Page 7 of Final Reckoning

4

Deadly Plans

December 2, evening

Santiago’s familyis back home. He prefers his men to stay out of sight as much as possible when the wife and kids are around, the better to pretend he’s just a normal businessman. That’s why I’m leaning against a table, waiting for him, in one of the guesthouses on the compound.

When he comes in a few minutes later, it’s to slam the door and let loose a stream of profanity. “Those fucking Adamos. I’ve had it with them.”

Years of practice keep my face blank. “What have they done now?”

He throws himself into a chair. “The police have just arrested my man up there. Oman.”

That would be Zachary Oman, street name Zoma, who runs Santiago’s drug operation back in my hometown. If Oman wanted to, he could share enough to get his boss pulled in for questioning, but it’s not likely he’ll say anything. Anyone who turns on Santiago comes to an unpleasant end.

“He won’t talk,” I say.

“No, he is not stupid. But they’ve disrupted the whole operation. I’m losing money.”

He has more than most people already, but it’s never enough. Anyway, for him it’s more about ego, which he proves with his next words. “They think they’re big men, those Adamos, that they can stop me from running my business. I’ll show them who they’re dealing with.”

I pretend to think about it. “They’re smart enough to be cautious,” I say after a few moments. “Otherwise they would have come after you you already.”

“But not smart enough to deal with me honestly. I can’t let them get away with what they’ve already done; it would make me look weak. I must strike first, deal them a decisive blow that will dissuade anyone else having similar thoughts.”

My scalp tightens. “What do you have in mind?”

“You know the ending of Godfather II.”

The sequence where Al Pacino has all his enemies wiped out, while attending a baptismal service to alibi himself. “Of course,” I force myself to say.

“Christmas Eve, while I’m attending church with my family, we’ll hit them all at once. Take out as many as we can – not just the men, but their children and their women, especially those Callahan cunts. Any survivors will be too devastated to respond.”

The prospect of him taking out a hit on Quinn and her sisters has me seriously contemplating putting a bullet in Santiago’s brain right here and now. “Some of them have pretty good security,” I say finally, giving no hint of the icy rage building inside me.

“I’m bringing in rocket launchers. We’ll leave their homes in rubble.”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. “That would not allow even a small measure of stealth,” I point out. “And would be certain to provoke a strong law enforcement response.”

He snorts. “The police are as foolish as the Adamos. They like to think they run things. If a group of mercenaries comes into the state, rains down destruction, and slips away again before so-called law enforcement knows what happened, there’s not a damn thing they can do about it.”

Bruno Santiago is intelligent, urbane, and sophisticated. He’s also a psychopath. Human life means less than nothing to him.

He’s ruthless enough to do exactly what he’s talking about. Not to mention crazy enough. And there’s really no way for the cops to prepare for batshit insanity. He’d be right about them being caught off guard ... except for me.

“What time is the church service?”

“Starts at eleven, ends at midnight.”

“No one will expect a massive assault at that hour. Not on Christmas Eve.”

“Exactly. They’ll be asleep, or busy with their own preparations. Same for the police.”

I nod thoughtfully. “Makes sense. Anything you need from me?” I’m defense, not offense, but asking is the professional thing to do.

“No,” he says. “We’ll go alone to church.” No bodyguards, the better to maintain his law-abiding persona. “Nothing will be happening here. You can tune in to the news and hear all about it.”

“All right.” I’ve never pretended to be bloodthirsty with Santiago, only businesslike, so I don’t have to feign pleasure at his plans to slaughter my family. “Anything else?”

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