Mr. Dark 5 (Tamed #5)(30)

"A little late in coming."

"Marco, when I said was it all about this girl, you shook your head. What else?"

I took a sip of my soda and looked over at Sal. "I've always hated you, Sal. I respected you but I hated you, too. Not that I blame you, my father would have most likely ruined his life regardless of if it had been in your card games, or maybe Faoxin's father's gambling dens, or if he'd gone down to Atlantic City and done it legally. But he did it in your places, Sal. So as much as he screwed up, you get a good portion of my hate as well."

For the first time ever, I think I actually hurt Sal's feelings. Betrayal he could understand, even the killing of the other Confederation members. But to know that I hated him was somehow too much. The old man gaped, tears forming in his eyes, and he set the rest of his French fries aside. His throat worked, and he blinked a few times before looking out at the duck pond. "So what now, Marco?"

"You have a choice, Sal. The Feds might be kicking down your door any day now. Even I'm surprised at how fast this Fernandez guy is sweeping through down at DOJ. So, you can sit back and enjoy the last few hours with your family before they drag you off to prison."

"Or?"

"Sal, I said I hated you, and that was no lie. But I've met your family. Your granddaughters don't deserve the hell this could be. Your children neither. You did that part right at least."

I saw a tear trickle down Sal's face, and he nodded his thanks silently. "Look in the bag, Sal. Inside you'll find something you could use. Let's face it, if you're dead, the DOJ is going to let it go. They're going to be too busy dealing with the living to worry too much about the dead. I assume you've hidden at least some of your assets out of their sight?"

"Yes. Not all of it, but about three million in what they'll think are life insurances. Tell me Marco, will it hurt?"

I shook my head. "Not much. If the coroner doesn't look very carefully, he won't even suspect a thing."

Sal nodded, and looked over at me. "Thank you, Marco. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I'm sorry it came to all this."

"Me too, Sal." I handed him the bag, then dusted off my hands and got up. "Go easy, Sal."

"Have a good life, Marco."

I walked away, not turning back as I heard the brown paper sack open up. I walked to the end of the duck pond, before turning and taking some crackers out of my pocket, feeding the ducks while watching Sal. He saw me, and nodded once before putting the two white tablets into his mouth and taking a sip of his soda to wash them down. I finished my crackers and walked away, Sal still sitting on the bench.

"Good bye, Sal."





* * *



Sophie



As Mark had planned, the news that Tabby Williams was taking over as head of MJT was lost in the chaos that was the news that day. For the next week, about the only thing that got more attention on the local news was the NFL highlights on Sunday night. Still, within three weeks, enough other local news had happened that Owen Lynch's face wasn't on the news every night.

While all that was happening, Tabby had kept herself busy, modernizing and taking the bare bones second floor office that Mark and I had used to something that actually was worthy of a real company. She hired staff, and even had a secretary.

Her transition was admirable. The first time she was mentioned by herself in a news story, the reporter had even made the comment that Tabby was a perfect blend between Marcus and Sophie Warbird. "Beautiful and brainy, in this reporter's opinion, MJT is in good hands. Kudos to Marcus Smiley, wherever he is enjoying his retirement."

In many ways, we were. During the day, we would take care of Mount Zion, with Mark saying his favorite thing to do was mow the lawn on the large riding tractor that Tabby bought for him for just that purpose. When he "accidentally" got cut on his temple and leaving an impressive scar that sort of pulled the corner of his right eyebrow upward a few degrees, I calmly bandaged him up while he sat in the kitchen. Afterwards, it was enough of a change that we both agreed he didn't need another.

In the evenings and at night, the three of us had our own little family. Tabby insisted on finding a doctor who made house calls, so that she could be there for at least some of my prenatal appointments, and in the afternoons and evenings when she came home the three of us got the real work for MJT done.

The only real surprise came about two months after the body of Salvatorre Giordano, a grandfather and suspected head of the crime syndicate known as the Confederation, was found dead of an apparent stroke near the duck ponds in the park. I was washing up the dishes, and Mark was in the home office reviewing some of the paperwork Tabby had left for him when the doorbell rang. Being the middle of the day, Mark checked the door suspiciously. We hadn't expected any deliveries.

"Hello, can I help you?" Mark said, opening the door. The man standing outside was wearing what I could tell was a decent but still off the rack business suit, and was Latino, maybe about thirty five or forty years old.

"Hi, I'm Bernard Fernandez, of the Department of Justice," the man said, "tell me, is Miss Williams around?"

"No, she's at work right now," Mark replied. I set down the plate I was washing, wiped my hands, and joined them at the door. "Is there anything I can help you with, Mr. Fernandez?"