FanStory.com - Miracles - Chap 20by Begin Again

"Leaving us, William?" Rossi smiled, but his eyes carried a different message.

William adjusted his jacket while his hand twisted nervously around the doorknob. "Um — I thought I should get the forgeries to the gallery while they're closed. Don't want anyone seeing us."

"Now that's using your brain besides something to keep your ears apart." Rossi and Maxwell chuckled.

Anger flashed in William's eyes, but he didn't say a thing. He knew Rossi was trying to show him that he was the kingpin and that anyone who wanted to survive better remember it.

William nodded. "I better get going." He opened the office door and hurried through the bar, eager to get to his car and as far away from Rossi as possible.

As he stepped outside, he scanned the dimly lit parking lot. He didn't see anyone walking around or hanging out in a car, so he walked briskly toward his car.

As he slipped into the driver's seat, the barrel of a gun rammed into his side. In his eagerness to get out of the bar, he'd forgotten his habit of checking inside the car before getting in. Now, it appeared, he'd made a fatal mistake.

"Hello, stranger. Nice of you to come back to the States." Garth snarled. "Guess you thought I'd given up finding you."

"Do I know you?" William's voice quivered as he stared out the windshield. "Maybe you're mistaking me for someone else?"

"There's no mistake and no German Consulate to help you this time. It's just you, me, my badge — oh yeah, did I mention my itchy trigger finger on this gun?"

William froze, his hand still on the door handle and his eyes darting to assess his chances of escape.

"Don't even think about it," Garth warned. "Your chances of escaping a second time are null and void. You even flinch, and this gun goes off. Understand?"

William nodded.

"Now, nice and easy, put your hands on the steering wheel. And in case you're wondering, I've got plenty of backup." He lifted a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and snapped the bracelets around William's wrist and the wheel. "Now, we sit back and relax. See what happens with your friends inside."

*****

"I see why Doyle hung on to these babies." Rossi let out a low whistle while examining the paintings. "CJ Grey — names familiar for some reason."

"That's the name of the woman Doyle knocked off," Maxwell explained.

"Grey?"

"Well, Eleanor Bennett was her real name. And Doyle just arranged for her sister to meet an untimely death in a car crash a few weeks ago."

"The Ashley woman? What's he got against that family?" Rossi asked.

"Guess he thinks they helped Donatelli put him behind bars, and he won't be satisfied until he gets his revenge."

Rossi stared at Maxwell. "You must be pretty tight with Doyle to know so much dirt on him. Is that how you got appointed Special Prosecutor? Doyle pulling strings from behind bars?"

Maxwell realized he had given Rossi too much information. His gaze darted around the room and then settled on his shoes. "I couldn't pass the bar, and being high school chums, he helped me out. I owed him a favor."

Rossi's gaze bore into Maxwell, making him squirm. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Owen. You now work for me, not Doyle. And have no doubts about which of us holds the Royal Flush."

Maxwell's eyes lifted to look at Rossi. "No, sir."

"Any other information you'd like to share since we're best buds now?"

Rossi's attempt at humoring Maxwell wasn't lost on him. His mind raced as he thought of something he had to offer that might impress him. A light bulb lit up!

"When DeLuca and I were at the abandoned house, we saw a black helicopter hovering in the distance, over the crash site where they drug Donatelli's car out of the water."

An alarm rang inside Rossi's brain. "A helicopter?"

Sensing Rossi's interest, Maxwell elaborated. "I'm not sure, but I think it had an emblem on the side."

"A medical symbol?"

"No — now, remember there was some distance between us and the copter, but I thought it looked like a cross with —" Maxwell hesitated, trying to envision the emblem. "Like vines or something."

Rossi's reaction was immediate. He inhaled sharply and slammed his fist against the file cabinet. Maxwell jumped, startled.

Rossi snarled, "Could it have been a cross and a serpent — a snake wrapped around the cross?"

"Might have been. Like I said, I couldn't see it that well."

Rossi's voice was menacing as he growled, "DiVito!"

Grabbing his phone, he placed his first call to his current headquarters. He clipped off orders when the call was picked up, ensuring the house was being watched and anyone leaving was tailed. He placed one last order before disconnecting the call: "If any of them head north to Frank DiVito's place, I want them taken care of — and I don't care how you do it, understood?"

He gathered his thoughts and then placed his subsequent call to Frank DiVito.

"DiVito residence."

"Sammy, this is Vince Rossi. He got you fielding his calls?"

"Vince —" Sammy shifted toward his boss, waiting for an okay. Frank took the phone from him.

"Vince, it's been a long time. How's things in Chicago?"

"I'm actually vacationing in your neck of the woods, Frankie. I thought I saw your helicopter. It reminded me I hadn't talked to you in a while."

"Didn't think the quiet countryside was your style. Sure you're not here because of Doyle?"

"John Doyle? Now, why would I have any interest in that wanna-be gangster? He's behind bars, last I heard."

"You're right about Doyle. But what's your interest in the copter?"

"Okay, Frank, enough of the games. I don't know how or why you're mixed up in this Donatelli thing, but I want him."

"Donatelli? He's that hotshot detective that's being accused of murder, right?"

"Yeah, that's the guy."

"What's so special about this guy, Vince?"

"Just need to clean up Doyle's loose ends and make sure nothing else goes wrong."

"Still looking to get those diamonds, aren't you?" Frankie laughed. "I'm sure Doyle's keeping a closed mouth on that one."

"Diamonds? Do you mean Doyle has a pocket of ice hidden somewhere? That's news to me." Rossi chuckled.

"You and I both know those missing diamonds are the only reason Doyle is living in comfort inside those prison walls instead of being buried six feet under."

"Careful. That sounds like a possible threat," Frankie added, knowing it was more of a promise.

"Between you and me, it's not a threat. It's going to happen." Vince cleared his throat. "Now, back to Donatelli. You've got him in your fancy medical center, and I'm coming to get him. There's not going to be a problem, is there?"

"I'm only going to say this once, so listen carefully. I might be retired from active duty, but if you or anyone else threatens my home — and this is my home — I guarantee I've got the backup to stop them."

"Sorry you feel that way, Frankie. Is it worth a war to protect a two-bit detective?"

"He's a guest in my house and a friend of a very close friend —"

Do you mean your FBI flunky? He's just fluff behind a badge. He's not a threat to me."

Frankie laughed. "If you believe that, you're a fool. If Garth gets on your scent, you and all your so-called wise guys will join Doyle behind those bars."

Vince laughed. "You still got a sense of humor, I'll give you that. I'll be seeing you soon, Frankie. Hope you wise up before I get there." He clicked off the line, a scowl on his face.

Maxwell looked concerned. "Everything alright, Vince."

"Sure, sure. Just bantering with an old friend. Everything's under control."

*****

Still in her ethereal state, Eleanor checked Bruiser's comatose state, then slipped through the walls into the smokey bar. Her shimmering presence went unnoticed by the rough crowd. She smirked, enjoying being in her element and feeling sorry that Danni would miss out on all the fun.

Her inner self smiled and yelled, "It's party time!"

She moved near the pool table, picked up a cue stick, and made it levitate before taking one precise stroke and sinking the eight ball in the corner pocket.

"What the hell?" Banjo bellowed, slamming his cue down. "Who's screwing with us?" He spun around, his surprise evident, searching for the jokester, but everyone was involved elsewhere.

"You knocked that eight ball in yourself," Snake growled accusingly.

"I wasn't even near the table. Didn't you see that stick floating —"

"Banjo, you're drunker than a skunk if you think cue sticks are taking shots by themselves."

"You calling me names?" One second later, Banjo's cue stick broke over Snake's back, drawing a few rowdy cheers.

Amused, Eleanor tipped a half-empty beer mug off the table. The frothy contents splashed onto another man's lap.

"Damn it!" he roared, shoving the nearest body.

"I didn't touch you, moron!" the other snapped, shoving back.

Men threw punches within seconds, and the room descended into a full-blown bar brawl. Chairs flew, tables crashed, and bottles shattered. Eleanor floated back, her smile wide as she surveyed the commotion.

Bruiser stumbled through the front door, yelling at Tony. "We've got company coming."

Tony raced from behind the bar toward the office, sticking his head inside. "We've got company outside, Vince. And I hear sirens, so there's more on the way."

"Damn! Can we get out the back door and through the woods?" Vince moved toward the door.

"Doubtful, but —" Tony hurried across the room to a large armoire, opened it, and revealed a doorway. "These steps lead to a tunnel that will bring you to a safe house. You can get reinforcements from there."

Vince clasped Tony's hand. "I owe you one, my friend." He stepped into the armoire with Maxwell close behind, groaning about not wearing hiking shoes.

Tony started to close the door when he saw the paintings. "Vince, the paintings?"

"They're Doyle's. I'm not carrying them, so do what you want with them. Hide 'em, or let the cops find them in your dumpster. I've gotta go." Tony heard their footsteps descending the stairs as he closed the cabinet doors.

He opened another cabinet, exposing a small closet lined with guns but with room to slide the paintings into it. "They'll need a search warrant to find them, and by that time, I'll have them a new home." Satisfied, he slid the door closed, grabbed Vince and Maxwell's coats, and returned to the bar.

Accustomed to the bar brawls, he focused on carrying out his mission of decoys. He handed the coats to two of his henchmen and barked, "Out the front, quick! You're Rossi and Maxwell. Make it look real."

After hearing Rossi's name, the men didn't even question it. They slipped into their coats and adjusted their hats. "On it," one yelled as they headed through the chaos toward the exit.

As they cleared the door, one zealous officer shouted, "There they are!"

"Hold on!" Garth said, narrowing his eyes. Something felt off. But the officers rushed in, tackling the decoys to the ground.

"Get off me!" one of the henchmen yelled, struggling with the two officers on top of him.

Garth snarled, "Let'em up. Neither of them is Rossi. You got the wrong guys!"

His phone buzzed in his pocket before Garth could unleash his full frustration. Snarling, he yanked it out, ready to snap at whoever dared call in the middle of this mess.

"It's Frank," the voice on the other end said, sharp and urgent.

Garth straightened, his irritation replaced by wariness. "What's up?"

"Rossi just declared war," DiVito said. "He's coming for Donatelli. This isn't business anymore —it's personal."

Garth froze, the bar's noise fading into the background. His fingers tightened around the phone as Frankie's words settled over him. "Did you say he was coming to get Donatelli?"

"Yeah, somehow he knows that Eleanor had me helicopter him into the hospital. Weren't you aware of it?" Frankie rubbed his chin, realizing Eleanor hadn't mentioned anything to Garth. "Sorry, man, I thought you knew."

"I'm sorry that you're caught in the middle of this with Rossi. Eleanor shouldn't have —"

"Stop right there. I know we've known each other all our lives, but Eleanor's my friend, too. She needed help, and I was more than willing to give it to her and to Donatelli. He's in bad shape. Doesn't have any memory of who he is either."

Garth knew Eleanor had done what she felt was necessary so he couldn't blame her, but still —

Frankie could almost hear the wheels in Garth's brain spinning. "Listen to me, if you'd seen the detective you'd have made the same call. You've been busy, and she wanted to take care of one of her own."

"I know you're right, but —"

"You don't like to be kept out of the loop, but sometimes, others need to step up and do what they have to do. Cut her some slack."

"Maybe, but now it's on your doorstep." Garth's face was bright red.

"Don't worry about me. I've got it covered if Rossi comes my way. You do what you gotta do at that end. Donatelli's in good hands, and he's right where he needs to be. Sounds a little noisy there."

"Just the usual Saturday night biker's brawl. Thought we had Rossi cornered, but somehow he out maneuvered us."

"We're going to box him in, Garth. It might take a little time, but his days are numbered."

"I'm not sure we have time though, especially with Rossi. I thought this was all about Doyle but there's more to it, I guess."

Frank paused before answering, "It's about a lot of diamonds. Doyle's got New York believing he's got them, and that's where his power lies at the moment. He's calling the shots until someone comes up with those diamonds."

"Damn it," Garth muttered under his breath, his gaze snapping back to the bar. The chaos around him suddenly felt like a prelude to something far worse.

"Do what you need to, Garth," Frankie added before the line went dead, leaving Garth gripping the phone like it was his lifeline.

He turned back to his men, his jaw set and his voice cold. "Lock it down. Things just got a hell of a lot more complicated."