Final Justice, page 19
When the three of them had settled into their seats with hot coffees, Elizabeth spoke first.
“I can go into detail or I can be brief,” she said.
“Be brief,” replied Rebecca, “and speak quietly.”
“I wasn’t happy with my conversation with Grant Teasdale,” Elizabeth began. “Need I say more right now?”
“No,” answered Rebecca. “When the I.N.S. stopped me inside the terminal, I took it as a message from him.”
Then her eyes glazed over, but only for a moment as she took a deep breath and said, almost as if she were talking to herself, “I’ll go it alone. I’ve done it before.”
“You are not alone Rebecca,” Elizabeth said gently. “I’ve told you that more than once.
“I also want you to know that I’ve shared some background information with Ryan,” she went on, “because I didn’t think it was right to ask him to help us without letting him know what he might be getting himself into.”
“Oh, and what makes you think that you’re the one to tell him?” Rebecca asked, impatience in her voice. “You don’t know either.”
“Listen Rebecca, one doesn’t have to be a rocket scientist to make sense of your words, even those that you so carefully select for the overseas phone network,” answered Elizabeth patiently. “Besides, Ryan’s a big boy.”
Ryan smiled and nodded his head as Elizabeth playfully poked his arm.
“Okay ladies, it’s my turn to speak,” he said as they munched on donuts accompanied by more strong coffee.
“I’m only trying to keep my job. No P&M Trust, no job. No job, no money. It’s that simple. So, enough of this chit chat—what’s up?”
“I need a gun,” answered Rebecca. She ignored Elizabeth’s intake of breath and stiffening body.
“Ryan, you can pick one up for me in about five minutes. There’s a private gun exchange just around the corner inside a little pizza shop. Get me a small handgun, a .38 or a Beretta. Ask for Donovan—he’s black with a scar on his left cheek. Offer him $175 cash.”
She handed Ryan a package of cigarettes.
“The cash is inside,” she said, “and if he tries to get more, tell him it’s for Sal’s job. He’ll know what that means. Okay?”
After Ryan left, Rebecca turned to Elizabeth.
“Okay Elizabeth, now you can tell me what happened with Grant,” she said.
“Hello Grant, it’s Elizabeth DeLuca calling”
Grant was in his Pt. St. Lucie office reading the latest printouts on the Colombian drug busts. His firm did investigations for private corporations who were considering opening branches in various South American countries. The U.S. free trade agreement with Peru had opened the door, but if drug related activity in a country was too high, his clients wouldn’t invest.
“I’m sorry that you didn’t get a chance to join us after the memorial mass,” Elizabeth continued. “It would have been nice to spend some time with you”
“I’m sorry too,” said Grant.
As if reading his mind, Elizabeth said, “I’m calling about Rebecca. She needs your help.”
“I’ve helped Rebecca as much as I can,” he answered, sounding disinterested, “but she chooses to follow a course that I cannot accept. So she’ll have to go it alone”
“Grant, I don’t think it inappropriate for me to tell you that Rebecca cares for you, very much. And I know that you feel the same way about her.”
“Maybe so,” he answered. “But there’s nowhere for us to go. I have obligations that are difficult to walk away from, and I’m not one of those people who can rationalise their behaviour with lofty motives like Rebecca can.
“There’s only one way I can live with myself,” he went on, “and that’s without her.”
“There was no sense in watering it down,” said Elizabeth, putting her hand over Rebecca’s. “I thought it better if you knew the truth. When I asked him about at least getting you clearance back into the U.S., he said that he’d think about it. Then he asked me where you were returning from, and I had no choice but to tell him.”
“What did he say?” asked Rebecca.
“A leopard never changes its spots. Wish her good luck and a happy life. Then he hung up.”
Ryan came back into the restaurant looking sheepish. He paid the bill and the three of them left. When they got into the car, he opened the city map that he’d brought along.
“First, give me the gun,” said Rebecca. Ryan lifted up his sweater and handed her the .38 that was in his waistband. Then he took a box of bullets out of his jacket.
“I hope these are the right size,” he said. “I was afraid to ask any questions because I didn’t want those guys to think that I didn’t know what I was doing.”
Rebecca loaded the gun and put it inside the pocket of her sweat pants.
“Okay,” she said. “Our first stop is Depew. There’s an old abandoned railway station there that we’re looking for. It’s been deserted for about twenty years and is somewhere around the intersection of Walden and Transit Road.”
Ryan started the car and made a U-turn taking care not to speed. Just what we need, a cop stopping us.
It was close to ten o’clock when they found the right intersection but they couldn’t see a railway station. They drove around for another fifteen minutes before Ryan suggested that they stop so that he could ask someone for directions.
“The problem is, most local people probably wouldn’t know that a railway station had once been here,” Rebecca said. “But it’s worth a try, otherwise we’ll be driving in circles forever.”
Ryan turned the car around and went back to the 7-ll store they’d passed on the last block.
“Lock the door,” he said as he got out. “This area looks menacing.”
There were two men hanging around the outside of the store, and as Ryan approached the entrance, they held out their hands. He gave them each a dollar, deciding that something was better than nothing.
“Cheap nigger!” they shouted as he walked inside and they walked away.
“Okay, I got good directions,” he said when he climbed back into the car. “We’re looking for a dead-end street just off Urban and Transit Roads, north of the street we’re on right now, which is, I believe, Walden. Yes, that’s right. We’re on Walden. Keep your eyes open.”
Rebecca, out of habit, kept her eyes on the side view mirror looking for anything suspicious, like a car’s headlights following them. Being a Friday evening, there was plenty of traffic, but she couldn’t pinpoint anything specific.
“I think this is it,” said Elizabeth as they turned north on Transit Road. Ryan stopped the car and they all looked down a deserted road with no streetlights.
“This looks like an abandoned road leading to nowhere,” said Ryan. “Shall we go and have a look?”
When the car had gone two short street blocks littered with old car parts and various other kinds of junk, Rebecca told Ryan to pull over and turn off the lights.
“Just being careful,” she said. “In case someone is following us.”
Ryan and Elizabeth glanced at each other, the colour missing from both their faces.
“Okay, carry on,” said Rebecca. “Only keep your lights on dim.”
The old railway depot suddenly loomed in front of them, broken windows and debris its welcome mat.
“Pull the car over there,” Rebecca said, pointing off to the left. “Might as well keep it hidden.”
The car bumped and shook as it passed over stones and potholes on its way to what had once been the employee entrance of the station. When the car came to a stop, Rebecca turned to both of them.
“Do we get to know what we’re looking for?” asked Ryan before she could say anything, “or do we just follow ten paces behind you?”
“Very funny,” she answered. “Before I go into any details, I must ask you Ryan, to rethink whether or not you want to be here. And you too Elizabeth.”
“Forget it, at least for me,” answered Ryan. “This is the most excitement I’ve had in twenty years.”
Elizabeth didn’t respond; her look said it all.
“Okay, this is the story,” said Rebecca. “In 1986, a statue of Mary Magdelen, bundled in a wooden crate, was shipped from a Cistercian abbey just outside of Marseilles. Its first stop was this old railway station, where it was to remain hidden until it was safe to transport it to its final destination, a church somewhere in Buffalo.”
“And what church is that?” asked Elizabeth.
“That’s why we’re here,” answered Rebecca. “To find out.”
“Maybe I’m slow or something,” whispered Ryan. “But what could possibly be in this haunted railway station that would lead us to a statue that hasn’t been here for over ten years?”
“I’m not sure, but I’m hoping for some clues,” answered Rebecca. “Like the bill of lading or a delivery slip, anything. My old friend didn’t know exactly where the statue was ultimately going but he was sure there’d be something left lying around here.”
“But Rebecca, even I know that a shipment such as the one you’re describing wouldn’t be properly marked,” said Elizabeth. “Whoever was shipping it, and whoever was receiving it, wouldn’t want its contents or its whereabouts known.”
“I know it sounds farfetched,” answered Rebecca, “but remember, this place has been deserted for years, and the people involved knew it. So they might not have been too careful, and if something was left, or dropped by accident, it’s probably still where it fell. Failing that,
I’ll have to visit every single Catholic Church in Buffalo to see if I can find it. And the longer it takes, the greater the risk of attracting the attention, and the suspicions of former associates. I’m not entirely sure that the delay in Immigration this afternoon was coincidental.”
“But statues of Mary Magdelen are very common,” said Elizabeth. “If we really do have to visit every church, how will we know when we find the right one?”
“I’ll know,” said Rebecca, remembering Pedro Villela’s instructions.
The snow was still falling lightly and it provided some illumination, especially when the moon peeked out from behind the clouds. The three of them got out of the car.
“I don’t suppose anyone thought to bring a flashlight,” said Rebecca as she started edging towards the old building. “It’s going to be pitch black inside.”
Elizabeth stopped and went back to the car, pulling a small flashlight from the glove compartment and then walked quickly back to where Ryan and Rebecca were waiting.
“I noticed it when we picked up the car,” she said breathlessly. “It must have been part of the rental package.”
When they got to the archway of what appeared to be the side entrance, Ryan saw a long piece of plywood lying under a bench and he picked it up.
“Let’s see if I can get this lit,” he said, “then we’ll have a torch to use for our search. Just like the old Egyptian archaeologists.”
“Very funny Ryan,” said Rebecca. “Believe me, this isn’t a joke”
“Okay, okay,” he answered as he held a lighter against the wood.
“Hey, it’s lit,” he exulted after several minutes of trying.
“Elizabeth, you come with me this way and I’ll take the torch,” he said as the three of them walked inside. “Rebecca, you take the flashlight and look down there. This wood should burn for a while. We’ll call if we find something”
The concrete floors were filled with puddles and the dank smell of beer and urine were pervasive.
This place must be what the inside of a crypt is like, thought Rebecca as she slowly edged her way down the corridor. Please don’t let there be any rats, she prayed silently as she aimed the flashlight along the edge of the wall.
Ryan and Elizabeth headed in the opposite direction. They nearly fell over a couple of smashed crates that were lying in the middle of the floor. The wood was covered with some kind of black grease and Ryan ran his finger along the edge.
“Smells like the stuff used to do oil changes on trucks,” he said. “Or on motorcycles. Maybe that’s how they took the stuff out of here; on motorcycles.”
“Not very likely,” said Elizabeth, trying to envision Santino’s men riding motorcycles. An involuntary smile came on her face. “But we’d better be more careful where we walk. I wouldn’t want to fall down into this…whatever it is on the ground.”
Off to the side was a door marked “Receiving” and the two of them headed towards it.
“I wonder if it’s locked,” mumbled Ryan as he tried the knob. It didn’t turn. He took a few steps back and turned his shoulder as he lunged at the door with his full weight. It fell off its hinges with a loud crack and crashed to the floor. Both of them jumped. Ryan then waved the torch around the doorway before he gingerly stepped inside. Elizabeth stayed right behind him.
There was a desk and two chairs in the room and off to the side, by a window that was covered in bars, another large wooden crate. This one was still intact and twice as big as the ones in the corridor.
“I’m not sure that one could hold a statue of Mary Magdalene,” said Elizabeth, “but let’s look inside anyhow.”
On the other side of the station, Rebecca had only gone about twenty yards when she tripped over something and fell onto the cold floor, jarring her back.
“Ouch,” was the only word she uttered before she was pulled to her feet, a gloved hand over her mouth and an arm around her throat.
“Keep your mouth shut,” whispered the voice in her ear. “Or you’re dead.”
I am a careless, stupid, jerk, she thought to herself. I should know better. This guy must have parked at the turn in the road and walked. The burning wood and flashlight would have given him a clear view.
He was pulling her backwards, keeping one hand over her mouth and his other arm around her neck.
“Hey, there’s two more of them down there on the other side,” whispered the voice to someone obviously close by.
“Have you got a silencer on your gun?” The second voice was sick-eningly familiar to Rebecca.
“Yah,” was the answer.
Rebecca’s eyes were growing accustomed to the dark as she was dragged into a glassed-in room, or at least it had once been glass before vandals had smashed it in. She could see the other man standing off in the corner, peering towards the opposite direction where Ryan and Elizabeth had gone. Giancarlo Brattini!
Here to do his own dirty work, she thought, or at least to superviseit.
“Hey Rebecca!” shouted Ryan, his voice echoing off the cement walls. “Where are you?”
When the man holding her inadvertently turned towards the sound, Rebecca twisted her head and pulled his hand off her mouth.
“Run! Ry…” she screamed as loudly as she could. A fist came down on her face.
Yuck, she thought, hearing a crack before she felt the blood pouring from her nose. Her knees buckled and as she started to fall, she pulled out the gun from inside her pants and rolled over on her back when she hit the cement floor. She fired quickly in the hope of at least wounding her assailant before Brattini had a chance to react.
The man fell with a thud, clutching his knee and screaming in pain as Rebecca immediately turned the gun towards Brattini and fired again. She wondered why she felt a searing pain in her chest before she heard the gun’s roar.
Gee, I hope Ryan and Elizabeth get away, she thought as she slipped into unconsciousness, the shadowy figure of Giancarlo Brattini looming over her.
Chapter 20
They both heard the gunshots seconds after Rebecca’s warning cry. Ryan pushed Elizabeth down against the wall, smothering the light from his torch, and went running towards the sound. Elizabeth got up and quickly followed. In the distance, she saw one man dragging another outside towards a van parked down the road.
When she reached Rebecca, Elizabeth cringed when she saw her lying in a pool of blood, the flashlight she had been carrying still on next to her, and the gun still in her hand.
Think, think, think! Elizabeth willed herself as she fought the panic engulfing her. What would Santino do?
“We’ve got to get her to a hospital Ryan.”
Elizabeth was calm and controlled as she leaned over to stroke Rebecca’s face and listen for her breathing. She wrapped her coat around the unconscious woman and pried the gun out of her hand, slipping it into her own pocket. Then she helped Ryan carry Rebecca’s limp body outside to their rented car.
Elizabeth got into the back seat and held Rebecca’s head on her lap. Ryan pulled away along the broken roadway, keeping the headlights on dim. Elizabeth went through Elizabeth’s pockets to make sure that there was no identification or money on her.
“Ryan, this has to look like a mugging,” she said to the back of his head. He nodded in agreement.
“Hang on, Rebecca,” whispered Elizabeth, leaning down. “You can make it. Don’t give up—think of Lisa”
There was a flashing blue hospital sign off in the distance and Ryan quickly drove towards it. When they were a block away, Elizabeth said, “Ryan, we’ve got to drop her off and leave quickly. Otherwise, there will be too many questions.”
He stopped the car in front of a phone booth.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “What’s another black face in this area? For sure no one will remember what I look like. You get out here and wait inside the phone booth for me. Close the folding door and keep your knee pressed against it in case someone happens by. I’ll circle the block after I drop Rebecca at the emergency entrance to make sure no one is watching and then I’ll come back for you.”
“What about the car’s license plate?” asked Elizabeth.
“Paid in cash—phoney drivers license and name,” he answered.
In less than ten minutes, Ryan was back, and by the time the two of them found their way to Donna Brattini’s apartment, it was almost two o’clock in the morning.
Elizabeth gave an edited explanation to Donna of what had happened. She was still in control, her voice measured, her words to the point, but Ryan had started to breathe a little heavily. With no comments, Donna called her friend Dr. Jake Rosen who promised to go right to the hospital. The three of them then sat down and waited in silence.
