The Storyteller opens the book...

Houston Knights Fiction

Full Disclaimers in the front page

Rating. I guess it’s more inclined to the R because of all the foul language.

Title. In the End...

Spoilers: A couple of small spoilers for “Secrets”, “Crime Spree” and “For Caroline”. Also, this story takes place after all my previous stories, and it talks a bit about events that happened in “Over the Bridge”, “What if?”, “Blood Red Hearts for Valentines” and “A Knight for a Knight”. It doesn’t matter if you haven’t read them but the stories themselves get spoiled a bit. No biggie.

Warnings. A whole lot of swearing... mainly a lot of darns and hecks all over, but, hey! The story just wouldn’t work the same way if the guys weren’t allowed some slack with the language. After all, I usually give them a lot of heck to deal with. Darn!

Notes: Oookay... so sue me, I have done the unthinkable!!! Yes!! I know, but just keep reading. What did I do? Well, I am planning on writing a crossover story later on, plus, I really needed some equipment this time so what I did was bring our Houston Knights forward in time: from 1987 to 2002. Don’t fret! It’s not that terrible! It all started when I really needed a cell phone, so please don’t mind it. There’s really not much of a difference, except for cell phones, surveillance equipment and Internet. The rest is just the same.

Disclaimers: Not mine, don’t sue... just for fun… no money from it…. yadda, yadda, yadda.

This story is dedicated to Rita Tothova, my really good friend, and to Charlotte Fulghum, one of the greatest women on the face of this planet. Thank you both for your wonderful friendship and patience, you have made my stay on this planet a lot more bearable.

My Beta: My Mom. Thank youuuuuuuu, Mom! Also thank you so much to Jana and Rita who gave me their honest opinion about this monster and eased some of my fears. And finally thank you to Bere, who also REALLY gave me her honest opinion and helped me see many of my horrendous mistakes.

Casting note: Gordon is played by Graham Greene. I’m the Casting Director, it’s my story and I rule.

This said... On ahead...

This story has been formatted to fit your screen and run for way longer than the approved allotted time. For better viewing please select digital image and bitchin’ THX sound on your remote. Remember to feed the gorilla before starting.

Part one-

In the End...

by Killash, eerie creature of the night.

Chapter 1 - ‘It starts with… one thing …’

Lyman Little ran as fast as he could until he finally reached the end of the alley. He found himself facing a wall, there was nowhere else to go.

Damn! He was caught!

He turned to see his pursuer closing in on him and gradually slowing down. ‘It’s over’ he thought as his eyes wandered around, frantically searching for a way out. Maybe he could climb the wall!

Right?

“Wrong!” a strong Texan accent brought him back to harsh reality. “Ain’t gonna happen today, son!” the man who’d been chasing him continued moving forward, “Why don’t ya just come quietly and we have ourselves a little chat?”

“Go to hell!” Lyman exclaimed. They could take him, they could mangle him, but they sure as hell wouldn’t make him talk. “I ain’t sayin’ a word!” he stated. “Not one word, ya pig!”

The Texan reached him, gun in hand, and motioned him to raise his hands and lead the way out of the alley. Lyman hesitated but his pursuer kept advancing toward him, slowly and surely, like a man who has nothing to lose. Lyman wasn’t fooled, he knew his kind, the Texan wouldn’t let him go, but he wouldn’t shoot him either. They were all the same, the pigs, and Little knew he had the upper hand with them, always. He knew their game! They were getting nothing from him! Nothing!

Lyman reluctantly obeyed and began walking; he kept his hands up, assessing his situation, looking for a way out. There was none. After a few moments, he and his captor were almost out of the alley now, maybe he could run for it.

“I wouldn’t do that, son!” The Texan said as they reached the entrance to the small shadowed street, “That would be mighty stupid!”

Was the guy reading his mind now?

Lyman stopped and turned to face his captor fixing knowing smile on his face. “What? You’d shoot me? They don’t let ya do that just for kicks! I know! I ain’t stupid! What if I ran? You’d just have to catch me all over again!”

“Sonny,” the Texan leaned against the wall, gun still aimed at his prey, and smiled, “if ya run away again, I promise you’ll regret it!” He adjusted his white hat with one hand, keeping the one with the weapon, a six-shooter colt, firmly in place. “Ah’d reckon you wouldn’t last two steps before I blew one of your knees off; then you’d be bleedin’ all over the street, down on the hot pavement! Under this blazin’ sun! Man, that’s just real painful!”

Lyman frowned, his eyes never leaving the other man’s face. “I don’t believe you! You can’t just shoot a man like that; y’all have rules and regulations ya have to follow! I know!” he nodded knowingly, to make his point. “I ain’t a fool! I watch TV!”

“Oh, now, Lyman!” the Texan admonished, “Life ain’t nothing like on TV. You should know that!” He smiled again. “If you run, I guarantee ya, I’ll sure as hell shoot you. After all, you’re a felon tryin’ to escape! As long as I don’t kill ya too much, I ain’t breakin’ no rules!” He adjusted his hat once again and spoke to the corner of the nearest building, right behind Lyman Little, the words rolling easily with that long Texan drawl. “Ain’t that right, La Fiamma?”

“That’s right, Lundy!” A dark figure emerged from behind the perp; a tall, sharp looking figure dressed in dark blue pants, white shirt and leather jacket. Lyman could feel the intensity of the man’s stare, even behind the sunglasses! He looked like an out-of-towner, and the gun in his hand said he was a dangerous out-of-towner.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Little thought, but kept the words to himself. He suddenly felt his courage diminish; the day had suddenly become a little chilly.

“Ya see, son,” the blond Texan continued in that casual but menacing voice, “We really need you to tell us a few things, and we ain’t gonna back down so easy!”

Lyman jumped as the man behind him spoke again, his deep voice matching the other one’s relaxed, yet slightly deadly tone, “We’re gonna shoot off each one of your fingers if we have to, kid, so don’t get cocky. Just tell us what we want to know and you’ll live longer:” He spoke strange, like that man in the movie ‘The Godfather’.

“Y’all won’t do that!” Lyman’s voice cracked a little bit. His knees were starting to shake. “You’re cops. You can’t just do that!”

“Well, see son...” The Texan started

“We can do pretty much whatever we want!” The other man continued, his Italian accent somehow stronger now.

He WAS the guy in ‘The Godfather’! “But, it’s not right!” Lyman yelled, his heart racing, “You can go to prison too, I know!”

“Oh, but sonny, it ain’t nobody around to see us!” the Texan smiled, still leaning against the wall.

“Besides,” the other one added, “you’re scum, we’re the police. Who do you think they’re gonna believe?”

Lyman felt another chill down his terrified spine, “You can’t do this!” he cried.

“He looks like a trouble maker, La Fiamma,” Lundy frowned a bit. “I’m just thinkin’ maybe we’re gonna haveta kill him anyways, just to make sure he stays quiet.”

“‘Less he starts talkin’ now.” La Fiamma pulled out another gun and Lyman took a step backwards in shock.

“I don’t believe it!” Lyman was livid.

“It ain’t that hard, son, just tell us where yer boss took our friend, and we may yet let you live!” The Texan took a step away from the wall and aimed his colt to the man’s head, “Or you can be pushin’ daisies by this time tomorrow! It’s your call!”

Lyman saw the Texan’s intense eyes. The blond, tall cowboy had lost his smile and was now even more menacing than the other man behind him. Shivers ran down Lyman’s back as he felt cold hard steel touch the back of his head. The Italian’s voice was a lot closer now, low, almost a whisper... “Where is she?” was all he said.

Lyman Little swallowed hard.

The Texan’s colt aimed lower, right at his private parts. Fierce eyes bore a hole into his own. “One... two...”

Lyman stared back and saw no bluff in the man’s eyes. He felt the Godfather’s hand pressing the gun harder on his skull and knew he had no way out. All his bravado, all his courage went out the window; his knees buckled, and he started talking.

“The pier!” he cried out, sweating and shaking in his boots. “They got her down by the pier!”

After that, Lyman Little put no further objection to the questioning. In fact, by the end of the day, no one could shut the man up.

ooooo00000ooooo

Later that afternoon both men leaned tiredly against Lundy’s red truck, their eyes following the police cars carrying the recently arrested criminals down to the precinct. Levon Lundy adjusted his hat again and quietly thanked the Lord for the safe return of the hostage, his good friend and ex-partner Lieutenant Joanne Beaumont.

The band of arms dealers had taken her prisoner—as insurance in the Houston Police’s last failed attempt to close down their business—and had threatened to kill her if the department didn’t back down. The chief of police ordered everyone to stay put and comply until they could come up with a good plan, but Sergeants Levon Lundy and Joe La Fiamma wouldn’t have any of that. They received their orders, quietly exchanged looks and just as silently left the office, the two men set out looking for their friend and did not intend to come back without her. That was their way; that was what made them a great team: smart, relentless and, of course, darn effective.

Levon unconsciously rubbed his neck where ugly bruises could be seen from the hands that had tried to strangle him about an hour ago. His partner had come in just in time to get the killer off him, just in time to save his life. Lundy hated it when they caught him off guard, but Joanne had screamed, his emotions had taken over and the Texan had lost his concentration for a second. That was all it took sometimes... a second.

He took a deep breath, the salty afternoon air filling his lungs. God, he was tired!

Joe La Fiamma stood by his friend, silently watching the crime scene before him. He could feel his partner’s discomfort when he rubbed his sore throat. An uneasy feeling took over his heart as the memory of that man choking his best friend came back to his mind. ‘Damn!’ He thought. ‘What if I’d come in a second later? A second too late.’

He would have died.

‘One second too late!’ “Damn, we were lucky!”

“Yeah,” was the quiet answer. Joe snorted; he hadn’t noticed he had spoken out loud.

They leaned there, silently for a while. Taking it all in and wondering. A couple of uniformed police officers came about to ask some questions and left soon after.

Levon wasn’t ready to leave just yet. “Hey’a, La Fiamma,” he started. “You sounded mighty convincin’ back there with Lyman!”

Joey smiled. He loved playing rough cop with the bad guys. That was one thing he couldn’t get away with so easily back in Chicago. Too much red tape all over, Internal Affairs took police harassment way too seriously up there.

“He sure looked scared!” he chuckled at the memory of the shaking man. “Almost wet his pants!”

Levon smiled. “Yeah, I reckon would’a, later, if we had gone on down that path,” the Texan glanced at his partner and saw a contented smirk on his face, he chuckled again, “You sure sounded good, La Fiamma, you should be an actor.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Lundy,” Joey crossed his arms and stared at the distant clouds, “I don’t think they’d like my style in Hollywood. Besides, it wasn’t that hard at all! You learn a lot when your cousins are sons of mobsters. You should have seen us playin’ hit-men and robbers when we were kids!”

Levon winced at the thought. He didn’t know how Joey could be so casual about being related to criminals, but then again, casual was better than some of the alternatives. Mobsters....

“Well,” the Texan continued, “Ya sure sounded like ya meant it!”

Joey raised an eyebrow, “Who says I didn’t mean it?”

Levon smiled. “You were gonna shoot off all his fingers for real, La Fiamma?”

“Well, we had to get Joanne back, Lundy,” he smiled, “sometimes you gotta get nasty.”

“Right,” Levon chuckled. The Texan knew his best friend like the back of his hand and he knew Joey wouldn’t do something like that! Or, would he? Lundy thought of a few times when Joey did sound like he meant it. He probably did. Levon smiled, his partner was a good man but sometimes he was a little scary. “I didn’t think you’d go that far, La Fiamma... but with you, nobody knows.” He stood up straight and moved around the truck toward the driver side door.

Joey followed his lead and opened his side. “When I say something, I mean it, Lundy: otherwise I start stuttering and I hate that, people see right through me.”

Levon opened his door and got in, “I ain’t never heard you stutter, La Fiamma!”

“Well, see?” Joey said as he got into the car, “I always mean what I say!”

“Is that right, now?” Lundy smiled again in mock disbelief, “Ah’ distinctly remember you tellin’ some people things you didn’t mean, especially to those annoying women down in Homicide,” he turned on the engine and began driving.

Joey sat back, “Well, that’s different... see, I don’t stutter when I’m enjoying it, and those women really know how to push all my buttons, so I give them a piece of my mind... aaand I enjoy it!”

Levon laughed at the thought of his partner facing menacing administration assistants in purple dresses. “Those women scare ya, La Fiamma?”

“Of course they do! They’d scare anyone!” he grinned, “They make me nervous. Sort of like how you make me mad!”

Lundy smiled, “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far!”

Joey chuckled but said nothing. He and his partner probably held the world record for keeping an argument going and going for days. Heck, for weeks! No one in the face of this planet had so many disagreements as Levon Lundy and Joe La Fiamma, but that was also their way, and they were happy with it. They were best friends but they fought like brothers.

They drove in silence for a while and the Levon started once again.

“So you don’t stutter when yer enjoyin’ it? Or when yer nervous either... Just the opposite as like any normal human would; Figures.” Levon said, taking the freeway back to the precinct, “And you say things you don’t mean, and, you stutter when you say those, but not when you’re enjoyin’ it... so you don’t stutter much, ‘cause I think you always enjoy it.”

“Lundy, you’re making me dizzy!”

“Figures your stutterin’ don’t mean much then, when it don’t happen.” Levon teased.

“Only when I’m being real jerky, cowboy!” Joey teased back. “But I always say what I mean so you got nothin’ to worry about!”

Levon smiled. “Like all those times you said you were gonna kill me?”

“Yep! Like those times!”

Levon took the exit ramp and headed downtown, shaking his head. “Ah think what we really need is some good music!” he popped a tape into the car stereo and turned up the volume.

Joey groaned. “Oh, no! Not Garth Brooks again, Lundy, I mean it!”

“I KNOW you mean it!” Levon laughed.

The Italian closed his tired eyes as the sweet country melody began, “I swear you don’t know the meaning of the word music!”

“Oh, now, come on La Fiamma, it ain’t that bad, it’s music for the soul!” Levon teased.

“Yadda, yadda!” Joey grunted.

The friendly bantering continued well into the night, the two partners never imagining the terrible ordeal the near future held in store for them.

oooo00000oooo

Chapter 2

‘I don't know why
It doesn't even matter how hard you try

keep that in mind
I designed this rhyme
To explain in due time
All I know...’

Two weeks later....

Mike Ferguson, seasoned FBI agent, born and raised in Washington D.C., son and grandson of also FBI agents, decorated two times for outstanding field work, used to have his own carpeted office back in the federal building downtown in Chicago, Illinois.

That was then.

Mike Ferguson, FBI agent, transferred down south two years back, assigned to that dratted case every FBI agent in the country hated: the mobster cop in Houston. That son of a bitch mobster’s nephew slash police officer who made a move on the Scalia crime family five and a half years ago and was exiled to Texas for it. That dratted Italian scumbag who had everyone thinking he wasn’t dirty and played his little game. But the FBI knew better. They had a surveillance agent on him all the time, they spied on him, listened in to his phone calls; They watched him. All the time. He would make a mistake one of these days, and that’s when they would get him.

One of these days!

Mike Ferguson, was now trapped inside a van in the middle of a damn Houston, Texas downtown avenue, cold to the bone on that uneventful January noon, tired, bored and bitter. Watching his mark... as usual.

He had a wide-range high-powered, wireless microphone antenna aimed at the Major Crimes office, and another one that he could move and follow his mark all around the building and into the street. From this Van he could hear everything La Fiamma said. He was going to get him, one of these days he would get him!

Goddamned Joe La Fiamma thought he was so smart. He had everyone down here eating out of his hand, even the chief of police. He disregarded procedure all the time, broke every rule in the book, yet no one seemed to care.

This God forsaken town! He hated Houston. The weather was horrible, the people were strange, the food was spicy. It was not Washington, not DC, not home. He was down here, freezing his ass off, trying to get something on a man who wouldn’t give anything... and he hated it. He hated him.

“I wish you just caught a stray bullet on your damn Italian forehead and died already, Joe La Fiamma!”

Mike Ferguson took a sip of his very bad coffee and turned down the volume of his state of the art surveillance system. La Fiamma was out to lunch. Oh, joy! Another uneventful day in cowboy town!

“Damn all of you!” Ferguson leaned back and thought about his beloved carpeted office.

“Damn you, La Fiamma!”

Another frustrated soul uttered the familiar words as he climbed to the roof of the building. It was lunchtime. He had been to the precinct parking lot across the street but had missed the Italian detective. Joey had driven off right in front of him. ‘I should have gone there a second sooner!’ He thought. ‘Now I’ll have to wait another hour.’

‘Can’t trust cops. Can’t ever trust’em. Damn it! I just hope that Texan doesn’t get here off schedule too. Unreliable sons of... damn!’

The man kept cursing for a long time, looking around his stage. Angelo Conti, a professional hand man recently employed by one of the most important crime families up north: a cold-blooded killer. His mark: a cop. Angelo loved killing cops. In fact, that was his favorite pastime. Unfortunately, the police were so touchy when it came to the death of their own kind, it made it a very difficult pastime; cops were relentless and had that ‘holier than thou’ attitude that got to everyone’s nerves when investigating ‘cop killers’. ‘The bastards! Like they’re more important than the rest of us!’

He who killed a cop usually had the heat down on him pretty fast. People on the street talked too much.

‘That’s why you need to be very good at what you do if you want to kill a cop. You have to have style, be smart, plan carefully, and most importantly, you have to lure your prey to you, not go looking, ‘cause when you go lookin’ you get more than what you bargained for... always.’

So, Angelo Conti had been planning this day for over a month. Checking, watching, studying; He had been smart and come up with a virtually flawless plan.

‘Well, flawless except for early lunch!’

Cops! Can’t trust them, ever!

Yet, not everything was lost. They day wasn’t over yet and La Fiamma had to come back to the office, eventually. The other one would be here too, as soon as he was out of court. Court would be over in 30 minutes; If only La Fiamma would hurry! Timing was of the essence.

‘He’ll be here,’ Angelo thought. ‘He’ll be here. Then I’ll kill him!’

‘But first, I have to get that tape.’

ooooo00000ooooo

Joe La Fiamma came back from lunch, got into the parking lot and parked his black Cobra way in the back. His usual spot had been taken, again, but he didn’t have enough energy to complain about it. He was tired.

It had been a hellish week. Now, still two days away from Friday, Joey was incredibly tired from the day’s work, and he still had four hours more to go before he could go home. He sighed, slowly walking away from his parked car. Lundy had been testifying in that trial for days now. Joey felt lonely, he missed his partner. It wasn’t the same when you didn’t have someone to argue with.

Hellish week.

He couldn’t wait to get out of town.

Levon had finally convinced him to go fishing with him for the weekend. He had found this quiet, nice place out of town, up north; an old country cabin that belonged to Joanne’s father. Nice, high and isolated. No police, no perps; just a cabin, the wilderness and a few fish. The partners had gone fishing before, but always to the same place, back at Levon’s hometown. There were too many uninvited visitors there, no chance for real peace and quiet. This time it was different.

He needed the rest, they both did. Joey would have preferred a five star hotel in Miami, but this alternative was good too, and since he wasn’t much of a boy scout, Levon would have to do most of the work. Perfect!

He didn’t even mind the cold weather.

‘We can build a fire, La Fiamma,’ Levon had told him.

‘You can build a fire!’ Joey smiled at the memory. ‘I can watch!’ He had enjoyed losing that particular discussion. He really wanted to go.

He kept walking among the police cars, his mind on many things, his attention on the floor below him. The place was deserted and the echoed ringing of a cell phone broke his thoughts and he paused. He scanned the place; there was still no one around. He walked toward the sound and saw a cell phone sitting on the hood of a police car. Abandoned.

That’s odd.

He approached carefully. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary but he still didn’t pick up the phone. You never knew. He decided to walk away, ignore the phone and report the incident when something caught his eye, there was something beside the phone. He carefully approached the vehicle.

Written on the black hood with a white marker was his name: Joe La Fiamma.

‘Oh, shit!’ He thought., his mind racing, ‘Now what?’

‘Don’t answer the stupid phone, La Fiamma.’

He took a step backward, pulled out his gun and looked around. He had to get some backup in here. He backed away further, carefully. He was six steps away from the car when the phone exploded, something flew off, hitting him hard on the head and he knew no more.

Ooooo00000ooooo

‘Time is a valuable thing
Watch it fly by as the pendulum swings
Watch it count down to the end of the day
The clock ticks life away
It's so... unreal

Didn't look out below …’

“Wake up!”

Someone was slapping him.

“Wake the hell up!”

He opened his eyes. His heart skipped a beat when he saw where he was. His hands tied up behind his back, his body bruised and bleeding, half sitting on the floor... very close to the edge of a very high rooftop.

Fighting against the horrible pain in his head he looked down. From up there he could see the police officers below, going in and out of the still smoking police parking lot. Apparently something had happened but he didn’t know what.

“There was a bomb!” a hard voice informed him. “A car blew up!”

“A car?” He suddenly remembered: a cell phone... but... “I was too close... I should be dead!”

“You dumb ass!” the voice said again. “I took you outta there BEFORE it blew up. You just got a little explodin’ phone, that’s all. It’s all part of the plan! It’ll be a long time before they figure out what happened to ya!”

The unmistakable Italian-American accent brought a groan to Joey’s lips. “Oh no!” he said, “Home trouble!”

“That’s right!” A tall, bulky man dressed in black came into sight and grabbed Joey by the shirt collar. “The Family wants a word!”

‘Oh, Shit!’ Joey closed his eyes and fought a dizzy wave. His head hurt so much. “Who’s family?” he asked. “Not yours, I’m sure!”

This earned him a punch in the stomach. He doubled over in pain.

“Shut up!” Angelo was furious. “You don’t know a thing about me!”

Joey didn’t answer, he was busy trying to breathe. His head swam and he fought another wave of stabbing pain. ‘Oh man!’ He mused, recognizing his captor’s type, ‘Another Don’s-right-hand-man-wannabe. Why do I always end up facing these losers?’

“What do you want?” he finally asked between ragged breaths.

“Oh, Joey, don’t play stupid!” Angelo punched him again and smiled at Joey’s muffled cry, “You know very well what I want!”

Joey tried to stay conscious. His restraints weren’t too tight but he was too sore and aching to try to escape just now. He needed a few seconds to gather the strength. One thing was for sure, this loser was not going to take him; not easily anyway.

“I really don’t,” He whispered.

Angelo was about to hit Joe again when something down below caught his eye. He backed up, smiled and headed for the rifle on the tripod.

A Rifle. Where did that come from? ‘Oh No!’ Joey thought. This thing stopped being amusing! He began fighting with his restraints, anger gradually fueling his faded energies.

“How much?” he asked, trying to distract the man from whatever he was planning.

Angelo smiled.

“How much are they paying you to kill me?” he asked again, his hands working furiously behind his back.

Angelo ignored him, he kept scanning, looking for his mark and waiting.

“You mean you’re doing it for free?”

“Some lives ain’t worth no money, La Fiamma.”

“Right... Like yours.”

Angelo laughed.

“There he is. Your partner’s tryin’ to find out what happened! Don’t you just love it how nobody looks up anymore?”

Joey’s blood froze for a second, fear washed over his whole being. Levon was down there! He had to get off those restraints, the rope was cutting into the skin and drawing blood, but he didn’t care. This guy had his sights on Lundy. He had to escape fast!

Angelo kept looking though the rifle’s eyepiece. “Oh, yeah! Now he’s pissed! Someone just told him about you bein’ missing, La Fiamma!” he laughed, “Yeeeeah! He’s pacing now! Oh, boy! He’s real mad... They won’t let him inside the parking lot! He won’t move from that spot until they find you! And that’s exactly where I want him.”

Joey felt his growing anger and fear mix inside his stomach. He couldn’t let this son of a bitch hurt Lundy. “They’re gonna catch you as soon as you fire, you stupid bastard!”

“I don’t intend to be here when they arrive! Besides, the door’s locked. I ain’t that stupid, you see? I have a plan!”

Joey fought the ropes harder.

“Now, tell me, where the hell is that tape?”

‘Oh shit!’ “What tape?”

“Don’t get smart with me, Joey, you KNOW what tape. I want it, I want it now or I’ll shoot your beloved partner.”

“Beloved?” Joey smiled.

“Oh, now, you don’t fool me. I’ve seen you two together. You are best pals!”

“Really?” Joey tried to look relaxed as he kept trying to free himself. “Boy, are you dumb!”

“That won’t work on me, La Fiamma, I know you care about the man and I’ll prove it to you right now. I can wound him first, and if you don’t talk I’ll finish him off!”

That was a very bad bluff, Joey could see through the man’s terrible poker face, he knew the loser wouldn’t shoot! The police would hear the noise! People would come up here if he did! Joey clenched his jaw but kept his voice still as he called the bluff: “You know, that would work... Go ahead!”

“Don’t play with me, asshole. It’s the man’s life!”

The rope was slowly sliding off Joey’s hands, he kept talking, trying to focus the other one’s attention on other things, “Lundy just gets on my nerves all the time. You know how someone gets to your nerves so much you want to kill him?”

“I really want to kill YOU! Where’s that tape?”

“I don’t have any tape!” Joey yelled. “Your mother has it!”

“Screw you!” Angelo aimed the rifle and prepared to fire. Joey saw a stupid but deadly intention and backed down a bit. ‘Not too much, Joey, keep him on his toes, but at bay... not too much’. He closed his eyes and smiled again. ”Listen, maybe if you tell me what this tape looks like.”

Conti turned away from his pray to look at his captive, Joe let out his breath. The bulky Italian came face to face with Joey, his dark green eyes trying to drill a hole into the other man. “Don’t play stupid with me, La Fiamma. I swear I will put a bullet between Lundy’s eyes if you don’t give me what I want!”

“Well,” Joey tried to keep an uninterested face, “you’d be doin’ me such a big favor. He’s nothing but a pain in the ass!” His hands were almost free. “I only hang out with him because I have to. If it was up to me, I would have shot him myself a long time ago!”

“Really?” Angelo stared down at Joey with hateful eyes. He wasn’t buying any of it, yet he let Joey talk; It was nice to see him sweat in fear like that! “I thought he was your friend. I thought you liked him!” he mocked.

Joey felt the rope ripping, cutting his wrists, drawing blood, but he only had one thing in his mind. He had to keep this man talking, and he knew how. He couldn’t think of what to say, so he fixed his eyes on the man before him and began describing what he saw.

“He’s a narrow minded, hard headed, simple stupid... Texan... with no class, no brain and no common sense whatsoever.”

“Right!” Angelo shook his head in disbelief. Who did La Fiamma think he was fooling? “You don’t seem to believe me, you dumb ass. I’ll shoot him. I’ll do it!”

“Go ahead... Do whatever you want!”

“Yeah, right!”

“I mean it! He talks like an idiot, hell! He looks like one! His goddamned face just gets to me!”

“And that’s why you argue so much!” Angelo finished. He wasn’t going to put up with this guy anymore, he was going to kill him right here and now... as soon as he had that tape. “Right. So you won’t mind his dyin’... Right?” He smiled at the poor attempt. Joey’s face was red with anger and he was obviously grasping at straws.

“No, I won’t mind it. I welcome it! I have hated every minute I have spent with him... It’ll be a pleasure to see him die. In fact, I want to see! I’ll just get a little closer to the edge now,” he started moving and got to his knees, he needed more movement if he wanted to keep this guy from shooting down his best friend.

Joey slowly stood up and faced his attacker still wrestling with the rope behind his back.

“Stop!” Surprised at the movement Angelo turned the weapon on the tripod and pointed the rifle at Joey. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot!”

“Really?” The hand finally slid off the rope. He was free! Joey stood up straight and gave Angelo the most hateful and cold stare the killer had ever seen.

He suddenly understood that the game wasn’t his anymore, only he understood it a second too late.

“Shoot” Joey said.

“What?”

“I said SHOOT!”

Angelo was pissed now, things were getting out of control. He couldn’t kill La Fiamma if he didn’t have the tape but the damn Italian was asking for it.

“You stupid bastard!” he turned the rifle back toward Lundy and Joey jumped on top of Angelo Conti. He tried to turn the rifle again, but Joey was too fast as he brought his fist up and pounded on Conti’s face. The man was furious. He fought back, kicking Joey away from him. La Fiamma couldn’t let this man win, there was too much to lose. It was Lundy!

He ignored the pain all over his body, adrenaline keeping it at bay, and lunged forward again.

They fought like mad men.

But in the end, Angelo couldn’t win. Joey La Fiamma protected his own like a beast, and that was what he had become, a beast.

Conti tried to grab the rifle again, and that was the last thing he knew before his head met the stone hard floor. Then, there was only blackness.

La Fiamma got off his captor, good thing he was facing down because Joey was feeling too bad to turn him over. He got his handcuffs out and secured the man’s hands.

‘I hope you sleep for a while,’ he thought, a wave of dizziness coming over him again.

Joey paused, panting and exhausted; he tried to focus his eyes on something but his original head injury didn’t help, he knew he was going to pass out, so he did the only thing he could think of: he grabbed the rifle and fired three times into the clouds. Then he collapsed.

Down on the ground police officers ducked at the sound of gunfire and looked up.

oooo00000oooo

Across the far avenue Mike Ferguson took out the tape he had just recorded and, inspired by a great idea, he started laughing.

This was going to be so much fun!

oooo00000oooo

Chapter 3

‘Trying to hold on, but didn't even know
Wasted it all just to watch you go…’

“How the hell did this happen?” Levon slapped his thigh in frustration, sitting on one of those really uncomfortable chairs at the waiting room down in Houston Memorial. You know the ones.

Joanne Beaumont sat in front of him, her face betrayed her own anger, but she was good at controlling her emotions. After all… she was the boss. The young Lieutenant ran a hand through her hair and sighed deeply. She hated these days.

She spoke quietly yet surely. “Calm down, Levon, he’s gonna be all right. It’s just bumps and bruises!”

“And a big nasty knock on the head…. and I don’t know what else…” Levon stood up and started pacing… as usual “God, Joanne, I swear to you! That man gets into more trouble than he’s worth!”

“I SAID…” she called out, then spoke lower… “calm... the hell... down!”

Levon glared at his ex-partner, “I shoulda been there, Joanne, I shoulda been back sooner.”

“Nothin’ you could’ve done… besides… he handled it pretty good!”

“How do you know? La Fiamma hasn’t told us a damn thing!”

“He knocked the guy out cold, he survived… that’s enough for me!”

“He was out cold himself!” Levon sat down again. “Damn! Joanne, what the hell was he doin’ up there?”

“We’ll have to ask him tomorrow. He’s stayin’ for observation, but the doctors won’t let us in to see him tonight!”

“I know, I know!”

She stood, “Come on!” she ordered.

“I ain’t leavin’!”

“There’s no point in you stayin’. He’s fine! You won’t see him tonight. Relax some, Levon. You can come pick him up tomorrow… Now come on!”

“Joanne!”

She said nothing and walked out knowing Levon would have no choice but to follow.

The Texan sat in silence for a moment, took a deep breath and cursed again. “Damn!”

Then he followed his boss out the door.

oooo0000oooo

“Sergeant Lundy?”

It was the following morning; Levon was about to climb on his red truck when the raspy voice interrupted him. He looked up to see a tall man in his forties, dressed in a gray suit, dark glasses, grim but unreadable face and a yellow folder in his hand.

‘Fed’! Levon immediately thought. ‘What the hell does he want?’

He gave the newcomer a good’ol Texan smile and leaned on his open door. “Howdy!”

“Good morning, Mr. Lundy. Had your coffee yet?”

‘Fed all right!’ Levon thought again. He grinned as he spoke again “Yeah. So what can I do for the United States Government, agent?”

“Very sharp, Mr. Lundy,” Ferguson replied sarcastically, “and direct!”

“Well, I AM a detective… and I’m in a hurry. Can you come over later?”

“OH, I think whatever you have to do right now can wait.”

Levon frowned, “You reckon? ‘Cause I don’t!” He hated patronizing feds.

“This is about your life, Mr. Lundy. Just five minutes of your time will be enough.”

“Ma life?” he smiled, “What about it?”

“Think you are in serious danger, Mr. Lundy… Please, just hear me out!”

Levon grunted, “All right, five minutes.”

The Federal agent pulled an ID from his waistcoat and showed it to Lundy. “Michael Ferguson, FBI!”

“I kinda knew that.” Lundy grumbled.

Ferguson started talking.

Levon frowned and kept frowning as a dark feeling crept inside his heart. The man before him explained the situation to him, showed him a file photograph of a strange man and then produced a small tape recorder. The Texan instantly developed a strong aversion at this Fed and his accusations; then they climbed into the vehicle for privacy and he heard the tape. By the end of it he was so shocked and confused he didn’t know what to do.

Seeing the look on Levon’s face, Mike Ferguson hit the rewind button and played the tape for him one more time.

oooo000000oooo

La Fiamma’s unmistakable voice resounded inside the truck’s cabin as Levon caught the whole conversation again.

Angelo - <<“Your beloved partner. I thought he was your friend, I thought you liked him!”>>

Joey - <<“Beloved?”>>

A - <<“Oh, now, you don’t fool me. I’ve seen you two together. You are best pals!”>>

J - <<“Really? Boy, are you dumb!”>>

Pause.

J - <<“Lundy just gets on my nerves all the time. You know how someone gets to your nerves so much you want to kill him?”>>

Pause...

J - <<“He’s nothing but a pain in the ass!”>>

A - <<“Really?”>>

J - <<“I only hang out with him because I have to. If it was up to me, I would have shot him myself a long time ago!”>>

Pause...

A - <<“I’ll finish him off!”>>

J - <<“You know, that would work... go ahead!, You’d be doin’ me such a big favor”.>>

A - <<“Really, La Fiamma, I know you care about the man”.>>

J - <<“He’s a narrow minded, hard headed, simple stupid... Texan with no class, no brain and no common sense whatsoever.”>>

A - <<“Right!”>>

J - <<“He talks like an idiot, hell! He looks like one.... His goddamned face just gets to me...”>>

A - <<“And that’s why you argue so much! So you won’t mind his dyin’... right?”>>

J - <<“No, I won’t mind it...”>>

A - <<“What?”>>

J - <<“I have hated every minute I have spent with him...”>>

Pause...

A- <<“I’ll do it!”>>

J - <<“Go ahead! Do whatever you want! I mean it!”>>

Levon clenched his teeth, he didn’t know what to make of the man who had brought this to him, but he knew it was some sort of scam. “What the hell is this?” he turned an icy stare at the FBI agent.

Ferguson quickly replied, “I told you, La Fiamma is NOT to be trusted. Your life is in grave danger!”

Levon grabbed the man by the collar in a quick move and brought him closer to his face. “Who the hell are you?”

“I told you!” The FBI agent didn’t seem scared at all, he just went on talking. “I have been watching La Fiamma closely for the past two months, he has been consorting with this fellow on the tape. Apparently some old acquaintance from Chicago. You know the kind of “acquaintances” La Fiamma had over there, right?”

“You son of a bitch! What do you think this is, High School? What kind of a game are you tryin’ to pull?”

“Hear me out!” Ferguson wouldn’t back down, he was adamant, “I’m only doing this for you! He’s been making this kind of comments about you ever since I started listening. He’s been lying to you, Sergeant, he’s not your friend! And now this man talking to him, um, well… okay, so he’s not a threat anymore, see? Um, we caught him last night trying to buy an illegal weapon, but the fact is still there! La Fiamma doesn’t give a damn about you and he’s going to get you killed!”

“That’s the biggest load of crap I’ve heard in my whole life!” Levon let go of the man’s collar and fought the urge to reach for his gun.

“Oh, really?” Ferguson composed his suit and stared back, impassibly. “Why would he say all that then?”

“He sounded mighty strange, and I’m sure there’s an explanation!”

“Think what you want, detective. I’m sure La Fiamma will feed you a very nice story; but the facts are there and now you know them!”

“Git out of my truck!”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he climbed out of the car but left the recorder on the seat. “Just think about one thing, pal!”

He smiled before continuing, “Where does a man get the fuel for all that animosity, Lundy? No matter what he says, he sure sounded like he meant it!”

Ferguson didn’t wait for an answer.

Levon stared at the retreating form, his face flushed with anger. Different thoughts crowded his brain in a wild mess until he finally slammed his hand on the steering wheel.

“Shit!”

oooo0000oooo

Continue

Counter

 
Back to the Texan Dungeon