PROLOGUE
Mitch’s heart was beating so hard he was certain anyone looking at him would see it pounding as if trying to break free from its cavity within his body. But he was more concerned with the sound it was making. His pulse was so loud in his own head he was sure the men down the hall, the men who were seeking to take his life, could hear it as well. Another drop of sweat trickled into his eye. He brushed it away, curing both the slight sting and the blurriness to his vision it caused. He couldn’t afford anything hampering his senses at this crucial moment in his life.
He couldn’t hear the men, but he knew they were there. Time was on their side and they could afford to wait. And wait they would. They would be patient in hopes Mitch would make some costly error which would betray his whereabouts. Then, and only then, would they close in for the kill.
He squeezed his eyes shut hard, the sweat stinging them once more. He tried to envision the layout of the warehouse which he was afraid was going to become his place of execution. He had been here only a handful of times before. Once for a major drug deal, another for the purchase of weapons and a third time for the torture of an informant who had made a major blunder and been discovered. As he crouched in a doorway only feet from where that torture had occurred, he thought he could hear the echoes of the man’s screams careening off the cavernous walls of the mostly empty building. He wondered if anyone would remember his screams after this night was over.
Mitch wasn’t an informant. Mitch was a cop. A cop who went deep undercover eight months ago and managed to infiltrate Tommy Pergossi’s operation of illegal activities. Now, Tommy’s main muscle, Bruno Carelli and Tony Valenzia were somewhere in the warehouse with Mitch. Seeking him out. Not to present him with expressions of admiration from their boss. No, they were there to deliver a bullet to his head with which to silence him forever.
What Mitch couldn’t understand was what had gone wrong. His cover had been exquisite. He wracked his brain to think of something he had done or said that would have tipped Tommy off to his real identity – but no answer came. His cover was so deep that only two people in the local police department knew his true identity and purpose, one being the Chief of Police himself. So he couldn’t have been ratted out by some rogue cop on Tommy’s payroll. But someone had tipped Tommy off. Who was it?
He was suddenly startled as a couple of pigeons which had been pecking at the loose seed scattered on the floor of the warehouse were disturbed – most likely by Bruno or Tony. They were getting close. Mitch knew he had to move. He had to find some way of escape. He began to creep along the wall, making every effort to remain in the shadows. He came to a staircase and his immediate inclination was to climb the stairs. But that was a mistake people running from others often made. They would climb until there was nowhere else to go. Then they would be trapped. Mitch was not going to make it that easy for Bruno and Tony. So he made his way past the stairs and continued his path on the ground floor.
Someone brushed against a lead pipe with their shoe on the far side of the building opposite from Mitch. The metallic sound it made as it rolled a few inches gave Mitch a bearing on at least one of his pursuers. They were staying close to the main entrance of the facility, effectively eliminating that possible route of escape from Mitch. From his earlier visits to this place he knew the doors at the sides and rear of the warehouse had been welded shut from the inside in order to provide the security Tommy desired as he conducted his business here without fear of, shall we say, unwanted interruptions. Mitch looked around for some other egress from the building and saw a light from one of the outdoor security lamps spilling through a small window of what was once an office cubicle on the warehouse floor. The window had been blackened so no one could see inside. The paint covering the window had several scratches in it, large enough to allow the light Mitch saw to bleed through. He carefully made his way in that direction, a plan beginning to form in his mind. He knew his chances of survival increased dramatically if he could make his way outside. He realized even if the window had not been welded shut like the doors, at the very least it would be painted shut or would be difficult to open noiselessly due to years of non-use. His only hope of getting out was to do it quickly – to simply burst through the window to freedom.
He successfully made his way to the cubicle, entered and climbed on an abandoned desk. He checked the window now in front of him. Sure enough, it had been painted shut. Fortunately, it was large enough for him to dive through, so without any more thought, that is exactly what he did.
When he hit the pavement outside, he rolled. He could feel the pain of the resulting road rash and the slashes the shards of glass made on his exposed arms and face. However, Mitch knew he had not broken any limbs or otherwise seriously injured himself. He came up to a crouching position facing the open window through which he had just come. He heard shouts emanating from within the building and the pounding of feet as Bruno and Tony ran in the direction of the shattering glass. Mitch jumped and began to run, attempting to get his bearings as he did so. His escape to the right was cut off by a wind og the building which housed the loading docks. A ten foot high fence rimmed with coiled razor wire loomed a couple of hundred feet in front of him. That forced him to veer to his left, back toward the front of the warehouse. As he ran, he heard the screech of tires. Suddenly, he was bathed in the glowing headlights of Tommy’s Mercedes. As the car came to a halt, the front doors opened simultaneously and two other guards from Tommy’s personal army stepped out, weapons trained on Mitch. Then the back door opened and out stepped Tommy Pergossi. Behind him, Mitch heard the labored breathing of Bruno and Tony as they finally caught up with their prey.
Back inside the warehouse Mitch sat on a cold metal folding chair. Tommy wasn’t concerned with his comfort, which along with the chair was evidenced by the heavy cords which manacled Mitch’s wrists behind his back and the streaks of blood making their way down his face from his nose and mouth.
“Mitch, Mitch,” Tommy began. He was slowly shaking his head and using the tone of voice a disappointed parent might employ as they begin to lecture their wayward child. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted by you. No one has ever managed to fool me like this before, like you have. So, I ought to tell you that I’m impressed. But now that I know why you’re here, now that I know you want to destroy me, well, I’m hurt. Mitch, I took you in, just like a son. I fed you, clothed you, provided you with the things most men dream of. And now I find the whole time you’ve been playing the role of Judas?”
“You’re no Jesus Christ, that’s for sure,” Mitch managed to say through swollen lips.
A fist slammed hard into the side of his face. “Don’t talk to the boss like that,” hissed Bruno. “Unless of course you enjoy the pain it brings.”
Mitch spit out some more blood. “I’m just speaking my mind, since I doubt you’ll be letting me do that much longer.”
“Oh yes, you are quite right about that,” Tommy chuckled. “We can’t have you running back to the prosecutor and telling him what you know now, can we? But Mitch, there are a few things I need to know before we say good-bye. How much information about my organization have you already passed on?”
“You know where you can go,” responded Mitch. This time the blow knocked him out the chair.
As Bruno and Tony grabbed him under the arms and muscled him back into the chair, Tommy spoke again. “Yes, I didn’t imagine you would be very forthcoming with information on your own free will. I figured you would probably need some, shall we say, persuading.” With that, Tommy nodded to Tony who produced a large hunting knife. Singlehandedly, Bruno picked up Mitch, along with the chair, and moved him several feet, placing him at another abandoned desk. The knife sliced through the bonds imprisoning Mitch’s wrists. Bruno grabbed one of Mitch’s arms, almost wrenching the shoulder from its socket. He placed Mitch’s hand on the table, palm up, and before Mitch even had time to consider what was happening, Tony brought the knife down quickly, severing the pinky finger of Mitch’s hand.
At first there was no pain, just blood. Then Mitch’s screams made it obvious to all the pain had come.
The torture went on. Bones were broken, other fingers were severed as was one of Mitch’s ears. Eventually Mitch told them everything they wanted to know – then he died, the echoes of his screams joining with those of others who had met a similar fate in that cavernous structure.
It was only after Mitch’s death and after Tommy had dismissed everyone but Bruno and Tony that another figure emerged from the shadows. “Did he know about me,” asked the man?
“No. I really don’t think he was able to hide anything from us. You saw it. He babbled like a baby there at the end. No, if your cover was blown, I think he would have spilled it,” Tommy said confidently.
“That’s good now, isn’t it,” said the man still in the shadows. “It wouldn’t do for a prominent civic leader, especially one who is so outspoken against organized crime, to be discovered as a full partner with one of the city’s most notorious underground criminals. We couldn’t have that all,” he chuckled. “Now what are we going to do,” the mystery man asked as he toyed with the large ring on the pinky finger of his right hand?
“I think I’m going to send a message to that police chief friend of ours. A not so subtle one to warn him of the dangers of messing with my business,” Tommy responded.
Desk Sergeant Mary Factor was celebrating her birthday. Well, in reality, she was trying to ignore it but her “friends” at the station weren’t going to let that happen. Gifts were piled on a table near the desk. It was quiet in the station so they cajoled her into opening them. After all, the giver of a gag gift derives his or her greatest satisfaction when he can actually witness the reaction of his victim. Hoots and hollers and raucous laughter went up once again as she opened another gift wrapped in black. After holding the bottle of prune juice for all to see, Mary reached for a medium sized box that was, unlike the others, wrapped in pretty paper and adorned with a large red bow. She shook it and heard something rattling. “Well, at least I know now it won’t blow up in my face,” she quipped. She ripped off the paper and tore open the top of the box. Her eyes grew wide and she opened her mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. Her friends remained silent for a moment then began to prod her to let them in on the surprise. As they watched her, they saw the color drain from her face. One of the young rookies who was nearby said, “Oh come on now, let us all in on it.” He stepped around the table to pick up the box and have a look for himself. It took him only a moment to glance inside the box. He quickly turned from the table and started to run for the restroom, only to vomit after taking only a few steps.
By this time, Mary had her hands to her own mouth, stifling the sobs that were attempting to break through her shock. Tears had already filled her eyes. One of the veteran detectives grabbed her by the shoulders and passed her to his partner, another woman with several years of police work under her belt. The first detective looked into the box and muttered, “Oh my God. Someone get the Captain.”
Inside the Captain’s office, with the box lying on newspaper centered on the desk, a detective using a gloved hand reached inside the box and retrieved a bloodstained note. He read it out loud.
“This is what happens to those who eavesdrop on others, stick their fingers where they do not belong and put their hands in places where they have no business.”
As those around the table looked inside the box they saw the rotting remains of a severed ear, three fingers, a severed hand and a picture of a now dead undercover cop by the name of Mitch Terrilli.
Mitch’s heart was beating so hard he was certain anyone looking at him would see it pounding as if trying to break free from its cavity within his body. But he was more concerned with the sound it was making. His pulse was so loud in his own head he was sure the men down the hall, the men who were seeking to take his life, could hear it as well. Another drop of sweat trickled into his eye. He brushed it away, curing both the slight sting and the blurriness to his vision it caused. He couldn’t afford anything hampering his senses at this crucial moment in his life.
He couldn’t hear the men, but he knew they were there. Time was on their side and they could afford to wait. And wait they would. They would be patient in hopes Mitch would make some costly error which would betray his whereabouts. Then, and only then, would they close in for the kill.
He squeezed his eyes shut hard, the sweat stinging them once more. He tried to envision the layout of the warehouse which he was afraid was going to become his place of execution. He had been here only a handful of times before. Once for a major drug deal, another for the purchase of weapons and a third time for the torture of an informant who had made a major blunder and been discovered. As he crouched in a doorway only feet from where that torture had occurred, he thought he could hear the echoes of the man’s screams careening off the cavernous walls of the mostly empty building. He wondered if anyone would remember his screams after this night was over.
Mitch wasn’t an informant. Mitch was a cop. A cop who went deep undercover eight months ago and managed to infiltrate Tommy Pergossi’s operation of illegal activities. Now, Tommy’s main muscle, Bruno Carelli and Tony Valenzia were somewhere in the warehouse with Mitch. Seeking him out. Not to present him with expressions of admiration from their boss. No, they were there to deliver a bullet to his head with which to silence him forever.
What Mitch couldn’t understand was what had gone wrong. His cover had been exquisite. He wracked his brain to think of something he had done or said that would have tipped Tommy off to his real identity – but no answer came. His cover was so deep that only two people in the local police department knew his true identity and purpose, one being the Chief of Police himself. So he couldn’t have been ratted out by some rogue cop on Tommy’s payroll. But someone had tipped Tommy off. Who was it?
He was suddenly startled as a couple of pigeons which had been pecking at the loose seed scattered on the floor of the warehouse were disturbed – most likely by Bruno or Tony. They were getting close. Mitch knew he had to move. He had to find some way of escape. He began to creep along the wall, making every effort to remain in the shadows. He came to a staircase and his immediate inclination was to climb the stairs. But that was a mistake people running from others often made. They would climb until there was nowhere else to go. Then they would be trapped. Mitch was not going to make it that easy for Bruno and Tony. So he made his way past the stairs and continued his path on the ground floor.
Someone brushed against a lead pipe with their shoe on the far side of the building opposite from Mitch. The metallic sound it made as it rolled a few inches gave Mitch a bearing on at least one of his pursuers. They were staying close to the main entrance of the facility, effectively eliminating that possible route of escape from Mitch. From his earlier visits to this place he knew the doors at the sides and rear of the warehouse had been welded shut from the inside in order to provide the security Tommy desired as he conducted his business here without fear of, shall we say, unwanted interruptions. Mitch looked around for some other egress from the building and saw a light from one of the outdoor security lamps spilling through a small window of what was once an office cubicle on the warehouse floor. The window had been blackened so no one could see inside. The paint covering the window had several scratches in it, large enough to allow the light Mitch saw to bleed through. He carefully made his way in that direction, a plan beginning to form in his mind. He knew his chances of survival increased dramatically if he could make his way outside. He realized even if the window had not been welded shut like the doors, at the very least it would be painted shut or would be difficult to open noiselessly due to years of non-use. His only hope of getting out was to do it quickly – to simply burst through the window to freedom.
He successfully made his way to the cubicle, entered and climbed on an abandoned desk. He checked the window now in front of him. Sure enough, it had been painted shut. Fortunately, it was large enough for him to dive through, so without any more thought, that is exactly what he did.
When he hit the pavement outside, he rolled. He could feel the pain of the resulting road rash and the slashes the shards of glass made on his exposed arms and face. However, Mitch knew he had not broken any limbs or otherwise seriously injured himself. He came up to a crouching position facing the open window through which he had just come. He heard shouts emanating from within the building and the pounding of feet as Bruno and Tony ran in the direction of the shattering glass. Mitch jumped and began to run, attempting to get his bearings as he did so. His escape to the right was cut off by a wind og the building which housed the loading docks. A ten foot high fence rimmed with coiled razor wire loomed a couple of hundred feet in front of him. That forced him to veer to his left, back toward the front of the warehouse. As he ran, he heard the screech of tires. Suddenly, he was bathed in the glowing headlights of Tommy’s Mercedes. As the car came to a halt, the front doors opened simultaneously and two other guards from Tommy’s personal army stepped out, weapons trained on Mitch. Then the back door opened and out stepped Tommy Pergossi. Behind him, Mitch heard the labored breathing of Bruno and Tony as they finally caught up with their prey.
Back inside the warehouse Mitch sat on a cold metal folding chair. Tommy wasn’t concerned with his comfort, which along with the chair was evidenced by the heavy cords which manacled Mitch’s wrists behind his back and the streaks of blood making their way down his face from his nose and mouth.
“Mitch, Mitch,” Tommy began. He was slowly shaking his head and using the tone of voice a disappointed parent might employ as they begin to lecture their wayward child. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted by you. No one has ever managed to fool me like this before, like you have. So, I ought to tell you that I’m impressed. But now that I know why you’re here, now that I know you want to destroy me, well, I’m hurt. Mitch, I took you in, just like a son. I fed you, clothed you, provided you with the things most men dream of. And now I find the whole time you’ve been playing the role of Judas?”
“You’re no Jesus Christ, that’s for sure,” Mitch managed to say through swollen lips.
A fist slammed hard into the side of his face. “Don’t talk to the boss like that,” hissed Bruno. “Unless of course you enjoy the pain it brings.”
Mitch spit out some more blood. “I’m just speaking my mind, since I doubt you’ll be letting me do that much longer.”
“Oh yes, you are quite right about that,” Tommy chuckled. “We can’t have you running back to the prosecutor and telling him what you know now, can we? But Mitch, there are a few things I need to know before we say good-bye. How much information about my organization have you already passed on?”
“You know where you can go,” responded Mitch. This time the blow knocked him out the chair.
As Bruno and Tony grabbed him under the arms and muscled him back into the chair, Tommy spoke again. “Yes, I didn’t imagine you would be very forthcoming with information on your own free will. I figured you would probably need some, shall we say, persuading.” With that, Tommy nodded to Tony who produced a large hunting knife. Singlehandedly, Bruno picked up Mitch, along with the chair, and moved him several feet, placing him at another abandoned desk. The knife sliced through the bonds imprisoning Mitch’s wrists. Bruno grabbed one of Mitch’s arms, almost wrenching the shoulder from its socket. He placed Mitch’s hand on the table, palm up, and before Mitch even had time to consider what was happening, Tony brought the knife down quickly, severing the pinky finger of Mitch’s hand.
At first there was no pain, just blood. Then Mitch’s screams made it obvious to all the pain had come.
The torture went on. Bones were broken, other fingers were severed as was one of Mitch’s ears. Eventually Mitch told them everything they wanted to know – then he died, the echoes of his screams joining with those of others who had met a similar fate in that cavernous structure.
It was only after Mitch’s death and after Tommy had dismissed everyone but Bruno and Tony that another figure emerged from the shadows. “Did he know about me,” asked the man?
“No. I really don’t think he was able to hide anything from us. You saw it. He babbled like a baby there at the end. No, if your cover was blown, I think he would have spilled it,” Tommy said confidently.
“That’s good now, isn’t it,” said the man still in the shadows. “It wouldn’t do for a prominent civic leader, especially one who is so outspoken against organized crime, to be discovered as a full partner with one of the city’s most notorious underground criminals. We couldn’t have that all,” he chuckled. “Now what are we going to do,” the mystery man asked as he toyed with the large ring on the pinky finger of his right hand?
“I think I’m going to send a message to that police chief friend of ours. A not so subtle one to warn him of the dangers of messing with my business,” Tommy responded.
Desk Sergeant Mary Factor was celebrating her birthday. Well, in reality, she was trying to ignore it but her “friends” at the station weren’t going to let that happen. Gifts were piled on a table near the desk. It was quiet in the station so they cajoled her into opening them. After all, the giver of a gag gift derives his or her greatest satisfaction when he can actually witness the reaction of his victim. Hoots and hollers and raucous laughter went up once again as she opened another gift wrapped in black. After holding the bottle of prune juice for all to see, Mary reached for a medium sized box that was, unlike the others, wrapped in pretty paper and adorned with a large red bow. She shook it and heard something rattling. “Well, at least I know now it won’t blow up in my face,” she quipped. She ripped off the paper and tore open the top of the box. Her eyes grew wide and she opened her mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. Her friends remained silent for a moment then began to prod her to let them in on the surprise. As they watched her, they saw the color drain from her face. One of the young rookies who was nearby said, “Oh come on now, let us all in on it.” He stepped around the table to pick up the box and have a look for himself. It took him only a moment to glance inside the box. He quickly turned from the table and started to run for the restroom, only to vomit after taking only a few steps.
By this time, Mary had her hands to her own mouth, stifling the sobs that were attempting to break through her shock. Tears had already filled her eyes. One of the veteran detectives grabbed her by the shoulders and passed her to his partner, another woman with several years of police work under her belt. The first detective looked into the box and muttered, “Oh my God. Someone get the Captain.”
Inside the Captain’s office, with the box lying on newspaper centered on the desk, a detective using a gloved hand reached inside the box and retrieved a bloodstained note. He read it out loud.
“This is what happens to those who eavesdrop on others, stick their fingers where they do not belong and put their hands in places where they have no business.”
As those around the table looked inside the box they saw the rotting remains of a severed ear, three fingers, a severed hand and a picture of a now dead undercover cop by the name of Mitch Terrilli.