the air, or flung as high as fifteen feet off the ground, smiling brilliantly all the time. Val was a flyer, a fact that surprised anyone who knew her. Even surprised herself a bit. Flyers were risk-takers, adventurous performers who didn't wilt under the scrutiny of several hundred spectators.

Even Val wouldn't describe herself as particularly adventurous. What she lacked in boldness, however, she more than made up for in self-confidence and intelligence. While she had begun her cheerleading career as a base (the people at the bottom of the pyramids that prop up the flyer), she surprised everyone, including herself a bit, by volunteering to take over when the previous flyer graduated.

A cacophony of sounds drew her attention to the field in front of her. Coaches shouting last-minute instructions to players, players shouting at each other, the thud and rustle of equipment being stored, signalled the end of another football practice. The team began to disperse, some of the boys already pulling off their jerseys as they tramped toward the lockers.

Val snatched a book from her backpack and tried to pretend she wasn't searching the grimy faces for anyone in particular, even though she was. Danny Alvarado. He was the team captain who was also in her AP English and Chem classes. She noticed him when he transferred in last year, along with just about every other girl in the school, but never seemed able to summon the courage to make him notice her. That was going to change - hopefully. She wasn't sure what exactly she was going to say to get his attention, but whatever it was, it had to be soon. She caught a brief glimpse of Danny's number 12 jersey before it disappeared behind a wave of onrushing players.

As he drew near, she made a sound that might have been a word, might have been a groan. "Damn," Val muttered, covering her face with her hands, busy berating herself, when she heard a voice.

"You okay?"

Val lifted her head and saw Danny standing on the other side of the chain-link fence that separated the bleachers from the runway that led to the lockers. She lowered her hands and managed a smile. "Yes, I'm fine," were the first words Val said to the boy she had been scheming to meet all semester.

"Val, right?" the boy responded. She nodded.

"I'm Danny," he smiled.

Val had gone to several games to see Danny play, but she had never been this close to him when he was wearing his football uniform. Unlike the loose, casual clothes he wore in class, the uniform was tight, revealing a body that was muscular, but not in a gross bodybuilder sort of way. His physique projected power and strength, yet his eyes spoke of deep wells of kindness and intelligence. He was, in a word, perfect.

"I know," she responded, blushing slightly. "I mean we share a couple of classes, so of course I know who you are. It's not like I'm some crazy stalker. I..." Val trailed off, realizing that she was beginning to actually sound like a crazy stalker.

Danny smiled. "So you just out here enjoying this fine weather?" he asked, idly pushing back the tuft of hair a sudden gust of wind had blown into his eyes.

Val laughed, softly. "No. I'm waiting for my brother to pick me up. I guess he forgot again," she lied, spying her car sitting in the parking lot on the far side of the field.

"If you don't mind waiting a few minutes, I can give you a ride."

"That would be great," Val responded, hoping she didn't sound too anxious.

Danny nodded and headed for the locker room.

Danny Alvarado drove a brand new canary-yellow Camaro. Even when parked, it exuded a feeling of unbridled speed, although he drove with amazing restraint for an eighteen-year-old high school football star. He eased the car out of the school lot and made a right. "Where to?" he asked.

"Holly Hill," she replied.

Danny whistled, "The high rent district. I'm impressed."

"Don't be. It's my sister's house. I'm staying over tonight. Besides," Val twisted in her seat to get a better look at him while they talked, " judging from this ride of yours, maybe I'm the one who should be impressed."

He turned his head slightly and nodded. "Touche, Miss Ryan."

Val looked at him, puzzled. "I'm flattered a big shot like you would even know my last name."

It was the football player's turn to blush. " Well-" he began, somewhat tentatively, "like you said, we share a couple of classes."

Val smiled, pretty sure that neither of those teachers ever called her by her last name in class, but certainly not unhappy that he had made the effort to find out.

They drove down Main Street, the Sun already drifting below the treetops. A few shoppers hurried along the sidewalks, clutching their packages close to keep them from being ripped away by yet another sudden gust of wind.

"It's only October, and I'm already counting the days until Spring," Val offered.

"Not a fan of the cold?" Danny queried.

"I'm definitely a warm-weather girl," she chuckled. "How about you."

"Well," Danny mused, slowing down for a red light, "each season has its good and bad points, but football in the Fall and snowboarding in the Winter are kind of hard to beat, at least for me."

Val nodded her head. "You want to take a right at the next corner."

The Camaro turned smoothly onto Mediterranean Boulevard and began the gentle climb up Holly Hill. They'd be at Julie's doorstep in a few minutes. Val didn't want this short ride to be the end of their relationship. She was frantically searching for a way to arrange for another meeting when Danny said, "Big Chem test next week."

Val nodded.

"I was just thinking," he continued, "maybe we could get together Friday night and do some studying."

"That would be great," Val agreed. Although trying to appear nonplussed by the offer, she was so elated she nearly let them breeze right past her sister's house. "It's right here, on the right," she blurted out.

Danny pulled into the driveway and put the car in park. He turned to face her. "I was thinking we could cram at my house - my parents will be home," he added quickly, seeing the hesitation in the girl's face.

Val smiled, somewhat embarrassed that her thoughts were so transparent.

"I just need your address."

"Or I could pick you up," the boy suggested.

Val said a quick prayer that he couldn't tell what she was thinking this time. If she told him to pick her up here, there would be no end to Julie's questions, and she couldn't meet him at her house. It would be just her luck that Friday would be the one time that her mother managed to rouse herself from her drunken stupor long enough to answer the door. She didn't even want to consider what a disaster that would be! "I have a couple of things I have to do after school, so it would be better if I just came to you."

'Okay," he agreed. "Around six?"

"I'll be there," Val promised opening the door and heading toward the house, hoping she would be able to get in touch with Mike in time to drive her back to school and pick up her car before Julie got home.

### Chapter 8

Metal Mania was a bit of a misnomer, heavy metal was rarely heard there anymore. Today's over-twenty-one crowd was more partial to hip-hop, rap, and alternative music; although referring to the club's patrons as an " over-twenty-one crowd" was a bit of a misnomer as well, management not being too particular who bought its booze. As long as someone had the proper ID (which meant the prospective partier had something with his or her name on it that looked somewhat official) the guys at the door in charge of verifying such things were instructed not to look too closely, just close enough that the club had some plausible deniability if the cops ever dropped in to check, which was unlikely in any event, since every month the establishment's owner, Johnny Siccardi, placed cash-filled envelopes into the hands of a couple of Carlton Beach's key police personnel.

Mike and Casey were at the door, busily scanning ID's. It was their first night alone, having spent the previous two weekends under the tutelage of two of the regular bouncers. They stood in front of what used to be the entrance to Davis Lumber and Hardware. When the new owner took over, he did little more than resurface the floors to make them more suitable for dancing, install a sound system, and, most importantly, put in a monstrous bar that covered the better part of a side wall. The fresh scent of oak, pine, and mahogany gave way to the smell of alcohol, sweat, and vomit.

It was nearly midnight. Most of tonight's crowd was already inside: drinking, dancing, downing the Ecstasy that was available from any one of several dealers (guys who paid Johnny a cut of the profits in return for doing business in his establishment). Casey checked in a couple of stragglers then leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette.

"I told you it was easy money," he observed, turning his gaze toward Mike, adding "A helluva lot better than what I get for pumping gas," which was Casey's full-time gig.

The other nodded his head in response. The money was easy; convincing Julie to let him take the job had been considerably more difficult. The argument had been intense, but not so loud as the ruckus over Mike joining the army. His sister put up a spirited opposition, but eventually, to his great surprise, gave in after eliciting from him the promise that he would maintain his grades and keep the job a strictly Friday and Saturday night affair.

"Get your fucking hands off me," a woman's voice shouted.

The two door-wardens snapped their heads in the direction of the parking lot in front of the building. In the dim light of an overhead lamp, they saw a woman and three men. The three men were dressed pretty much the same: dingy jeans, soiled work boots, faded tee shirts. The lady, on the other hand, was geared up for action. She sported a black leather bolero jacket over a red halter top (apparently undisturbed by the cool weather) and a pair of jeans so tight that it was doubtful anything could be squeezed into the pockets.

Casey recognized the woman as Lisa Garelli, Johnny Siccardi's girlfriend. She was actually closer to Casey's age than Johnny's, but the older man had what women like Lisa admired most - -cash. Casey tossed his cigarette and flicked a backhand into Mike's chest. "C'mon," he urged.

The three men had Lisa surrounded, one on either side, and one in front of her with his back facing the club: tough luck for him. Casey let go a vicious blow to the base of the man's neck, sending the creep crashing to the ground, his night over. One of the others lunged for Casey, but Mike interrupted him in mid-stride by wrapping his arm around the guy's neck and dragging him to the ground. The third punk balled his hand into a fist, took one look at the sheer rage emanating from his would-be opponent and decided he'd rather be inside his car with the doors locked just now.

Mike was still on the ground, his arm wrapped securely around the windpipe of his struggling captive. "I once saw him crush a guy's throat like that," Casey lied, nonchalantly lighting another smoke.

The man on the ground pulled weakly at his attacker's arm, beginning to get light headed from lack of air. He looked up, unable to speak, a desperate plea for help in his terrified eyes.

"I can make him stop," Casey volunteered, taking a deep drag on his Marlboro. "But when he does, you haul this asshole out of here," he indicated the body on the ground that was just now beginning to stir. "Then get the fuck out, and don't ever show your scumbag faces around here again."

The other nodded as best he could; the pressure on his throat lessened and he gasped in several lungfuls of air. The two would-be ladies' men staggered away, leaning heavily on each other for support.

Lisa, apparently unaffected by the fiasco, flashed a bright smile. "Well thank you. Guess I'm pretty lucky you guys showed up when you did." Her rescuers noticed, for the first time, the switchblade in her hand, which she smoothly retracted and placed in her purse.

"Maybe you didn't need our help as much as we thought," Casey observed.

Lisa zipped her purse closed. "Oh come on," she exhorted, "you guys were great. Let's go inside, I'll buy you a drink."

"We'd love to," Mike interjected, before Casey could accept, "but we're working the door tonight, and I'm thinking we'd better get back if we want to keep our jobs."

"Oh. So you've got to be new here. There's no way I would have missed a couple of good-lookers like you two." Lisa flashed the vibrant smile that Casey was quickly falling in love with. "'Well, I happen to be very tight with your boss and I'll make sure he knows what you did. Who knows, maybe he'll give you a raise."

She gave them each a quick peck on the cheek and headed toward the club, Casey's eyes riveted on each step.

"Forget it," Mike warned.

Casey slowly shook his head. "I don't think I can."

### Chapter 9

The first thing Val noticed about Danny's room were the posters that adorned the walls: no representations of sports heroes or rock stars here. Instead, the placards urged the reader to Save the Whales, Save Barnegat Bay, Save the Environment - save any damn thing, apparently. She wasn't big on causes, but she did like guys who were different, and Danny was beginning to reveal himself as something more than just another narcissistic jock.

Danny showed her to a desk in one corner of the room. Val barely had space enough at home to fit a full size bed and a dresser. "Nice," she observed.

The boy shrugged his shoulders. "I guess." He pointed at a high-back leather chair on wheels, "You can sit here, I'll be right back." He left the room, returning seconds later with a folding chair. "You hungry? I can go dig up something from the kitchen."

In truth, Val could have gone for something, but for some strange reason, felt that accepting the offer would make her seem less, what, she thought - feminine?

"No thanks, I'm good." she responded,

"Okay," Danny said, opening a textbook, "let's get started."

Ostensibly, they were there to study for the upcoming Chem test, but Val knew as much about chemistry as she wanted to know for today. Getting to know her study partner better seemed an exceedingly more interesting endeavor.

"Your parents seem very nice," she ventured.

"They're okay."

"That doesn't sound very positive."

Danny looked up from his book. "They own an accounting firm. That alone should tell you all you need to know."

Val chuckled. "I don't think that makes them terrible people."

"Don't get me wrong," the boy amended, "it's not like they go around yelling, screaming, and throwing things around the house. No. What they do is guilt-trip you. If I don't get straight A's, I'm somehow letting them down. If I'm not overly polite to their friends, or don't suck up enough to their clients, I'm being ungrateful for all they do for me. I understand I've got a good life going here. I have a lot of things most kids don't. And I do appreciate it. I just wish they wouldn't throw it in my face as often as they do."

Val couldn't help comparing what it must be like having two overachieving CPA's for parents, to life with her own mom, who was probably well into her second bottle of Southern Comfort by now. Thanks to Julie, however, she was no stranger to the pressure cooker.

"I know. It can sometimes be overwhelming. Being second in your class isn't good enough, because, God knows, if you had only put in a little more effort, you could have been number one. Don't dare bring home a B+, or, heaven forbid, fail a pop quiz. But do you know what the really sick thing is? I don't need anyone to tell me how useless I am if I'm not the best, I already feel that way all on my own without anyone pointing it out." Val looked away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"That's okay," Danny interrupted. "I'm sorry things are that way for you, but honestly, I kind of like having someone I can talk to about this stuff. Hope that doesn't make me a bad guy."

Val wiped an errant tear from her cheek. "No, it doesn't make you a bad guy. In fact, I'm just as happy as you are to have someone I can talk to about it. If that's okay with you."

Danny leaned a little closer to her. "It's more than okay."

### Chapter 10

It was a warm day in mid-November; the kind that kept the denizens of the northeastern states focused more on the summer past rather than the wintry weather ahead. The ocean itself seemed to be enjoying the tepid reprieve. Waves gently brushed the shore, before languidly rolling back into the calm, blue basin from which they came. The beauty of the aquatic ballet was lost on Charlie Franklin, even though the scene played itself out less that fifty yards from the double-wide trailer where he was currently pacing nervously about. The trailer served as the on-site office of Ryan Construction's Carlton Arms project. Charlie was the project manager, and he was livid. He spun around to face his boss. "Scabs." He hissed, sounding more like a rattlesnake than the bright, highly educated architectural engineer he was.

Julie smiled. Charlie had a tendency to be a drama queen at times, but he was undeniably one of the best in his profession. As head of Ryan Construction, there were two things Julie valued most in her employees - talent and loyalty, and Charlie had both.

"Charlie," she began, in a tone more befitting a teacher reasoning with an errant student, than a boss admonishing one of her hirelings. "you know as well as I do what this delay is costing us. I've been fighting for this project since we first developed the concept, and I'm not about to lose it because the union wants to play games with me. If their members don't want the work, they're going to find out there are plenty of others that do. And I don't care if they have a union card, or a green card for that matter, as long as they can dig, lift, run a crane, or do anything else we need to get this building back on schedule."

Charlie was about Julie's age, had as good an education, and just as much construction experience as his boss. He didn't have her prize-fighter instincts. He could disagree with her, even rather strenuously at times, but there was a limit to the dissension she would accept, even from him. He ran his fingers through the shock of black hair that adorned his head.

"Okay," he began calmly. "I know we have to get this thing going. It's just that my father was a teamster all his life. His union helped pay for part of my college. I just don't feel right hiring non-union replacements."

"Then go hire some union workers," she countered.

"You know they won't work here until Fitzgerald gives the okay."

"Then let's shut down."

Franklin looked stunned.

"We can't get any workers that suit you, so we'll have to shut down. Only you are going to be the one to tell our office staff and subcontractors that they're out of a job. But don't worry, I'm sure they'll understand when you explain that it's all for the benefit of good old Local 182."

"I didn't mean we should do that," he countered.

Julie moved forward until she stood toe-to-toe with her project manager. Even though he was a good six inches taller than her, she somehow made him seem smaller in comparison. "Then what exactly did you mean?" she asked, not bothering to keep the icy impatience out of her voice.

A hundred thoughts raced through Charlie Franklin's mind. None of which helped him phrase a response that wouldn't sound idiotic. Except one. Julie was right.

"When are the new workers due."

"First thing tomorrow morning" she answered, giving Charlie a soft pat on the cheek before heading for the door.

### Chapter 11

Mike guided his car into the Metal Mania parking lot. It was empty except for two cars: Lisa's blue beemer and Johnny's black Mercedes. It was three o'clock on a Saturday.

They normally didn't show up until much later, but Johnny wanted to see them before they started their shift.

"So what do you think it's all about?" Mike queried as he pulled in next to the other vehicles.

"I don't know," Casey responded, a little too complacently for Mike's liking.

"You could try to sound like you give a shit. I mean, the guy pays our salaries after all."

"Maybe he's going to give us a raise, like Lisa said."

In the two weeks since the incident in the parking lot, they had seen nothing of either Lisa or Johnny. Until last night. They were manning the doors, when Lisa came strutting up.

"Hi boys," she said, although her attention was squarely fixed on Casey. Mike could have been a turd on the steps for all she cared.

"Johnny wants to see you," she continued, moving closer to Mike's friend as she spoke.

"What about you?" Casey asked.

Lisa tilted her head questioningly.

"Don't you want to see... us?"

"Be in Johnny's office before you start work tomorrow," she instructed, brushing her right hip against Casey as she made her way back into the club.

The main door turned out to be locked, so they walked around to the service entrance on the side of the building. A dimly lit hallway, covered in peeling floral-print wallpaper greeted them. Several rooms lined the corridor, their contents safely cloistered behind digital door locks. Casey and Mike barely noticed. The two continued on until they reached a staircase. A sign on the adjoining wall read: OFFICE, underlined by a large yellow arrow. They made the short climb to the top and knocked on the first door.

"Come in," a voice invited.

The voice belonged to Johnny Siccardi, who was sitting behind a large mahogany desk. Johnny looked more like a used car salesman than a mobster: neither short nor tall, with a pencil-thin mustache and thinning brown hair that he wore slicked back. Many over the years had made the ( sometimes fatal ) mistake of judging this book solely by its cover. It required no more than a cursory reading to reveal the unforgiving, calculating, sociopathic mob boss hidden within the pages.

"Have a seat," he indicated the two chairs that faced his desk.

His visitors did so.

"My saviors," Lisa cooed. She was standing behind her boyfriend, gently massaging his neck as she spoke.

He pushed her hands away. "Why don't you go get a drink while we talk some business."

Lisa left the room, the crime lord making note of the way Casey's eyes followed the girl as she left. It was annoying, but it was something he had gotten used to in the course of their relationship. It just wasn't feasible for even a big-time gangster to go around cracking every head that turned in his girlfriend's direction. But he wasn't stupid either; it was something he'd keep an eye on.

"So, I hear you're a couple of tough guys," Siccardi began. "I don't mean that in a bad way," he added, seeing the confused look that flashed across the boy's faces. "In fact," he continued, "I could use a couple of sluggers right now."

Mike was still confused. Casey leaned forward eagerly.

"We've had a bad run lately," the boss explained. "It seems several of my associates will be on vacation courtesy of the state for a while. I'll replace them eventually, but in the meantime, there are some matters that cannot be put off." He leaned back in his seat, awaiting a response.

"What kind of matters?" Casey asked, clearly interested.

"Nothing too difficult. There are people who owe me money. Most pay their debt on time, some need to be ... encouraged. Nothing radical, just something to remind them how much better life is when you do the right thing. The job pays five percent of whatever you collect. Doesn't sound like much, but believe me, it adds up."

"We're in," Casey declared, not giving Mike a chance to give voice to any of the million questions that were running through his head. Instead, he merely nodded when Johnny looked to him for a reaction.

The gangster rose from his desk and extended his hand. "See Sergio at the bar before you leave tonight. He'll fill you in."

They shook hands and left the office: Casey unabashedly happy, Mike less so.

### Chapter 12

Manny eased his Range Rover into a spot between a new pickup and a van that had seen better days. He turned off the engine and surveyed the parking lot. To his left was a ramp that led to the public part of the beach, on his right rose the framework of Carlton Arms. The lot was filling up quickly: the union boys were off to an early start. A crew near the road was busy inflating a giant rat. Manny wasn't sure if the insult was directed toward Ryan Construction or the scabs who would be showing up in about an hour. Probably both, he decided.

Steam rose from a container of coffee in the cup holder and started fogging up the windshield. It was a raw day, the kind that made people pull their jackets closer to their shivering bodies, their hats further down their foreheads to prevent the wind from making off with their headgear. It was not quite raining, but the mist was heavy enough that most people trudged along with their heads lowered against the elements. All of which was fine with Manny. He would put to good use any diversion that cared to present itself today.

There was plenty of time before his plan (well actually, Julie's plan) had to be set into motion. A police cruiser drove slowly past the Rover. Manny didn't recognize the driver. Probably a rookie. He knew all of the old-timers from his own days on the force. Days that had been fairly brief, but very enlightening.

Being a police officer had never been a dream of his, but settling into one place had. His father was an Army staff sergeant, and they moved around quite a bit. Manny was nineteen when his father got transferred to Fort Dix. Life at the fort sucked, but it led to his discovery of the Jersey Shore and its beaches, clubs, bars, and amusement parks. He quickly fell in with a crowd of "bennies" (a derogatory term used by full-time residents to describe the hordes of renters who descended on the area every summer). Within two years, he gave up his job stocking shelves at the base commissary and landed a job with the Carlton Beach Police.

It quickly became apparent there were different levels of law enforcement practiced in his adopted town. The top tier belonged to the "old money" families, people whose surnames graced street signs, banks, and law offices. For this bunch, the cops acted more like concierges than police. The village nabobs never got hauled in for things like driving drunk. Instead, the offending vehicle operator was given a ride home by an officer. A tow truck was dispatched soon afterward to deliver the car, safe and sound, to its owner. If the progeny of the favored class got high, got into fights, vandalized property, or caused any kind of disturbance within the jurisdiction of the Carlton Beach Police, they were generally returned to their parents.

Daddy would invariably promise to make amends for any damage to property, then assure the officer that the child would receive a "stern talking to."

Average residents could expect fair, if not preferred, treatment from its men and women in blue, but no reprieve would be forthcoming for inadvertently exceeding a speed limit or letting the time on a parking meter run out.

Junkies, shoplifters, and petty thieves of all types, fared worse. Black eyes, split lips, and swollen jaws were common features in department mug shots. Nobody cared. As long as the streets were safe for the summer crowd and their seemingly endless wallets.

It was a fucked up system, but Manny learned how to work it. It was exasperating to have to kowtow to the rich folk, but his ego was soothed by the envelope of cash that always followed. As it turned out, money making opportunities abounded. There might be a businessman who needed a competitor scared off, a husband who was curious as to how his wife spent her time while he was at work, or an individual simply looking for information (generally of the damaging type) on another person.

Drug dealers provided Manny with his most lucrative source of income. The warm summer months brought with them droves of visitors. Most were there to enjoy the sand and waves. A fair amount came looking for less legal fun. There were plenty who were willing to indulge their wishes. When he spotted a dealer, he'd stay close and wait until the man, or occasionally, woman, was finished converting their wares to cash. Then he'd move in. The dealer was escorted out of town. His money stayed behind.

Things went along quite well for several years. He managed to reconcile himself to the conflicting roles of flunky for the rich and scourge of the unconnected evildoer. The money was good. Then came Jason Mately. At first glance there was nothing to distinguish him from the other drug dealers that haunted the alleyways and nightclubs around town. So there was no reason to treat him any differently. Manny confronted his mark, did a frisk search, and "confiscated" the dealer's bankroll. Then he took the perp's arm and explained that it was time to leave town. Mately didn't think so. He took a swing at the cop, landing a shot on the jaw that snapped Manny's head back and sent his hat flying. By the time the tussle ended, blood dripped from the attacker's broken nose onto the sidewalk where it pooled around the couple of teeth he was now missing.

Sometimes in life, people find themselves mired in a shitty mess they never intended to create. That was certainly true for Manny. Lowlife scumbag Jason Mately turned out to be the nephew of C. Alton Prescott, Esq. The Prescott's were one of those "street sign" families, Prescott Avenue being the busy thoroughfare that ran parallel to the boardwalk. It didn't take long before he had to turn in his badge and look for other means of employment.

The roar of an angry crowd brought his thoughts back to the present. The first busload of scabs had arrived.

### Chapter 13

Julie Ryan glanced up at the wall clock - again. It wasn't that she was nervous, she rarely experienced the feeling. Today, everything was on a tight schedule and there was no room for variations. She opened the door to the trailer and looked out on an abandoned job site. A little further away, the ears of a giant rat were rising from a nearby road. She smiled. Perfect. If only the other pieces would start falling into place... A cloud of dirt and gravel announced the arrival of the WGSN News Van. "Click," she whispered to herself as another segment of the plan slipped into position.

Charlie Franklin emerged from behind a wall of sheet rock and joined Julie. "Newsmen?" he asked, as they approached their visitors.

"Or newswomen," his boss shot back.

The passenger-side door opened and one of the most beautiful women Charlie had ever seen emerged from the van. Her name was Sue Zheng (Sue being easier for people to pronounce and remember than her real first name of Shaoqing).

The two women embraced. They first met during their sophomore year at Rutgers. Each quickly recognized the innate intelligence and ambition of the other, traits that could have made them rivals, but didn't. They became friends and roomed together for the final two years of their college careers.

Sue was a journalism major hoping to one day break into the world of TV news. Unfortunately, there was no shortage of bright, well-educated, attractive young people who fostered the same dream. Getting your foot in the door was often the old story of who you knew rather than what you knew. Luckily, it turned out the aspiring reporter did know somebody, or at least somebody who knew somebody.

Back when Julie was in high school, her father hired a college student who spent his summers working for Ryan Construction. Employer and employee got along so well that the boy was invited to the Ryan house for dinner on several occasions. The whole family became enamored of the young man, although none so much as Julie, who was experiencing her first serious crush (And, as it turned out, her last. Dad died shortly after the boy graduated. The time for childish indulgences had passed). He kept in touch with the family and made Julie the obligatory "If there's ever anything I can do" promise at her father's funeral. She never imagined actually taking him up on his offer, but, as she was quickly learning, circumstances change. The once part-time construction worker became the assistant program director at the Garden State Network. Julie made a call and by the next week her friend had secured a much-coveted internship at the station. Ms. Zheng didn't waste the opportunity, working her way up through the ranks, eventually becoming an on-air reporter and a valued member of the news crew.

Sue surveyed her dismal surroundings, finding nothing to indicate the "major story" she had been promised. "I'm assuming you didn't drag me down here to film the flight of the seagulls," she asked jokingly.

"Oh no," her old pal promised.

### Chapter 14

Union protesters were rapidly filling in a fifteen-foot wide lane that wound its way between the parking lot and a line of barricades the police set up the night before. A couple of patrolmen remained on the scene, but they seemed mostly interested in directing traffic. Sgt. Garrity offered to leave a more substantial contingent, but Julie assured him a show of force was not necessary.

Manny drifted along with the crowd. A flannel jacket and nondescript navy-blue baseball cap helped create the illusion that he belonged there. The weight of a four inch barrel, thirty-eight caliber revolver rested comfortably inside a shoulder holster. The gun was an old friend from his days on the force; it was comfortable, reliable, and exactly what today's job called for.

The ex-cop meandered along with the tide, all the while keeping an eye out for the trunk of a large tree he discovered while scouting around the day before. He found his spot and leaned against the rough bark. It wasn't a great location, but it provided some cover while still allowing him to remain within the throng - a key element of the plan.

A yellow school bus kicked up gravel before skidding to a stop behind its twin. Doors swung open as the two vehicles disgorged their passengers. Demonstrators worked themselves into a frenzy shaking signs and hurling a litany of venomous profanity at their targets.

The objects of their anger, desperate and fearful, remained silent. They had no desire to supplant other laborers, but they did have a desire to provide for their families. Jobs were hard to come by, especially when all one had to sell was sweat and brawn.

Three men stood before a trailer. One, sporting a white shirt and paisley tie, was flanked by two rough-looking men adorned in work clothes and yellow hardhats.

"My name is Mr. Franklin," the middle figure announced. "These gentlemen," he gestured toward the men at his sides, "are Roger and Hal. You will report to them. Give them a brief description of your skills and they will assign you a job." Hearing an uncertain murmur emanate from the crowd, he added, "Don't worry. We have plenty of work for those of you who can only lift and dig."

Manny watched from his vantage point about twenty-five yards from the action. He needed to act now while the new laborers were still bunched together. That way, even if he missed his chosen mark, he'd most likely hit someone. The idea wasn't to kill, but to maim - and leave the union holding the bag.

The ex-cop drew his revolver and held it lightly against his leg. On his left, a guy brandished a picket sign, waving it so frantically that the people next to him had to move several steps away or risk getting whacked in the head. On his right, a man leaned against the barricade, trying to get a better look through the mist. Neither one was paying much attention to their immediate surroundings. Now was the time.

Manny searched the host of would-be employees. It didn't take him long to isolate the perfect candidate: a young man who seemed sturdy enough to endure a minor bullet wound without suffering any lasting consequences. After all, he had no malice toward these men, he just needed one to play a part in the developing drama. Checking one more time to make sure his neighbors were still occupied, he raised the gun and aimed at the unsuspecting victim. At this distance, the thirty-eight wouldn't be lethal unless the guy caught one in the skull. Manny aimed low, hoping to hit a thigh.

Few maxims have withstood the test of time better than the one that says: "The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry." Not today. If a plan could ever be said to have been pulled off perfectly, it was on this day. The shot rang out loud enough to create a sense of confusion in the crowd that eventually worked its way up to panic. The bullet landed exactly where the shooter intended it to, its quarry grabbed the back of his leg as he slumped to the ground.

Manny raced around to the other side of the tree, pointed vaguely in the direction of the beach and shouted, "There he is. He went that way."

Several men took off in pursuit of the phantom culprit, while most fled in the opposite direction. For his part, the actual gunman joined the latter group and eventually slipped back into the parking lot.

Sue Zheng was getting bored. Two buses had pulled in, a bunch of men got off, and now they were all just milling around waiting to get their job assignments. She supposed she could try to sell it as yet another chapter in the age- old struggle between management and labor, between the haves and the have nots. The problem with that being it was an age- old story that was impossible to put a fresh spin on.

Even her camera crew was getting antsy. Other than the occasional shout of a particularly aggressive demonstrator, there was not much here that was even remotely interesting. She was about to pack it in when the shot rang out. It sounded like a firecracker, but her reporter's instinct for a story kicked in and she knew something significant had happened. Her assessment was validated when one of the scabs cried out and fell to the ground.

"Get a shot of that," she shouted at her cameraman, as she raced toward the barricades, the direction she thought the blast had come from. People were fleeing the scene, some shouting "gun!" as they ran. Sue screamed for her crew to join her. As they approached, she positioned herself in such a way that the pandemonium behind her would be well-framed for the viewers.

"This is Sue Zheng reporting from Carlton Beach where a heretofore peaceful labor dispute has erupted into violence. This is a developing story, so we do not have all the facts yet. At the moment it appears that a man has been shot at the Carlton Arms construction site. The victim was one of the replacement workers brought in by management after members of Construction Local 182 walked off the job last week. The shot seems to have originated from an area occupied by union picketers. That's all we have for now. More details will be coming shortly. This is Sue Zheng WGSN news."

### Chapter 15

Val and Danny strolled hand-in-hand along the boardwalk. She rarely went to the beach in the summer - too crowded, too noisy, too "bennyish." But when the cool autumn winds came and chased away the warm weather and the hordes that came along with it, there was time to appreciate the gift of living near the ocean. She immersed herself in the tranquil rhythm of waves grasping for the shore, the feel of the breeze tugging at her hair and rustling posters tacked onto boarded up arcades, pizzerias, and souvenir shops. This was the real shore.

Val came here often when she had a problem to ponder, a decision to make, or sometimes, just to clear her head and bask in the solitude. Lately, she and Danny had been making the pilgrimage together. It was almost becoming "their place." The time they could spare from their myriad extracurricular activities was too precious to waste running around to concerts or parties. The two were content with each other's company.

She loved spending time with Danny, loved talking with him, loved his passion for his causes, loved the way he actually listened when she spoke. In fact, it was safe to say she loved everything about Danny Alvarado. All of which made it nearly impossible for her to reconcile the dichotomy his presence in her life created.

He wasn't just a boyfriend (in fact, Val wasn't even sure their few weeks together qualified them as an official couple). Danny was an inspiration, a confidante, a person she could depend on for solace and understanding. He was also a high achiever. So was she. But for the first time in her life she found herself struggling to keep up with someone else. Danny did everything, and did it all beyond well. Val wasn't competing with him. She was trying to be worthy of him. Her Fortress of Solitude was also her Mount Everest.

Danny's voice interrupted her musings.

"Sorry. Did you say something?" she asked.

" I was just wondering where you drifted off to."

The girl shook her head. "I'm not really sure." She spied a bench. "Mind if we sit?"

For a while they watched seagulls scour the sand for whatever sustenance might be found. Now and then one circled overhead, its shrill, plaintive cry piercing the silence.

Val began to speak, then changed her mind.

Danny wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Something had been troubling her lately and he really wanted to help, but he knew pushing the subject would only push her away.

"I'm here if you need me."

Val's lips curved into a smile, but her eyes still looked empty, tired. "I know." She seemed ready to talk, but sighed and shut down again. Nothing would have made her happier than to unload her burdens. The problem was how to do that without seeming weak and needy. Certainly there were plenty of girls willing to take her place who didn't come with a list difficulties to burden their boyfriend with.

"Maybe we should just go," Val whispered, starting to rise. She didn't get far. Her legs buckled and she plopped back down with a heavy thud. Her head started to droop. Danny caught the girl just before she slumped out of her seat.

"Val! Val! "Come on talk to me. Say something," he implored, staring into her glassy eyes.

The girl languidly ran her fingers through her hair, slowly regaining some semblance of composure as she did so. "I'm okay."

Danny really liked this girl, more every day they spent together. The last thing he wanted was to start a confrontation, but sometimes actions were dictated by circumstances, regardless of what the participants might desire. "You're obviously not. I'm getting you to the emergency room."

Val struggled to get free of his grasp. "No, no. Don't," she implored. Noting the distress on Danny's face, she forced herself to calm down. "If Julie finds out, she'll ship me up to the Mayo Clinic and insist they bombard me with every medical test ever devised. Please." She made a valiant effort to produce a convincing smile.

The boy still had his doubts, but she did seem to be recovering somewhat. "Okay. But only if you tell me what's been bugging you lately."

Val stared at him for several seconds. Finally, she spoke. "I guess you'd figure it out for yourself sooner or later, so I might as well just tell you. I'm a fake."

"A fake?"

"Yes. I'm not this super person that has it all together. Far from it. I feel like a newborn sea turtle making its first attempt to reach the deep waters. At first all goes well. Then a wave comes and pushes the little creature back toward the shore. So it tries again. And fails again. And again. Maybe it'll eventually make its way out to sea. Maybe it'll get scooped up by a predator. Me, I'm still at the water's edge, desperately trying to swim before I get whisked away."

Danny took a moment to consider before speaking. Val interpreted his silence as disapproval. She started to rise again. "Believe me, however disappointed you are in me, I'm ten times more disappointed in myself. Forgive me for letting you down."

He gently pulled her back to the bench. "I'm not disappointed. I've been nothing but impressed by you since the first time we talked. I just think that you might be building too big of an ocean for yourself."

She looked at him quizzically. "What?"

"Don't blame me," he replied, "I'm not the one who brought the turtle metaphor into the conversation." The smile Val responded with was faint but honest. Danny was glad to see it.

"All I'm saying is maybe you need to cut down on the extras. You're taking three AP classes, you're on the cheerleading squad, work three days a week after school, and volunteer at the animal rescue. Sooner or later a schedule like that is going to do anybody in."

"Not you," the girl replied. "You do just as much, probably more. That doesn't stop you. I get so tired. I could fall asleep right here on this bench. Val closed her eyes. It seemed for a moment she might do exactly that. She managed to rouse herself. "At least I won't have to worry about making time for us anymore."

"What do you mean?" Danny didn't like the unwanted turn this conversation had taken.

"You deserve someone stronger, more capable. Someone more like yourself. I thought I could give you that, but I was terribly, terribly wrong. I'm sorry."

Anger, compassion, guilt. They entered Danny's mind simultaneously. Each selfishly demanding immediate attention. He tried to ignore them, but they had no intention of leaving without at least being acknowledged. He was angry that Val decided, all on her own, that they were wrong for each other. Or, more correctly, that she was wrong for him. Anger morphed into compassion. How horrible it must have been for her to think she had to be some kind of prodigy to be worthy of his attention.

He cared for her, he realized. All he really needed was for her to return the feeling. To think she had driven herself into a state of exhaustion in an unnecessary effort to impress him was almost too much to bear. Guilt pushed itself to the forefront.

It was his fault of course. Val was merely a victim of the same illusion his parents, teachers, coaches, and grade advisors had so happily and willingly fallen prey to. Oh, to be sure, Danny Alvarado was smart, and ambitious, and talented. But even he had a limit. There were times when all he wanted was to lock himself in his room and forget about whatever lay beyond the door, times when he was just too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to care.

There was a remedy, a way to navigate the low points. He just wasn't sure if sharing it with Val was the right thing. Danny reached into his jacket pocket and wrapped his fingers around a bottle of little blue pills.

### Chapter 16

"Over there," Casey pointed to a worn storefront that housed Al's Butcher. The shop took up a prime spot in the middle of Peret Street, a couple of blocks off Main. Mike parked a few stores down. As he and Casey got out of the car Mike cautioned his friend, "Remember, we just get the money and get out."

Casey smiled. "If they play nice, I play nice."

Mike knew that wasn't exactly true. In the few weeks they had been making pickups for Johnny Siccardi, Casey had gotten more and more belligerent toward the "customers." At first, if a guy hemmed and hawed about having to fork over a cut of his business, they let him vent, then took the envelope that inevitably followed. Lately though, Casey was ready to pounce at the slightest hint of hesitation.

Some complained to Siccardi about his new collector's strong arm tactics. Johnny didn't give a shit. The only constraint he put on his hotheaded protege was not to beat them up so bad they couldn't continue making money. Besides, a little tough love now and then tended to keep the saps in line - and the cash flowing.

A small gold bell attached to the upper part of the door jingled as they entered the store. The proprietor stood behind a counter, displaying in one extended hand three pork chops atop a sheet of butcher's paper. Al was bald and round faced; a tall man in his mid-fifties wearing a slightly stained white apron fastened around his considerable girth.

An aged lady scrutinized the chops. "Are you sure these are the best you have?"

"Came in fresh this morning," he assured her.

The customer wasn't quite sold. "I hope so because my grandson is coming over with his new girlfriend and everything has to be perfect."

"Don't you worry" - the butcher began, before being interrupted by

Casey.

"I don't have all day to listen to this shit. Let her wait."

Al ignored the intrusion and continued defending the quality of his wares.

Casey lunged forward and snatched the chops from the man's hand. He stuffed them into a shopping bag the elderly woman was toting. "They're fucking great," he shouted, "take them and get the hell out." He gave her a push toward the door to emphasize the point.

As his quivering customer headed for the exit, Al circled around the counter.

"Keep your hands to yourself you fucking animal."

Hoping to avoid a confrontation, Mike pressed himself between the two. Both belligerents shoved him out of the way.

Casey didn't waste time talking. His punch caught the bigger man flush on the jaw. Al barely flinched. He may have piled on the pounds over the years, but the powerful muscles of his youth still rippled beneath the excess flesh. A vicious right hook dropped his attacker to the floor.

Al exploded. He unleashed a series of savage kicks to the stomach and ribs of the fallen punk. Mike lowered his shoulder and plowed into the butcher as hard as he could. The blow sent the man stumbling backward, but not before a final shot split Casey's lip.

Mike grabbed his friend and began dragging him outside. With one hand around his charge and the other extended in a gesture of conciliation, he tried to reason with the enraged shopkeeper.

"I'm sorry. This shouldn't have happened. We're going. There's no need...Please."

Al's chest heaved as he struggled to suck in air. The anger and the extra weight were wearing on him. "Get out," he gasped.

The duo made their way back to Mike's Mustang. After some difficulty, he managed to get Casey settled into the passenger's seat.

"We're going to the hospital," Mike announced.

"No way," his rider protested. "The doctors see shit like this and the first thing they'll do is call the fucking cops. It's not that bad." The moan that followed didn't help convince Mike.

"Where to then?"

The injured young man shifted in his seat, futilely searching for a position that would quell the fire burning in his torso. "Go back to my place."

"And what. You got an ER in your living room?"

"Just do it,"Casey responded before closing his eyes.

The "place" was a one bedroom apartment atop Deke's Liquor World. They had to scale a flight of stairs to reach it. Surprisingly, Casey managed to navigate the climb with little assistance: a testament, no doubt to his hardscrabble upbringing.

As soon as the door opened, Casey disappeared into the bathroom. A thin trail of blood marked his passage.

Mike took a look around. As always, he was struck by how well the rooms were kept. The furniture, although purchased at a second-hand store, was functional and in good condition. Plates were neatly stacked and shelved, floors swept, tables and entertainment center free of dust. All-in-all, not what one would expect from a young tough living on his own. In contrast, Mike's bedroom at the moment featured a two-day-old pizza delivery box (most likely with a couple of slices still inside), a bed that hadn't been made in who knew how long, and an overflowing trash bin \- and that was just for starters.

After fifteen minutes or so, Casey emerged from the bathroom, shirt off and upper lip swollen but no longer bleeding. He plopped into an armchair.

"How you feeling?" his pal inquired.

"How do think? Like crap. Worse when you consider that I just got the shit kicked out of me by some fat, old, cocksucker in an apron."

Mike chuckled in spite of himself.

"You find that funny?"

"Yeah. Kinda."

It was Casey's turn to chuckle. "I guess maybe it is at that." He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Thing is, you have to go back."

"What? That guy's fucking crazy. I'm not going near that place - ever!"

"One of us has to, and I'm thinking I might not be the best choice."

"That's for sure. But why do either of us have to go?"

"Because Johnny's expecting his money. You want to be the one to tell him we fucked up?"

Mike was pretty sure it wasn't "we" who fucked up. He let it go for now. Casey was right, they had to collect that money somehow. "He's gonna take my head off as soon as I stick it through the door."

"Naw," Casey assured." You can talk to him. That's your gift. People like you, they listen when you speak. I'm sure you can reason with this guy."

Mike hoped his friend was right as he approached Al's Butcher and tentatively opened the door. The owner was busy cutting up a quarter side of beef when the door chime broke his rhythm. "Be right with you," quickly turned into "Get out of here!" as he looked up, accompanied by the wave of a meat cleaver for emphasis.

Mike stepped inside, not straying far from the exit. "Listen, I'm really sorry about before. That never should have happened. And I promise my partner will never show his face around here again."

The big man slowly lowered the cleaver, somewhat placated by the apology.

"But we still have a problem," the visitor added.

"We?"

"Johnny is still going to want his cash. You know him better than I do, so you also know that when things go wrong he doesn't waste a lot of time figuring out who started it or who's right and who's wrong. It's easier to blame all involved and let everybody share the pain."

Al nodded. It was a good point. "So, what do we do?"

"We keep this between ourselves, and make sure the... delivery gets made."

"You still want your money, in other words."

"Al," Mike pleaded, "you know it's not my money. I just..."

"Forget it," the butcher broke in.

He disappeared into a backroom, returning with a bulging white envelope. "Here you go."

"Thanks Al."

"Just make sure you keep your word and I never see that asshole's face in my store again."

Mike nodded, relieved to be leaving in one piece.

As he drove around to the back of the liquor store, Mike noticed a blue BMW M2 taking up the one spot allotted to Casey's apartment. "Damn," he mumbled, and settled for parking in the store's loading zone. Retrieving the envelope from its perch atop the dashboard, he headed for the stairs.

Mike knocked on the door and was invited to "Come on in." The scene that greeted him was disappointing, yet not surprising. Casey was holding both hands in the air while Lisa Garelli bound his ribcage with an elastic bandage. Exasperated, he dropped the envelope on an end table and shook his head.

"What?" Casey demanded.

"Nothing. Everything's good. Just let me know where you want the body shipped."

"Don't be so dramatic. Lisa and me are just friends - doing friendly things. You know?"

Casey and the girl shared a secretive giggle.

"I hope Johnny thinks it's funny when he catches you."

Lisa spoke up. "How is he ever gonna know. Planning on ratting us out, handsome?"

Mike made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Of course not. But you guys do realize you're not running around anonymously in the big city? This is Carlton Beach. You can't fart around here without somebody smelling it."

Lisa clipped the bandage in place and wrapped her arms around her patient. "We'll be very careful where we fart. I promise." The two shared that stupid giggle again.

"Okay. Only I'm not ending up in a ditch with either of you. I'm done." Mike stormed out, slamming the door after him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen," Lisa purred.

"It's not your fault," Casey assured her. "Give him a couple of days, he'll be okay. Meanwhile, that leaves us with some extra alone time, doesn't it?"

"I like the way you think." Lisa pulled Casey closer to her and they both slipped down onto the sofa.

### Chapter 17

"Damn! Damn! Damn it to Hell!" Tommy Fitzgerald was a proficient public speaker whose eloquence quickly deserted him when he was angry. "Damn," he exclaimed once more, relentlessly pounding on his innocent desk.

The door to his office swung open and Matty Ross entered. "Calm down," he urged. "You're going to give yourself a heart attack." Matty had seen his boss angry before, Tommy was somewhat known for having a short fuse, but he'd never seen him like this. The older man's face was beet red, veins were popping out all over his neck, and his eyes glared with a wildness that actually left Ross speechless for a moment. "Calm down," he repeated when he regained his composure.

"Calm down? You see what's going on here?" He pointed toward a sixty- inch TV perched on a wall opposite the desk. On the screen a pretty asian reporter was interviewing a man the scroll at the bottom of the picture identified as Casimiro Esperanza, shot in the leg the previous day at the Carlton Arms job site. The victim leaned heavily on a cane. His wife was at his side, an infant in her right arm, her left hand clutching a fidgety three-year-old boy.

He was explaining how all he did was answer an ad for day laborers. He wanted to feed his family not steal somebody else's job. In fact, Casimiro added, he was about to leave once he saw the protesters and understood what he had actually signed up for.

"They're making us look like a gang of mindless hooligans," Tommy protested.

"And we gave them every reason to do so," Matty observed.

"No we didn't," frustrated, the boss rained another blow upon the desk. "I didn't authorize that, and none of our guys would do something like that without my say so. They know better. In fact, they had orders to keep it loud but peaceful."

"Looks like somebody disagreed."

"No. Nobody disagreed. It was that bitch Julie fucking Ryan."

The statement caught Matty by surprise. "You think Julie Ryan had one of her own workers shot? For what purpose, to scare the rest of them away so she'd be left with no one?"

"No. To bring so much hell down on our heads we'd have to send our guys back to work."

Ross considered that for a minute. "Good plan. You've got to admire her tenacity."

"What! Are you fucking kidding me? Stick your head outside and tell me how many reporters you see sneaking around. Most of them planning on making a name for themselves at our expense. So far today, I've had calls from the Labor Department, the FBI, the Civil Rights Commission, even the fucking IRS. Admire her? I'd like to wrap my hands around her neck and watch her die."

"Maybe so, but if you want to get all these people off your back, you're going to have to give her what she wants."

Tommy shook his head. "No. No way. I'm not giving in."

"We should have never been in this position to begin with," Matty admonished his boss. "You let yourself get drawn into a personal vendetta. That's never good for business."

"Well I'm still running this place," the union head responded, "and I'll decide what's good for business."

The intercom beeped. "I told you not to bother me," Fitzgerald shouted at his secretary.

"I know, and I apologize. But it's Mister Siccardi and he insisted."

The conversation was brief and one-sided. Tommy hung up the phone, looking dejected and defeated. "Johnny wants to know how we're going to get out of this."

"For starters, we accept responsibility for what happened."

"But we didn't do anything."

"I know, but sometimes facts are less important than perception. You need to call a press conference. There's no other way," Matty quickly interjected, heading off the protest that was forming on his boss' lips.

"Mister Esperanza will share the camera with you. You will begin by saying how the union had no knowledge of, and certainly does not condone, this deplorable act. We are launching our own investigation into the affair, with the goal of bringing the miscreant to justice. You will add that although Local 182 is not responsible for what happened, we do regret that it occurred in the course of an otherwise peaceful union protest. Therefore - and this is where you throw your arm around Mr. Esperanza - we are making Casimiro - very important you use his first name, sounds like you two have become buddies - a member of the union, and supplying him with a permanent, full-time job, starting as soon as he is able. In the meantime, we will cover his medical and living expenses. Then we bring the wife and kids up so the camera can get a nice shot of the happy, grateful family. You bring the whole thing to an end by announcing that, in order to prevent any future unpleasantness we are directing our members to return to the Carlton Arms project. Any remaining issues will be settled peacefully at the bargaining table."

Tommy buried his face in his hands. "Fuck," he muttered. "Okay. Set it up.

### Chapter 18

Sandra Ryan's drink almost made it to her lips before the TV at the Albatross Lounge grabbed her attention and froze her in place. It was unbelievable, crazy, ridiculous. The right adjective to describe what she was watching just wouldn't come. Whatever that word might be, it didn't keep her from being massively pissed. That shriveled up little prick, Tommy Fitzgerald was in front of the cameras, sucking ass and surrendering to Julie. Even if those exact words were never uttered, that's what was happening.

Sandra lowered her glass to the counter. Her sister had won again. Maneuvered into a hopeless situation, Julie once again found a way out.

Months of being groped and sweated over by that decrepit old fart had all been for nothing. She raised her glass and downed the Sidecar in one shot. Not enough cognac, she thought idly. Not enough by far.

The question now was: What to do? She had returned home specifically to teach her younger sister a lesson. Take her down a peg. Julie had always been father's golden girl. Nobody was smarter, tougher, or prettier. It was sickening. He had absurdly high expectations for her - and damned if she didn't live up to every one of them. Even after he died, Julie was still fulfilling his dreams, bearing the family banner onward to greater and more dizzying heights. What a girl. What a bitch!

It wasn't fair. The problem wasn't growing up in someone else's shadow. You can survive a shadow. What surrounded Julie was more like a black hole: an inky abyss that sucked the life out of everything around it.

Sandra ordered another drink and considered her next move. Using the union to bring down Ryan Construction obviously failed. Why? Because she bet her money on the wrong horse. A horse she thought was strong turned out to be weak. Weak, and scared, and treacherous.

That was the flaw in the plan. It failed not because it wasn't good, but because the attack was spearheaded by a pack of ineffective cowards. Well, the cowards were about to find out Sandra Ryan wasn't someone to be screwed with then tossed aside. She polished off the drink and snatched her car keys from the counter. The little prick better have his hearing aid on, she mused, because he was about to get an earful.

Fitzgerald and Ross returned to Local 182's office after the news conference. Tommy looked like he swallowed a lemon, while Matty felt like he had just come from the doctor expecting bad news and instead got a glowing review and a fresh start.

The older man headed back toward his office, while his second-in-command stopped to sign some papers and talk with a couple of the staffers. Tommy's unpleasant mood got even darker when he saw the troubled look on his secretary's face.

"You have a visitor," she announced. For a moment he thought it was Johnny Siccardi, the last person he wanted to see at the moment, until his assistant added, " a young lady." He then realized that Siccardi was actually the second- to- last person he wanted to see.

Sandra Ryan sat on his couch, legs crossed and arms folded across her chest. She didn't look happy. In fact, she looked livid - yet somehow still incredibly sexy. Tommy immediately banished the notion from his mind. After all, it was that kind of thinking that got him into this shit-pile of a mess. It was time to get rid of the thoughts, and get rid of her.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"A man with some balls for starters," his guest snapped back.

Tommy looked like he was about to take a swing at her, but instead declared, "It's over. Get out. We're done. You're done." He underlined the words by opening the door for her.

Sandra threw her body against the door, slamming it shut. Too irate to even scream, she spit her words out through clenched teeth. "Listen you little fuck, you may be done but I'm not. You don't want to start a war with me. I can guarantee that."

"What are you going to do?" the union man asked, his voice dripping with contempt.

"Plenty, There's things I know that you wouldn't be very happy to have get out."

"You don't know anything. And even if you did, who's gonna pay attention to a used up whore with sagging tits and a wrinkled face?"

She knew none of that was true, but it hurt anyway. She wanted to hurt him right back. "Maybe those FBI guys who have been following me around would like to hear what I have to say. Maybe they'll shove you and your puny dick into a cell for rest of your life." She knew the feds probably would not be interested in what little knowledge she had of union business, but the words wouldn't stop coming out. "You think you've been screwing some dumb bimbo all this time. Well you'll see." She flung the door open and stormed out.

Fuck her, Tommy thought. She didn't know shit. Right? Other than the situation with her sister, he had been careful not to discuss union business when she was around. He ran through his mind the times they had been together, where they went, who they met. No. There was nothing. Still.

The union boss leaned over his desk and jabbed a button on the intercom. Local 182's business agent, Sammy Wertz answered. "Yeah."

"Do you know where Candelino and Swain are working today.?"

"Not off the top of my head," Sammy answered, "but I can find them easy enough if you want."

"Do that. Tell them to get over here right away."

"You got it."

### Chapter 19

Manny entered the bar section of Fat Freddy's and headed for an out-of-the-way booth in the back, more out of habit than out of a need for discretion. It was late afternoon and the lunch crowd was gone, the dinner patrons were still a couple of hours away. The place was empty save for a couple of regulars perched on stools on the opposite side of the room.

A waitress came by and asked if he wanted to order. "Two scotch and sodas." The server gave him a quizzical look. He smiled and added, " I'm expecting someone."

Julie Ryan arrived a couple of minutes after the drinks were delivered. She wore a tee shirt and a pair of jeans, with a jacket folded on her arm. Even in such simple garb, she easily outshined most other women decked out in their finest. Even the two barflies managed to tear themselves away from their spirits long enough to check out the newcomer. Maybe they thought she and Manny were were a couple. Crazy. Not that the idea hadn't run through his mind now and then. They were friends, and business partners. That second was reason enough to keep things platonic. If undercapitalization was the number one reason that businesses went bust, then ill-advised romance between the principals was probably a close second. Besides, there was an age difference. He wasn't quite old enough to be her father, but she could easily be his baby sister. And that was fine. It was kind of the way he felt about her anyway, and he was content with that.

Julie slipped onto the bench opposite Manny, sliding a manila envelope across the table as she did so. "Ah. Good man," she exclaimed, noticing the drink before her. She lifted the glass. "To success, now and always."

"To success," her companion agreed. After the toast, he removed the envelope from the table and placed it on the bench next to him.

"There's a little more in there than we agreed on."

"That's not necessary," Manny protested.

"Well, you more than earned it," Julie assured him. "Besides, I want to make sure you're happy," she reached over and placed a hand on top of one of his. After a moment, she sat back. "I have some plans. Rather ambitious ones, actually. But I need people I can trust with me if they're ever going to progress beyond the dream stage."

"You know I'm here whenever you need me."

"I do, and that means the world to me. But what I have in mind is going to require more than bailing me out occasionally."

"Forgive me." Manny interrupted. "I don't want to sound dense, but you're beginning to lose me a bit."

Julie smiled. "No forgive me. I've got so many ideas racing through my head right now, I can't seem to keep myself from firing on all cylinders all day long. Sometimes, I have to remember to ease off the throttle and let the rest of the world catch up." She took a healthy sip of her drink and motioned to the waitress to bring them a couple more.

"Let me begin by telling you where we stand right now. The disturbance at the job site not only got the union off our back, it provided us with publicity that we could never have afforded. Sue's feed was picked up nationwide. Now that construction is back on track, we're getting offers from all over the country. Demand for these units is so hot right now people are getting into bidding wars to secure one. They're selling for way over asking."

Manny couldn't help but love the way her whole face lit up when she got excited. It had been a while since he had seen this side of her. "That's fantastic."'

"Better than fantastic," she corrected.

"I've put in a bid for a couple of properties near Atlantic City. Carlton Arms was just a test. These condos are going to make Ryan Construction a force in the business."

Manny took a sip of scotch. "I don't want to be a downer, but isn't AC in a downturn right now. Hotels closing and things like that."

"Yes. But those hotels are selling gambling. Online casinos are killing their market. We're not selling card games. What we're selling is a lifestyle: sun, sand, surf. Blue skies and rainbow dreams. Hey. Sounds like a great hook for an ad campaign. Blue Skies and Rainbow Dreams. Right here on the Jersey Shore." She let the idea sink in for a moment. "Anyway, you can't get what we're selling from a computer screen."

"I am so happy for you. I know how hard you've worked to get to this point." It was Manny's turn to pat his companion's hand. "Congratulations."

"Thank you. There's still a tough road ahead. I want you with me."

" I'm afraid you're losing me again. I can't imagine you'd have much need now for a washed up cop slash pool hall owner."

Julie was genuinely surprised. "Are you kidding? I need you more now than ever before. That land near AC is just a start. The state is about to go on a road construction spending spree. I want in on that."

"You don't have any experience building highways," Manny pointed out.

"No, She agreed. "There are plenty of people out there who do. Many who lost jobs when the economy went bad. I just have to find a few good men - or women - with the right kind of credentials to make Ryan a credible player in the field. I start interviewing civil engineers tomorrow."

"Again," Manny offered, "congratulations. Still don't see what I could possibly do for you."

"Again," Julie shot back, "Are you kidding? We're going to be dealing with lawyers, politicians, contractors, suppliers, and, I'm certain, some lesser known and less reputable types. I'm not about to wade into those waters alone."

"I'm only a phone call away. You know that."

"A phone call may be too far away." Julie drained her glass and waved off the waitress before she could offer another refill. "I don't know how attached you are to that pool hall of yours, but I have something I'd like you to consider."

Manny nodded. "Okay."

"I want you to take a full time position as my Vice President for Special Projects."

"Special Projects? I know absolutely nothing about construction."

"You know people," she pointed out. "Ultimately, businesses fail or succeed not because of how they handle the goods or service they sell, but how they manage the people involved in their chosen trade. There are going to be people who are happy to play ball with us, some maybe not so happy, and a few who want to see us dead in the water."

"So my 'Special Projects' would be..."

"Whatever the situation calls for."

Manny paused a moment to thank God for sending Julie into his life. Who knew what depths of dullness his existence might have descended into without her? The pool hall gave him a decent living, and it wasn't difficult to run. It was steady and predictable, like his life. His association with Julie Ryan was interesting, even exciting at times. If she was embarking on some new, grand scheme and was willing to take him along for the ride, he was not about to turn her down. "I'll put up a For Sale sign tomorrow."

His new employer beamed. "Great! In fact, there's something we can discuss right now."

"Floor's all yours boss."

Julie frowned. "Don't call me that. I've always considered our dealings a collaboration between equals. Titles and corporate offices don't change that."

"Okay," Manny conceded. "'What's our first 'project'?"

"Tommy Fitzgerald. He's got to go. We're headed for the big-time. I can't afford to have him constantly throwing monkey wrenches into my plans. I'm meeting with Matty Ross later this week to get the ball rolling."

"I'm not sure Matty has enough power to get the job done by himself," Manny opined.

"Of course not. He has no power. At least not the kind this job is going to take. That's why once I get him on board, and make sure he understands the conditions, we're going to pay a visit to Johnny Siccardi. He has the real power in that union. He's going to get rid of Fitzgerald for us, and replace him with our new friend Matty Ross."

It would have been logical, at that juncture, for Manny to point out the many pitfalls inherent in such an ambitious scheme, but he also knew that Julie had a plan. Best thing to do was buckle up and hang on. "Just tell me when and where."

"I will do that," Julie agreed, pulling on her jacket. "Right now, though, I've got to check in on the kiddies. Who knows what kind of mischief they've gotten themselves into while I've been tied up with all this nonsense?"

### Chapter 20

Julie had barely stepped inside the small entryway of her mother's house before she was confronted by a disheveled woman clad in a mismatched blouse and pants combination. The woman's hair was desperate for the attention of a brush and comb. She held her hands chest high, interlocked fingers twirling around each other as if they were being washed.

"What now, Mom?" Julie inquired, none too gently.

The older woman released her fingers and rubbed a wrinkled, leathery cheek with one hand, as if the motion could help her find the words she needed.

Julie had a good idea what this was all about. It's wasn't like they hadn't played this game many times before. "Your disability check?" she prompted.

Doreen, "Dory"' Ryan had been vibrant and attractive in her younger years. She was now in her late fifties, an age at which many of her contemporaries were still able to preserve the winning looks of their youth. Dory's looks had long ago been washed away by the too many bottles of booze she filled her days with.

Dory opened her mouth to speak, but all she could manage was "Uh," repeated several times. Her pleading eyes were much more eloquent.

Julie could have let her struggle a while longer, but it gave her no joy. Whatever depths of hopelessness Doreen had fallen to, her last name was still Ryan and Julie wasn't about to see her demeaned by anyone, even her own daughter. She reached into her purse and pulled out a couple of hundreds. Her mother grasped them with trembling hands, muttered something that might have been "Thank you," and stepped out into the night. Some things, Julie thought, were never going to change. Better to accept them and do the best you can.

She heard Val's voice coming from the living room and her mood instantly improved. Here was one person in this family she could always count on. A great kid. A kid who was going to grow into an amazing woman and accomplish amazing things.

"Where the hell are they!" Val was nearly screeching. Julie watched her younger sister pull cushions off the sofa then overturn several magazines lying on the coffee table. "Damn, damn," she slapped her side.

"Calm down." As Julie entered the room, Val stepped away, her gaze shifted to the floor.

"What's wrong?" the older sister inquired.

Val exhaled, a deep pouting sigh. "I can't find them," she answered, annoyed by the question and the interruption.

"Tell me what you're looking for and I'll help you search. "

"My sunglasses."

"This is all over a pair of stupid sunglasses? Well, besides the fact that it's dark outside and you don't really need them, I know you have others in your room."

"But these are the ones I want." Val folded her arms like a petulant child.

Julie placed one hand on Val's shoulder, the other one caressed the girl's chin. Gently, Julie raised her sister's head until they were face-to-face. Val jerked her head away, but not before Julie saw the red puffiness in her eyes.

"Are you okay? Val didn't respond. She paced around the room, ostensibly still hunting for the sunglasses. The fact was, she couldn't stand still. She couldn't stand still, she couldn't stand this house, and she couldn't stand getting the third degree.

"I have to go." Val started to leave, but Julie blocked the way.

"You're not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on here."

"What's going on is I can't find my fucking sunglasses! Can you understand that?"

Julie couldn't. What she did understand was that she had just heard Val curse twice in the same conversation, which was probably two more times than she had ever cursed in her entire life. "We both know it's not the sunglasses. Let's sit down and you can tell me what's really bothering you. We'll fix it. I promise."

"You mean you'll fix it," Val spat out the words. "Maybe I don't need you to fix it. Maybe I don't want you to fix it. Maybe you should just butt out." The honking of a car horn caught her attention. Her head snapped up.

"Someone you know?" Julie wondered.

"No. I don't know. I have to go." She tried to leave but once again found her way barred. "I have to go." She reached up and grabbed two fistfuls of her hair. "Don't you ..." her words were cut off by the slamming of the front door.

Mike, looking perturbed himself, hooked a thumb back toward the way he had come. "Danny's waiting for you," he announced.

"Really? Danny?" Julie turned toward her sister.

Val glanced at her brother, tossing him a sarcastic "Thanks," followed by, "asshole."

Mike returned a nonchalant "Whatever," turned and headed upstairs to his bedroom.

Val took advantage of the distraction to slide past her sister.

"Stop," Julie ordered. "We have to talk about this guy."

"None of your business," were the last words Val spoke before she slammed the door closed behind her.

So far, the visit was going just great, Julie thought, as she headed up the stairs to her brother's room. Mike was rummaging through one of his dresser drawers when she arrived.

"Don't tell me you're looking for sunglasses too?"

Mike mumbled a barely audible, "Huh," as he continued rifling through rolled up pairs of socks and folded tee shirts.

Julie waited a few seconds. "I doubt that what you're searching for is so important you can't spare the time to look at me when I talk to you."

Mike turned around and glared at his sister. "What is it?"

Julie bristled at the tone of his voice, but kept calm. Getting confrontational right now was a sure way to send him stomping out of the house. "That's what I would like to know - What is it?"

"I'm just trying to find my employee pass to Metal Mania."

"Oh," she responded. "I thought we agreed you weren't going to work on school nights."

"Well I'm not," Mike shot back, not bothering to mask the hostility in his voice. "In fact, as I'm sure you'll be pleased as shit to find out, I'm quitting."

Julie was, if not exactly 'pleased as shit', not unhappy, and somewhat relieved. "Did something happen? Is there anything I can do?"

"You can let me run my own life. You can stop trying to tell me where to be, when to be there, and what to do when I get there." The longer he spoke, the more belligerent he sounded.

Julie backed up a couple of steps. It was frustrating. She knew something was wrong, but she also knew her brother would clam up even more if she pressed the issue.

"Look. I let you take the job because I wanted you to have some independence." There was more, but she was cut off by an angry outburst.

"That's it, right there," Mike exploded. "You don't even know how ridiculous your own words sound." He looked at his sister, who was clearly confused. "You let me take the job. How is that being independent.?" He spied a sliver of plastic sticking out from a book on his night table. "There it is."

Julie didn't interfere while her brother snatched his employee pass and rushed out of the room. She sat on his bed and listened to his steps recede down the staircase and out the front door.

What happened to you Cowboy? she wondered. What happened to all of us? She stretched out on the bed, buried her face in the pillow and cried, something she hadn't done since her father died.

### Chapter 21

Val got about halfway down the walkway in front of her house when she realized she still didn't have the sunglasses. After all that, she lamented. Well, the hell with it, she decided, and headed for Danny's car.

Danny leaned over to give his girl a hello kiss when she settled in. Val was oblivious, eyes fixated on something far away. "Get me out of here." It was an order, not a request.

"Okay. Want to tell me...

He was cut short.. "I want to get out of here. Can we do that, or should I just go get my own car?"

"No." The boy put the car in drive and headed down the street.

A steady stream of houses, stop signs,and traffic lights, paraded past them, only to disappear in the rear view mirror. Danny asked several times where they were supposed to be going, but got no response from the taciturn girl.

"Pull in here," she finally said. They were at a park-and-ride for the busses that shuttled commuters to their jobs in New York City. It was well past the rush hour. Only a handful of cars remained, patiently waiting beneath the soft illumination of street lights for their overworked, mostly unappreciated, drivers to return.

Danny found a secluded spot and parked.

Val seemed deep in thought, perhaps struggling with a problem she was having trouble putting into words. Whatever is was, he was content to wait. Besides, he didn't want to initiate the conversation and have his head chewed off again.

"I need more," she finally said.

"More what?"

"You know what," she retorted, apparently impatient with anything her companion might have to say.

He knew exactly what. Danny looked over at Val. Even in the faint light, the lines in her face, the sallow complexion were evident. "What happened to the ten I gave you a couple of days ago?"

"I had to take them. They don't work as well as they used to."

"They're only for when you have to stay up late to cram for a big test or finish a paper. We haven't had either lately."

Val watched a late bus pull in and discharge a couple of passengers. "I have a lot more to worry about than just tests and papers."

"Why don't you cut down on some of the extracurriculars? Your grades are already good enough to get you into any college you want."

"Not Princeton. They reject a ton of kids every year who have great grades. You need more than that to get in. It takes commitment and performance and community involvement. It's a 24/7 job and I have to make it. I have to." She began to sob.

Danny took her in his arms. "There are other schools." Val glanced at him as if he had just said the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. "Wait. Listen," he added quickly, hoping to head off another tirade. "Your sister went to Rutgers, and from what I can see, she's doing just fine. My mother went to Rowan, my father is a Stockton graduate. I know for a fact they're doing exceptionally well. Why put all this pressure on yourself."

"You're right, she agreed. "In fact, why don't I just go to a community college?"

Danny pulled her closer. She was so soft, so vulnerable, so special. He wished he could make everything perfect for her. "A lot of very successful people started out in community college."

She pushed away as if she had received an electric shock. "Name two," she challenged him.

"Well, I mean, I don't know off the top of my head," he sputtered.

'Neither does anyone else. What do you care, anyway? You're an all-star football player, member of the National Honor Society, and your parents have connections all over the place. Schools will be coming after you." The tears broke free again.

"And you have a lot going for you also. Any school, even Princeton will be lucky to get you."

Val leaned back into his arms. "I'm sorry,' she whispered. "I don't know how you put up with me."

"I love putting up with you," Danny assured her.

She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Thank you. It's just that this year is so important, so stressful." Val turned so they were face-to-face. "I just need to get past this semester. Please. Can you help me?"

Danny reluctantly reached into his jacket pocket. He removed a prescription vial and shook it softly. "There's seven or eight in here." The girl reached for them but he pulled his hand back. "You've got to promise me you'll only use these when you absolutely have to. These things can be helpful, but they can also be dangerous."

"I promise." Val took the vial and held it tightly.

### Chapter 22

Mike Ryan slapped the snooze button on the alarm clock. Pointless. Sleep had eluded him all night. It was unlikely he'd find it in the next nine minutes. He stared up at the ceiling: white, blank, empty. School. Today. The last place Mike wanted to be.

Images of the previous evening haunted his thoughts. The fight with Julie. Quitting Metal Mania. Yeah, Metal Mania. On the one hand, it was good that Johnny took the news so well. On the other, Mike would have thought his boss would be at least a little ticked off to have an employee march into his office and quit without reason or notice. Johnny never even bothered to look up from the papers he was perusing. Mike finally understood something he heard Julie say on several occasions: Everyone is replaceable. A leaf may fall to the ground, but the tree stands strong as ever. Eventually, a new bud grows, and the old leaf is forgotten. It was a lesson that needed to be learned, but it stung just the same.

He had almost gotten out the door before Johnny stopped him. "Wait a second. What about your pal Casey? What's up with him?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him in a couple of weeks. Maybe he split town. Who knows?"

Johnny nodded, seemingly finished. Mike turned to leave, but was once again drawn back.The club owner looked up, his usual poker face revealing... something. Anger? No, Mike thought. Hate? No. Danger. That was it. Whatever was about to transpire, his well being, or more, might be hanging in the balance.

"You ever seen Casey and Lisa together?"

Of course he had, more than once, at Casey's apartment. Mike was a teenager with a limited amount of experience in the ways of the world, but he was smart enough to know that a truthful answer here would be a disaster.

"Just to say hi at the door," he lied, praying Johnny wouldn't detect the deception.

The boss stared at his ex-employee for several seconds. Mike tried to look calm, having no idea if he was pulling it off.

"Okay." Johnny shifted his attention back to the papers spread out before him. "If you run into either of them, tell them to come see me."

Mike nodded and made his escape before he had to field any more questions. He exited through the service entrance and slumped against the outside of the building. His body trembled like a street sign in the throes of a nor'easter.

That was last night and it was over. He was done with Metal Mania, and Casey, and Lisa. He had spent the last two weeks searching for his erstwhile friend. Nothing at the apartment. Nothing at work. He hadn't shown up to work either the door or collections. Although the latter wasn't much of an issue. They thought they had covered their tracks after the debacle with Al the butcher. Maybe they weren't as clever as they imagined. Right after the incident, the number of pickups Sergio gave them started to dwindle, and eventually stopped altogether. That was fine with Mike. He was tired of the whole setup, and was glad to be out.

As for Casey. Who cared? Friends didn't sneak off like that. They were supposed to be putting money together to get out of this hellhole and start over. Someplace new. Someplace where they called the shots. All that was gone now, and good riddance. He didn't need anyone. He'd find his own way. The alarm sounded again. Mike shut it off and got dressed for school.

He walked to his car. When he got home last night, Val's car was parked on an angle, blocking the driveway and preventing him from pulling in next to her. He would have to talk to her about that. Or maybe not. His sister had a major bug up her ass these days. He'd rather park in the street occasionally than get his head bitten off.

Mike had the key halfway in the car door when a battered Jeep Wrangler screeched to a halt next to him. Casey was in the driver's seat with Lisa riding shotgun. Mike ignored the newcomers and started opening his door.

Casey jumped from the jeep and leaned across the hood. "Hey," he implored, "is that any way to treat your best bud?"

"A 'best bud' doesn't just disappear. I've been looking for you." Mike lowered his head and mumbled, "I was worried. But you look like you're doing all right. So now you can go fuck yourself."

"Wow. Why so angry?" Lisa asked.

Mike turned on his friend's companion. "If I were you, I'd worry less about me and more about Johnny Siccardi. He wants to see you."

Lisa shrugged. "Johnny wants a lot of things he's never going to get," silently adding that she was one of them. It had been okay for a while. The money, the car, the clubs, being treated with deference by some very scary people just because of whose arm she was attached to. The fact was, he was boring as hell. Whether it was dining in a fine restaurant, or making love, his matter-of-fact demeanor rarely varied.

Now there was Casey. He made it all exciting. Exciting and spontaneous and there were no limits. Each coming minute might bring ecstasy or catastrophe. Eventually, she knew, Casey would either burn out, or the whole routine would become old and dull. If there was one thing life had taught her it was that everything, no matter how well begun or well intentioned, turned to shit in time. All you could do was ride each wave until the end. And then? Who knew?

Mike turned to Casey. "So where the hell were you?"

"We went to Atlantic City. Lisa sold her car and we hit the casinos to make our fortune."

"And?"

"And here it is," Casey slapped the hood of the Wrangler. He and Lisa laughed as if it was the funniest thing they had ever heard.

"So you pissed all the money away."

"No. We have this," Casey indicated the car again with a sweep of his arm. "It's not a beemer, but it'll ride us out of this shitpile."

"With no money?"

"We've got a couple of hundred left. Hey, you got anything stashed away?"

Mike wasn't sure if he wanted to answer, but he seemed to do a lot of things when he was with Casey that he normally might not. "Almost two G's in the bank."

"Why don't we go grab it and hit the fucking road." Casey pumped his fist in the air and let out an enthusiastic "Woo Hoo," before jumping back in the car.

Mike hesitated. Lisa leaned out the window. "What's so great here?" she asked, her voice soft and sincere.

"Nothing really." He gave the Mustang a farewell pat and hopped into the Wrangler's backseat.

### Chapter 23

There it was again. Or was it? Sandra paused inside the KMart vestibule. She just punched out from her shift and was leaving for the day. Her car was parked near the entrance, even though those spots were supposed to be left for the customers. She was late this morning and pulled into the first available opening. If some jerkwad manager found out and wanted to write her up, that was fine. Crappy jobs like this one were easy enough to replace.

Sandra could see her car from where she stood - and the nondescript tan sedan sitting next to it. Normally, it wouldn't rate a second thought. And maybe it shouldn't. Except she was certain she'd spotted that same car several times in the past week. It was never close enough for her to tell the exact make, or get a good look at the driver. Any time she tried to approach the vehicle, it sped off in the opposite direction. All she was able to make out were two heads bobbing in the front seat.

But not today. Today they were sitting where they couldn't be missed. Apparently, the time for stealth had passed. She had no idea who they were, or what they had in mind. If, of course, there even was a "they." Her view was obscured by other parked cars. All she could see was the hood of the car. Maybe it was empty, its owners innocently perusing the store for a tablecloth, or a lawn mower. Who the hell knew?

It might be filled with machine gun-toting killers, ready to cut her down as soon as she poked her head out the door. Okay, she thought, maybe that's too dramatic, or paranoid. Or maybe not.

She'd been feeling uneasy ever since the confrontation with Tommy. Perhaps he'd taken her empty threats seriously. But send out a hit squad? Maybe she'd been watching too many gangster movies. Most likely this was all the product of her own restless imagination. And yet?

It was possible these were the FBI guys who had questioned her once before, although that didn't make much sense. Why would the Feds waste a week tailing someone they could simply walk up to and grill whenever they wanted? Someone they probably knew had nothing to offer them. But what about Tommy? Thanks to her own big mouth, he might think she had a tale to tell.

Whatever the truth, there was no way she was going anywhere near that car. But she couldn't stay in the vestibule indefinitely either. The only thing to do was go out another way, hook around the building and head for the bus stop. The fire exits were out. Alarms went off whenever those doors were opened, drawing everyone's attention. The only other hope was the loading dock. Employees weren't allowed to exit the building that way, and the guy in charge was kind of a dickhead. A good enough story along with a few well-timed tears might do the trick. Sandra spun around and headed back inside.

### Chapter 24

To the casual observer, the two people squirreled away in a corner of Il Giordano seemed no different than any other successful couple enjoying the fare at the pricey north Jersey restaurant. They might be lawyers, or bankers. Perhaps they were in the high-finance rackets: buying and selling companies, making millions off the misery of the hundreds who were sure to lose their jobs and pensions in the process. The casual observer, however, is often wrong.

Julie finished ordering and handed the menu back to the server (fancy places like this didn't use common terms like waiter or waitress). She reached for the glass of wine before her and considered her companion. Matty Ross had been fairly close-mouthed thus far. His conversation had been limited to comments about the traffic (always a horror in northern New Jersey), the weather, (not bad for December), and a complement concerning Julie's attire.

Matty had agreed when Julie suggested the out-of-the-way eatery. She hadn't made it clear exactly what she wanted to talk about, other than to say it involved "points of common interest." Whatever that might mean, he was certain it was better done beyond the eyes and ears of Carlton Beach.

He reached for his own wine. "Are you going to tell me why we're here, or do I remain in suspense for a while longer?"

Julie smiled. Matty hardly looked like he was "in suspense." He was as cool and calm and perfect as ever.

"We need to start working together," she announced plainly. Matty's eyebrows rose slightly in response. "It makes sense. I need workers. Your members need jobs. Ryan Construction is ready to move ahead. We're making the jump from local business to statewide player. More work means more members for your union. We can both profit. If we cooperate."

The server arrived with their orders. Matty took the opportunity to gather his thoughts. "I agree. But I'm not the one you should be discussing this with. Tommy still runs the show.

Julie put down her utensils and sat back. She wanted a clear view of Matty's reaction to her next comment. "For now."

"'For now' might be a long time. As far as I know, Tommy has no plans of ever stepping down."

"Plans change. Sometimes they get changed for you." Her dinner partner seemed more interested now. "Tommy has a lot of power. but not all the power."

He knew she was talking about Johnny Siccardi. Matty had known for some time who was pulling Tommy's strings, but there never seemed to be anything he could do about it. He still didn't.

Matty leaned forward. His tone almost wistful. "I would like nothing more than to see this union run properly: clean, and for the benefit of the people who depend on it. I don't know what you expect me to do. If there was any way I could rid the local of the leeches who prey on it, I would. In a heartbeat."

"I don't expect you to do anything," Julie explained. "Except run things the way they should be run. Be honest with the people you deal with, members and employers alike. As far as Tommy's concerned, let me worry about that. You just be ready."

A glimmer of suspicion tugged at Matty's thoughts. "What do you get out of this?"

"I get a square deal. I get to run my business without being hassled with bullshit complaints from union inspectors. Tommy's cost me a lot of money over the years."

Matty considered his next words carefully, not sure if it was the right time to bring a sticky situation into the discussion. Why not? Julie seemed to be a straight-shooter. Maybe it was possible the two of them could do business together. In any case, her honesty deserved honesty in return.

"It wasn't always all Tommy. Your sister had her hand in the pot as well. Much of what he did was done at her urging."

Julie didn't look surprised. "So, that's what that whole relationship was about. I knew they had kind of a thing, but I didn't know she had any real influence over him. Hmm. At any rate, I'm sure it didn't take much arm-twisting on her part. The old bastard and I were butting heads long before Sandra came into the picture."

Matty nodded. "At any rate, they seem to have parted ways."

"Really?"

"She showed up at the local shortly after the unfortunate incident at your job site. I didn't hear the actual exchange, but she was livid when she left Tommy's office. He didn't look much happier. He hasn't mentioned her since, and I haven't seen her around. I guess whatever it was, it's over."

Julie made a mental note to check in with Sandra and make sure she was all right. Her sister had been a thorn in her side at times, but she certainly didn't want to see her come to any harm. The actions that were being put in motion were going to cause some serious shock waves. She didn't want Sandra getting caught in the wake.

"Either way," Julie asserted, "it doesn't affect the larger picture. Some things are ending, and others," she lifted up her glass as if making a toast, "are just beginning."

### Chapter 25

Val opened her eyes and stared at the alarm clock she forgot to set - again. Seven o'clock. She was going to be late for school - again. Last night was exhausting. She spent half the time studying intensely, and the other half fielding contentious texts from Danny.

She could have avoided the texts simply by answering one of his many phone calls, but there had already been enough arguing for one day.

The whole thing between the two of them was very likely over anyway. Oh, he kept saying how much he cared for her, and wanted to help. If that was true, then where were the pills she kept asking him for? Right now, that was what she mostly needed from him. She was tired. So tired she just wanted to lay her head down and close her eyes, and keep them closed. For an hour, a day, a week. Maybe forever. Maybe that was the answer. Lay down and let it all drift away: school, college, Julie, Danny, the drugs.

The drugs had become both her savior and her downfall. The little blue tablets kept her awake but not refreshed. She was drained. More worn out than she ever thought possible. But it was senior year. The final stretch. There was no time to let up. To falter now was to throw away everything she had worked all her life to accomplish. Val Ryan was no loser, no also-ran in the crazy, difficult, unpredictable race of life. She was headed for the winner's circle - whatever it took.

Right now, that meant getting to school. Val sat up and forced herself out of bed. Maybe a shower would help. She didn't really have the time, but then, she didn't really care at the moment.

Val pulled into the parking lot at school and immediately spotted Danny's yellow Camaro. She sped past and parked as far away as she could manage. The plan was to avoid her maybe, maybe not boyfriend. It might not be that difficult, since the only class they had together today was first period, and she had already missed that.

The morning went reasonably well. The two only crossed paths once, when Val spotted him in the hall between classes. She averted her eyes and hurried past.

It was lunchtime now. Thankfully, she managed to find an empty table in the cafeteria. Danny didn't have lunch until next period. She was safe for now. Val stirred some sugar into her coffee, and opened up a bag of chips. She generally leaned toward the kind of meals her Health teacher was always espousing. Maybe she'd get back to that one day. Right now all that mattered was grades, and her resume, and keeping herself going.

Damn Danny! He could get her what she needed, but was being an asshole about it. "You can get addicted to these things," he had warned her. "You're too smart. You don't need this stuff."

"I'm not getting addicted," she had retorted. "You use them."

"Not any more. They're too dangerous."

"Maybe for you. I only use them when I have something big coming up."

"Then you must have something big every day. Because you take them every day."

"I do not," she had shouted,all the more angry with him for knowing the truth. She forced herself to calm down. "Listen, I only need a few more, like maybe fifty, and then I'm done."

"Fifty? You have to stop. Now. Slow down. Colleges aren't going to care if you had a part-time job in a sub shop. Why don't you start by giving that up?"

She didn't want to tell him that she had already given up the job - involuntarily. Too many orders messed up. Too much wrong change given out. Too much to think about all at once. She needed to get her head straight, needed help, needed the pills.

Someone slipped into the seat next to her. It was Danny.

"Shouldn't you be in class?"

"I cut English Lit. Had something more important to do." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She removed it.

"Come on," he pleaded. "We've got a problem here, and we've got to deal with it before it gets worse."

"You mean I have a problem."

Danny didn't answer. It seemed whatever he said at this point was only going to fuel her anger.

"You can solve the problem," Val insisted, " but you won't,"

"Those pills are not the answer. They never were."

"Maybe not at first," she conceded, "but they are now. I can't just be good this year, or even great. I have to be exceptional. Do you understand? Do you get it?"

Danny admitted that he didn't. He pointed out that she could already get into any college she wanted. Besides, he added, most colleges gave very little weight to senior year grades.

Val disagreed. "That may be so for the privileged few like yourself. All you have to do is get accepted, then let Mommy and Daddy write checks for the next four years."

That last statement threw him off a bit. "I guess I always assumed Julie would help you out there."

"That's what she assumes too. But nobody wrote her any checks and nobody is going to write any for me. I'm going to get an academic scholarship from Princeton, or die trying."

"You've got a good start on that last part, anyway," Danny warned.

Val stared at him for several seconds, her face pale and worn. "If you're not going to help me," she sighed, "please, please leave me alone."

Danny rose from the table and left. He couldn't remember ever feeling more helpless, or more guilty.

### Chapter 26

Julie took a seat and considered the man on the opposite side of the desk. Johnny Siccardi had been very polite, shaking hands and introducing himself and his associate when she entered the room above Metal Mania's main hall. She had already forgotten the associate's name, just as he had probably already forgotten the name of her associate, who was playing a rather odd role today. Manny hadn't been brought in as muscle. Johnny had enough of his own muscle on the payroll. Even someone as formidable as Manny wasn't likely to impress him. Nor was he here to take part in the negotiations. Indeed, he as yet had very little inkling of what Julie was hoping to accomplish.

Siccardi had "people." People who would do his bidding without question. In his world, that made him man of substance. Julie needed to show that she too was a person of substance. She too had "people." She needed Siccardi to know this wasn't some mom-and-pop drywaller he was dealing with. She needed him to know the person sitting in his office was someone who could make a difference, who could get things done, who could make money \- a lot - and for both of them.

Johnny leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap. He started off with some small talk. "I'm told your brother used to work for me. Mike, right?" Julie nodded. "How is he?"

"He's doing fine," she answered, although she actually had no idea if that was true. He hadn't been home or in school for a couple of days. His car was still parked in front of the house, so hopefully he hadn't gone too far or gotten into too much trouble. In fact, it was something she and Manny were going to look into right after this meeting.

"Good, good," Johnny responded. "So what can I do for you?"

"Local 182 is costing you a lot of money," his visitor stated flatly.

"I don't see how that can be. I have very little to do with the union." Siccardi spread his arms apart, palms up as if to say 'Why are you talking to me about this?'

"Okay. Fair enough," Julie conceded. "The thing is: my company, Ryan Construction is in the process of expanding. We've already got several major contracts nailed down."

Johnny shifted in his seat, started fiddling with his cell phone. "That's wonderful. I'm still not getting what it has to do with me."

"Maybe nothing. All I'm saying is I'm going to need a lot of material, and a steady stream of it. If there was someone who had contacts with certain key businesses: cement, windows, lumber, carting, they could make a great deal of money for their friends. Of course, the person who made these arrangements would be entitled to his own- substantial- cut." Julie sat back and let her last words simmer.

Suddenly, Johnny's cell phone wasn't as intriguing as it had been a moment ago. He placed it back on the desk. It was a more than interesting proposal. But he had learned long ago, and the hard way, to consider all sides before committing to anything. Certainly, he could provide what was needed. So could other people. Why him? Nobody walked into your office and dropped a deal like this in your lap unless they needed something in return. That might not be a bad thing. It just depended on what it was.

"Let's assume that I might possibly be able to do this. Not saying I can. But just for the hell of it."

"Sure," Julie agreed.

"What is it you're really looking for? There's plenty of guys can get you all the wood and nails you could ever want."

"That's true. But I only know of one person who can get rid of Tommy Fitzgerald."

Siccardi's face hardened. "What do you mean by 'get rid of?'"

"Nothing permanent," Julie assured him. "We both know Tommy's been around a long time. Long enough to get stale. Long enough to start making mistakes. It's time for Tommy to collect his gold watch and spend some time with his grandkids."

Johnny hadn't decided yet if the person facing him was an ally, enemy or something else. Whichever it was, he didn't let on that he had been entertaining similar thoughts. Especially after the mess the shooting caused.

Julie pressed her case. "We have a cash cow that we're going to be able to milk for a long time to come. Only it's not going to happen if I have to constantly deal with Fitzgerald and his petty bullshit all the time. The big-time players aren't going to trust me to get the job done on schedule and on budget if I can't keep their projects running smoothly."

Johnny tapped his fingers on the desk, something he did automatically when in deep thought. "Who replaces Tommy?"

"Matty Ross."

"Ross? He's a goody two-shoes. He'll never play ball."

"I've already spoken to him." Julie countered. "He understands how the game is played." That last statement wasn't entirely true, but it would be true soon enough.

Siccardi nodded his tacit approval, but he still wasn't all in.

"You're asking me to do some things that maybe I can, and maybe I can't. Either way, I appreciate you coming to me with this." He rose and extended his hand to Julie. "Let me make a few inquiries, and if there's anything, I'll get in touch."

Julie shook his hand and left. Manny backed out behind her, keeping a careful eye on their host and his "associate."

They didn't speak until they got in Julie's car. "So what do you think?" he asked.

"I think Tommy's going to be enjoying the fishing in Florida real soon."

### Chapter 27

The meeting with Johnny went well. The same could not be said for the rest of the day so far. They left Metal Mania and headed for Julie's mother's house, searching for Mike. Dory wasn't much help. Julie hadn't expected she would be. Mom's world was very narrow these days. Her existence mainly consisted of trips from the couch to the liquor store and back. Occasionally, she managed to get it together enough to meander down to the local bar for a few shots. "Socializing," she called it.

Even Val had been of little use. "I have no idea where he is, and I don't care if he ever comes back," she curtly informed them, before grabbing a coat and storming out. That was another situation that needed attention, Julie thought. Mike and Val had always teased each other, gotten on each other's nerves the way siblings do. But, in the end, they had always shared that twin-bond. They cared about each other, looked out for each other. Until now. What changed? Julie knew she was going to need both of them to get that question answered.

She was concerned about Val. Knew something was wrong. But at least she knew where her younger sister was. The more pressing need was to find Mike.

Manny suggested they file a missing person report. Julie didn't have a lot of confidence in the Carlton Beach Police, but she did trust Tom Garrity. She made a call and arranged a meeting.

Sgt. Tom Garrity was a thirty-year veteran of the force. He had more than enough time in to retire, but still hung around, for some reason. He offered his hand to Julie then Manny. He could tell from Julie's troubled tone when she called that something was wrong. Something important. He skipped the pleasantries and got to the point. "What do you need?"

"My brother, Mike, has been missing for at least the last two days."

Tom had seen Julie weather some very stressful situations. She was always calm, in control. Not now. Now she almost looked desperate. Like she was praying for help, but not really expecting any. She fidgeted with her hands, looked from Tom to Manny as if hoping one of them might have the answer, but knowing they didn't.

"Okay. Do you have a picture of him?" Julie fished in her purse and pulled out her brother's latest school photo. How happy he looked there, she thought as she handed the picture to the cop. What happened?

Tom had them sit at his desk as he pulled out some forms and began the questioning. Did he seem troubled lately? Was he having difficulty in school? Was he using any drugs they were aware of? Did they check with his friends?

Manny interrupted at that point. "We have checked with his friends. Except one. He's been hanging around with this kid Casey Lonighan." Tom stopped writing and raised his head. "I guess you've had some dealings with him," Manny observed.

"Yes. And not happy ones either. The kid's bad news. If Mike's gotten mixed up with him, who knows what might happen." A look of panic flashed across Julie's face. "I wish I had something more positive to say, but we've got to approach these situations realistically if we want to hope for a good outcome."

"I know," Julie said, almost to herself. "Whatever you can do to help."

"You have an address for this guy?" Manny broke in.

"Sure. I'll send a car over to check it out."

"Or you can give us the address, and we'll save you the trouble." Manny knew the police were more than capable of handling such a minor task. He wanted to give Julie something to do. Something to focus on. Something to keep her from falling apart.

Tom seemed to sense the same thing. "That'll help a lot. I'll get you the address, then send this report out. In an hour or so, every police department in New Jersey, including the State Police, will have the information."

Manny nodded. "Thanks."

### Chapter 28

Casey's apartment was a wash. Nobody answered when they knocked on the door, so Manny revived some skills from the past and picked the lock. It was a lot of effort for little gain. There was nothing to indicate if Mike was ever there, or if the two had taken off together. All they found was a couple of empty beer bottles, one with a very distinctive lipstick ring around the opening.

Neither of them could think of anything useful they might accomplish at the moment. The only thing left was to go home and hope the police had better luck.

Julie was too emotionally drained to drive, so she handed the keys to Manny. In the silence, they each formulated - and discarded - one plan of action after another. Sitting and waiting seemed to be all they could do for now. It was not something either of them were good at, or used to. They were proactive people, accustomed to success. To rely on others, especially under the present circumstances, was agony.

Manny's voice roused Julie from her reverie. "Is that Sandra?" He pointed at a group of five or six people huddled within the confines of a bus stop shelter. They sped past before Julie got a good look. "Swing back around," she suggested.

They drove around the block, and were soon back at the bus stop. Julie rolled down her window to greet her sister, but Sandra had already spied her and was opening the door and practically diving into the back seat. "You okay? Julie asked.

Sandra stared out the back window. obviously tense, worried. Finally she turned back around and slumped into the seat. "Yeah. Fine. Just start driving, okay?"

"Car trouble?" Manny queried.

"You could say that."

"Where is it? Maybe I can take a look at it."

Sandra was about to make up a story about the car already having been towed, but had a better thought. Why not have them drive her back to the parking lot? If the beige car was gone she could drive it out. (She'd have to find someway to explain the sudden rebirth of her car, but she'd think of something when the time came.) And if her pursuers were still there, maybe Manny and Julie could think of something.

Sandra directed them to the row where she parked. She told Manny to go slowly so she wouldn't miss her car. What she really wanted was a chance to see the beige car before its inhabitants saw her.

"Here's your car," Julie announced.

It certainly was Sandra's car, but she had also seen the front of the beige car. Still there. Still waiting. She threw herself flat against the seat. "Don't stop. Keep on going," she pleaded.

Manny wasn't sure what spooked his passenger, but she was clearly afraid of something. He kept a steady pace and pulled into a spot at the back of the lot. He turned around to question Sandra but Julie beat him to it.

"You want to cut the bullshit for once in your life and tell me what is going on?"

Sandra didn't care for her sister's tone. She was about to respond in kind, but realized now wasn't the time to get into a major blowout. She needed help and there was nowhere else to turn. Sandra took a deep breath. "Did you see that car, the beige one, parked next to me?" Her listeners nodded. "That car has been following me all week. I think I've seen two guys in it. I don't know who they are, or what they want."

Julie wasn't quite sold. "Really? No idea at all?"

"Well, a while back two guys with badges approached me and wanted to know things about Tommy Fitzgerald."

"What things?" Julie asked.

"I don't know. Silly stuff, like places we went, what we did when we went there."

"And what did you tell them?"

"As little as possible."

Manny broke in. "Did they say what agency they were with?"

"No. They just flashed their badges and started asking questions. I assumed they were FBI."

"Did the badges have FBI printed on them?"

Sandra tried to remember. "They had a big U and S separated by some kind of symbol. I didn't really get a good look."

"That's okay. You saw enough. They're IRS not FBI."

"Is that better?" Sandra wondered.

"Not really. But at least we know what we're dealing with. Either way, I doubt whoever is tailing you is a federal agent of any kind."

"Why is that?" Julie asked.

"Because if they thought your sister had any useful information, the IRS, or the FBI for that matter, wouldn't waste a surveillance team on her. They'd just pull her in and interrogate her."

"That's kind of what I thought," Sandra admitted.

"Then what are we dealing with here?" Julie asked, curtly, glaring at her sister.

"Well, I kind of had a fight with Tommy and I might have said some...stuff."

What little patience Julie had with her sister's half-truths and stalling was about gone. "If your plan is to play games with us then get the hell out of the car and deal with those guys yourself. I'll do what I can to help you, but I don't have time for your crap."

"Okay, okay. He pissed me off about...something. (Sandra wasn't about to reveal that "something" was the union leader's failure to ruin Julie's business.) We fought and I told him I was going to tell the police what was really going on in that union."

Julie stiffened. If her sister indeed had any damaging information and had shared it with the police a lot of painstakingly laid plans would be ruined. "And did you?"

"No," Sandra admitted, meekly. "They were empty threats. I just wanted to make him sweat a little."

Julie sighed inwardly, relieved. "So what you're saying is these might be

Tommy's people."

"Yes."

Manny handed the keys to Julie. "You're gonna have to drive."

She looked at him questioningly.

"I'm going to get Sandra's car. I doubt they'll follow me. If they do, I'll drive around until I lose them and meet you at your house."

"Will we be safe there?" Sandra asked. Now that the whole mess was out in the open, the fear and uncertainty that had been lurking just beneath the surface finally broke free. She folded her arms across her body and gave in to uncontrollable bouts of shivering.

For all the problems she had caused, and for all the times they butted heads, it saddened Julie to see her sister so beaten. And, even though Sandra had been the architect of her own woes, it made Julie even angrier with Tommy Fitzgerald and more determined to bring him down.

### Chapter 29

Val sat at her desk in Physics class, head buried in her hands, listening to Mr. Kirinski drone on and on. She caught every fifth or sixth word. Blah, blah, - momentum. Blah,

blah - force. Blah, blah - entropy. Blah, blah - test. Monday. What! Her head snapped up. No there couldn't be a test Monday. She wasn't ready. Wasn't able to concentrate. She was too drained to put in the hours of study needed to ace this test. And she needed to ace it. Another B wasn't going to impress the admissions staff at Princeton.

What the hell was she going to do? She hadn't spoken to Danny in days. They'd passed each other several times in the hall, but they hadn't spoken. Even if they had, he'd already made it clear he was cutting her off. Damn him! He got her started on this stuff, and now he's holding out. Sure. Why not? Spoiled little rich kid. What did he care? Him and his perfect life, perfect looks, perfect parents.

At least she wouldn't have Julie breathing down her neck for a while. Her sister was consumed these days with locating Mike. It wasn't like Val didn't care what happened to him. How could she not? They had spent just about every day of their lives together. When you cleared away all the teen bullshit and silly sibling rivalries, he was still her brother, and she still cared.

There were just more pressing matters that needed to be dealt with.

Like getting a fix. NO! She violently shoved that thought out of her mind. She didn't need a "fix" like some common junkie. No one was going to find her stumbling around the streets hustling for a handout to score another hit. No. No. Not ever.

But she did need something. Just a little lift to get her through the coming weekend. There was a lot of work to be done, and she couldn't do it the way she was feeling. Even though the pills ran out a couple of days ago, their hold still lingered. Sitting still or relaxing in any way simply wasn't possible. Sleep was not even a remote hope. The pills. She needed the pills. This one last time, then she'd be done with them. But where to get them?

Without Danny, who could she turn to? To be sure, there was no shortage of kids in school who were involved with illegal drugs, but they weren't the ones Val hung out with. Different interests, she supposed. Or maybe she and her crowd just thought themselves better than a bunch of druggie losers. Yeah. Better. Sure. Maybe not. She quickly jumped off that train of reasoning before it led to conclusions she wasn't prepared to face. Get the pills. That's what mattered now.

What about that guy she had gotten stuck with in her History study group last year? Tall, thin, long hair, terminal acne. Lethargic and disinterested most of the time, he occasionally showed up at meetings alarmingly engrossed in the subject matter. Everyone said he was on "something." Maybe that was just his personality. Or... What was his name? It was some odd name. Began with an R. Rowdy? Ribbit? Rabbit. That was it. A nickname no doubt. She couldn't imagine his parents actually named their precious baby boy Rabbit. She chuckled. She hadn't done that since....since too long ago. Things had to change. She knew that. But first there was that damned test. The bell rang ending the period. Val hurried into the hallway, intent on hunting down Rabbit.

It turned out to be a tougher task than she had hoped. She rushed down the first floor hallway. No luck. Maybe by the lockers. No. She took the stairway up to the second floor. Still nothing. The bell rang to signal the start of the next period. Val reluctantly raced back to the first floor and headed for her class.

Halfway to her destination, a door leading out to the football field flew open. Three boys entered. They reeked of cigarette smoke. One of them was the elusive Rabbit.

Val pulled up short, composed herself as best she could and approached the group.

"Hi, Rabbit. Remember me?"

He did. He remembered spending an hour a week for the better part of a semester in the same study group. With a little bit of effort, he could also probably recall every word she ever said to him - all three or four. Guys like Rabbit didn't mix with girls like Val Ryan. Different worlds, different values. There had been times when he wanted to tell her off, her and her snobby friends.

There were also times when he thought things might be different if he could get her alone, in a quiet setting. He daydreamed about the two of them sitting on a park bench at dusk, arms around each other, watching the sunset. She'd snare him with that endearing smile while he brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. They'd talk. Nothing important, just this and that, the differences between them gradually fading away. He shook his head and laughed. Sure. Just like in the fucking movies.

"Did I say something funny?" Val asked.

Rabbit had a sarcastic retort loaded and ready to go. Something stopped him. Sadness, maybe even desperation in her tone.

"No. I'm just kind of surprised you remember me."

"Why wouldn't I?" Val asked.

"I don't know. Maybe because you barely spoke to me the whole time we were in study group together."

"Really?" Val never realized she had been so rude. It made her feel bad, and one day she would try to mend that fence. Today, though, more urgent matters pressed her. "I'm sorry. I am." She stared at the books in her hand. She needed help, but was unlikely to get it here. The late bell rang and Rabbit's companions took off. "Catch you later," they chimed. Val turned to follow.

"Wait a second." Rabbit opened the door he had just come through. "Let's talk outside."

Val hesitated.

"The school can get along without us for one period."

They took a seat along the bottom row of bleachers. "So. What's up?" the boy prodded.

"I was hoping you could help me with something."

"Okay."

"I could never ask you now. After the way I treated you."

"I think that's for me to decide," Rabbit protested.

Val wasn't sure, but what other choice was there? She decided to forge ahead. "I have this test coming up Monday. I have to do well on it, have to."

"And you want me to help you study?"

Val panicked. Oh no. This was getting worse by the minute.

"Relax," Rabbit chuckled. "It was a joke."

Val nearly broke down. She laughed so rarely these days. Little seemed amusing when failure and despair were constantly hammering at the gates, determined to sack the city.

"I'm going to have to pull an all-nighter Saturday. I need to stay alert. I had something, but the person I was getting it from can't...won't give me any more."

"By 'something' you mean...?"

"I don't know what they're called. These small, blue pills. They help me stay up."

"Oh," Rabbit replied, not bothering to mask the indignation in his voice. "You need someone to hook you up with some speed. So naturally the first person you thought of was the freaky kid from the trailer park. He'll know where to get them. Hell, probably has a stash right under his bed."

Val got up, wiping tears from her eyes.

Rabbit immediately regretted his outburst. "Don't go. I'm sorry. I can be an insensitive jerk sometimes. Please, sit down."

The girl acquiesced, more because her legs were trembling than because she wanted to spend another minute in what had turned into a very uncomfortable situation.

"Listen," the boy continued, "I don't know anybody who would have anything like that. But my cousin invited me to a party in Middletown this Friday night. They're not the kind of crowd I usually hang with, but my cousin doesn't want to go by herself so I'm doing her a favor and tagging along. Point is, the guy throwing the bash has a pretty wild reputation, and we just might be able to find what you need. If I give you the address, think you can get there?"

Val nodded.

### Chapter 30

Tommy Fitzgerald didn't like being "summoned." Didn't like being treated like a school kid dragged into the principal's office. The fact that the "principal" in this case was Johnny Siccardi didn't make it any more palatable.

Siccardi had purchased the union boss' soul several years ago when the housing bubble burst. Everyone was having a tough time (except, of course, the fat cat bankers and boardroom bullies who lined their pockets at the expense of the peasants). The building trades especially so. His members were demanding help from their union. There was supposed to be an emergency fund, a reserve that unioneers could turn to for assistance with a medical bill, or a mortgage payment.

The fund existed, only it wasn't quite as well-heeled as it should have been. Like too many others in the early 2000's, Tommy couldn't see an end to the good times. He figured he'd ride them right into retirement, and have plenty of time to repair the damage he'd done to the emergency fund. People, lead by Matty Ross, who was just a shop steward at the time, began asking questions. Tommy's words of reassurance were no longer enough, they wanted it in black and white.

He needed cash. And quickly. It wasn't like he could waltz into a bank and ask for a loan to repay misappropriated funds. His options were limited. So limited, in fact, that they boiled down to one person - Johnny Siccardi. Sammy Wertz had put them together. Grateful for the lifeline at the time, Tommy would soon find out Local 182's business manager had his own reasons for needing to stem the tide of inquest. He accepted the bailout. But it came with a price. A price he had no choice but to pay. And pay. And pay.

Now he found himself seated across a desk from a man he hated. Absolutely and without reservation. Not because of the man's business, or his manners, or his superior air. Tommy hated him because he was the one person in the world who held any sway over him. The one person he had to bow down to. Soul-selling had its consequences.

"Lots of trouble these days," Siccardi began.

"Nothing we didn't handle."

Siccardi nodded his head questioningly. "Maybe. Then again, maybe it's time."

The union boss gave the expected response. " Time for what?"

"To start enjoying the good life. You've got that place in the Keys that you don't get to often enough. You've done your part for the local. Let someone else carry the burden."

Tommy was prepared to get a lot of shit about the shooting, the investigations going on, the drop in Johnny's cut. But retire? No fucking way. No way this greaseball was going to run Tommy Fitzgerald out of town. Oh, he'd step down one day. Not today. He'd go when he was ready and on his own terms.

Johnny didn't wait for his guest's response, his expression said enough. "I know this isn't something you were considering. Consider it now." The cold stare that accompanied that last statement made even the hardened union man shiver.

"We've hit a couple of snags lately. But we've weathered worse - and still made money. Don't forget that." Tommy held up a hand to stem the protest that was forming on the other's lips. "I know. I know. Payments aren't what they were. But I can fix that."

"Can you fix Sammy Wertz?"

Now there was a curveball. "Sammy Wertz?"

"He show up at work today?"

"No," Tommy admitted. Sammy wasn't required to punch a clock. He came when he came and left when he left. As long as he got the job done. "So what?"

"So he's down in Florida. Taking a cruise."

"To where?"

"To whatever island he's got our money stashed away on."

Tommy considered himself a pretty resilient guy. Physically or emotionally, it took a lot to upset his boat. Now he found himself leaning on the chair's armrests to keep himself upright. "Sammy?" It was a dangerous thing for a man in Tommy's position to trust anyone. Sammy was one of the few exceptions. He'd been there in the lean days when they were picketing and slashing scabs' tires. They took on the big-time construction companies and the indifferent, ineffective bosses of their own union. "Sammy?" he repeated.

Johnny had to stifle a laugh. Naivety. It popped up in the most unexpected places. It was something he carefully avoided.. Sometimes it made for a lonely existence, but it was also the reason most of the people he dealt with were in his office, sitting on the other side of his desk. "Yes. Sammy. My people caught up with him this morning. Just in time, apparently."

"Son of a bitch," Tommy whispered.

"Well. No harm done. My associates were able to convince him to give up his account numbers and passwords. All the money is back where it belongs." Siccardi punctuated the revelation with a big smile.

"How? How did you know."

"I actually have you to thank for that, in a way. It was you and your morons who got the feds sticking their nose in our business. The IRS sent a couple of agents down, and those guys dug up some very interesting shit. Shit that eventually landed on Sammy Wertz's doorstep. Lucky for me, these agents were smart guys. They figured negotiating a 'finders fee' with me would do them more good than their government paychecks."

"How much did he hit us for?"

Johnny leaned forward. "Millions. He was ripping you off for years. Right under your fucking nose. You might have noticed if you weren't busy banging any pretty face with big tits that happened your way."

"Where is he now?"

The cold stare was back. "You don't want to know."

Fitzgerald slumped in his chair, eyes open, staring at nothing.

Johnny mostly sat behind a desk these days, but the street-fighter instincts that got him here were as sharp as ever. His opponent was on the ropes. Now was the time to close the deal.

"We've done very well together. There's a lot I could overlook, have overlooked. I can't overlook someone making a schmuck out of me. I'd find myself in a box real quick."

The union boss sighed, "What do I do?"

"You go back to your office and announce your retirement. They'll give you a fancy party, people will come and say nice things about you. When it's done, you and your wife go enjoy the rest of your lives."

Tommy knew he was beat, but his own deeply ingrained fighting instincts demanded he at least ask the question. "What if I don't?"

Siccardi leaned back and smiled. "Then you'll find out where Sammy Wertz is."

Tommy rose from his chair. He entered this room looking ten years younger than he actually was. Now he looked his age, and more.

"So?' Johnny asked.

"So, I'm going back to the office and get the paperwork started."

Johnny watched him go. They had a good thing going for a while. Every scheme had its shelf life, however, even though this one had lasted longer than most. Oh well. It was like the old saying goes, one door closes, another opens. Julie Ryan was the new door, the new cash cow. It was time to solidify their vague alliance. Time to make sure his new partner fully understood her role in the new game plan. He picked up the phone and dialed Julie's number.

### Chapter 31

It was one of those late-December days that made you forget Christmas was just around the corner. Mild temperature and a gentle breeze made it feel more like early September. The pleasant climate was lost on Julie. She adjusted the kerchief she hastily wrapped around her head that morning. It wasn't her favorite look, but sometimes coiffing was tedious and a waste of time. It was only Sandra and Manny today, and they didn't need to be impressed.

She got out of Manny's Range Rover and leaned against the hood. Manny came around to join her. Sandra remained in the car. They were parked in the lot of the Thomas Edison rest stop along the New Jersey Turnpike, waiting for a friend of Manny's. Sandra had been holed up at Julie's ever since the incident with the beige car at KMart.

After spotting the car parked next to Sandra's, Manny parked at the far end of the lot and walked back to retrieve her car - and check out the stalkers. Two men sat in the front seat. They looked as able to take a beating as give one. There was a Local 182 sticker on the windshield. Tommy's men.

When they got back to Julie's she insisted Sandra remain with her. Even if the union men discovered where she was they weren't likely to go busting into a house on Holly Hill. Cops in Carlton Beach tended to be very protective of their upper crust charges. All of this would blow over soon enough, anyway. Tommy Fitzgerald's days as a force were numbered. Even though Johnny Siccardi hadn't made a move on the union boss yet, she had no doubt he would. The numbers were too much in her favor.

Until that happened, she needed to get her sister somewhere safe. They were too familiar with her car, so that was out. Busses and trains were too easily watched. (Although Julie doubted the union had the manpower to throw an effective net over the entire town, she wasn't willing to gamble her sister's life on a supposition.) Manny came up with a plan, which led them to this piss stop on the highway.

"You're sure he's trustworthy?" Julie asked.

Manny smiled. "I told you he was the first ten times you asked."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"That's all right. It's your sister and you want to be sure. I get it."

A tractor trailer pulled in, passed them by, and parked in the space reserved for the big rigs. Julie sighed impatiently.

"He'll be here," Manny assured her.

The blast of an air horn grabbed their attention. An eighteen wheeler with a bright red tractor came to a stop a few feet from where they stood. A rotund, sixtyish man, sporting a full beard and dark aviator sunglasses emerged. His name was Alexander Wilson. He went by the name Willie, a diminutive he derived from his last name. He never cared for Al or Alex, and Alexander seemed much too grand for a simple Georgia boy.

He had been riding the road most of his adult life. It was the only full-time job he had ever had, or needed. It provided him with a good living, and even a wife. He'd met her on a run to Vermont many years ago. She'd been working the convenience store side of a gas station where he'd stopped to fill up. For the next couple of years, he jumped on every load going anywhere in New England, often at the expense of more lucrative trips. His efforts were finally rewarded one snowy Christmas Eve when Flora agreed to be his wife. Since he wasn't fond of harsh Vermont winters, and she no fan of sultry Georgia summers, they split the difference and settled in South Jersey.

He first ran into Manny on a dark road on the outskirts of Carlton Beach. Willie had just dropped a load at Port Newark - Elizabeth Marine Terminal, and was on his way home when he saw lights flashing in his rear view. He pulled over. A young, fresh-faced cop confronted him and asked for the usual paperwork - logbook and permits. Somewhere in the course of their conversation they discovered they shared an interest in classic cars. Willie mentioned he was in the process of restoring a '57 Chevy Bel Air, and invited the officer to come down and take a look when he got a chance. Manny forgot about the ticket he was about to write and accepted the invitation. A couple of days later a lasting friendship was forged between two men in grease-covered sweatshirts.

Willie grasped Manny's hand and shook it heartily. "Good to see ya. Been a while. Flora's beginning to wonder if you lost your taste for her apple strudel."

"Never happen. In fact, I'll be over as soon as you're back."

The truck driver smiled. "I'm gonna hold you to that." He turned to Julie. "And who might this lovely young lady be?"

Julie extended her hand. "Julie Ryan," she offered.

Willie took the hand. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Julie. Are you going to be riding with me?"

"No," Manny interrupted. "That would be this young lady." He opened the back door of his car and Sandra stepped out. "This is Sandra Ryan."

Willie nodded his head. "Pleased to meet you as well, Miss Sandra."

Sandra merely blinked in response.

Manny reached inside the car and pulled out a suitcase. Willie took it and stashed it behind the seat of his cab.

"And where will I be dropping off my passenger?"

Manny glanced at Sandra, who nodded slightly. "She'll be going all the way to Santa Fe, if that's okay with you."

"Fine by me. Company's always welcome on a long ride."

Manny fished in his pocket and produced a sheet of paper and a wad of bills. "Here's a list of motels, spaced as close to five hundred miles apart as we can get them. Two rooms at each stop, reserved and paid for. If there's anything else you need, just tell them to charge it to Ryan Construction. They all have the card number on file."

Willie took the paper and waved off the bills. "Friends don't charge for favors. Besides, between staying in a motel instead of bunking in my sleeper, and having a fresh audience for my boring old road stories, this is already fixin' to be a pretty run."

Julie turned to Sandra. "Ready?"

Sandra nodded. There was an awkward moment when the two sisters faced each other, neither quite sure how to say goodbye. In the end, they simply hugged, an intense and honest embrace that left them both wiping away tears.

Julie watched Sandra climb into the cab. Funny, even though she was the younger sibling, Julie couldn't help feeling like a mother sending her child away to summer camp for the first time. "Do you have your money? Call every night. I'll ship your car down when you get settled." Sandra smiled - it was nice to see - and pulled the door closed.

"Well, don't want to waste any more sunlight," Willie announced.

Julie grabbed his shoulder as he turned to leave. "Take care of her," she said softly.

Willie smiled and slapped the fender of his tractor. "Don't you worry. Me and the red devil here have eaten up a lot of road together, and we've never lost a load. Don't expect to start now."

Julie and Manny watched as the rig disappeared into traffic. Manny put his arm around her. "Don't worry. I'd trust him with my own daughter if I had one."

As they got back in the Range Rover, Julie's phone rang. "Okay. Okay. See you then."

In answer to Manny's inquisitive look she added, "I have a meeting with Johnny Siccardi tomorrow."

### Chapter 32

So. The Great Escape had turned into the Big Bust. It started promisingly enough, with Casey and Lisa whisking Mike away, only stopping long enough for Mike to drain his bank account. Then they were off. Their troubles and trials disappeared behind them in a cloud of dust and gravel kicked up by screeching tires as Casey pushed the quivering Jeep Wrangler to its limit.

Mike had been wary at first, but as the dreary memories of Carlton Beach diminished in the distance, he saw nothing ahead but carefree days and careless nights. Life was good \- for about two days. That was how long it took for Mike to realize that all his two companions cared about was each other. That, booze, pills, and pot. He finally came to the conclusion that all he had ever been was a source of quick cash. Casey denied it, and they spent some of the previous evening arguing the point. The words they exchanged still rambled around in his head.

"You wanted out of that town and I told you we'd do it. And we did," Casey shouted.

"It only became we after you and your girlfriend here," Mike pointed at Lisa who was busy polishing her toenails and seemed oblivious to the goings on, "blew all your fucking money in AC and you needed a refill."

The two had been standing on opposite sides of the room. Casey stepped forward until they were face-to-face. As much as he wanted to, Mike knew that to back up now would be surrendering. He was well aware the kind of damage Casey was capable of dishing out if the confrontation became physical. He didn't care at the moment.

"First of all, the money we blew was Lisa's." Casey spat out. " Second, you keep talking about your money. You wouldn't have had that money if I hadn't gotten you the chance to make it."

Mike shook his head. "The way I remember it, that was supposed to be our money. For us to use so we could leave town and start over." He left hanging in the air the thought that Lisa was never part of the deal. Bringing that up now was likely to drag them into a realm that was better left for another day.

. "I kept my end and saved my money."

Casey seemed to calm down a bit. He lowered his voice. "You're right. You're right. I didn't hold up my end. I pissed my cash away paying rent, buying food and clothes." He lifted his head a little higher, as if proud of the words he was about to utter. "I had to. I didn't have a rich sister to carry me."

It was a low blow, but, Mike had to admit, not totally unwarranted. They cooled off after that and went to bed having resolved nothing.

Now they were driving down a road somewhere in Pennsylvania, low on gas and low on cash. This problem couldn't be pushed aside for later. Lisa had a bank card with fifteen dollars and change left on it. They pulled into a gas station and shot the load on some petrol.

Casey filled the tank and jammed the nozzle back into its holder. He slid into the driver's seat, fired up the engine...and went nowhere.

"Planning on sitting here until we run out of gas again?" Lisa wondered, sarcastically.

Casey didn't answer. His attention was focused on the liquor store directly ahead of them.

Lisa followed his gaze. "Thinking of buying stock?" Sarcasm had not abandoned her.

Casey continued to stare. "Thinking of stocking up," he replied, putting the car in gear.

"With what?" Lisa wanted to know.

"First things first." Casey guided the car to a spot a few feet from the store's entrance. He turned the engine off, but left the key in the ignition. "Come on, let's go shopping."

"You got money we don't know about?" Mike piped in from the back seat.

"You people got more questions than a fucking quiz show. Trust me." Casey shot back, retrieving a flat-nosed screwdriver from under his seat as he got out.

Mike still had a lot to learn in life, but he had garnered some knowledge in his brief years. Like whenever someone giving directions says, "You can't miss it," you can rest assured you will. And trusting someone who says, "Trust me," rarely turns out well. But he had come this far, and didn't really have anywhere else to go, so he opened the door and followed along.

Immediately on their right as they walked in was a counter crowded with a multitude of impulse items: everything from gum and mints to condoms and rolling paper. Behind the gaggle of merchandise sat an aging cash register, and behind that stood a man who looked the very essence of what city-dwellers would label a hayseed. He was slender, maybe a shade under six feet tall, and looked about in his late twenties. His hair was longer than a junior exec's but shorter than a hippie. A baseball cap from Herm's Seed N' Feed sat above a face that sported two or three days worth of stubble. A plaid shirt, and a toothpick sticking out between his lips rounded out the picture of rural chic.

Casey winked at the man. "Hey Gomer," he quipped. The clerk didn't laugh.

The would-be comedian grabbed Mike by his shoulder and directed him to a rack jammed with potato chips and pretzels. "Why don't you grab us some snacks?" Casey suggested, then headed up the second of the store's three aisles with Lisa.

Mike began to rummage through the selection, but soon paused. Casey and Lisa were whispering and he couldn't make out their words over the rustling of the chip bags. The conversation stopped before he could get an inkling of what they were cooking up. He supposed he'd find out soon enough. He also supposed he wouldn't like it much.

Casey joined him at the rack, while Lisa sauntered to the back of the store. "These look good," Casey snatched a couple of bags and thrust them into Mike's arms. The sound of glass shattering somewhere in the back filled the small store. Mike started off in the direction of the disturbance, but was restrained by Casey. "It's all right. Just wait."

The clerk left his station behind the register and hurried back to see what happened. He rounded the end of the first aisle and found Lisa standing in front of a row of coolers. Bits of glass, propelled by a river of some green liquid, bobbed across the floor.

"I am so sorry," Lisa purred. "It just slipped out of my hand." The hayseed's initial anger at his first sight of the destruction evaporated amid the soft voice and even softer-looking bosom that now bobbed up and down as easily as the shards of glass at his feet.

"If you can just get me a mop, I'll clean it up," Lisa offered, her voice as sweet as a peppermint stick.

"That's okay I'll get it." The clerk headed for a back room to retrieve a mop and bucket.

Lisa raced down the aisle, waving her arms at Casey and whisper-shouting, "Now, now."

Casey didn't waste any time. He pulled the screwdriver out of his back pocket, hurried behind the counter and started working on the register. The old machine gave up its treasure easily enough. Casey stuffed the cash in his pockets and swiped two bottles of scotch as an afterthought.

The storekeeper heard the commotion as he emerged from the utility closet. He turned just in time to see his "customer" run from behind the counter, a bottle in each hand and several unruly bills trying to escape from a front pocket. "Hey you," he shouted, dropping the mop and racing down the aisle.

Lisa was already out the front door, Casey breathing down her neck. Mike stood paralyzed for a moment, a bag of bbq chips in one hand and sourdough pretzels in the other.

"Get back here!" the clerk bellowed. The anger and rage shook Mike out of his stupor. He dropped his packages and scurried for the exit, the clerk's footsteps drawing closer with each breath. He had only a short distance to cover, but it seemed to be taking forever. The faster he ran, the further away the car seemed to get. He tried to run even faster, until he realized the car's retreat wasn't an illusion. It was pulling away. "Son of a bitch," he gasped. Any further thoughts he might have had took a quick backseat to the sudden need to breathe. He was winded from the frantic race he had just run - and the arm around his throat wasn't helping.

"Gomer" was one of those fellows who are best described as wiry, meaning once he got a grip on his prey, he was damned near impossible to shake off. Mike tried. He attempted to pry the offending arm off his neck. It didn't work. Kicking, punching, writhing all met with the same disappointing result. The edges of his vision began to blur, then become black. Finally, the whole world devolved into stygian emptiness.

### Chapter 33

Johnny Siccardi's office wasn't what Julie expected. But then, what does one expect from a mobster's office? Certainly not the sparsity. No art or pictures adorned the plain off-white walls. There were no bookcases lined with volumes the owner never did, or ever would, read. The only accoutrement of any substance was a well-stocked bar nestled in a corner. The space, like the man who occupied it, was designed for efficiency, not pageantry.

At first glance, that man seemed more likely to settle his disputes in court than in a back alley with bullets flying. But as someone who had been underestimated many times herself, it took more than a pleasant smile and smooth manners to fool her. It was like finding a snake lying in the grass, pretty and peaceful. Until it attacked. Swift and lethal. The game over before the victim even knew he was playing.

The snake smiled. "Welcome to my humble establishment."

"Nice to be here. Glad we were able to come to terms."

"Were we? I recall discussing some general concepts, but nothing concrete."

Julie braced herself. Here come the fangs. "I thought the terms were pretty clear. You line up the suppliers and contractors for me, and collect a fee on both ends. Very lucrative."

"I agree. An excellent situation - for most people. Only I'm not most people." Johnny shrugged. "Being a middle man means taking shit from both sides. Not for me. I prefer running things from above."

Julie shifted uneasily in her seat. "Meaning?"

"Meaning we're partners."

"Partners."

"Yes. I'll assure you a steady stream of supplies and peace with your contractors and the union. In return, you cut me in for half of all profits. And believe me, I have people who know this business and will make sure you're dealing straight."

An uncomfortable feeling was forming in Julie's stomach.

Siccardi continued. "As far as payment, it comes in cash and directly to me. It won't appear on your company ledger, or on a check, or even on a post-it note. How you manage to bury the expense on your books is your problem." He leaned back and let his words sink in.

Julie's response was immediate and definite. "I'm sorry you can't appreciate the mutual advantages of my original offer. I made it because you have the contacts to keep things running smoothly, without interruption from finicky contractors or unreliable suppliers. But, the fact is, I can get everything I need without you."

"Can you? Maybe so" Johnny conceded. "You can always get materials, I guess. Contractors might be reluctant to sign up, and if they're not, we can always make them reluctant. Even if you manage to climb those hills, you can't do a thing without the union."

"Which is run by Matty Ross," Julie pointed out.

"For now," Siccardi countered. "Tommy only had two months left on his term. After that, Ross has to get himself re-elected. Elections are funny things, you know. A lot can happen to tip the balance one way or the other."

"I'll take my chances. Matty is very popular with the membership."

"There's a lot they don't know. A lot of shady deals Tommy had going. Probably Matty wasn't privy to most of that, but that's not going to matter. If he didn't know, he should have. Or maybe he did know and looked the other way to protect his own position. True or not, that's the way we'll make it look."

"We?" Julie asked.

"Sure, we. You don't think I let a guy like Tommy go, a guy who did very well for us over the years, without having a backup plan? There are people who know where the bodies are buried, so to speak. My people. People who can make your boy look very bad. The bottom line is, we can make a lot of money together. We can corner the construction business in this state. Maybe you'll only have half, but it's going to be one hell of a half to have."

"No doubt that's true," Julie allowed, "but everything comes with a price, and yours is just too high."

"Could be. But you'll pay it."

Julie rose from her chair. "I'm afraid not. I'll proceed without you. Do your best to stop me. It won't be as easy as you think." She turned to leave but was frozen by an unexpected question.

"How's Mike?" Johnny asked.

Julie hesitated, somewhat taken aback by the query. "He's fine," she finally managed.

"Really. That's not what I've been told."

"Whatever. Mike is my business. Don't try to make him yours."

Siccardi put his hands up in a defensive gesture. "I wasn't trying to do anything. Your brother called me."

"Why would he call you?"

"Well, seems he's gotten himself into a situation with the law."

"Not Mike," Julie whispered, slumping back into the chair.

Johnny smiled like a boxer who just knocked all the wind out of his opponent. "Yes Mike. He called me this morning from Pennsylvania. He's sitting in a jail cell in some shit hole called Wheaton. Looks like he and a couple of buddies robbed a liquor store yesterday. The buddies got away. Mike wasn't so lucky."

"Even if that's true, why would he call you?"

"According to him, he was hoping to resolve the problem before you knew about it." Johnny made an expression of mock surprise. "Oops. Guess that cat's out of the bag.

Anyway, I was the only other person he could think of. Actually, turns out it was pretty good thinking. I got in touch with some friends of mine in Philly. They not only know about this dump, they apparently have some influence there. I can have your brother walking out free and clear before the end of the day."

Julie was still trying to absorb the news, not quite sure what to do. She knew what not to do, though. "I can handle this without your help."

"Possibly. You can go down there with some high-priced lawyer and maybe work out a deal with the local DA. But it won't be 'free and clear,' there'll be some kind of record left behind. That's if they make a deal. Just like my friends could convince the locals to let him skate, they could just as easily convince them to go ahead with the robbery charge. A felony. Now it's unlikely a kid with an otherwise good record like Mike would end up doing any time. Probably get probation and some community service. The hell of it is, he'd be wearing that felony conviction around his neck for the rest of his life. It might not seem like a big deal right now. I mean, some of my best friends have been convicted of felonies," he took a couple of seconds to laugh at his own joke. "But the future. That's another story. Your brother is young. The whole world is open to him. If he's clean. You never know, maybe he'll want to become a lawyer, or get a job that needs a security clearance. Hey running for congress isn't out of the question. I can make it turn out your way. It'll mean calling in a lot of favors. Favors are more valuable than money, and I'm not going to spend them on a business acquaintance. A partner would be a different story." Johnny reached over the desk and extended his hand. "Partners?"

Julie stared at the offered hand for a few seconds. What she longed to do at the moment was shove her fingers down Siccardi's throat, rip out his lungs, and use them to wipe that stupid, smug smile off his face. But she knew when she'd been outplayed. She wrapped her hand around the other's and gave it a very brief, very weak shake.

She exited the office, trying to figure out what had just happened. How had it gone so wrong? Her thoughts quickly switched gears. Oh Mike, Mike. What have you done? She staggered down the back staircase like a drunk on three-day binge. Failure. That's all it was. She had failed her brother. Her business. Her father. Herself.

Julie reached the bottom of the staircase and sat down on the lowest step. She buried her face in her hands and cried. Violent sobs wracked her body. Tears flowed freely and unhindered down her cheek. She did nothing to stop them.

It took several minutes for the spasm to run its course. When it was over, Julie took a few deep breaths. Round One was Johnny Siccardi's. No doubt about that. But if he thought that was the entire fight, he was in for an unpleasant surprise. The next round would find her coming out swinging - and God help anyone who got in the way. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped away the tears and the forlorn countenance of a beaten woman. Her features grew hard along with her thoughts. Earlier this morning, Manny had warned her against "making a deal with the devil." Johnny wasn't the devil. Everyone knows the devil is immortal, she thought, as she opened the door and walked out into the fresh air.

### Chapter 34

Val kept one hand on the steering wheel and used the other to rummage through the several boxes of Sta Alert that littered the passenger seat, hoping to find one that still had pills in it. "In one hundred feet, turn right on Levander Drive," the GPS advised. She picked up another box and shook it. She was rewarded with the sound of a blister pack rattling within. Thank God. The caffeine pills weren't quite what she needed, but they were better than nothing.

She wiggled her fingers inside the box, trying to free the contents. "Turn right now," the GPS ordered. Val spun the wheel with her left hand. The car fishtailed into the oncoming lane. Fortunately, it was free of traffic. She managed to right herself and get back on track. Mailboxes with street numbers flashed by. "Your destination is on the right, fifty feet ahead." She punched the button on her console to turn off the annoying voice (she made a mental note to change it, as if that mattered with everything else that was going on).

She slowed down, carefully noting the addresses as they passed. 2722. 2720. 2716. 2716? What the hell happened to 2718? Something else that didn't really matter. She slammed on her brakes and backed up to the house at 2716 Levander Drive, the address Rabbit had given her.

If there was a party going on, it was a small one. Except for her own, there were no cars parked on the street. Only six graced the driveway. Maybe they were a late crowd. It was only eight o'clock, plenty of time for others to show. Whatever, it didn't matter. Whether the gathering turned into a bust or a bash was of little consequence. As long as she got what she came here for.

Halfway up the driveway she heard music and voices. Something was going on after all. The sounds grew louder and more pervasive as she approached the front door. She tried the bell, but it was unable to make itself heard over the ruckus inside. Same for the brass knocker.

Oh well, she thought, can't stand out here all night. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. A boy, probably, seventeen or eighteen, turned toward her as she entered. He raised the bottle of beer he was holding as if he was making a toast, took a long slug, then stumbled off toward another room. A girl burst from the room, almost colliding with the beer drinker. She headed for a staircase, closely followed by a teen-aged boy. The two raced up the steps, made a left at the top and disappeared. The sound of giggling and shouting drifted along with them until that too vanished behind a slammed door.

Val shook her head. This wasn't the kind of party she was used to. But maybe it was the kind of party where she could find what she needed.

"Hey, Val," a voice behind her called. Rabbit and a girl had just gotten there. "This is my cousin Melissa."

The girl turned to Rabbit. "I've got to find Ray," she said and hurried off.

"You here long?" Rabbit asked.

"No." Val's voice cracked as she spoke.

"You okay?" Rabbit had this picture of Val ingrained in his head from the first time he'd seen her. Dazzling smile. Long, flowing hair that you just knew would feel like velvet if you were lucky enough to touch it. A Cadillac figure that made other girls look like used cars in comparison. Amazing. But not tonight. Tonight the velveteen hair was disheveled, the megawatt smile forced and thin, her body shriveled as if she had just been punched in the stomach.

"You feeling okay?" Rabbit repeated.

Val looked at him with bloodshot eyes that darted left and right, as if she thought something was stalking her. "Yes. I'm fine," she lied. "Can we take care of," she paused, "you know?"

"Yeah, we can." Rabbit took a couple of steps forward, then stopped. "Are you sure? That stuff you want is dangerous. Maybe we can think of something else?" he asked, hopefully.

Val couldn't hide her irritation. Didn't try. "I know all about it. I've been preached to before. If you can't help, or don't want to, just say so. But please don't waste any more of my fucking time. I need this, and I need it now!" She was nearly shrieking by the end of her tirade.

Rabbit's face dropped as if his best friend had just abandoned him. "Okay. I'm sorry. Come on, I'll set you up."

Even through her haze of need and confusion, Val realized he deserved better than what she was showing him. They didn't really know each other. There was no reason for him to bother with her, other than being a decent kid. Maybe when this was all over...

"No. I'm sorry. I appreciate what you're doing. Really. I'm so grateful. I'm going to get a handle on this. I just have to get through the next week. Then I'm done."

Rabbit looked doubtful, but he wanted to believe. "Promise?"

"How about we get together in a couple of weeks, and you can see for yourself?"

Get her drugs? At that moment he would have stolen a car and robbed a bank for her. He smiled. "Okay."

They entered the room the beer drinker had drifted into. Rabbit looked around. "Come on." He grabbed Val's hand and headed toward a corner where two boys were sharing a joint.

"Hey, Rabbit," one of the boys said, holding out his hand and offering the newcomers a hit.

"No thanks," Rabbit responded.

He gestured toward Val. She refused. "Not what I'm looking for."

The boy with the joint turned to Rabbit. "So. Is this the one you were telling me about?"

"Yes."

"Good work. A little rough, but not bad." He turned to Val. "I'm Guy. I hear you're in need of some...assistance."

"Yes. I am." Val didn't like the feeling she was getting from this Guy. She liked the way he was checking her out even less. There was nothing to do about it. She had to get something soon or else...what? She didn't know. Nothing pleasant.

"All right. Let's go." Guy put an arm around Val's waist and headed for the doorway. Rabbit followed.

"You wait here," the other boy insisted.

Rabbit looked at Val. She nodded. "I'll be okay." Rabbit didn't think so, but he nodded in return, anyway. He watched the couple climb the stairs and make a turn down a hallway.

Guy ushered her into a bedroom. His, she supposed. The walls were covered with posters. Mostly heavy metal bands, except for one that depicted a marijuana plant, with an underlying caption that proclaimed - SALVATION.

Guy shut the door behind them. "So. What do you want?" he asked, curtly.

"I don't know what they're called. There small, blue pills, and they give you energy," Val responded, a slight tremor in her voice. "I thought Rabbit told you."

The boy reached inside the back pocket of his jeans. "Oh. You mean these?" He shook a sandwich bag that contained maybe fifty or so of the tiny tablets.

"Yes." Val reached into her own pocket. "How much?"

Guy pulled off his tee shirt and stretched out on the bed. He placed the bag on the mattress next to him. "How much is a relative term, you know. Depends on how bad you want them."

"I've got enough money to make it worth your while." She extended a fist full of bills to emphasize the point.

Guy smiled. "That's nice. But other things count too." He patted a spot on the bed next to him. "Why don't you sit and we can talk?"

This was taking a turn Val had never seen coming. Maybe she should have. Maybe she would have, if she'd been thinking straight.

"Sit down, or get the fuck out."

Val's good sense was gone, need ruled in its stead. She sat down, still hoping things would eventually work out all right.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Guy asked.

Val shook her head feebly as the boy ran his hands along her legs, her hips, her breasts. He smiled, clearly enjoying her discomfort. He suddenly rose to his knees and snatched the bag of pills. He waved them in front of Val's face. "Still want these?"

Want them? They were all she cared about. What was it going to take to get them? "Yes, I want them" she sighed.

"All you have to do is come and get them." Guy stuffed the bag down the front of his pants.

"You fuck."

The boy shrugged. "I got what you want. You got what I want. It's your call." He edged his torso closer to her.

Val smiled, and rested her hands on his chest. Slowly she moved them down. Lower and lower. She felt the metal of his belt buckle against her fingers. So close. She pressed her hand against his stomach and reached in. She felt around for the bag. Guy's breath rustled her hair as he inhaled and exhaled. Harder. Faster.

She reached down. A ring she was wearing got caught in the cotton of his briefs. She was about to pull her hand out when she felt the smooth surface of a plastic bag. She pinched the bag between her thumb and forefinger, while she tried to work her ring free. Guy actually moaned. He thought she was trying to please him. Fucking idiot.

Finally, the ring pulled free. Val hesitated for a moment. One deep breath and she yanked the bag out of his pants, the ring leaving a thin gash on his stomach in the process. Good. She turned to escape. Two arms wrapped themselves around her and dragged her back.

"Where you going bitch?" Guy snarled.

Val got one hand free and raked her fingernails across his face. The boy screamed but held on. She kept fighting. Finally, a hand smashed into her face, stunning her. She had never been hit like that in her life. It was as painful as it was demeaning. The posters on the walls danced around. She was falling backward. Val crashed into the mattress, Guy on top of her.

She screamed. He slapped her again. Not as hard, but enough to make his point. He ripped her blouse open. Buttons flew everywhere. His hands reached inside her bra. She screamed again and was rewarded with another slap. Val struggled, but it was no use. He was too heavy, too strong for her. Maybe this was what she deserved. She had about given up when the weight suddenly disappeared.

There was one crazy second when Guy's body seemed to be floating in midair, like in the Exorcist. But there was nothing supernatural going on. Rabbit had his hands around the back of her attacker's belt and was wrenching him off the bed.

Val was still woozy from the blows, but she knew she had to get out. Now! She looked around for the pills and almost panicked when she didn't see them. They had fallen to the floor during the struggle. She retrieved them and raced out of the room. The sound of the two boys struggling followed her. She outran it and headed for her car.

Val's hands were shaking too hard for her to get the key in the ignition. She needed to calm down. She needed... The bag of pills sat on the dashboard. Of course. Everything was going to be all right now. She reached in and grabbed. Two? Four? More? Whatever it was, she swallowed them and tried the key again. It worked. She stomped on the gas pedal and left the the whole mess behind.

Somehow, she found the Parkway and headed south. She had no idea how fast she was going. Was she passing cars, or were they passing her? It was hard to tell. Headlights from the cars behind reflected off the rear view mirror, nearly blinding her. Something way back in the recess of her mind was trying to tell her there was a way to fix that. It wouldn't stay still long enough for her to grasp it.

A horn blasted. The car next to her swerved, the driver frantically screaming and thrusting his middle finger at her. She didn't think much of it. The car jumped in front of her and sped off. Suddenly, the lane markers disappeared. Trees and grass jumped up in front of her. There was a way to fix that too. But again, the answer lay just beyond her reach. A big tree ran toward her. How did it do that? Blackness descended.

### Chapter 35

Julie Ryan raced her car recklessly onto the parkway. "Slow down, slow down," she admonished herself. Smashing her car and ending up in a hospital bed herself wasn't the way to help Val. The car slowed down, a bit. How could this possibly happen? The state trooper who called said Val had run off the highway and crashed into a tree. "What? How?" she had stupidly asked the officer. Of course he didn't know. He also didn't know that Val was an excellent, attentive driver. A level-headed kid who scrupulously adhered to the traffic laws, even at the expense of being teased by her brother for going too slow, or easing off the gas at a yellow light rather than gunning the engine and hurtling through.

Her brother. Their brother. That was another matter weighing on her. Johnny had been true to his word. Mike was released by the Wheaton police after Julie wired the store owner the money to cover the little less than three hundred bucks that Mike's friends had gotten away with. Thankfully, Manny volunteered to make the four hour drive to pick him up. Julie needed time to figure out just how to handle the situation. By the time they arrived at her house this afternoon she still hadn't a clue what to do. Ground him, threaten him, take away his car? Would any of that work? If not, then what?

As it turned out, Mike was so wiped out from his ordeal, all he wanted was to close his eyes and zone out for a while. The problems could be dealt with later.. "I know I fucked up, but can you yell at me tomorrow?" he pleaded. " I'm beat. I can barely remember my own name right now."

Julie was more than happy to comply. They could straighten out the mess in the morning. But the morning hadn't come yet, and the night had some mischief of its own to unleash.

The phone rang sometime before midnight. That alone should have told her something. Few people had her landline number. It was just there for emergencies. And this was one. Or, more correctly, another one.

Julie was used to handling multiple crises simultaneously. She perfected the art when her father died and her mother became useless. But this. This was different somehow. Mike arrested. Val crashing her car. Not being certain what the extent of her sister's injuries were. Johnny trying to horn his way into her business, a business that was growing at a rate that even she hadn't foreseen. Too many demands on her time. Not enough of her to go around. She thought she could do it all. After all, she always had. Up until now. Maybe it was too much. Maybe she needed some help. Maybe... She slammed on the brakes and swerved sharply to the right, crossing two lanes of traffic and just making the exit for the hospital. She had almost missed it.

Time to get your head out of your ass, she told herself. Everything couldn't be fixed in one night. Mike was home and okay for now. Johnny would be dealt with in time. Manny and Charlie could handle most of what business needed to be done. Val was the priority. Julie turned into the parking lot of Cedarview Hospital and pulled into the first spot she found.

The automatic doors barely had time to open before she burst into the hospital lobby. She was nearly out of breath by time she reached the Information Desk. The attendant waited patiently while Julie sucked in several gulps of air. "My sister," she gasped. "Car accident. Brought here."

"Name?"

"Julie - no that's me. Her name is Ryan. Valerie Ryan."

The attendant punched a few buttons on a computer. "Yes. Your sister is currently undergoing emergency surgery. You can take the second elevator around the corner to the third floor. Follow the arrows to the Surgery Waiting Room. I'll let them know you're on the way up. Someone will be out as soon as possible to talk to you."

Julie nodded and went in search of the elevator bank. It took forever (probably several seconds) before the green "UP' arrow blinked and the doors opened. She leaned against the back wall of the elevator and waited. And waited. What the hell was wrong? She never pushed a button. Fuck. She hit number three and watched the doors slide closed. Everything was moving agonizingly slow. All she wanted to do was get to the surgery wing and find out how bad Val was. No. Don't think that way. It's not that bad. It can't be.

The elevator jerked to a halt. Julie was out before the doors fully opened. The waiting room was small. Three rows of chairs, five to a row and not much else. There was nobody to talk to. No place else to go except a set of swinging doors that cautioned "HOSPITAL PERSONNEL ONLY" She was about to ignore the warning and march through when someone touched her on the elbow. A nurse. "Are you here for Valerie Ryan?" Julie nodded. "I know this is a difficult time, but if you could, we really need you to help us with some information." The nurse held forth a clipboard containing several ominous-looking sheets of paper.

Before she could tell the intruder where to shove her papers the nurse smiled, apologetically. "I know the last thing you want to do is fill out forms right now. But there is some information we need to know. Like allergies to medication. Any existing medical conditions? Is your sister taking any prescription medication? How can we get in touch with her primary doctor in case we have additional questions? Dr. Yee is performing the surgery and he will be out to see you as soon as he can, although it might take a while."

"So I might as well keep busy filling out paperwork," Julie took the clipboard.

The nurse smiled again. "Please."

Julie sat down, the papers resting on her lap. She'd get around to them. Of all the demons that could afflict a person, not knowing had always been the one she most dreaded. Even bad news brought with it the comfort of knowing the situation and the ability to act. Just sitting here ignorant, helpless, useless, was intolerable.

A man and woman shuffled in, accompanied by a young boy. They wandered about the room aimlessly, until the nurse once again appeared out of nowhere and began speaking to them in hushed tones. Julie idly noticed the absence of paperwork in her hands. How come they didn't have to fill out forms? She shook her head. How ridiculous. If somebody didn't tell her something, and soon, she was going to march through those swinging doors and find out herself.

Before that thought had time to take root the doors swung open and a man in green surgical scrubs entered the room. "Ryan family?" he asked.

Julie rose. "Here." She was surprised how thin her voice sounded.

"Hello. I am Dr. Yee. I'm heading the team caring for Valerie. Your sister, I understand?"

Julie nodded. Even her frail voice failed her.

"Your sister has sustained multiple injuries, mostly on her left side. The ankle has been shattered, particularly the talus, two of the three malleoli, and to a lesser extent the lower fibula." Julie nodded as if she had some idea of what he was talking about.

"We are going to remedy that by inserting a series of plates and pins that will shore up the good bones and aid in healing and repairing the broken bones. In addition, she has a fracture of the femur, or thighbone. There are two broken ribs, neither of which punctured the lung, which is always a concern in these cases. The only other injuries of note are two missing teeth and a broken nose, both probably a result of the airbag deploying."

Julie paced a shaking hand over her eyes and began to sway. Dr. Yee took her by the arm and helped her into a seat. He gave her a few moments to recover before he continued. "I know this sounds devastating," he continued softly, "and, make no mistake, these are serious injuries, but there is nothing here that will not heal. It will take patience and time, but she will improve. At least physically."

Julie lowered her hand and stared at the doctor with bloodshot eyes. "Physically?"

"Yes. What troubles me more is what turned up in your sister's blood tests. There were elevated levels of caffeine in her system, most likely from overuse of either energy drinks or over-the-counter caffeine pills." Dr. Yee saw the look of bewilderment in his listener's face. He wished he didn't have to do this to her, but there was more. "There was also a dangerous level of amphetamines present."

Julie felt like someone had just slapped her in the face. Hard. She knew the word, but what relevance could that have when it was Val they were talking about. Words eluded her. All she could do was mumble, "Amphetamines? Why?"

"I don't know the answer in your sister's case, but a lot of kids take them for their stimulative properties. It helps them stay up all night cramming for exams. Some athletes believe it enhances their performance. Then there are some who simply take them to get high. Listen, I hate to dump all this on you and run, but right now your sister needs me more. I have to get back to the OR."

Julie nodded.

"Can I have the nurse call someone for you? It's going to be a long night. Longer if you're alone."

Julie shook her head. The doctor gave a sympathetic smile and disappeared through the swinging doors.

Alone. Julie let the word sink in, let it percolate inside her head. After all was said and done she was alone, wasn't she? Her family was in a shambles. She had no friends. Plenty of employees and business acquaintances. Alone.

The small waiting room suddenly seemed the size of a football field, and she was just another divot that got kicked to the side. A deep void engulfed her. There was only her. That had always been enough. Not now. Now she was besieged on all sides. The demons were closing in and there was nobody to stand with her.

She felt something on her shoulder. An arm. She wrenched herself back from the void and opened her eyes. Manny. Of course. He didn't say a word. Didn't need to. He was there. A friend who could find her even in the darkness. She rested her head against his reassuring shoulder, and closed her eyes. The world could muddle along without her for a while.

### Chapter 36

Julie took her order from the counter and found a small table for two in the corner of the Hazel Nut, a coffee shop on Main street. She placed one container in front of her, and positioned another on the opposite side of the table, in anticipation of her guest's arrival. The past three weeks had been a blur. Between running back and forth to the hospital, keeping tabs on Mike, and putting out the fires that constantly flared up at work, she seemed to be in perpetual motion.

The last few days had been a little easier, though. Val was released from the hospital; Julie having convinced the doctors there was nothing more they could do for her sister that couldn't be done at home. Julie's home. She didn't want their drunken mother slobbering over Val and interfering with the girl's recovery. She had a hospital bed installed, hired round the clock nurses and arranged for a physical therapist to come in three days a week.

Mike moved back to their mother's house. Julie would have liked to keep a closer eye on him, but he didn't seem likely to be a problem for the time being. On the contrary, Mike did whatever he was told. He went to school, came home, ate, went to his room. The same routine everyday. He rarely left the confines of the house. Christmas came, school closed for winter break. There were parties and events all over town he could have attended. He didn't.

Once or twice a week, he'd check on Val. The visits were silent and somber affairs, neither having much they wanted to share. Julie recalled the fights the two used to have from time to time, nothing serious, just the usual brother-and-sister stuff. Even so, there were times when the bickering reached a crescendo that was absolutely maddening. She'd give half her life savings to hear it again.

There were so many times she wanted to shake her brother, get him to listen without rolling his eyes, arguing back, or storming out. She finally won, but lost Mike in the process. The rebelliousness, the fierce independence, the willingness to leap before he looked were traits that made it difficult to reach him at times. Now they were gone. And so was the Mike she knew and loved.

When a person goes missing, there are things that can be done: call the police, organize search parties, put up posters, offer rewards for information. What do you do when the missing person is standing right in front of you, physically fine, but as distant as if they were in another country? Sometimes she wondered which of her siblings stood a better chance of recovering.

Then there was work. Manny and Charlie were doing a great job of holding down the fort and keeping things moving forward. Unfortunately, there were clients who insisted on talking to her personally. They either lacked confidence in her stand-ins, or their egos demanded they speak only to the boss, underlings, however qualified, simply wouldn't do.

The front door opened. A blast of cool air swept through the small store. Sgt. Tom Garrity of the Carlton Beach Police Department entered. He was off duty and had on a down ski jacket and jeans. He spotted Julie and joined her.

He reached for the container of coffee. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," Julie responded.

The cop took a sip. "You know I'm always happy to see you, but you sounded very mysterious on the phone."

Julie smiled. "Sorry about that." She looked around, as if checking to make sure there were no prying ears nearby. "I have something to ask you. Something better done face-to-face."

Garrity took another sip. "The mystery continues," he observed.

"Okay. I'll get to the point. I need help with a business problem."

"What's the problem?"

"It's more like who's the problem."

Tom nodded. "Getting a little clearer. Does who have a name?"

"John Siccardi."

Tom put his coffee down. "That's a hell of a problem. How'd you get mixed up with him?"

"It's kind of a long story. Let's just say our paths crossed over a business matter."

"All right. Let's just say. What kind of a problem is he causing?"

Julie sipped her coffee. "He's gotten this idea in his head that we're going to be partners. We aren't."

The cop looked doubtful. "Johnny's a bad guy, no doubt about that. But he usually doesn't move in unless an opening presents itself. Did it?"

"I suppose so. You'd also suppose I'd know better than to get tangled up with a character like him. I do. There was just no other way."

"So, I'm figuring you had a deal and he's either welshing on it, or trying to amend the terms."

Julie nodded. 'That's about it. I need him taken out of the equation."

Tom thought for a moment. "I'd love to help you, but he's very well connected you know. And with people way above my paygrade. I'm not sure what I can do."

"I don't expect you to do anything. I asked you here to get some advice."

"Whatever you need."

Julie took a deep breath. Tom had been good friends with her father. He had always been there for her. This was different. Once she uttered her request, there was no taking it back. And no telling how Tom would react. She was hoping he would help her, or, at worst, do nothing. As long as he didn't get an attack of conscience and stick his nose in where it would screw things up.

"When I say I need him taken out of the equation, I don't mean pushed to the side. I mean permanently, irrevocably removed. What I'm wondering is whether there is anyone you could...recommend." She paused for a moment to let Tom fully grasp her meaning. He got up and ordered them two more coffees.

"For a moment I thought you were going to leave," Julie said, when he sat back down.

"No, just buying a couple of minutes to think."

"And what do you think?"

Garrity opened a couple of packets of sugar and dumped the contents in his cup. A frown crossed his face as he stirred.

"I've been a cop for over thirty years," he began. "Worked hard. Played by the rules, mostly. I'm not saying I didn't accept the occasional gratuity from a drunk or two that got driven home rather than hauled in. But I didn't go looking for payoffs, or create situations to cash in on. It may sound naive, even corny, but I took seriously my oath to 'Protect and Serve.' Few others did. From the moment they hit the streets it was a race to see who could grab the most loot."

Julie wondered where the mini history lesson was going, but she knew Garrity would get to the point. He wasn't one to waste words.

"Year after year, I watched these guys get promotions, get cozy with the big shots in town. Become important, I guess. All the while, I was chasing down the gutter rats, keeping the good folk of Carlton Beach safe in their beds. The guys I started with have all turned in their badges and moved on to better things: cushy security consultant jobs, or fancy homes in luxury retirement communities." He paused. Julie waited patiently.

"Me and the wife raised two kids, boy and a girl. Great kids. I'm a lucky man. But kids don't come cheap. Neither do colleges. By the time they were out and on their own, there wasn't much left over." A smile crossed his face and quickly vanished.

"We did manage to buy a small cottage near a lake up in Maine. Beautiful country. Perfect place for an old flatfoot like me to live out his golden years."

"Why don't you?" Julie asked.

"Well, between my wife's IRA and my pension, we could get along all right. As long as nothing unexpected happens. Of course, it always does. I would retire tomorrow if I could get together a nest egg."

And here comes the point, Julie mused. "How many eggs are we talking about?"

"Fifty thousand." Tom let the offer simmer for a moment, before adding, "I get my nest egg, and your problem disappears. Win-win."

That little voice that afflicts us all from time to time, the one that warns us when we stumble into a bad idea, was doing its best to get Julie's attention. Like most of us, she ignored it.

"Deal."

### Chapter 37

Val lay in her hospital bed watching a spider slowly work its way from one ceiling tile to the next. It finally reached a wall, climbed down, and disappeared behind a window curtain. Now what? she thought. They set her up in Julie's study. It saved her caretakers the trouble of running up and down the stairs to the bedrooms. It would also save Val the hassle of navigating the staircase when she was able to get out of bed and roam around a bit on her own. That day couldn't get here fast enough.

So far, all she had managed was a couple of tentative steps on the arm of her physical therapist. Most of her exercise consisted of trying to keep her good leg strong. (Good being a decidedly relative term. Even though her right leg had suffered no breaks, it still hurt like hell.) The major bone of contention (she smiled at her pun) were the two broken ribs. They were slow to heal, but quick to erupt in pain at the slightest provocation.

So here she sat - or lay. One wall was lined with books. Mostly architectural manuels, books of building codes, and other boring stuff. TV had been okay for the short time it took to exhaust the few worthwhile offerings out of the hundreds of choices available. Only a couple of her friends bothered to visit or return her calls and texts. Danny came by once to check on her, but it was an awkward and painful meeting. She was glad when he left.

The front door opened. Footsteps. Hushed voices. Mike poked his head in her room. Aside from Julie, Mike had been her most frequent visitor. She appreciated the effort, but it was clear her brother was struggling with problems of his own.

Still, any diversion was welcome.

"How you doing?" he asked. Val nodded. Same pointless question every time. Well, what else was he going to say? Your aim with that bedpan getting any better? How many times did you breathe in and out today? Come up with any more reasons why your life sucks and you wish you'd go to sleep and not wake up? Damn, she was getting bitter! And why not?

"I brought a visitor," Mike announced.

Val raised her head as best she could, curious.

A thin, slightly hunched figure emerged from behind Mike. The visitor wore a wrinkled dress, her hair loosely held in place by an array of bobby pins. She stepped forward cautiously.

"Mom?" Val asked.

Dory Ryan nodded, still not sure her presence was welcome.

Val beckoned her forward. Oh! There went those damn ribs!

Dory saw her daughter's pain and hurried to her side, tears streaking her cheeks. "Oh, my baby. I'm so, so sorry. What can I do?"

The spasm of pain subsided. Val managed a weak smile. "Nothing," she replied. "Just being here is enough."

"No it's not," her mother replied, "It's never been enough." The look on Val's face asked for more. 'What I've given you, you and your brother and sisters. It's never been enough. I gave up. Climbed into the bottle and found I liked it better there than..." she looked around, "here. There's nothing but hurt and sorrow."

She leaned over and kissed her daughter's forehead. "I'm sorry. I do love you. I love you all."

Something was different, Val thought. Something was out of place, missing. Of course. The smell of liquor. She stared at her mother. It was the first time they had ever been close without the smell of stale alcohol making her want to gag.

Suddenly, Val's pain became a secondary concern. Fate, or more correctly, Mike, just dropped an opportunity in her lap. The chance to have a lucid conversation with Mom. What should she ask? Where to start? All she managed to say was "Why?"

Her mother smiled, a wan, sad smile that held more heartache than anyone should be asked to endure. "Why?"

"Why did you abandon us? What did we do that hurt you so?"

New tears leapfrogged the ones that already marred Dory's face, "Oh no. You didn't do anything. It was me. I gave up. I guess your father was right. I guess I just wasn't strong enough."

"Strong enough for what?"

Val's mom hesitated. "Now's not the time to go into it. If Julie finds out I've been here burdening you with my woes, she'll raise hell."

Mike intervened. "Let her. Look at us Mom, me and Val. Look what we've become. We at least deserve to know why."

Dory leaned heavily against the side of the bed. Mike got her a chair and a glass of water. She took a couple of deep breaths and began. "I suppose you do deserve something from me. God knows I've given you precious little so far. When your father and I first got married, everything was great. He was out all day working, building his business, making contacts. He came home every night to a hot meal, a clean house, and a growing brood of happy, healthy kids. I had everything I wanted. He didn't.

Having a successful business wasn't enough. He wanted to be someone, wanted to rub elbows with the 'street sign' families. And he did. We joined the country club, hosted dinner parties, became part of the social scene. I tried to keep up, tried to be what your father wanted, needed.

I got away with it at first. The men appreciated my looks. The women never saw me as a threat. Oh they'd see their husbands flirt with me, or turn their heads when I passed. But they knew I wasn't one of them, wasn't sophisticated or smart enough to ever be more than a passing fantasy to their men. All except my own husband. He couldn't just flirt and then forget about me. He was married to me. He was married to the woman who was always the last to laugh when a joke was told or somebody said something witty. It always took me an extra second or so to catch on. I don't know how many people noticed. Your father did, and he was the only one who really counted. Wasn't he?

The more we mingled with the upper crust, the more glaring my shortcomings became, I guess. As time passed, I got left home more and more. I had you kids, of course, and that should have been enough." She paused a moment to gather her words. "But it wasn't. I'm sorry. I spent my spare time reading newspapers, watching educational shows, searching the library for books on etiquette, anything that might make me more worldly, more deserving. I even tried Shakespeare. That didn't go so well."

Mike laughed. He could sympathize.

Dory didn't notice. She stared intently at her ailing daughter. "Do you have any idea what it's like to chase an ideal.To chase after an image that's so distant you'll never catch it? To try so hard to be something - someone - you were never meant to be?"

Val did know. Too well. She let her mother continue.

"Soon, I started having a drink after I put you kids to bed. I'd have a drink and picture your father, out hobnobbing with the rich and famous. The witty, educated pillars of the community. The snobby fucks who never changed a diaper or waxed a floor. I couldn't measure up. I started having two drinks after a while, then three, then...well, you know."

Val was shocked. Too stunned to speak. All her life she had patterned herself after Julie, compared herself to her. Thought they were two sides of the same coin. Her sister was a yardstick she needed to live up to. She almost laughed. It turned out she was actually more like her mother. She had wasted her life trying to attain the unattainable. She was no closer to being Julie than her mother was to becoming a high society bitch.

Dory misinterpreted Val's silence as disapproval. "I'm sorry. Sorry I was weak."

Val tried to turn toward Dory. Oh! Those ribs again. "No, you weren't weak. You were you. And nobody should have tried to make you otherwise. Not even yourself. Especially not yourself."

Val reached up and wiped her mother's tears with the back of her hand. "Thank you, Mommy."

Dory wasn't quite sure what she had done to earn Val's gratitude, but she wasn't about to ask questions. She reached down and hugged her daughter, who groaned. She pulled her hands back. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Val responded. "You have no idea how good I feel right now."

Mike checked his watch. "Maybe we should get going."

Dory nodded. "Good night."

"Good night Mom. Come back soon."

### Chapter 38

Tom Garrity slowly worked his way up the back staircase of Metal Mania. He wasn't one of Johnny Siccardi's "regulars": cops who were either on the monthly payroll, or showed up when called to handle specific problems. He had only been in Johnny's office a few times to make pickups for the higher ups. Enough, though, to give him the lay of the land.

It was Saturday night. The club was busy. Johnny's boys were all on the floor ostensibly keeping the peace, monitoring the crowd for possible troublemakers. Most of all, they were making sure the bartenders and drug dealers weren't pocketing part of the boss's cut. The boss himself usually spent the evening alone in his office, awaiting cash sent from down below via a series of pneumatic tubes.

He reached the top step, the hallway opened up before him. Empty. Good. The door he needed was about thirty feet away. Tom found himself involuntarily hunching over as if preparing to sneak down the passageway. He straightened up. Stealth served no purpose here.The hallway was well-lit, long, and narrow. There were no corners or crevices to hide in. If he ran into anyone, he'd show his badge and explain he was there to see if the boss had any work for him. A cop looking to score a few extra bucks wouldn't arouse any suspicions around here.

He needn't have worried. No one impaired his progress. He stopped at a nondescript door, the whiteness of its surface marred only by a sign that read: PRIVATE. If Johnny was in there counting cash, it was probably locked. In that case, he'd have to knock and employ the ruse of looking for work until an opportunity presented itself to accomplish his task. If not, he would swing the door open and finish the job quickly with a couple of shots. The booming music downstairs would provide all the cover he needed.

He pulled on a pair of gloves, reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a revolver. The gun was clean, untraceable. He reached for the door handle, and pressed down. It made a soft clicking sound that to the cop's ears sounded like the crack of a cannon. He threw open the door, ready to blast whoever was inside.

The door flew out of his hand and slammed into a wall. Darkness. His eyes adjusted to the faint light that drifted into the room from the hallway. No one. He hadn't prepared for this. Perhaps, in hindsight, he should have. Now what? he wondered.

Voices. Faint at first. Then growing stronger. Footsteps. No time to think now. Tom grabbed the door and carefully, quietly pushed it closed. It had to be Johnny. He pressed himself against a wall, raised the gun to eye level - and waited.

"Don't ever bother me with bullshit like that again," Johnny cautioned the two men who hurried to keep pace with him.

One of them, Sidney Weintraub, protested. "But boss, he said he knew you. What was I supposed to do?"

"Everyone knows me," Johnny shot back. He stopped short and faced his questioner. "Everyone also knows you don't deal in my club without my say so. Next time somebody runs that crap on you, knock out a couple of his fucking teeth."

Louie 'Bubbles,' so called thanks to his obsession with bubble gum, tried to intervene. "We didn't think..."

Johnny cut him off. "Exactly! You didn't think. You never do. If you have a problem, check with me, I'll tell you what to think."

Sidney was tempted to point out that was exactly what they did, but figured maybe it was better to keep it to himself for now.

Johnny continued down the hall for a few more steps and stopped outside the restroom. "I gotta take a piss. You guys wait for me in the office."

"He's got a real bug up his ass," Louie observed when they were out of earshot.

"Yeah," Sid agreed, swinging open the office door. He only got a couple of steps inside before a bullet crashed into his head. Blood danced in the air momentarily as Sid's already lifeless body plummeted to the floor.

Outside, Louie pulled a gun from his waistband. A figure framed the doorway. Louie fired. Two, three, maybe more, times, he didn't know.

The blow sent Tom Garrity's body reeling backward. It hit the desk and slipped to the ground, his heart pumping out its last few ounces of blood through a gaping hole in the chest.

Johnny raced down the hallway, zipping up his fly on the way. Louie was still standing in the doorway. Johnny pushed him aside and froze. What he saw didn't make sense. Sid dead on the floor. Some guy, also obviously dead, lying before his desk, a gun clutched in his hand.

"What the fuck happened?" He turned to Louie for enlightenment.

"I don't know, really. Sid walked into your office and all of a sudden," Louie waved his hands in the air, "Boom! Sid's head explodes. I grabbed my piece and this guy comes running out, so I let him have it." He thought for a moment longer. "That's it, I guess."

Johnny studied the scene for several minutes. The more he looked at the intruder, the more familiar he seemed. He stepped around the desk and took a pair of driving gloves from a drawer. Carefully avoiding the blood spatter, he reached into the corpse's pockets. His search turned up a wallet. He opened it. Not a wallet. A holder for a badge and ID card. Police ID. "Damn."

He studied the man's face again. Yes. He'd been by a couple of times to run errands for his bosses. Simple matters, simply done. Why? The safe? Maybe he noticed it on one of his visits and decided to empty it. But why now? Why not wait until everyone was gone? Maybe he thought Johnny took the cash home with him every night. Who knew?

A quick check of the jacket pockets turned up a cell phone. Maybe it held a clue. Recent calls. Only a couple, and nothing that rang a bell. Messages? He scrolled through. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Wait. A familiar name appeared on the screen. Julie Ryan. Really? He punched up the text. One word appeared - TONIGHT

"That bitch," Johnny snarled.

"What'd ya say boss?" He'd forgotten Louie.

Johnny didn't reply. He rose, stashed the phone in his pocket, and tucked the gloves back in the drawer, all the time turning the situation over in his mind. He had a dead cop on his hands. An intruder, and one probably sent there to kill him, to boot. But still a cop. This had to be handled carefully.

He pulled out a handkerchief and flicked it toward Louie. "Wipe your gun clean and put it in Sid's hand."

Louie stared at him as if he didn't understand. Of course he didn't. Guys like Louie Bubbles weren't hired for their brain power. "That way it looks like Sid surprised this guy and they shot each other. Nobody else involved."

Louie still looked confused.

Johnny pointed to Tom's body. "This guy's a cop. You want to explain to his buddies why you put a hole in his chest?"

Louie wrapped the handkerchief around the gun and started wiping.

### Chapter 39

"Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?" Manny Malachov was not the type to lose his temper, or curse, or raise his voice to Julie Ryan. He was doing all three. He sat behind his new desk, in his new office, on the second floor of the new headquarters of Ryan Construction. There were a hundred questions that needed answering. All he could manage for the moment was to shake his balled fists impotently in the air and shout at his employer.

It was Monday morning. He had spent most of the previous day trying to investigate the disturbing news that had violently shaken the residents of Carlton Beach out of their customary states of self-indulgent apathy. A cop was dead, along with some low-level hood, the result of an apparent shootout in Johnny Siccardi's office at Metal Mania.

He had known the cop for years. Tom Garrity. A decent guy. A good cop. The hood's name didn't ring a bell, and he didn't really care anyway. One punk more or less was of little consequence. But Tom. What was his connection to the club and its shady boss? The whole thing didn't sit well. It was probably nothing he needed to worry about. A good guy found a bad end. It happened. But then, you never knew with these things. Manny preferred keeping ahead of events rather than being run over by them.

He called every contact he had in law enforcement, the local press, even some of the seedier types who used to hang around his pool hall. Half didn't bother answering his calls, the other half had nothing useful to share. It was a mystery. Until he showed up at work today.

Shortly after he arrived, Julie wandered into his office and took a seat, and stared at her hands for a while. His thoughts jumped toVal. Were there complications? Had her condition deteriorated? He was about to ask when Julie spoke.

"I've done a terrible thing, Manny. An awful, horrible thing."

Her words did nothing to ease his mind. Julie wasn't prone to drama or exaggeration.

She fell silent again. Manny waited. Whatever this was, it was going to come out in its own good time.

Julie finally stirred. "It's my fault he was there."

Manny didn't get it. "It's your fault who was where?"

"Tom." One simple word, but Manny felt as if a one hundred pound sandbag had been dropped on his head.

Now that it was out, the words came easier. Julie told him about her meeting with Tom, what they discussed, what they decided. She told him about Johnny and how he was trying to steal half her business. She told him it was the only way.

It was not the only way, Manny knew. He wanted to tell her so, but all that came out was a profane outburst. He pushed his chair back and paced behind his desk. Julie went back to staring at her hands while he struggled to regain some composure.

"Why would you do something like that without me?" he finally asked.

"I didn't want to get you involved."

"Really? I thought you made me VP of Special Projects. You know something more 'special' than this?"

Julie shook her head.

"Why Tom?"

"I gave him money to do the job. I honestly thought he would use part of it to hire someone and keep the rest."

"And where did you think a small-town cop like Tom was going to find a hitman?"

Julie looked genuinely surprised. "He knows a lot of cops. I figured he'd recruit one of them."

Manny stopped pacing and leaned over his desk. "You don't get a cop for this. There's a huge, a tremendous difference between getting in a firefight with some perps, and ending a life by putting a cold-blooded bullet in someone's skull. Trust me, they don't teach that at the academy."

Julie's voice was faint, distant. "I didn't know. I'm sorry, sorry."

Manny's anger turned to sympathy. Julie may have handled the situation poorly, but she certainly never meant for it to turn out like this.

"Okay. Unfortunately what's done is done. We've got to look forward now. The first thing we're going to do is get you some protection."

"Protection?"

"Bodyguards. Johnny isn't going to chalk this up as just one of those things and forget about it. He's going to come after you."

Julie considered for a moment. "Why? He has no reason to connect me with Tom. Besides, don't you think it would look suspicious if I suddenly show up with a security detail a couple of days after the shooting?"

She had a point. "Okay,"Manny countered, "will you at least lay low until I can get a better read on what's going on?"

"I can do that. I should be spending more time with Val, anyway." She got up from the chair. "You can reach me at home if anything turns up." She turned to leave, but stopped at the doorway. She looked back and locked eyes with Manny. "I am sorry. About all of it."

"I know," he replied, and watched her go.

Julie exited the building and headed for her car. The signpost that designated her parking spot seemed crooked. She made an idle note to have it checked out, then quickly dismissed all thoughts remotely connected to business. Family came first. It hadn't lately. Time now to start repairing the damage done while she was occupied with becoming a tycoon.

She fished in her purse for her keys. They were still hiding when a car sped into the parking lot, its front end jumping slightly as it hit the small speed bump at the entrance. Julie barely had time to register surprise when the black sedan screeched to a halt several feet away. The passenger door flew open. A man wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap quickly followed. A shiny object was nestled in his hand. There was a loud noise and Julie felt like a flaming brand had been jammed into her chest. She thought she heard two more explosions as she fell to the ground.

The man jumped back into the car and yanked the door shut. Tires shrieked as the car reversed back out of the lot, then shot forward and mingled in with the mid-morning traffic.

Manny was out of his seat before the sound of the first shot faded. By the second shot he was racing down the hallway, dialing 911 as he went. He didn't know if an ambulance was needed - but he knew. The third shot found him bounding down the stairs two at a time. He crossed the lobby and savagely thrust open the door and raced into the parking lot.

He found Julie lying face down, a pool of blood spreading out beneath her. He turned her over and quickly located the source of the malignant flow. He tossed aside his sport coat and ripped off his dress shirt. He wrapped the shirt around one hand and pressed it against the wound. He ran the fingers of his free hand along Julie's neck, searching, hoping, for a pulse.

There it was. Wasn't it? A real pulse or wishful thinking? He tried again. Yes. A pulse. No doubt. No? Where the hell was that ambulance? He lifted his head. He was rewarded with the sight of several onlookers milling around on the sidewalk, gawking. If he had a gun he'd shoot them.

Finally, the sound of a siren, its tone growing higher pitched as it drew near. Hurry! Hurry! was all Manny could think as he pressed harder, doing all he could to keep Julie's life penned up inside.

At last, an EMT gently pulled him away from the bleeding figure. "We got it." a voice said. Manny stepped back, stunned. In what seemed like mere seconds, the paramedics had their patient hooked up to an IV and oxygen, and on her way to the hospital.

Manny followed as quickly as he could. He left his car in front of the emergency entrance of Coastal Medical Center. They'd probably tow it, but he didn't give a shit. He burst into the lobby and headed for the Admissions desk. One of the attendants, seeing a man in a blood-soaked tee shirt, called for help and grabbed a nearby stretcher.

Manny waved her off. "I'm okay," he protested. "A friend of mine just came in. Gunshot wound."

The attendant nodded. "Fifth floor."

Manny sat in the Surgery Waiting Room. A nurse had given him a scrub top to replace his bloody shirt. Nice of her. He looked around. In the course of his life, he had mostly managed to avoid hospitals. Now here he was, stuck in his second in a matter of weeks.

He hadn't been waiting long when a doctor approached one of the nurses. She pointed at Manny. The doctor nodded.

Already? No, it couldn't be. The doctors should still be with Julie, doing all they could to save her. Had they given up already?

The doctor held out his hand and introduced himself. Manny heard nothing. His lips trembled. "Is she...?" he couldn't give voice to the thought, couldn't make it real.

The doctor raised his empty hand and placed it on Manny's shoulder. "She's alive. But barely."

Manny looked up. Should he be happy or sad? Both? Neither?

The doctor continued. "There's a bullet that's pressing against her heart. It can be removed, but not with all the blood she's lost. We have to get her stronger before we can attempt surgery."

"Will she survive that long?" It was an unthinkable question. The answer possibly more unthinkable.

The doctor frowned. "All I can promise you is that we will do everything we possibly can to get her to that point. Aside from that, it's going to be hour to hour."

Manny nodded. "Thank you," he whispered.

It was time to make some phone calls.

### Chapter 40

Sandra Ryan sat in the Santa Fe Municipal Airport and watched planes come and go. Hers was leaving in about an hour. One hour and back to New Jersey. Life, she thought, you just never knew. A few weeks ago, she was riding in the cab of Willie's eighteen wheeler, quietly enjoying the ever-changing view. Cities, small towns, farms, another city, a bigger town, farms again, a railroad yard, a wind farm, all paraded past.

Now she knew what Willie meant when he talked about slowing down and "taking it all in." They'd reach Santa Fe in four days, a trip he said he used to make in three days in his younger years - two in his really younger years. Sandra didn't mind. There was no rush. She was leaving a shaky past for an uncertain future. Who knew? Maybe this was the place where she'd finally fit in, where life would make sense, where she'd feel at home. Maybe not.

When Willie first met his passenger, he said he'd be glad to have a fresh audience for his "boring old stories." Turns out, the stories weren't so boring. Willie was a good storyteller. And he had plenty of them. Sandra suspected half were made up, and the other half enhanced to at least some degree. It didn't stop her from enjoying them. Many were anecdotal stories of growing up in the rural South, a very few were slightly risque (or at least Willie thought so. Mild as they might be, it wouldn't stop Willie from tipping his hat and "beggin' the miss' pardon" for the harsh language). A couple, either by coincidence or design, hit a nerve..

One that stuck with her was about Willie and his brother Ed. "My brother was five years older than me," Willie had begun, "and miles ahead when it came to smarts and skills. The stuff I struggled with, like schoolwork and sports, came easy to Ed. Other kids looked up to him. Maybe I should have also."

Willie paused for a moment, in private thought. "Thing is, and you may have trouble believing this, but I was what you might call a kind of rambunctious kid." Willie smiled. "Which meant I didn't know when to keep my mouth shut. I was always getting in fights with bigger and older kids. Ed would let me take just enough of a whuppin' to hopefully teach me a lesson before he stepped in and saved my sorry butt. Same thing in school. I'd get wise with a teacher and Ed would smooth it out before my parents got called. Saved me a lots of whacks with a switch, I'll tell you."

"You think I'd be grateful. No. Every time he bailed me out, it just made me resent him all the more. Sounds nuts, but do you know what it's like spending your life as second-fiddle to the child who sucked up all of God's grace and didn't leave none for the rest of us?" Sandra didn't answer, but somehow felt he knew anyway.

"Well, eventually, Ed turns eighteen and gets his 'Greetings' letter from the draft board. Mind you, the war in Viet Nam was in full swing at the time. If you got inducted, chances are you were off to Nam. They took Ed, and he went." Willie paused. Sandra made believe she didn't notice the tear that danced off Willie's eyelash. "He's still there. MIA. We don't know exactly where he died, or how. Knowing Ed though, I'll bet he was leading the charge." The cab fell silent for a time.

"After that, I came home with a lot more black eyes and split lips. My parents became regular visitors at the principal's office, and me and my Dad were spending more time in the wood shed. I straightened out, eventually. I was granted the time and I used it well. My brother, he never got his time."

Willie fell silent again. Daylight was waning. He flipped on the headlights. "I've blown out a lot of birthday candles in my time," he finally said, "and every year the wish is the same. I wish I could tell my brother thanks. Thanks for watching out for me, thanks for caring, thanks for being my brother. It never gets granted."

They drove on in silence for an hour or so, until they reached their next stopover.

When they entered Santa Fe, Sandra was surprised to see a light coating of snow on the ground. She, like probably most easterners, pictured the southwest as one big, unending desert. It was a pleasant surprise. So were the many art galleries and museums they passed. Life here might be tolerable after all.

Willie dropped her off in front of the Trails Motel. It was "cheap and clean," he assured her." A place that didn't put up with "drug dealers and hookers," he tipped his hat and apologized for his "French" after uttering that last word. Sandra wondered, not for the first time, if there was a twenty or so years younger version of Willie walking around somewhere. Probably was. Probably be worth looking for.

For now, she said her farewells to her travelling partner. Willie gave her a piece of paper with his phone number on it. "If you ever need anything." Empty words coming from most people. Not from Willie, she knew.

A few days after arriving, she got a job as a barista at an upscale coffee house that was within walking distance. She spent her free time exploring the town. Santa Fe was picturesque: adobe structures and old-style Spanish cathedrals. The people she met were mostly laid back and accepting. She was beginning to wonder if maybe she had found her place at last. Then the phone rang.

Logically, a phone sounds the same every time it rings, regardless of the nature of the news it's about to spit out. Sometimes though, against all reason, a ring becomes ominous. The kind where you stare at the phone for several seconds, hesitant to answer, finally picking up just before voicemail kicks in. Sandra stared at her phone as it rang - a sinister drone.

"Sandra?" the voice at the other end began. "How are you?" She recognized the voice as Manny's. He sounded upset. Sandra didn't know Manny well, but she knew he was not the easily upset type

"Hi," she responded. "What's wrong?" It was an odd question to ask right off the bat, but she intuitively knew it was the right one.

"Julie's been shot," Manny stated, without preamble.

Sandra stumbled to the small sofa that the motel provided, and dropped heavily onto the cushions. Her body went limp, her mind blank.

"Sandra? You there?" Manny asked.

"Yes. I'm....Is she hurt bad? Where is she? Who would want to shoot Julie?" None of this made any sense. Then she asked a question that was ridiculous and necessary at the same time. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. She's in intensive care right now. We don't really know much. It's a day-to-day thing. I can fill in the details later. For now, I need to know if you can get back here."

"Yes, of course. No wait." She wrestled with a thought for a moment. She didn't want to appear selfish, but... "What about those guys? Tommy's guys?"

"No longer a problem. Tommy's gone off to retire. Matty's in charge and I've already talked to him. He told me you two didn't care for each other, but he's got no reason to want to harm you or to let anyone else do so. You're clear."

That was good news, Sandra thought. She couldn't help wondering when all this happened, and if they were ever planning on telling her about it. Well, maybe it was time to get past the petty bullshit... for all of them. More important things to worry about.

"All right. What do you need me to do?"

"I reserved a flight for you. It's coming into Newark. I'll have Mike meet you there. It leaves in four hours. Can you make it?"

Sandra did some quick calculations in her head. "That should be okay." She had a sudden thought. "What about Val? How is she handling this?"

"Val has her own problems. She's okay, but I'd rather discuss it when you get here."

Sandra sighed. More secrets.

"I'm going to pack and head for the airport. See you later."

### Chapter 41

Usually there was nothing better than several long, boring hours in the air to sort matters out. The more Sandra mulled over the situation, however, the more questions arose, partly because she had been given such sparse information. She was counting on Mike to fill in the blanks. He didn't.

Mike had little to say from the time they met at the gate until they reached his car. Sandra waited until they left the short term parking lot before pressing him. His answers boiled down to shoulder shrugs, yes, no, and more often, I don't know. For someone who had a sister battling for her life, he seemed oddly unconcerned. The little information he did provide came out in a disinterested monotone. No emotion, no curiosity, no caring.

For her part, she had figuratively wanted to put that bullet in her sister for years. Now that it happened, there was no sense of victory, only a feeling of loss, and emptiness, and waste. So many years given over to trivial jealousies and pointless animosity.

Mike exhibited the same distant apathy when asked about Val. It was like playing a game of twenty questions, but eventually she was able to piece together a partial picture of what happened. Val crashed her car, suffered serious injury, and was just now taking her first tentative steps with a walker. There was more to the story lurking beneath Mike's taciturn facade. Whatever it was, he wasn't willing to share. She settled back in her seat. Hopefully, she'd get some answers at the hospital.

Sandra was totally unprepared for what she saw when she stepped into Julie's room in the ICU. Tubes and needles and wires protruded from her sister's body. The steady beep...beep...beep of the heart monitor provided the only evidence that the patient yet lived.

Sandra tried to reach out and touch the motionless figure. Her muscles wouldn't respond. All she managed to do was quiver and weep. Julie looked so cold, so still. Sandra looked up at the heart monitor. Beep...beep...beep. Please God, let it keep going, she prayed.

There had been times in her life when she felt helpless. Now she realized those feelings were just a shadow of what it felt like to be truly powerless. She slowly managed to calm herself enough to extend her hand. Her fingers brushed Julie's cheek. The skin felt coarse, clammy. Dead. She didn't allow that last thought to linger.

A lifetime of emotion rushed in on her. Resentment, anger, jealousy. Not hate, she realized. For all the distance between the two, Sandra could honestly say she never hated her sister. Love? Probably not. But who knew?

"What can I do for you?" she wondered out loud.

A subdued voice answered her rhetorical question. "Pray for now. Be there for her later."

The voice was familiar, but she couldn't quite place... "Mom?" She turned. Dory Ryan stood before her, smiling uncertainly. Fragile, worn, yet determined, the older lady tentatively reached out toward her firstborn.

As Sandra stepped forward to embrace her mother, she noticed a strange look in the other's eyes. Lucidity. As the two hugged, she wondered: What the hell is going on?

"I'm so glad you're here," Dory said, when they finally disengaged.

"I don't get it Mom. Julie in the hospital. Val busted up."

"I don't get it either," her mother agreed. "But I know it'll be better, now that you're here."

Sandra looked surprised. "Mom, I'm Sandra, not Julie. I'm not the golden child. I can't snap my fingers and make it all better."

Dory sighed, a tired yet hopeful utterance. "You are all my golden child. You are all special."

"Maybe to you,' Sandra conceded, "Dad never saw it that way." She turned to look at her sister. " Dad only saw Julie."

"And you thought that made you something less." Dory took her daughter by the hand and led her toward two chairs that sat against the wall. "I'm sorry. I was too busy seeking solace in a bottle. Just for the record, I never found it." She took a deep breath before continuing.

"I should have told you years ago. I don't know if it'll help now. But maybe. Your father concentrated his attention and praise on Julie because it was easy. Her whole goal in life was to please him. It was easier to encourage that than do the hard work of parenting children who had their own ways, their own minds, their own dreams. He devoted a great deal of time and energy to business and social climbing, less to his family."

Sandra found the revelation oddly calming. She had spent her whole life trying to get something from her father that, it turns out, was never his to give. Over and over she tried and she failed. Over and over she blamed Julie. She glanced again at her sister, lying in the hospital bed unaware and unmoving. She suddenly thought of Willie and how he said he had been given time, and used it well. Sandra made a silent promise that if given the time, she too would use it well.

"Hello, Mike." Sandra had forgotten her brother was there. Manny strode into the room.

"Hello Sandra. Sorry. I tried to get here sooner, but I got held up. Have you been here long?"

"Not very," she answered.

He nodded in Dory's direction. "Mrs. Ryan."

After a moment of awkward silence, Manny approached the bed. "No change?"

Sandra shook her head, then realized Manny wasn't looking at her. "No."

"She's been stable for a while now," he explained, returning to the two ladies. " The doctor says that's encouraging."

Sandra smiled, an expression neither hopeful nor hopeless.

"Do you think we could talk outside for a minute?" Manny asked the younger woman.

She nodded. He turned to Dory. "We won't be long."

Doctors, nurses, and visitors scurried up and down the hallway, each consumed with their own concerns. "I know this is a difficult time, and I don't want to make things harder, but I have something to discuss, and it really can't wait."

It was amazing, Sandra thought, how people said things like, "I don't want to make things harder," then went ahead and did just that. "Okay."

"We need your help with the business."

Of all the things he might might have said, that was by far the most unexpected. She almost laughed. "You must me in pretty bad shape then. I can't imagine what I could possibly do for you. Julie's the business genius."

"Yes, she is," Manny agreed. "Part of her genius is knowing how to deal with people. In the end, that's the key to any successful operation."

"Still not getting it," Sandra protested.

"Most of the people we deal with are men. You know how to handle men."

Sandra shot him an angry look and turned to walk away.

Manny grabbed her by the shoulders. "Wait. I'm sorry. That didn't come out right. I wasn't insinuating anything. The fact is though, you are an attractive woman. That gets your foot in the door more often than not." Sandra made another disapproving grimace. "And don't think Julie hasn't used that to her advantage when necessary." Sandra thought about it, and relaxed. Manny continued. "We deal with a lot of developers, bankers, guys who have big jobs and big egos. They need to be reassured that Ryan Construction is alive and well. And it is, they can take that to the bank, literally. Problem is the bigwigs don't want to hear that from some corporate flunky. They want to hear it from someone whose name is on the company letterhead. It's like one of our customers said, 'When I call Ryan Construction, I expect to talk to Ryan.'"

"Well, I guess I fit the bill as far as that's concerned," Sandra allowed. "But I don't know a damned thing about building."

"You don't have to. Charlie Franklin, our chief architect, can fill you in on the basics. You don't have to understand it all, just repeat it like you do. When the discussion gets too technical, Charlie and his team will take over. They usually do, even when Julie's there. It's their job. Your job is just to get us in the game."

"Charm my way in, you mean?"

"All's fair in love, war, and business." Manny saw that Sandra still wasn't completely sold on the idea. That was okay. He didn't expect to win her over on the first try. The strategy was to simply plant the idea in her head and let it germinate.

"Is it really that important, all things considered?" she asked.

Manny's already dour look turned even more serious. "This business is Julie. I won't have her fight her way back only to find it all gone. Listen," he said, "I've got to go out of town tomorrow. Why don't you get settled in, think about what I said, and we can get together and talk about it when I get back."

Sandra was still dubious, but she agreed. "All right."

### Chapter 42

Manny sped south on the New Jersey turnpike, about halfway into the three hour drive to Bridgeville, Delaware. Two words gnawed at him this cool, cloudy day: Loose Ends. Nobody would ever mistake Manny for a neat freak. The one- bedroom cottage he lived in was clean, but not exactly neat; a misplaced jacket, or a pair of shoes in the middle of the floor never bothered him. What did trouble him greatly was Loose Ends. They never went away. They were always there, skulking in the background, waiting for the absolute worst time to reappear and wreak havoc on the best of schemes.

No. Manny didn't like Loose Ends at all. And he had a big one. Johnny Siccardi. Julie thought she had the mobster cornered. She didn't account for the Pit Bull mentality that had gotten Johnny where he was in the first place. Far from falling into the trap he fought back - hard. The miscalculation had almost proved fatal. It still might, if he didn't find a way to deal with the threat.

Julie tried to use a police officer to solve the problem. That plan failed miserably. They didn't need a cop, they needed an assassin. Manny knew where he could find one. In a retirement community in Bridgeville, Delaware. The man's name - Anatoly Malachov. Manny just called him Dad.

Anatoly Malachov was the child of Ukrainian immigrants who left their homeland to search for the American Dream. It took a lot of hard work and sacrifice, but, eventually, they found it.

Their youngest, Anatoly was not enamored of the wholesale seafood distributorship his folks had worked so diligently to establish. His two brothers and sister were happy to fall into the family business, but not Anatoly.

He wanted to see more of the world than the waters around New Bedford, Massachusetts. He drifted around a bit after graduating from high school, one useless job after another. Then one day he happened to pass an Army recruitment center. Why not see what they had to say? he figured. They said enough to get him to sign up.

In his twenty-five years of soldering, he acquired a variety of skills: basic combat procedures, construction and disarming of explosive devices, night fighting. He even became an above average sniper. He served out his last few years as a drill instructor, or, at least, that was his job title. Mostly what he did was train combat-hardened men to take the next step into Special Ops.

One day, he decided he'd had enough. He put in his papers for retirement and left the only job he had ever cared about. He was, he said, "going to spend more time in my woodshop, learn to play golf, and take long nature walks with my wife."

So, the two of them bought a nice house in Delaware (Too much house, Manny thought, for just two people. He hardly ever came to visit, and his sister, a high-powered New York lawyer, rarely had time to make the trip, either. Still, after a lifetime of cramped military housing, he figured they deserved a place where they could stretch out a bit.)

Anatoly found out quickly, however, as he put it, "What you want isn't always what you want." He enjoyed woodworking (but how many birdhouses did you really need?), hated golf, and discovered, after almost forty years of marriage, that nature and long walks didn't rate very high on his wife's bucket list. Fortunately, (probably for both of them) after less than a year of the "good life," an ex-army major he had served with called and asked if he'd be interested in a job.

He jumped at the chance and began a new career as a mercenary. There was plenty of action, and the pay was great. Ten years in, he took a bullet in the hip. The injury left him with a barely noticeable limp, no problem for everyday living, devastating to a military career. So it was back to retirement. Only this time he was older, and getting a little weary. He was ready to work wood again, give golf another try, and take long walks on his own. Five years into his second shot at retirement, he was doing well.

Manny pulled into the driveway of his parent's house. His mother heard the car drive up and met him at the doorway. They said their hellos and she told him his father was in the shed around back. Manny kissed his mother again and headed for the backyard.

Anatoly sat on a stool, bent over his workbench. He was filing down a fist-sized piece of wood. He didn't bother to look up when Manny entered. "What do you want?"

"I came to see you and Mom. Want to see how you're doing."

"You could use a telephone for that. That's what you usually do anyway."

The old man could still get to him. Pissed Manny off. He tried to lighten the mood. "Well, you're always off somewhere. You're a hard man to nail down, you know."

Anatoly finally turned around. "What I know is that I've been right here for the last five years. Your Mom, every day for the last fifteen. How many visits you made in all that time?"

Manny was beginning to think he made a mistake. "Pop, I didn't come to argue."

"And you didn't come to inquire after our health, either. Of all the things you may or may not be, you've never been full of shit. Don't start now."

Manny glanced around the shed. He found a stool in one corner and dragged it over to the workbench. "I need a job done. One that requires a special skillset."

Anatoly locked eyes with his son for a couple of seconds. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you are full of shit."

Manny was taken aback. "What...?"

"Requires a special skillset," Anatoly sneered. "You need someone killed, say so. Don't try to coat it in three layers of crap."

Good to know Dad was still Dad. "Okay. I need a guy killed. Can you do it?" Manny nodded toward his dad's injured hip.

Anatoly chuckled, a harsh, derisive sound. "That little pin-prick isn't going to stop me. The question we have to resolve now isn't can I, it's why should I?"

"I can make it worth your while. I've got a pretty open budget."

"I don't really give a fuck about your budget. I'm not going to kill somebody for money I've already got enough of."

Now Manny was lost. "What then?"

"You."

"Me? I don't get it."

"I didn't think you would. I was away a lot when you kids were growing up so, okay, maybe you don't owe me any of your time. But your mom was there, every day, for every sniffle, every scrape, every disappointment. If you're gonna deny that, then I will tell you that you're full of shit."

"She was always there," Manny agreed.

"Good. Then here's my price. You come down here at least once a month. Spend some time with your mother. At least a few hours, not a quick hello-and-goodbye." He hesitated for a moment, then quietly added, "Truth be told, I wouldn't mind it myself."

Manny thought about it. It was a helluva price to pay. Or was it? He looked closely at his dad. He was in great physical shape, the years had hardly begun to claim their piece of him. Still, none of them was getting any younger.

Manny held out his hand. 'Deal" The two of them shook on it.

When they finished, Manny reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. "This is a picture of the target, along with any information we have on him: place of business, home address, habits." His dad took the paper and tossed it on the bench.

"When will I see you?" Manny asked.

"You won't. You'll know the job is done when you hear it on the news." He saw the question on his son's face. "Don't worry. It'll be soon."

"One more thing I have to tell you Dad. This guy is connected."

"Is he?" Anatoly considered for a moment. "Then I guess we'll just have to unconnect him"

### Chapter 43

Val leaned against her bed and gingerly flexed her left leg. It was the second day without the cast. The leg was stiff, sore, but just having the cast off was an improvement. It was the first concrete sign that she was getting better. Hopefully it wouldn't be long before she'd be out of Julie's den and back in her own room.

"Ready for the marathon?" Sandra juggled an attache case and several folders as she entered.

"I could probably move faster than you right now," Val quipped.

"Probably could." Sandra let her burdens fall unceremoniously to the floor. "How's it going?"

"Leg's getting better. Ribs are taking their time. All-in-all, I'm happy just to be able to go to the bathroom by myself. How about you?"

Sandra waved a hand at the pile on the floor. "My life has changed a bit, as you can see."

Val began to laugh, but cut it short when the still-healing ribs protested. "I see, but I don't get it."

"You know, neither do I, really. I came back to lend some moral support and fix a little chicken soup for the casualties. Before I knew what hit me, that devil Manny talked me into pretending I'm President of the company and actually know anything at all about building things. Me. The girl who failed Legos in preschool."

Val studied her sister for a moment. "I don't know. You certainly look the part."

"Thank you. It's the wardrobe." She spun around. "I developed the look myself. I call it 'business slutty'. Conservative enough so that I look like I know what I'm talking about, revealing enough so the guys I deal with are too busy to notice I don't."

"What happens when your client's a woman?"

Sandra let out a long sigh. "Haven't hit that particular roadblock yet. Hopefully, Manny and Charlie can do some fancy tap dancing and cover for me. She clapped her hands together. "Okay. "Enough about me. Let's talk about you."

"Not much to talk about. According to the eight hundred doctors Julie sent in before..." She took a deep breath. "Anyway, it's just a matter of time and keeping up with the exercises the therapist gives me to do,"

"Then you'll be one hundred per cent," Sandra agreed. "Physically."

"Yes, of course," Val said, somewhat uncertain. "What else is there?"

"There's a lot more."

Val limped over to a chair and sat down. "I know what you mean. I'm done with all that mess."

Sandra nodded. "I'm sure you are. Are you also done with the issues that got you into that mess?"

"There's no issues. I was just trying to do too many things all at the same time."

"Of course. But that's the problem." She could see Val wasn't following. "You took those pills because you thought they would help you accomplish more. You can deal with the pills. Can you deal with what drove you to feel so pressured you did something you never in a million years would have done otherwise?"

All emotion drained from Val's face. She looked tired, beaten. "I had to be the best. No. I had to be more than the best."

"Why?"

Val thought for a moment. "It's what I expected from myself."

"Is that all?" Sandra pressed her sister.

"No," Val responded in a whisper. "It's what Julie expected. I wanted to be just like her. She's done so much for us, is it too much to ask that just one of us should turn out all right?" She immediately regretted her choice of words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that..."

"Don't worry about it," Sandra interrupted. "I know what you mean. It's funny, though. You almost ruined your life trying to be like Julie, and I've wasted a good part of mine trying to be anything but."

"So what are we saying," Val wondered, "that Julie is the cause of all our problems?"

"That's what I used to think," Sandra replied. "It was all her fault. If not for her, I'd be living this really incredible life.." She pulled up a chair next to her sister. "Then I realized, Julie was just being Julie. Successful, intelligent, driven, everything I felt I could never be. But it wasn't because of her, it was because of me. It was easier not to try, then blame her when things didn't work out."

"I wasn't trying to fight her," Val protested, "I was trying to be her."

"That's part of it," Sandra agreed. "I think you were trying to be more. A smarter, more ambitious, more accomplished version of your sister."

Val pondered that for a minute. "You might be right. Anyway, I failed. What do I do now?"

"You work on being you. There's a really great person inside there," she tapped her sister on the head, " and the world needs to see it."

"Any suggestions how I go about it?"

Sandra jumped off the chair and rifled through the folders on the floor. "As a matter of fact I do." She pulled a brochure from the pile and held it in her lap.

"What's that."

"Before I go into that, will you promise to keep an open mind, hear me out before you say anything?"

Val nodded.

"Okay. I called a few places. They all seem to be good, but I think this one," she held up the brochure briefly, "has exactly what you need. I spoke to them today and they were very helpful and compassionate."

Val snatched the papers from her sister's hand. "Let me see that." See glanced at the cover, and leafed angrily past the opening pages. "Rehab?"

"It's not a dirty word, you know."

"No. It's just a place for losers."

"Or maybe for winners who've wandered and need a little help finding the path again."

Val had to laugh, even if it hurt. "Since when did you become the wise old woman?"

"Since I was lucky enough to run into a couple of people who helped me look at things differently." She pointed to the brochure. "That's all this is."

"Mom didn't need some fancy rehab place. She's doing okay," Val pointed out.

"You're right. All it took for Mom was to have two of her daughters nearly killed, one chased out of town by a couple of hitmen, and her son arrested. I don't want a disaster to hit you before you get help. Sometimes it's too late."

Val looked like she still had doubts.

Sandra took her sister's hands in hers. "Besides, Mom is doing better, but she's still struggling. Sometimes at night, I'll pass by her room and hear a bottle clinking against a glass. She's usually okay by morning, but she's got a long way to go. I hope she finds her way. And I hope you do too."

Val flipped through the brochure again, this time more slowly. After several minutes of browsing she put it down. "Four weeks? That's not much time to solve all of my problems."

"I don't think they expect to," Sandra explained. "Maybe they can get you started in the right direction. We'll get you whatever you need after that."

"What about school?"

"You've already missed last semester's finals, and probably too much of this semester to be able to catch up." Val started to protest, but Sandra stopped her. "I know, you're going to tell me you can make it all up. Think it's a good idea right now to put that kind of pressure on yourself? It can wait. You can finish the entire year next year."

"And have everyone gawk at the junkie loser who almost killed herself and flunked out of senior year."

"Stop saying you're a loser, and you didn't flunk out of anything. I already spoke to the principal and he's willing to wash the slate clean and let you start fresh next year. If you still feel uncomfortable, we'll find another school for you."

Val held up the brochure. "Where is this place?"

"Connecticut. You'll like it."

"I hope so."

### Chapter 44

Sandra was helping Val back into bed when Mike came in. He dumped his school books on top of the pile of folders.

"The idea is to clear up that mess, not add to it," Sandra chided him.

Mike just shrugged. That was his prefered method of communication these days: a shrug, a nod, a grimace.

"Hear from your pals?" Val chimed in, referring to Lisa and Casey.

She got a blank stare in response. In days past, Val needled her brother just for fun. Now she hoped it would shake him out of his funk. She tried again. "You know, I'll bet you they think they're a couple of modern day Bonnie and Clydes."

She was rewarded with an actual word, a subdued "Maybe."

"Of course, if they're Bonnie and Clyde, that would make you that creepy C.W. Moss guy, wouldn't it?"

Sandra snickered. Mike fixed Val with a "if looks could kill" glance. Back to nonverbal communication, she thought, but at least there was some kick to it. Then he stunned her with a whole sentence.

"I got a message for you."

Val waited, but nothing followed. "Are you going to tell me now, or are you saving it for my birthday?"

"Some guy Rabbit told me to say hi for him."

"Rabbit?" Sandra ventured, smiling.

"Don't judge a book by its cover," Val responded. "Or by its title," she added.

Sandra held her hands up, palms out. "Hey, I'm not judging. Believe me, I'm the last person who should be critiquing anyone's choice in men. Or boys."

Val thought for a minute. "Next time you see him, give him the address and tell him to come by and say hello in person."

Mike shrugged.

Sandra started picking up the folders off the floor. "What about you?" she asked her brother. He simply stared back. "Is this your plan, to muddle around in this emotionally catatonic state for the rest of your life? You're young, you made a mistake. Fine. So does everybody else. Time to get your head out of your ass and do something with your life."

"You sound like Julie," Mike retorted.

"If that means that I sound like someone who loves you and cares about you, then okay, I'll sound like Julie if I have to."

Mike actually looked surprised. Ah, progress, Sandra thought. She pressed forward. "Have you considered any colleges? Time's running out to apply."

Mike's lips curled up as if he had swallowed something particularly distasteful. "Come June I'm done with school."

"Then what?" Sandra asked.

"Then I don't know. Who cares?"

"We care. Me, Val, Julie, Mom. Whatever bullshit passes between us, we care, about you, about each other."

"When you get done, can you bring Sandra back to us?" Val piped in.

"I know, " Sandra agreed. "Doesn't sound much like me, does it?" She stopped fussing with her papers. "Maybe I needed to make the journey out before I could appreciate what I left behind. Look, I still don't know where all this is leading. I know I'm here for as long as I'm needed. Hopefully, I'll figure the rest out in the meantime."

"That's fine for you," Mike said. "I don't see anything here for me."

"Then maybe you need to get some perspective. Some way to compare," Sandra suggested.

"You mean hook up with some biker and skip town like you did when you were my age?" Mike asked.

Sandra laughed. "Why not. You'd look good riding the bitch seat of a Harley."

"Very funny. You're a big help."

She looked at her brother, hoping she was about to give him the right advice. Well any advice was better than the laissez faire treatment she had gotten from her parents. "I think you were on to something."

Mike didn't catch on. "Meaning?"

"The Army."

"Julie busted a gasket last time I brought that up."

"Situations change."

Mike hesitated. "I don't know. I talked to those recruiters partly just to piss Julie off."

"Partly." Sandra countered. "Maybe that means there was something that did interest you, beyond the shock factor."

"Yes, there was. I'm just not sure the Army has what I want."

"What do you want?" Val wondered.

"I don't really know. I think it's one of those things I'll know when I see it."

"There's more options than just the Army, you know," Sandra suggested. "There's the Navy, Air Force, Marines, Coast Guard. Hey, the Coast Guard might be nice, their basic training is not too far from here. Cape May."

Mike thought about it. Being out on the open water, patrolling the seas, helping people in distress. A hint of a smile crossed his lips for the first time in a while.

Sandra noticed. "We can take a drive down there and see what they have to say. No harm in listening.

Mike nodded an approval.

### Chapter 45

Julie reached for the TV remote. Damn, that hurt like hell. Still, it was better than being a barely breathing slab of meat taking up space in a hospital room. The operation that restored her to the land of the living was a week in the past. She had been awake for the last four days.

The world had taken an odd turn while she was napping. Mom mostly sober, making daily visits, Sandra actually pitching in - to what extent, was a mystery. All she had was Manny's repeated assurances that, "We'll get to that tomorrow."

She finally managed to grasp the remote. A TV screen hanging from the ceiling came to life. A New York news station. She was about to flip to another channel when she heard a familiar voice. "This is Sue Zheng back in Carlton Beach with an update on yesterday's top story. Police here are investigating the shooting of Giovanni 'Johnny' Siccardi, the owner of a local club who is suspected of having ties to the underworld. Mr. Siccardi was found lying face down next to his car in the parking lot of Metal Mania, a bullet in his head. He was pronounced dead at the scene." The camera panned out to show the now-empty parking lot cordoned off with police crime scene tape.

"The police chief and mayor of this small seaside community held a press conference yesterday assuring the citizens that they are, 'leaving no stone unturned in their search for the killer.' "Is that so?" the reporter wondered aloud. "As the result of an intense investigation conducted by myself and members of the WDJN 'Newsbreakers' crew, we have uncovered information that another killing connected to this same club occurred only a few weeks ago."

Sue paused a minute to let her unseen audience catch up. "Two men were found dead in the office of our latest victim, Johnny Siccardi. One was a small-time hood. The other was a decorated and very highly regarded Carlton Beach police sergeant. Nobody knows why the off-duty officer was there. Police brass speculate he might have been following up on a tip of some wrongdoing connected with the establishment.

"What we do know is that a long-time police officer was gunned down in a man's office. Now that man is dead." She made a half-turn and pointed in the direction of the club. "Is it possible those two deaths are somehow connected? Could this have been police retribution for the death of a beloved comrade? The cops, of course, bristle at the very suggestion, although they did say they were looking into every possibility, no matter how farfetched. Maybe. Or maybe the Who in this Whodunit will remain a mystery forever. Stay tuned. This is Sue Zheng in Carlton Beach, New Jersey, keeping you informed."

Good work, Julie thought. Although a little more digging might have led Sue to Julie's

own part in the affair. Might have. The detectives who showed up at the hospital yesterday made no mention of Johnny. Or Tom. They figured her shooting was the result of a robbery gone bad. Fine, she thought. Go with that. It would save everyone a lot of trouble.

The shot switched to two anchors who started babbling about some balloon festival somewhere. She switched it off.

Manny entered, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He walked over to a vase perched on the windowsill, tossed the wilting flowers into a trash bin, then went to the bathroom sink for fresh water.

"Johnny?" Julie prompted.

Manny put the new flowers in the vase. "Gone," he said, intent on his botanic endeavors.

"You?" Julie pressed.

"I'm here," Manny replied, purposely misunderstanding the question.

"No. I mean the news."

"Oh yes," Manny replied, excitedly. "Sue finally got her shot at a network affiliate. In New York, no less. You should call and congratulate her. Maybe send her something."

"Yes. But that's not what..." Julie shook her head. Manny was very good at clamming up when there was a subject he wanted to avoid. "Okay," she relented. "Keep your secrets. But I'm not waiting any longer for those updates you keep putting off."

Manny thought about trying to stall another day or two, but decided it might be better if she had other things to occupy her mind than "the news." He pulled up a chair.

"Sandra will be here with all the numbers later. They're a little beyond my scope of expertise."

"But not beyond Sandra's?" Julie asked, somewhat skeptical.

"Not totally." Manny retorted. "Surprised the shit out of me too. She's actually been quite an asset."

Julie still looked doubtful.

"You remember George Rose?" Manny asked.

"The asshole that wouldn't even look at our bid on his stupid little apartment building project?"

"That's the one. We've got an appointment with him to talk about doing the paving around the building. Small potatoes, but it's a foot in the door."

"Enough small potatoes eventually add up to a bushel," Julie pointed out. "I'm impressed. How'd you manage that?"

"I didn't," Manny admitted. "Sandra saw our old bid on your desk. By the way, I hope you don't mind us letting her use your office. Everything she needs is in there. It just made sense."

"Of course," Julie smiled. "I trust whatever decisions you make. And just in case I forget, I want to thank you now for all you've done." She glanced at the TV screen. "Everything."

Manny simply nodded. "Nothing you wouldn't do for me." He cleared his throat to dislodge the lump of emotion that was forming there. "Anyway, Sandra asked why we never submitted the bid and I told her the guy wouldn't even look at it. She picked up the phone, and fifteen minutes later we had an appointment. She's a world class schmoozer."

Julie laughed.

"Don't knock it," Sandra offered, as she entered the room. "Schmoozing is a time-honored talent. And not easy to come by, from what I'm told."

Sandra had abandoned her "business slutty" attire for the more natural-feeling confines of blue jeans and a sweatshirt, a leather briefcase provided the only evidence of her new position. In the past, her arrival had been the precursor of more dire things to come. This time, Julie was glad to see her. She liked the feeling.

Manny surrendered his chair. "Have a seat," he directed the newcomer. "I was just leaving anyway. You two have a lot to talk over." He leaned over and kissed the patient on her forehead. "Call me if you need me."

Julie didn't respond. She just smiled as he headed out the door.

"I used to hate that guy," Sandra volunteered.

"You used to hate a lot of people," Julie pointed out.

"You're right. I hope I'm as wrong about them as I was about him," Sandra replied as she opened her briefcase and pulled out a bunch of papers.

"What's all that?" Julie asked.

"Numbers, graphs, projections," Sandra sighed.

"You have any idea what all that means?"

"Not completely. Charlie and the accountants briefed me on this stuff. I nodded like I was getting it, only because they were trying so hard and I didn't want them to feel like they weren't doing a good job. They're excellent teachers. I wish I was an excellent student."

"Want to know my first rule of running a successful business? Julie asked.

"Sure."

"Let those who know - do." Sandra looked puzzled. "What I mean is this stuff," she pointed to the papers her sister was still holding, "is what Charlie and the accountants are good at. It's their job. My job, your job right now, is to understand and make decisions based on the big picture. You can't do that if you're constantly bogged down in minutiae that you're probably never going to fully grasp anyway.

Know what my favorite question is when I have meetings with the 'numbers' people? What's the bottom line? Don't let someone waste an hour of your time with profit and loss statements, vendor invoices, and bank deposits when all they need to say is: The project is over budget. Sure, you can get into all those numbers later on to figure out what went wrong. The more important problem is to get the job back on track."

Sandra relaxed. "It's like that old saying about not seeing the forest for the trees. Never quite knew what that meant. Guess I do now."

Julie found herself getting excited. If this was what came of getting shot, then bring on the firing squad, she thought. "Want to know rule number two?"

"Of course."

"Stick to what you're good at. Manny tells me you've been doing a fantastic job keeping our clients calm and willing to move ahead with us. Why don't you get rid of all that other crap and tell me about that."

Sandra happily stuffed the reports back into the briefcase. "There actually is something I wanted to ask you about." She paused, looking at the monitors and tubes.

"Don't let those bother you," Julie assured her. "Believe me, if I don't have something to occupy my mind beside the constant beeping of these machines, I'm going to go nuts."

Sandra straightened herself. She felt like a schoolgirl giving a book report before the whole class. Her sister sensed her unease. "The best way to say it is say it," Julie advised. "It's just us, two sisters shooting the breeze."

"Okay. We put in a bid with Hartwell Developers to construct a medical office building. Not a big job, but the word is whoever gets that job is going to have the inside track on getting the contract for the new mall going up in North Jersey. Hartwell is using this as kind of a dry run for the real prize. Whoever got the nod on the medical building, was probably going to get the mall, provided all went smoothly."

"I'm guessing we didn't get it."

"No. We came in second."

"Who beat us?"

"Furlough Construction," Sandra sneered. "I can't understand it. Even a novice to the business like me knows the only reason they can lowball these bids is because they use inferior materials and cut corners when it comes to expensive safety measures. I might be jumping to conclusions, but I wouldn't be surprised if some cash switched places somewhere along the line."

Sandra might be new to the game, but she certainly wasn't naive, Julie thought.

"Of course," Sandra continued, "the shoddy workmanship will show itself in time..."

"But not in time to prevent them from getting the mall," Julie finished the thought.

"Exactly. So, since you were still indisposed, I asked Manny what he thought you would do. He told me he had long ago given up trying to guess what you would do in any given situation. But he did say you never left anything to chance."

"I try not to," Julie agreed, "but sometimes chance has other ideas," she held up her arm with the IV in it to illustrate the point.

Sandra wasn't sure chance alone was to blame for all that had happened. She let the thought go. Now was not the time to get philosophical. "Anyway, I studied all sides of the question and found out something that kind of stunned me. I can't believe all the permits you need to build, all the petty regulations you have to abide by, the number of inspectors you have to satisfy."

"That's why I have someone on the payroll who does nothing but deal with that shit all day. Come to think of it, she probably deserves a raise."

"Probably does," Sandra agreed. "The other, more important thing I found out was these inspectors have big responsibilities and teeny salaries. A lot of them are straight-laced, no nonsense types, but there are always those few who are willing to deal."'

"Don't you think Furlough thought of that too? How else are they going to get away with substandard performance?"

"Of course they did. Funny thing is, they love making money, don't care so much for giving it away. I don't want to say they're cheap, but it wasn't hard to outbid them."

Julie gave it a thought. "Give Matty Ross a head's up also."

Sandra looked reluctant.

"I know there's no love lost between you two, but Matty isn't Tommy. He actually cares about his members. And he's a stickler for safety regulations. If he finds Furlough is taking liberties with the standards, well, let's just say once he gets his teeth into an issue, he's a hard dog to shake off."

"I'll take care of it," Sandra promised.

"What do think of our chances?" Julie asked.

" I think we're going to be building a brand new shopping mall very soon."

### Chapter 46

Sandra's phone chimed. She looked at the screen, held up one finger and asked, "Do you mind? It's kind of important."

"No. Go right ahead," Julie responded. How many times, in how many conversations had she made that same gesture, said the same thing? Probably too many. Sandra and her phone retreated to the hallway.

She took advantage of the break to reflect on the morning. Aside from being stuck in bed and feeling like shit, the new day brought nothing but good news so far. Johnny, along with his threat to take over her business, was gone. Despite public assurances to the contrary, the cops didn't seem anxious to delve too deeply into the affair. Maybe they were afraid of what might surface. After all,there were plenty of unsolved gangland hits to go around. One more wasn't going to rev up anyone's engine.

Business was going well, really well. With Charlie's help, Manny and Sandra were doing an exceptional job guiding the ship. So far, so good. But there were other matters. Two in particular. Val and Mike. All she had so far were her mother's vague promises that they were both okay.

Sandra returned. "I want to see the kids," Julie abruptly announced.

Sandra smiled. "I was just talking to Mike. He's going to pick up Val and Mom and bring them over. They'll be here in about an hour."

"An hour. Why so long?"

Sandra sat down, clearly uneasy. "They want me to talk to you before they get here."

"Are they okay? Is something wrong? Tell me." Julie was getting nervous.

"Nothing's wrong. Val's recovery is coming along better than expected. Mike has found something that might turn out very positive for him, something that might make him feel worthwhile again."

"Sounds promising," Julie said. "Yet you don't seem happy."

"Actually, I am very happy with Mike's decision. I think it's just what he needs right now."

"But?"

"But I'm not sure you'll agree."

"Why wouldn't I agree?" Julie asked. "If this is going to be so good for Mike..." A thought suddenly dawned on her. "You're not talking about the Army again?"

"No," Sandra assured her. Julie sighed, relieved.

"The Coast Guard," Sandra spat out.

"The Coast Guard!" Julie shouted, stirring up some unpleasantness in her still-mending chest.

"Relax. It's not the Army," Sandra pointed out.

"So he gets killed chasing drug dealers out on the ocean instead of stepping on a landmine in some fucked up desert."

"Or," Sandra volleyed, "the clerk in the next liquor store he gets talked into robbing is armed and puts a bullet in his head. Or, the next cops who come to arrest him shoot first and ask questions later. Either way, we end up burying our little brother. And for nothing."

"So you're saying it's better if his death is honorable?"

"I'm saying it's better if his life is honorable."

The two sat in silence for several minutes while Julie searched for flaws in the plan. She only found one. "It scares me."

"It scares me too," Sandra admitted. "Maybe there's times when you have to support the people you love even if you have reservations."

"You're right," Julie agreed. Life was going to be different, she mused. Better, she hoped. Time enough for that later. Right now, there was something else. "Val?" she asked.

"Coming along nicely. She's going to miss the rest of the school year. The principal said she can make it up next year. Princeton probably will never happen, but she's a smart kid. She'll get into a good school and do just fine."

"That's not the whole problem."

"I know." Sandra retrieved the rehab brochure from her briefcase.

Julie scanned it several times. "This is perfect. Will she go?"

"As soon as you come home. She doesn't want to leave while you're still here."

"Maybe I should stay. Things are going so well without me." Even though she tried to make a joke of it, a hint of sadness tinged her words.

Sandra rose and took her sister's hand. "All we've done is put a bandaid on the cut. We've stemmed the bleeding, not healed the wound. We need you for that."
One Year Later

Julie stopped buttoning her blouse and stared in the mirror. The doctors had done an excellent job, most importantly in saving her life. They also did a remarkable job of closing the wound. There was a faint scar down the middle of her chest. Few people would ever get close enough to even notice it. Probably none, considering her lack of a love life.

She wasn't complaining, though. Val, Mike, and the business had always come first.

There was a knock on the door. "Yes."

"It's me," a voice responded.

"Just a minute Val." She hastily finished buttoning up. "Come on in."

Val looked great. Rehab had done wonders for her. She was alert, engaging, fun to be around again. She was doing well in school and keeping up with her weekly counselling sessions. The principal even told her that Princeton, although a long shot, may not be entirely out of the question. Funny. It didn't seem so important to her anymore.

"Having trouble finding an outfit?" Val asked, "or just stalling so you can make a grand entrance?"

"Neither," Julie responded. " I'm so excited about tonight, I keep buttoning this shirt the wrong way." She made a couple of adjustments. "There. I think." She spun toward her sister and hugged her." What the hell. Let's go."

As she descended the staircase, Julie surveyed her guests. Everyone she cared about was there. Mike stood at the bottom of the stairs. He was on leave and looking very, very handsome in his Coast Guard uniform. She was so proud of him. More importantly, he was proud of himself. His every move, his every word exuded a confidence that had never been there before. Sandra had been right. They needed to help him make his life fulfilling rather than obsess over ways he might lose it. (Even though, she still prayed for his safety every night.)

Manny. What had his friendship and support meant to her over the years? She could fill volumes trying to explain it. If anyone ever asked her she would simply say: "You know that old cliche question people get asked from time to time about who they would want in a foxhole with them? For me, it's Manny. I know because he's been in the foxhole with me, always protecting me and watching my back. And, so far, we've battled our way out of every one."

Charlie Franklin, quiet and dependable. The voice of reason who often got run over by the speeding train of ambition that was Julie Ryan. Even when he didn't get his way, he stuck with her, calmly seeing to it that all the nuts and bolts fell neatly into place.

Mom. She looked older now, smaller, but not diminished. She was alive again, interested in her children, wanting to help in whatever way she could. Julie wished it had always been this way, but life was life. Sometimes you had to be grateful for whatever portion of happiness was allotted you.

Then there was Sandra. By far, the most unexpected turn of all. Imagine the two sibling rivals not only working together, but actually enjoying each other's company. It was a long time coming, but worth the wait.

Their father wanted something from his eldest that she didn't understand and was not able to give. So, he moved on to the next child. Julie was everything he had hoped for, more or less a carbon copy of himself. Julie accepted the praise and the attention, not understanding why her sister did not try harder to fit in. Julie was just now beginning to get that people had to find their own way, in their own time. Sandra's time seemed to be during her trip to Santa Fe. Did the circumstances of her departure give her reason to reflect on where she was heading, or was it a chance encounter with a big-rig driver? She glanced at Manny. Maybe chance had little to do with it.

That covered everyone, except for the new addition that had been hanging around lately. Rabbit. Julie shook her head. Val warned her not to "judge a book by its cover." She had a point. The gawky, long-haired kid with a serious case of acne was easy to dismiss at first sight - easy to like if you gave him a chance.

As Julie reached the last step, Mike offered his arm to escort her to the living room. "Very gallant," she quipped. "An officer and a gentleman."

"Not an officer yet, Mike corrected. "Hopefully a gentleman."

Julie walked to the center of the living room, thanked Mike for his assistance, and addressed her guests. "I have a couple of announcements to make before we sit down to dinner. First, I'm so happy to have my family here tonight. I used to think I had two families, the one I was born into and my 'business family.' I was wrong. There is no distinction between the two. Manny and Charlie, you have stood by me, by us, far beyond what is required of an employee, or even a friend. Only family would have made the efforts, the sacrifices you two have made." The speech was interrupted by a round of applause from the others. Julie beamed. "Glad you agree.

So, in recognition of your love and loyalty you are both hereby promoted to Senior Vice President. It's really the same job you've already been doing, but the title better reflects your importance to the company. Of course, it also means more money, profit sharing, and some other stuff we can go over when we're in the office."

As the two men were thanking Julie, Sandra butted in. "Does this mean I have to call these two boss?" She asked, with a broad smile.

Julie smiled back. "Actually, they'll be calling you boss."

Sandra didn't get it. 'I'd like to make that ' President of Ryan Construction' title official," Julie announced. "That is, if you want the job."

"Of course I want the job. Where does that leave you?"

"That leaves me as CEO. I'm hoping the new arrangement will help us all find a happy balance between business time and personal time."

Manny looked troubled. "Problem?" Julie asked.

"Does this mean Sandra won't be making coffee in the office anymore?"

"She does brew an exceptional cup," Charlie added.

Everybody turned toward Sandra. She chuckled. "Sure. Anything to keep the troops happy."

"Let's eat," Mike suggested, "I'm starving."

Julie watched the others file into the dining room. It was a dangerous and bumpy road they had all travelled. But they survived. They were together. They were one. For now.

### The End

242
