Talking his father into this particular course of action was possibly less pleasant than actually executing the plan; but now, Jacks sits in his father’s Ferrari Enzo and waits for the contact. As he waits, he admires a car he could only dream of affording: the low, plush seats; the dimly lit dashboard; the hum of an engine ready to tear away from the asphalt. It’s ludicrous to have so much and yet remain so unsatisfied.
Someone raps on the tinted window and Jacks lowers it, looking up into a surprised expression.
“You’re not the one we expected.”
Jacks smiles grimly, “Well, I’m the one you get.”
Getting out of the car with slow, measured movements, Jacks keeps the eyes of his opponent, adjusting his leather jacket so that his gun is seen- if only briefly. His opponent huffs a silent, unhumored laugh, adjusting his own sports jacket to give Jacks a glimpse of his piece. The players set, the conditions of the game understood, the men square off- ready for the first play.
“Here’s the deal,” Jacks begins, leaning against the car. “Take the car and the debt is paid, in full.”
His opponent’s eyes light, then jump to scan the lines of the perfect sports car. Sucking air between clenched teeth, he slowly shakes his head. “We’ll take the car- it’s a nice gift for the Consigliere- but Mr. Mancuso still owes us.”
Jacks gives a tight smile, “As much as I appreciate your honesty, that’s not the way this is going to go down.”
Three men step out of the black Equus, guns pulled. Lifting his hands, Jacks concedes the play. First point goes to them. He tosses the keys to his opponent and steps away from the car.
“Tell your dad that we’ll be in touch,” his opponent announces, sinking into the Ferrari cockpit.
Jacks doesn’t answer, instead thrusting his hands deep into his jeans pockets. It pushes his jacket away from his chest, once again revealing the gun, snug in its holster. Pursing his lips, he watches as the two cars slip into the black night.
But this game isn’t over.
Snapping open his cell phone, Jacks stares into the dark where the headlights have disappeared. “Dad. They took it. No, they didn’t take the deal. I’ve got the title right here. Make the call.”
Jacks chuckles, not even really put out that he has to walk. He just scored the game point.
With a bag that possibly held more grease than lunch clutched in his hand, Agent Callan pushed open the door to the FBI office lobby- the Mancuso case weighing heavily on his thoughts- when someone holds up a phone and points to the receiver with a meaningful look. Stopping at the closest desk, he nods and the call is transferred.
“Agent Callan? You wanted to know anything going down with the Mancuso family, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” he says as he grabs paper and pencil. “Who am I speaking to?”
“Detective Schubert. This afternoon, James Mancuso’s Ferrari was stolen. They traced it to a chop shop just outside of town. Major bust: three stolen sports cars and a luxury sedan, all in various stages of being refit for resale. His Lowjack worked so fast that we found the man that carjacked his ride still inside the car. Match his descriptions, right down to the guns he carried.” Victory rings in the detective’s voice. Score one for the good guys.
“And what did they say?” Agent Callan asks, suspicion thick.
The policeman on the other side grunts a little sound. “The guy insists that it was a gift. Nobody’s buying it. Mr. Mancuso wasn’t even the one driving the ride. His son was. And the thief doesn’t have the title- nothing. Either way, he won’t be getting out for a while. Not with everything we found.”
“The son: give me the name.”
“Uhm,” the sound of rifling papers clatters over the receiver. “Actually, he didn’t give a name.”
Agent Callan grunts a sound. He doesn’t really need the confirmation. “Okay. I’d like a copy of the report.”
“Yes, sir. You have a good day.”
Callan grunts, obviously unhappy with this growing puzzle, and wonders to a large board. Tilting his head, Callan considers the notations he’s made. One is a timeline of Marie Mancuso’s final days. Some of the notations read, “Gave blood,” “Purchased plane tickets to Argentina,” “Transferred money,” “Seen @ NY apartment”, “Left message on S.A. phone [Sophie Amando’s phone],” “Seen on airport security cameras.”
The other is nothing more than a couple of post-it notes: “Note @ abduction site,” “Meeting @ Napoli e Notte Cafe w/ Bernini.” He adds this latest development to the others, “Carjacked.”
Carjacked, Callan sneers. Sure, that’s likely.
Tapping the drab yellow papers, he growls, “I’m watching you.”
YOU ARE READING
Playing Jacks
Misteri / Thriller**Winner: Licking River Writers Contest** After five years away, Jacks returns to reclaim his life- only to find a lush accountant with curves that fill out her clothes living in the apartment over his folks' pool house. Oh, the attraction is there...
