What the hell do I do now? Joe will assume I’ve called the FBI despite his warnings not to involve the cops. Then what? Bobby’s already dead. If they haven’t killed my daughter yet, they will now. “Jesus God,” I groan before I pound the table with both fists. “Fuck. Fuck! Fuck!”
Jake’s eyes pop wide open. “Tony?”
My eyes touch on his as my mind careens wildly in search of a solution, seeking anything solid to grasp onto. God, this is all so fucked up! What should I have done differently?
Jake leans across the table and grabs my forearm. “Get a grip, Tony!”
My eyes finally focus on his face. His lips are moving, but no sound seems to be coming out. Should I tell him everything? Jake’s proven himself to me time and again, but Joe will surely find out if I talk to him. I know he will. Then he’ll kill Brittany if he hasn’t already.
“The FBI can throw resources at this that I can only dream about,” Jake is explaining when the roaring in my skull abates enough for me to tune him in again. “They have more bodies, more technology, more of everything. If anyone is going to bring Brittany home safely, it’s the FBI.”
Do I drop everything in Jake’s lap?
He inches right up to the edge of the table and stares hard at me until he’s sure he has my full attention. “No holding anything back when the FBI get here, Tony,” he says firmly. “They’ll have a much better shot at bringing her home safely if they know everything.”
That’s probably true, but.
Jake gets out of his chair and walks around the table to kneel beside me, then grasps my shoulders, turns me square to him, and gets right in my face. “You’re making a big mistake holding things back from us, Tony. A big mistake.”
I stare back into his eyes. So, he’s figured me out. Not the details, of course, but he knows I’m keeping secrets. I look away and sigh heavily. He allows me ten seconds to come clean. Then his patience runs dry.
“What the hell’s going on?” he asks sharply. “A teenage boy is dead, and you still think you can manage this on your own?”
His outburst is like a slap in the face. My eyes refocus on his. Anger and exasperation are there, yes, but compassion and concern are present, too. And fear. Our eyes remain locked for a few long seconds before my resistance evaporates in a huge, shuddering sigh. Apparently recognizing that he’s broken me, Jake walks back around the table and resumes his seat. He folds his hands on the table and listens intently while I tell him about Joe. I leave nothing out.
“That’s everything?” he asks when I stop talking.
I nod, feeling as if I’ve just wrestled a massive anvil off my chest. He walks me through it all again with notebook in hand while he takes copious notes.
“Jesus H. Christ,” he mutters angrily after we finish. He thinks things through for a minute or two, then visibly relaxes and catches my eye. “I’ll make sure the FBI gets this pronto, Tony. This is information we can act on immediately.”
“Okay,” I mumble.
“Where did this Joe guy sit when he was here?”
“Papa’s La-Z-Boy.”
“Which you’ve been sitting on every day since?”
I nod.
“Did he touch anything else? A glass maybe?”
“He had a glass of bourbon the first time he showed up.”
“Where’s the glass?”
“I ran it through the dishwasher with everything else,” I reply sheepishly.
He nods without comment, then his eyes drift to the front door. “Have you seen anyone watching the house?”
I shake my head. “Not for lack of trying.”
“How about when you’re out and about? Anyone tailing you?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
“This Joe guy has you spooked, huh?”
“Damned right he does, Jake. He’s got my daughter. He killed Bobby, for Christ’s sake!”
Jake holds his hands up. “He’s a gangster, man. Scum. You should be afraid of the guy, Tony, but here’s the thing. He’s just a fucking gangster. He’s not Superman. He can’t be everywhere at once, and the Lucianos don’t have the manpower to keep watch on anyone twenty-four-seven, let alone someone like you.”
“So, I shouldn’t worry about surveillance?”
Jake sighs. “Yeah, you should, but don’t think they’ve got you staked out around the clock the way cops would.”
“Should I have the house checked for bugs?”
He thinks on that a moment, then shakes his head. “That’s not really their style. It’s a lot tougher to do that effectively than people seem to think, but I’ll send someone by to check if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll send a fingerprint technician out to dust around the La-Z-Boy. You never know… sometimes we get lucky.”
Of course, the chances of getting lucky would be far better if I’d had my wits about me that first night.
Jake closes his notebook and stuffs it into an inside pocket of his suit jacket. “Time for me to go to work,” he announces as he gets to his feet. Then he levels a finger at me. “And time for you to get some sleep. You’re already dead on your feet. You’ll be no help to anyone if you don’t get some rest.”
“I can’t sleep while Brittany is somewhere out there,” I say weakly while throwing a wave toward the window.
“What you can and will do is get some damned sleep. You’re not thinking straight, man. I’ll send a uniform to sit on the house and make sure nobody surprises you while you rest.”
I doubt I’ll sleep a wink, but I’m too tired to argue the point. “What will you be doing?” I ask as he slips his coat on.
“Trying to figure out who the hell this Joe character is.”
“How?” I ask doubtfully while trailing him to the door. “It’s a great big world out there.”
“Those Luciano fucks are behind AAA Avgas,” he tells me as he opens the inside door and pauses with his hand resting on the screen-door handle. “We’ll pull hard at the Luciano thread.
