Chapter 13 - Whispers from Brooklyn
The peace, however, was a fragile glass sculpture resting on the edge of a violent table.
Two weeks after the foundation's six-month anniversary, the black Escalade didn't pull up at four o'clock.
Chloe stood by the bay window on Willow Avenue, watching the clock on the mantle tick past four-fifteen, then four-thirty. Beatrice was sitting in the corner armchair of the office, knitting a small wool scarf, but her fingers were moving slower than usual. Every few seconds, the old woman’s eyes darted toward the window, her jaw set in a tight, familiar line.
He has a meeting, Beatrice signed, though the hesitation in her wrists betrayed her. The union bosses in Jersey City. Nothing to worry about.
Chloe walked over and knelt beside her. Sal didn't call. Gabriel never misses Thursday, Beatrice. Not since we started the adult literacy group.
Before Beatrice could answer, a sleek black sedan—not Gabriel’s Escalade, but an older Lincoln Town Car—screeched to a halt at the curb outside.
Sal climbed out of the passenger side, his jacket unbuttoned, his tie pulled loose. He didn't wait for the driver; he took the brownstone steps three at a time, bursting through the front doors of the center with enough momentum to rattle the framed certificates in the entryway.
Chloe met him at the top of the stairs. "Sal? What happened?"
Sal was breathing hard, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. He glanced nervously at the classroom down the hall where two teachers were finishing up an afternoon session with three deaf teenagers.
"We gotta move," Sal muttered, keeping his voice down. "Both of you. Now."
Beatrice appeared in the office doorway, her knitting needles tucked under her arm, her eyes sharp as flint. She signed a single, sharp word:
War?
Sal didn't know the sign for 'war', but he understood the look on Beatrice’s face. He nodded grimly. "Marcone’s brother. Vince didn't just fold when we took his forty million, boss. Before he signed the transfer, he made a side deal with Johnny Marcone in Brooklyn. Johnny brought twenty crew members over the bridge an hour ago. They hit our distribution warehouse in Elizabeth."
Chloe felt the cold dread punch through her ribs. "Where is Gabriel?"
"He was at the warehouse when the convoy rolled in," Sal said, pulling a tactical radio from his waistband. "He got four of our guys out through the loading dock, but they boxed him into the main office. He’s holding them off with two lieutenants, but Johnny brought heavy ordnance. Breaching charges. Full auto."
Beatrice stepped forward, grabbing Sal’s lapel with surprising ferocity. She didn't sign; she made a sharp, guttural sound in her throat, pointing toward the street with trembling fury.
"I know, Mrs. Costello," Sal said, his voice cracking with emotion. "Gabriel ordered me to pull you and Chloe out of the center and take you to the safe house in Sussex. He said if anything happens to either of you, he’ll kill me himself."
Chloe looked back down the hall at the brightly painted walls, the children's artwork, the photo of Leo smiling in his track uniform.
Six months ago, she would have run. Six months ago, she was an exhausted waitress whose only survival instinct was to curl into a ball and pray the wolves passed her by.
She looked at Beatrice. The old woman wasn't cowering. Beatrice was walking toward the office closet, pulling out her heavy wool coat with cold, methodical purpose.
We are not going to Sussex, Beatrice signed to Chloe, her hands moving like twin scythes through the air. Sussex is where Carmine hid when he was losing. We go to Elizabeth.
Sal threw his hands up in panic. "Mrs. Costello, no! Gabriel will flay me alive! It's a war zone down there!"
Chloe grabbed her coat from the peg, her heart pounding with a strange, electric clarity. "Sal, how does Marcone communicate with his crews when they run an op like this?"
Sal blinked, caught off guard. "What? Radio. Encrypted walkies on the municipal emergency bands. We jammed their cell signals twenty minutes ago."
Chloe looked at Beatrice. "And Gabriel is in the main office?"
"Yeah," Sal said. "Second floor. Overlooking the shipping floor. Bulletproof glass, but Johnny brought shaped charges to blow the support beams."
Chloe turned to Beatrice, her hands moving with fierce, rapid precision:
The warehouse has high-intensity yard lights on the loading bay. Does Gabriel know the exterior breaker panel code?
Beatrice’s eyes flashed with sudden, terrifying comprehension. A grim, predatory smile touched the old woman’s lips.
May you like
Carmine installed the emergency strobe grid in '98, Beatrice signed back. For silent alarms during police raids. Gabriel knows it. I know it.
Chloe grabbed Sal’s arm, her grip digging deep into his wool sleeve. "Get the car, Sal. We aren't going to Sussex. We're going to give Gabriel his eyes back."
