Trapped in his End Game (Series)

We need to lure Jack to a place we are certain isn’t bugged by the feds. It’s not that easy to deceive a boss as wily as Jack, but Vince has the strongest rapport with him. He’s his fucking underboss. Everyone crowds his apartment-all of his captains are on board, even Nicky, who seems to have taken Jack’s betrayal as a personal insult.

“When I get my hands on that motherfucking liar-”

Vince stands at the center of it all, watching his phone for a response. I sigh to myself and turn toward the massive windows in his apartment overlooking Manhattan.

“What?”

I turn around, crossing my arms as everyone falls silent. “He knows that we’re on to him. That’s why he’s not picking up the phone.”

“Can’t we trace it?”

“It’s going straight to voicemail.” Vince lowers his arm, seething. “Damn it, I want to get this done quickly.”

Shit. None of us can afford to allow Jack to skip town, not while he knows as much as he does. “We should get the word out on the street.”

The air stills as all of us suddenly become aware that we’re plotting the demise of the don, the strongest man of the hierarchy. Then I look at Vince curiously. He’s acted as a boss figure for so long that all of the men accepted the transition with hardly a hiccup, but he looks different to me now. It’s strange.

“Get out there and find him.”

Together we leave his apartment and return to our cars. I dig in my pocket for my keys as I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Tommy, want to team up?”

He looks reluctant to drive off by himself in search of the man who, after all, made all of us into what we are today. I nod my head and he joins me in the car. It roars beneath my feet and I look at Joe’s impassive face.

“I have no idea where to look for him.”

He speaks with that slow, calming cadence. “He’s probably in their protection by now.”

“Fuck.”

I decide to head first to the deli. As unlikely as it is that he’s there, I still feel determined to search every possible corner. We walk through the place, even checking the freezers, but he’s not there. It’s one place we can scratch off our list. I briefly debate visiting his home in the Hamptons, but I can’t believe Jack would be stupid enough to be there.

The city rolls by my windows, neither of us very hopeful as we check place to place. I even drive by his house, fighting every instinct I have not to. Nothing is there as far as I can tell. There’s only one possible option I can think of.

The old house where I kept Melanie.

It’s safe, secluded, plenty of places to hide hired guns. They’ll be able to see us coming. We drive for nearly half an hour until I reach it, parking a half mile down the road just as a precaution.

“This is fucking stupid. He won’t be here.”

“You never know,” he keeps saying.

We’re fucking sitting ducks surrounded by all this white snow. We might as well have signs around our necks: Shoot me! We head for the tree line, tromping through snow, our breaths misting the air. Then I grab the binoculars in my pocket and train them on the windows. Jack wouldn’t be dumb enough to sit near a window, which is too bad.

It’s dark inside the house, but my heart leaps when I see several forms shifting in front of the glass. “There are people there.”

Could be squatters.

Or it could be him.

Do I call Vincent and ask him to come here, even though it could be a complete waste of his time?

I decide to sneak in from the back. There are huge piles of snow in that area, and fewer windows. Still, it’s fucking dangerous.

“I need you to watch the windows with me while we’re walking. If you see any movement, shoot.”

He looks uncomfortable. “We don’t even know who we’re shooting at.”

“Hey, if you want to take a chance, do it. But I sure as shit won’t.”

The more my legs freeze from the snow as we walk, the more I’m convinced that this is a stupid idea. Jack won’t have come here. Still, I keep my gun trained on those windows, wishing I brought a rifle with me-something good for long distance. At least we’re moving under the cover of darkness, but the snow beneath us shines under the moonlight like powdered glass. It’s beautiful, really.

We stop every few yards to carefully cycle through each window and then we pick up our feet again. Monotonous.

Joe turns his head. “Do you think-?”

I never hear what exactly Joe thinks. A loud bang blows a fist-sized chunk into the tree right next to Joe’s head.

“Jesus!”

We both dive for the cover of the tree, hissing as bullets zip past our heads. I dive into my pants for my phone and it slips right out, sinking into two feet of snow.

“FUCK!”

Joe’s on the phone already, screaming for Vince to get over here. His widened eyes tell me what I already know, that it doesn’t matter if Vince leaves now. We’ll both be dead long before he arrives. I look around for a better hiding spot, but there isn’t one.

“Let’s just go,” he says. “We wait until he reloads and then we run as fucking fast as we can toward the house.”

My heartbeat is so frantic that it sends dizzy spells to my head. “Are you crazy? We’re open season out here!”

“So what?”

I wonder if he has a death wish when there’s a brief lull in shooting, and he sprints in the house’s direction without another word from me. Huge holes blow in the snow next to him. He’s fucking crazy.

And so am I.

I take off after him, fully expecting to be gunned down, but the shots are wider and wider, and then we crash into the side of the house. We look into each other’s wild faces, breathing hard. I can’t believe I’m alive.

“If you make it out of this and I don’t, will you tell my wife-”

“Damn it, Joe. Don’t start with that shit.”

He nods and draws his gun across his chest. We sweep around the perimeter and decide to go in through the kitchen. Joe sends a huge rock flying through one of the windows and then we both charge inside, ducking behind the kitchen island. Huge blasts slam into the wood, knocking chunks off. Shotguns. Fuck.

Joe peers around the corner, firing as I reveal myself over the island. The shooter’s bulky form hides behind the kitchen counter. I hit him right in the side and he goes down, screaming.

One down.

We advance along the kitchen, our weapons sweeping every open room.

“I think they’re all upstairs,” Joe says in a hushed voice.

I’m really reluctant to charge up the stairs where it’s almost certain we’ll be gunned down. I fire my gun into the man’s chest, killing him instantly, and I kick him over with my foot. Dull red hair peeks from a cap on his head, and I smirk to myself at the irony. He hired the Irish to protect him.

Fucking scumbag.

Boots crack the wooden floorboards overhead, and I aim my gun at the sounds. Joe mimics my movement, laughing to himself. Could it work? Gunshots crack the air as we fire into the ceiling. At least one man screams and I know we got someone. The footsteps thunder across the ceiling and then a man appears at the top of the stairs with a semiautomatic.

I shove Joe into an adjacent room as he blazes the kitchen with gunfire, granite flying from the counters, dishes crashing, holes tearing into the wall. I grab the Uzi hidden in my jacket and fire back in his general direction, blood churning in my ears. Staying in the room is a death sentence, and I’m preparing to leap out, but Joe grabs the back of my jacket just as bullets slam into the threshold. He crashes against the wall with a cry as the gun falls limp from his hand.

Shit.

I return fire in the shooter’s general direction, but it’s becoming clear that we’re outnumbered and we’ve boxed ourselves in this fucking room.

Joe struggles to use his other arm to fight back, to grab the gun-and suddenly a hard punch smashes into my shoulder, and then another. My body crashes to the wooden floorboards, my eyes finding Joe’s, which look as tired as I feel.

Fuck, don’t die. Think about Melanie. You promised her, asshole.

I raise my gun, aiming for the blurry form in front of me. Crack. He falls to the ground. I shoot again, pulling the trigger like I’m playing a video game. I keep shooting, I-

Darkness. I’m floating in a pool of black, and it’s cold. So cold I can feel it inside my chest, inside the very walls of my heart. Where am I?

No response.

Is this death, then?

Thump, thump, thump.

Ouch. I feel it on my back. A hard thing slamming into my shoulders, then back, then legs. It rolls down me.

Shouting and then sharp blows to my face.

“Wake up, you fuck!”

The sound of that voice makes my eyes fly open. Jack.

He stands in front of me with a shotgun in his hand, looking down at me with a savage fury. “Do they fucking know I’m here? Huh?”

They must have dragged me upstairs. We’re in the bedroom, but the bed is pushed against the opposite wall. I see three other guys surrounding me, but I don’t see Joe. A panic fills my chest. “Where’s Joe?”

“He’s downstairs,” Jack says in an uncharacteristic show of remorse. “Not doing too good.”Belonging to NôvelDrama.Org.

Oh Jesus.

“Call an ambulance,” I force through my mouth.

“I can’t.”

A cold horror robs me of the little warmth I’ve left. Joe took those bullets for me, even though he never liked me much, and now it sounds like he’s in bad shape. It’s my fault. We shouldn’t have rushed the house. I should have stopped him. I try moving my fingers, but they barely twitch. Shit.

Jack’s face creases with sadness. “I never wanted this, Tommy.”

Yeah, right. You’d do anything to save your own ass.

“Cocksucker.”

His breath billows over my face as he laughs. “Did you call Vince?”

I decide my best chance for survival is to delay the answer to that question for as long as possible. Joe’s incapacitated, and I can barely move. It’s not looking good for me.

“How could you look me in the eye and tell me to get rid of her, when you’ve been doing the same thing all along?”

“I never gave up anyone who wasn’t going down anyway.”

My chest shakes with laughter, making me wince. “You’re so full of shit. After all that harping on omerta. Fuck you!”

Pain briefly flashes over Jack’s face. “I was facing over twenty-five years, and I’m an old man. I’ve no intention of dying in prison.”

“Don’t you understand, Jack? You’re already dead.”

Movement downstairs distracts me from the throbbing pains in my shoulder. They must be here. With another pang, I think of Joe downstairs and a fresh wave of grief makes me squeeze my eyes shut.

“What are you waiting for?” he barks at them. “Move!”

They scurry out the door like cockroaches and large blasts rock the floor I’m sitting on. It’s hard against my back, and wetness pools around my shoulder. Every movement releases a wave of agony through my joints. It’s a sharp, piercing pain accompanied by a throbbing. I lift my head up, and everything swims. I just want to let my eyes roll up in my head.

Just sleep.

Melanie’s face suddenly burns in my mind, and I somehow manage to roll on my side. Jesus, my shoulder. I almost pass out from the pain. Jack sits on the edge of the bed, his 20-gauge aimed at the door.

“Jack, it’s over. Just put the gun down.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses. “If Vince comes in here, I’ll blow your head off.”

I laugh hollowly. “You think he cares about some half mick?”

Shouts from down the hallway make Jack tighten his grip around his gun. Suddenly the smell of flowers floats over my nose and I turn my head. There’s something tickling my face. Melanie hangs her head over mine, her dark curls brushing my lips. I smile at her. What the hell is she doing here?

Get up.

She mouths the words and I bend my abdomen, sinking back down as pain stabs sharply through my body. Jesus, that’s intense. Looking down, I see a small, dark hole through my shirt. Fuck. My head hits the floor and she gives me another encouraging smile. Her hair. I raise my left hand and a strand slips through my fingers.

“JACK!”

The door hammers and Jack tenses on the bed, raising the gun.

“Don’t come in!”

Vince was never one to listen to sense.

The door flies open and the shotgun blast rips into the banister. Jack pumps out the shell and it rolls in my direction. “If you don’t throw your gun in here, I’ll kill Tommy.”

“Vince, just kill the bastard!”

“Shut up!”

My heart stalls in my chest when Vince slowly edges into the doorway, his hands held high. He spares a glance at me, and what little color there is in his face drains away.

“What are you doing?”

He ignores my voice and steps in the room, looking at Jack on the bed with his lip curled in disgust. “There’s nowhere to go, Jack.”

“Like hell there isn’t.”

Once Vince walks in front of my view, I notice the pistol tucked into his back. His hands lower slightly.

Don’t do it, you psycho. Jack’s shotgun will cut you in half before you can draw it!

But at the sight of him, Jack seems to lose his nerve. He lowers the gun a fraction of an inch.

“How could you do this to us?”

“I couldn’t go to jail and not be there for my grandkids. You’re not a father yet, you don’t know what it’s like-”

“We’re supposed to put the family above everything else. Isn’t that what you told me?”

He lifts his head. “There will come a time when you’ll have to make a choice like I did, son. Either way, it’ll rip you apart.”

“Don’t call me son. Right now, all I want to know is what you fucking told them.”

The blood soaking from my wounds into the floorboards makes me lose concentration on their conversation. My head lolls on the wood, and I see Melanie’s beaming face again. Wow, I must have lost a lot of blood. Suddenly it’s the most hilarious thought I’ve ever had, and I laugh. Jack’s face turns toward me. Vince uses the split-second distraction to reach behind his back, but Jack’s shotgun only needs to lift toward his chest.

Gunshots seem to crack through my skull as the room splits in half with the harsh sounds. Jack’s chest jumps as Vince empties his revolver into Jack’s body, the shotgun flying from his grip. Then a battered Joe appears at the doorway, his face twisted. He limps into the room, ignoring Vince’s orders for him to sit down and take it easy. His arm lifts and Jack’s bleeding, torn body jumps with another volley of gunshots.

My delirious ass still laughs louder than ever as dark-red holes pepper Jack’s white t-shirt like Swiss cheese. His mouth goes slack and he collapses to the floor. Joe spits on him.

“Tommy, are you-?”

“How much blood has he lost?”

“I dunno. I thought you were worse off.”

“Nah. When Jack came in I just acted like I was.”

I open my eyes, but the shapes and colors are too blurry, so I shut them again. My body jostles somewhat in the moving car, and someone slaps my cheeks.

“Stay with me, Tommy.”

“Who?” is the only thing I manage to get out of my lips.

“It’s me, Vince. Tommy, you need to stay awake. I’m going to have you made as soon as you’re better-”

Like I care about that right now.

“You have to stay alive for your girl-Melanie.”

What little blood that’s left in my body pounds hard when he mentions her name. He’s absolutely right. Suddenly I’m picked up and I find it hard to untangle the shouting and jostling. My back hits something flat and soft, and then I’m speeding away in the cold. The icy wind ripping over my face and the swift movement of my body remind me of sledding, which I did as a boy, and my lips pull.

Back into warmth, and a sterile, dry smell that makes me want to retch. Hospital. They say things to me that I can barely understand. I pick up the words “gunshot” and “surgery” but I have only one to give them: “Melanie.”

“What’s her number? We’ll call her.”

I start to give it to them, but I can’t remember and then a sharp pain pierces my inner elbow, and then I know nothing.