Don’t Blink

Hold on tight, because this is going to be one hairy ride…

Chapter 86

I HAD GOTTEN that much right, no doubt about it. The limo swerved wildly right and left in a series of turns, the three of us getting tossed around in the back like salads. I still had no idea where we were, and the heavily tinted windows and all the contortions didn’t help. What little I could see was a continuous blur.

How fast were we going? Ninety miles an hour? A hundred? On a side road?

Even faster as we hit a straightaway.

The crystal glasses in the bar next to D’zorio were rattling louder and louder, but my ears remained trained on the police sirens. Were they getting closer – or farther away?

There was a chorus of them, and all I could hope was that no matter how fast we were going, the guys underneath those sirens were going just a little bit faster. C’mon, boys, let ’er rip! Don’t be shy!

They weren’t.

Pop! Pop-pop!

Ping! Ping!

“They’re trying to shoot out the tires,” said Zambratta. As fast as you could say double fisted, the gun from inside his jacket was joined by the one that had been tucked into a shin holster.

“Wait!” said D’zorio. “Don’t.”

Don’t?

Zambratta looked at his boss like he had three heads. “This asshole has seen me kill two guys,” he said, waving what looked to be a Glock 9mm in my face. “They’ve got to know he’s in here.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said D’zorio. “If we pull over, no charges will stick. I can protect you, Carmine.”

Now it was my turn to look at D’zorio like he had three heads. No charges will stick? How do you figure that one? There I was, sitting on the wrong end of two guns and in the wrong car of a police chase, and that’s what I was wondering about? How D’zorio could protect his favorite henchman? But I couldn’t help myself. It seemed like such a bizarre thing for the boss to say. Like everybody but him was stupid.

I looked over at Carmine Zambratta, who was clearly thinking the same thing. Not for long, though. He just wasn’t buying it.

Instead, he began opening the sunroof.

“I’m telling you,” implored D’zorio. “I can protect you.”

“No, you can’t,” said Zambratta. “But I can protect myself.”

He jumped up through the open sunroof, guns blazing. Between the bullets flying and the wind whipping through the limo, I could barely hear myself think.

But I could see what D’zorio was about to do.

I just couldn’t believe it.

Chapter 87

IT WAS AS IF D’zorio had been counting the shots like Dirty Harry, waiting for the moment when Zambratta would need to reload. That’s when he lunged forward and punched the sunroof button, the sliding glass panel trapping Zambratta half in and half out of the speeding car.

“What the fuck!” Zambratta yelled, his legs twisting helplessly beneath him. The Zamboni, D’zorio’s prized enforcer, was out of bullets and fully exposed up there. The rest was target practice for the police.

For the next few seconds, Zambratta screamed horribly as several bullets, maybe half a dozen, ripped through his flesh and bones. Then, thump!

His lifeless body fell over against the top of the limo as one of his hands, the Glock 9mm still gripped in the palm, plopped down through the narrow space of the sunroof. I watched the blood trickle off his fingertips.

D’zorio shook his head. “The guy never goddamn listened,” he said. Oh, I see. So you killed him?

The limo suddenly swerved hard to the right, sending me tumbling across the seat. Pushing myself back up, I squinted through the dark tint of the windows. Those were no longer trees we were passing. They were cars.

We were getting on a major highway, picking up even more speed.

I yelled to D’zorio over the sirens. “So we pull over now, right? That’s what you said!”

“Not quite yet,” he answered.

He reached for a small compartment by his right arm that was no bigger than a box of tissues. If only that’s what was in it. Christ, why does everyone have a gun except me?

Grabbing the handkerchief tucked into the breast pocket of his suit, D’zorio draped the cloth over his open palm.

“What are you doing?” I said.

But I knew what he was doing. He was making sure there’d be no gunshot residue on his hand. When he killed me.

“It’s like I said before, Nick. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

With that, he aimed the gun at my chest. Meanwhile, the limo was weaving like crazy in and out of lanes, but D’zorio’s hand was surprisingly steady. He’d done this before.

“Wait… WAIT!” I yelled. “You heard Zambratta – the police know I’m in here.”

“Yes, and when I’m done explaining everything to them, they’ll know he’s the one who shot you.”

Checkmate, Nick. Game over. No way out, not this time.

I closed my eyes, swallowing my last breath.

Pop!

Chapter 88

IT SURE SOUNDED like a gun – only it wasn’t. Not this time. Actually, it was one of the limo’s tires exploding, maybe from one too many hairpin turns, or maybe from a bullet during the chase.

Of course, I didn’t know that right away – I was too busy spi

And over and over and over. High bouncer, too. Possibly some cartwheels.

Call it the worst car crash I’d ever been in and – as crazy as it gets – the luckiest break I’d ever been handed, even though it hurt like hell.

My body slammed against the ceiling, the door, the bar. It was happening so fast, my hands were useless to protect me. There was nothing to hold on to, nothing to grab.

Somehow in all that flipping around, amid the crushing of metal and shattering of glass, I managed to stay conscious. And when the limo finally came to a stop – upside down, no less – my vision was going in and out as if I were looking through one of those View-Master toys.

Click! Where am I?

Okay. I was lying facedown on what I guessed was the ceiling of the limo. Slowly, I lifted a hand to my forehead, swabbing it with my palm. I didn’t have to see the blood; I could feel it, warm and gooey. It was as if the huge lump I had gotten from the butt of Zambratta’s gun had erupted. It hurt like hell.

But the worst pain was lower in my body. The right side of my chest, my ribs. Every breath felt like I was being stabbed with a knife.

I was about to call out for help when I heard a moan a few feet away. It was D’zorio. As bad off as I was, he looked even worse.

There were shards of glass wedged into his forehead and cheek, and I was pretty sure a bone was protruding through his sock right below his ankle. He was wheezing and coughing up blood.

He looked at me. I looked at him. We both looked at his gun. It was maybe six inches from his hand.

Make that four inches.

He was reaching for it, his perfectly manicured nails now covered in blood, but clawing their way toward the grip of the gun.

Then, out of the blue, I heard a voice. “Go ahead, Joey, give me a reason!”

Wait! I know that voice… I absolutely do.

I craned my neck to see the man kneeling beside the limo. The barrel of his Smith and Wesson.40 caliber automatic was trained on D’zorio.

Wait! I know this man. He’s the guy from the diner. And my sister’s house.

I thought he had wanted to kill me, only now here he was saving my life. He wasn’t with the mob. He was against them. It was as clear as the three letters emblazoned on his jacket.

FBI.