I rest against the desk. “No idea.” Playing dumb is my part. Jeremy enjoys being in the know, and it’s my goal to keep him happy. “I was at the hospital.”
“Well then, I’ll tell you what happened. One of your men, and I know which one because I’ve got the footage, executed the guy in the black bag, Alex Flemming. The only thing I don’t know is why he did it and why hereinfront of so many witnesses. You’re not usually this careless, gentlemen. What got into him?”
I offer Jeremy a Cuban cigar. “That’ll be one of the first questions I’ll ask him.”
“You must know why Alex is dead. What did he do?”
“It’s complicated,” Spades interjects.
“Oh, come on!” Jeremy throws his hands in the air. “It’s not like we just met. I’ll find out sooner or later. If you start talking, I might be able to help.”
I cross the room to sit in front of him. He’s right. There’s no hiding the reason. “He hit my girl.”
“Layla Harston, right?” He claps, overly excited as if watching an episode of his favorite show. “Am I to expect more bodies soon? Is the war coming to an end? You hooked up with Frankie’s daughter to get North under control?”
“Layla has nothing to do with what’s going on between Frank and me.” I’d give my right hand to make sure it stays that way.
Jeremy gestures for Spades to refill his glass. “That’s not very exciting. Anyway, back to the murder mystery. You ordered your people to sort the guy out, right?”
“No. Layla found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time.” I rest my back on the couch, taking a drag of the cigar. “She got hit by accident. The guy aimed at someone else. A misunderstanding is all it was.”
Jeremy pouts, clearly unappeased. “So what? Luca killed Alex out of his own will? Without your order?”
“They don’t follow my orders one hundred percent of the time. You should know, some aren’t prone to do as they’re told.”
He rubs his beard, resting his elbows on his knees. “There’s not much I can do, Dante. Someone has to go down for murder. We’ve got a crowd of witnesses. To make matters worse, Luca’s a very colorful character,” he says, referring to his tattoos.
“Plan B?”
Plan B came into existence three years ago in similar circumstances. One of my men, Hue, killed a news stand owner at the Water Tower Place in broad daylight. Hue was young, stupid, and hot-headed. Not unlike Luca, he snapped like a dry twig. That’s what happened that day—the poor man gave him different cigarettes than he asked for. A life sentence hung above his head when chief Jeremy Smith made an entrance. Aware of my dealings with four ambitious daughters, he was keen to help.
We couldn’t pin it as an accident or an unfortunate event, but Jeremy came up with the idea of a look-alike doing time. He gave us a few hours to find the most suitable guy. A seemingly crazy idea, but Spades remembered about someone we met a few months earlier, Barry Baker. A miracle worker. He ran an institution for the worst kind of drug addicts, using them to do the dirty work for mafia bosses all over the US.
Hue had his whole life ahead of him. I couldn’t just sentence him to rot in jail, so we made the call. Not long later, Barry entered Delta with Mick, a twenty-year-old junkie addicted to the heaviest drugs. Rehab wasn’t helping. He battered his pregnant girlfriend and knew damn well he’d overdose or end up in jail. He chose option number two—voluntarily—for a high price. Including all the bribes, cuts, and money spent on lawyers, the total came close to two million dollars. A high price for one man’s life. Especially for the life of a man who hung himself six months later when his girlfriend left him. I could’ve saved two million, but there’s no foreseeing shit like that.
Jeremy clears his throat, rubbing his beard once more. “You’ve got three hours, Carrow. I want him at the station at six a.m.”
Spades waits until the door closes behind Jeremy before he calls Barry to explain the situation and send him Luca’s picture. The tattoos pose an issue, but I’ll worry if Barry finds the right guy.
I take my phone out to call the idiot. “Get your ass down hererightnow.” I let my anger show, hurling a crystal ashtray across the room. It flies an inch from Spades, earning me ayou’re-fucking-insanekind of look.
“I’ll be there in twenty,” Luca says, his tone like that of a child who broke grandma’s tea set while playing soccer in the living room.
Spades finishes the last of his drink, refiling the glass. “What will you do with him?”
“I have no idea.” I rest my head on the desk. “I’m tired, pissed off, and something just doesn’t fucking fit.”
“You mean that Luca argued with Layla every chance he got, but now he killed the guy who hit her?”
I nod, massaging my temples. “I’m missing something.”
We sit in silence, buried in our thoughts, waiting for Luca to arrive. I’m also waiting for any sign from Layla. After my fuckup, it’s in my best interest to call her, but it has to wait until the morning.
Luca arrives fifteen minutes later, looking like he fled the set of a lame horror movie. Blood covers his shirt, trousers, and shoes. “You want me at the police station?”
“Sit,” I snap. “What the fuck happened?”
“I don’t know. I watched the footage... I saw Layla trying to escape the brawl.” He tugs at his hair. “The guy hit her so fucking hard her head turned.” The torment in his eyes makes no fucking sense. He’s protective, almost fucking possessive. “Something snapped inside me,” he continues, glancing at the floor. “My mind switched off. I was on some kind of autopilot. I wasn’t thinking straight.”