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“How?” asked LaGrange.

  “Leave it to me, Ian. I’ll talk to the manager at Lombardo’s, erase Marcozza’s name from the reservations on that Thursday, figure out everything. Just consider it done.”

  There was more on the tape, but Sorren had heard enough. He grabbed the recorder and stopped the playback. Then, of all crazy things, he started to laugh out loud.

  “You haven’t heard the rest of it,” I said.

  “I don’t need to. I was there. I know what I said. But no one else will. Do you know why?”

  I shrugged. “Tell me.”

  “You should’ve gone to law school,” he said, shaking his head. “This was illegally obtained. It’s inadmissible.”

  Jesus, he was pirouetting through his own legal loophole. I guess it figured.

  But it was my turn to shake my head. “How could you do it, David?”

  “Do what?” he said.

  “At least explain one thing to me,” I said. “Why did you kill LaGrange?”

  “Because he was trying to kill you. I saved your life,” he said. “How soon we forget.”

  “I’m that stupid?” I asked him.

  “Do you think I am?”

  “No, what I think is that somewhere along the way you completely forgot the difference between right and wrong, Sorren. You got as cynical as they come, and I’ve seen cynical, believe me. Maybe you actually wanted great things for the city. But for sure you wanted even better things for yourself.”

  “So now you’re a shrink?”

  “No, I’m still a journalist. A pretty decent one, I think,” I said. “But you? You’re a criminal.”

  Sorren clenched his jaw as he leaned forward in his chair. I could see the veins popping in his neck, just like they had the very first time I’d met him. The anger was building, and he was trying to contain himself.

  But he couldn’t.

  “Fuck you!” he said. “How could I do it? Do what? Induce one lousy, stinking mob boss to take out another? I was doing everybody in this city a huge favor. One less scumbag mob lawyer, one less crime family, a lot less crime on the streets… Everybody wins – and with D’zorio dead, we win even more.”

  He jabbed his finger at me. “So don’t give me your sanctimonious bullshit. You couldn’t leave well enough alone! You got Dwayne Robinson and Derrick Phalen killed. IT WAS YOU! YOU DID IT! THIS IS ALL ON YOU!”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” I said softly before pointing at my recorder. It was still in his hand. “You always had a choice. You just got caught making the wrong one.”

  Sorren shot me a pathetic look. “Didn’t I already tell you? What’s on this recorder is inadmissible. Illegally obtained. It never happened…just like this conversation.”

  I smiled. “Oh, this is happening, all right. I’m here, you’re here, David. This is definitely happening.”

  With that, I undid the top two buttons of my shirt to expose the wire I was wearing.

  “Damn chest hairs. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much when they pull off the tape,” I said. “Legally obtained, by the way.”

  In the blink of an eye, the door to Sorren’s office burst open as a team of FBI agents came in with guns drawn. Leading the charge? Agent Doug Keller.

  “Congratulations, asshole,” he said to Sorren. “You just broke the record for the shortest campaign for mayor in history.”

  Epilogue. NOT BIG ON HAPPY ENDINGS

  Chapter 108

  I’VE NEVER BEEN real big on happy endings. It’s not that I’m a total pessimist. I’ve just found that anything worth cherishing usually comes at a price. In this case, a very steep one. Four good cops lost their lives, as did a brave prosecutor. I can’t thank you enough, Derrick Phalen. You made the ultimate sacrifice. I promised your sister you wouldn’t die in vain, and for sure you didn’t.

  Now I’ll have to compartmentalize like Courtney and figure out a way to move on.

  Like with this dinner at my sister’s house in the woods of Connecticut.

  “How does everyone like their steak?” asked Kate.

  “On a plate, and preferably soon,” I joked. “I’m starving, sis.”

  “You were born starving.”

  “Don’t start that ‘Mom always liked me best’ stuff.”

  “Enough, you two,” said Elizabeth. “Grow up.”

  Five of us were gathered on the back patio of Kate’s house in Connecticut. Courtney and Doug Keller had come out from the city with me to join my sister and Elizabeth for a Sunday barbecue. The sun was shining and spirits were high.

  Kate, who insisted on doing the grilling, waved her spatula at me. “You’re such a wiseguy,” she warned with a smile.

  “Now, there’s a word I wouldn’t mind not hearing for a while,” I said. “Wiseguy.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” said Keller, clinking my bottle of Rolling Rock with his. It was good to see him out of a suit – and holster – and into a wicker lounge chair and some jeans.

  Within a day of Sorren’s arrest, Keller had been able to answer the remaining question I had. Why did Sorren kill LaGrange? Hadn’t they both wanted me dead? Yes, they had. But Sorren had suddenly needed to protect himself. That’s what Keller figured out.

  LaGrange had become a liability the minute he’d veered from Sorren’s game plan and sold out Bruno Torenzi to line his pockets. But LaGrange’s greed got Belova killed and in turn guaranteed some intense heat from the Solntsevskaya Bratva back in Moscow. They would have eventually traced the debacle back to LaGrange and quite possibly Sorren.

  So Sorren, clever as always, plotted with LaGrange to kill me once and for all. Under the guise of a visit, Sorren did the reconnaissance on my hospital room and the cop guarding it. He was supposed to be making sure the coast was clear for LaGrange. But all he was really doing was setting him up.

  Elizabeth leaned back in her chair on the patio and took a sip of lemonade. She threw me a big, happy smile. “So, when’s our next Yankee game, Uncle Nick?”

  “Right when I get back,” I said.

  “Back from where?”

  “Oh, he didn’t tell you, huh?” said Courtney. “Your uncle’s going Hollywood on us. He just sold the film rights to his story.”

  “Can I be in the movie?” asked Elizabeth excitedly.

  “I’ll be sure to ask,” I said. Right after I insist that Tiffany, the ex-hostess from Lombardo’s, gets a part. It was the least I could do for her.

  “How long will you be out there?” asked Keller.

  “After I meet with the studio, I’m actually taking a drive.”

  This part I hadn’t told anyone, not even Courtney. “A drive? Where?” she asked.

  “Up the Pacific Coast Highway, in a rented Ferrari f50. You believe it? Always been a dream of mine. So I’m going to do it.”

  Kate started to crack up. “Wow. You really are going Hollywood on us.”

  “Can I come and ride shotgun?” asked Keller.

  Kate stepped over from the grill and playfully nudged him. “You can’t. You’re taking me out on a big date next weekend. You forget already?”

  “That drive up the coast – in that car – is something I’ve always wanted to do,” I explained. “By the way, Courtney, you’re invited. You know what else? When I get back from California, I’m taking my first saxophone lesson.”

  “Gee, just when you think you know somebody,” joked Courtney. “By the way, after our road trip in the Ferrari, any chance you’ll ever find time again to, you know, do what you do for a living? Write?”

  “I’ll always find time for that,” I assured her. “In fact, I’ve already got my next big story lined up.”

  “You do? What is it?”

  “I can’t tell you yet,” I said with a smile. “But it’s coming. I can feel it coming. Everybody – duck!”

  They did, too. Everybody there ducked.

  “That’s so not funny, Uncle Nick,” said Elizabeth.

  Then she laughed.

  We all did.


  James Patterson

  ***

  Howard Roughan

  ***

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