cursed in Arabic. Then he stopped, cursed again, and quickly tried to roll closer to the synagogue. His hand went inside his coat.
Rick fired. He had to.
The man’s skull ripped open, and he rolled no more.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“D OMINICK, COME QUICKLY,” PRESSED Cleo.
He heard his mother groan. Worried, he launched himself from his desk chair. His feet pounded the wood floors like a pedal thumping a double bass drum. In a huff, he entered her room. In bed, she was propped up on pillows, her expression taut.
Alarmed, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
She looked past him. He followed her gaze to the television. A man and a woman were talking. Captioned on the bottom of the screen, in bold, stark letters it read, “RELIGIOUS VIOLENCE.”
Dominick wasn’t surprised. He expected a backlash. His request to hold a press conference and explain that the same man likely murdered the cleric and priest had been rebuffed by upper channels.
“Your name was just cited by some lawyer. His client was responsible for the murder of that Muslim professor they have on TV all the time.”
Now shocked, he questioned, “Jafri?” Incredulous, “Me?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “This is not good.” Her eyes closed, and her face twitched like she had a toothache.
“Mom,” he summoned, “what’s not good? What did he say?”
She bit her bottom lip. Pain and resolve. “Dominick, the lawyer said his client is a hero. They’re claiming Jafri’s fight with the fundamentalists was all show. In reality, he was a mastermind of some terrorist cell. The attorney’s client paid a hit man to take Jafri out before he unleashed a fanatical rampage.”
“Jafri a terrorist? I don’t buy it.”
“Funny you should say that,” she said uneasily. “They’re naming you as the source.”
He smacked his forehead in disbelief. “What?” he demanded.
“Yes,” she said grimly. “The lawyer said you were prevented from pursuing Jafri for unexplainable reasons.”
“No,” he said, knowing she was delivering the news verbatim.
“It gets worse,” she informed gravely.
“Worse?” Dominick grimaced. How could this be? “Tell me.” He leaned back and braced himself against the wall.
Her words came soft and fast in the manner that urgent, but disheartening news is often delivered. “The man asserted you had evidence implicating Jafri but that a high-ranking detective, Frank Danko, blocked you.”
“Oh no,” Dominick said involuntarily. His head snapped back as if he took a hard jab.
“Uh huh,” she nodded in unison. “Apparently, Danko told you it wasn’t his fault, but the orders came from high above. The lawyer cited Commissioner Tipton and Mayor Golden and strongly hinted the conspiracy could go deeper.”
Reeling from the combo of blows, he knew he’d been cornered. Then he thought he heard a bell chime signifying a reprieve, but it was only his phone.
His mother had not seen the sun in months, and her pigment was pale and without luster. He never recalled such a hollow feeling in the pit of his belly. He left the room and went to the phone as if trudging through a heavy fog.
“Hello,” he answered distantly.
“Is this how you pay me back, asshole?” Danko’s voice boomed. “After I pitched and went to bat for you?”
“I, uh …” Presto stammered.
“I can’t fucking believe you. Again? You’ve betrayed me twice. The only reason I’m not on my way over is that there are more important men than me waiting in line to get to you. I’m going to sit back and watch them feast on your fat carcass.”
His phone beeped. He looked. “Private,” read the screen. All of his associates on the force were unregistered. He ignored the call. He couldn’t cut out on Danko.
“Frank, I didn’t betray you or anyone.” Presto tried to sound convincing but knew his tone was weedy.
“Bull-fucking-shit, you gigantic Judas.”
“You have no reason to believe me, but for some reason, someone is screwing me. I
Rick fired. He had to.
The man’s skull ripped open, and he rolled no more.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“D OMINICK, COME QUICKLY,” PRESSED Cleo.
He heard his mother groan. Worried, he launched himself from his desk chair. His feet pounded the wood floors like a pedal thumping a double bass drum. In a huff, he entered her room. In bed, she was propped up on pillows, her expression taut.
Alarmed, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
She looked past him. He followed her gaze to the television. A man and a woman were talking. Captioned on the bottom of the screen, in bold, stark letters it read, “RELIGIOUS VIOLENCE.”
Dominick wasn’t surprised. He expected a backlash. His request to hold a press conference and explain that the same man likely murdered the cleric and priest had been rebuffed by upper channels.
“Your name was just cited by some lawyer. His client was responsible for the murder of that Muslim professor they have on TV all the time.”
Now shocked, he questioned, “Jafri?” Incredulous, “Me?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “This is not good.” Her eyes closed, and her face twitched like she had a toothache.
“Mom,” he summoned, “what’s not good? What did he say?”
She bit her bottom lip. Pain and resolve. “Dominick, the lawyer said his client is a hero. They’re claiming Jafri’s fight with the fundamentalists was all show. In reality, he was a mastermind of some terrorist cell. The attorney’s client paid a hit man to take Jafri out before he unleashed a fanatical rampage.”
“Jafri a terrorist? I don’t buy it.”
“Funny you should say that,” she said uneasily. “They’re naming you as the source.”
He smacked his forehead in disbelief. “What?” he demanded.
“Yes,” she said grimly. “The lawyer said you were prevented from pursuing Jafri for unexplainable reasons.”
“No,” he said, knowing she was delivering the news verbatim.
“It gets worse,” she informed gravely.
“Worse?” Dominick grimaced. How could this be? “Tell me.” He leaned back and braced himself against the wall.
Her words came soft and fast in the manner that urgent, but disheartening news is often delivered. “The man asserted you had evidence implicating Jafri but that a high-ranking detective, Frank Danko, blocked you.”
“Oh no,” Dominick said involuntarily. His head snapped back as if he took a hard jab.
“Uh huh,” she nodded in unison. “Apparently, Danko told you it wasn’t his fault, but the orders came from high above. The lawyer cited Commissioner Tipton and Mayor Golden and strongly hinted the conspiracy could go deeper.”
Reeling from the combo of blows, he knew he’d been cornered. Then he thought he heard a bell chime signifying a reprieve, but it was only his phone.
His mother had not seen the sun in months, and her pigment was pale and without luster. He never recalled such a hollow feeling in the pit of his belly. He left the room and went to the phone as if trudging through a heavy fog.
“Hello,” he answered distantly.
“Is this how you pay me back, asshole?” Danko’s voice boomed. “After I pitched and went to bat for you?”
“I, uh …” Presto stammered.
“I can’t fucking believe you. Again? You’ve betrayed me twice. The only reason I’m not on my way over is that there are more important men than me waiting in line to get to you. I’m going to sit back and watch them feast on your fat carcass.”
His phone beeped. He looked. “Private,” read the screen. All of his associates on the force were unregistered. He ignored the call. He couldn’t cut out on Danko.
“Frank, I didn’t betray you or anyone.” Presto tried to sound convincing but knew his tone was weedy.
“Bull-fucking-shit, you gigantic Judas.”
“You have no reason to believe me, but for some reason, someone is screwing me. I
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