Gary Ponzo - A Touch of Revenge

Tommy’s face tensed up. “No, I’m not wired, Hector, jeesh. I’m just calling to ask-” Tommy pursed his lips. “Relax will you.” He pulled the phone down to his lap and said to Julie, “The guy really needs an intervention, but everyone’s too afraid of him.”

Tommy replaced the phone to his ear. “Easy Hector, you’re not listening to me. You’re acting all paranoid for no reason. I just want to know if you knew of any Kurdish involvement with this tunnel?”

He waited.

“It’s a type of people. They live in Turkey.”

Tommy glanced in the rear view mirror while listening. Their car cruised along without much traffic.

“They’re some kind of ethnic group,” he said, gesturing with his fingers while the palm of his hand steered. “Yes, sort of like Jews, but not like … hey, Hector, if you don’t even know who they are, don’t you think that answers my question?”

Tommy shook his head while listening. “Hector, that’s all I needed to know. Really. You’ve been a terrific help. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.” Tommy rolled his eyes, seemingly attempting to get off the phone as quickly as possible.

“Yeah, yeah, next time I’m down there we’ll get some cervezas together, you bet.”

Another few seconds, then Tommy said, “Thanks, Hector, adios.”

Tommy pushed a button, then put the phone on the console next to him. “Last time I had cerveza with Hector a jackrabbit knocked over his glass and got ten bullets for being an animal in the desert.”

Julie picked up Tommy’s phone. It was a glossy and black and sleeker than she’d ever seen before.

“Is this new?” she asked, looking it over.

Tommy beamed. “You like it?”

“I do,” she said.

“It’s the newest technology. The things I can do with that are unreal. It has a radar loaded on it. I can point it at a car and see how fast it’s going.”

Julie pressed the screen and scanned the icons. “That’s impressive. I’m sure that comes in handy all the time.” A little sarcasm leaking out.

“Yeah, well, it does a ton of other stuff too.”

Julie tapped into his music player. “Let’s see what we’ve been listening to,” Julie said, scrolling down the list of artists. “Oh, my. Coldplay? Tommy, you like Coldplay?”

Tommy glanced at her sideways. “I don’t necessarily like Coldplay, I just like their music.”

“Of course,” Julie said, scrolling further. “Kaiser Chiefs, Nada Surf, Razorlight? I’ve never heard of half of these bands.”

“That’s because most of them are from the U.K. That’s where all the new alternative stuff comes from, then we copy the original over here and muddle it up. Me, I like the original. By the time some copycat artist picks it up, I’m on to the next thing.”

Julie looked up at Tommy and it seemed he felt her stare.

“What?” he said.

Julie smiled. “I never knew this side of you.”

“What side?”

“I don’t know, I guess I pegged you for the Frank Sinatra type of guy.”

“Oh really?” Tommy said, mocking disappointment. “I think that’s some sort of stereotype, Mrs. Bracco.”

Tommy kept his eyes on the rear view mirror for too long and Julie turned to see a black pickup truck rushing up behind them. Tommy grabbed his phone and tapped the screen. The truck was speeding so fast the front end was bobbing up and down with the contours of the asphalt. Julie’s heart sped up as well.

As the vehicle closed in she could see three teenage boys with exhilarated expressions sharing the front seat. The driver ran up to within a few feet of their bumper, then swerved fiercely around them while Tommy eased over toward the shoulder to allow them to pass. As the truck flew by, the kid by the passenger window held out an open beer can as if toasting Tommy.

Tommy saluted them as if to say, “Carry on.”

The truck sped on ahead of them and Julie finally caught her breath. Tommy held up his phone to show her a red blinking “95” on the screen.

“See,” Tommy said. “Pretty accurate, huh.”

Julie let out a big sigh. “Weren’t you worried?”

“About what?”

She waved her hand at the back of the speeding truck. “That?”

“Nah,” Tommy said. “I saw them peeling out of the gas station a few miles back. I knew they were coming.”

Julie looked down at her trembling hands. She wanted to know what made him so confident, so secure in his decisions. Before she could say anything, Tommy had grabbed her left hand and looked at her with a level gaze. For once there was no humor in his expression.

“Look,” he said swapping his attention between Julie and the road. “I know what you meant.” His voice turned harsh. “It’s just that the people who are trying to hurt Nick are foreigners. And I’m sorry, but no punk from Turkey is going to come into my country and take out a Bracco. It’s just not happening.”

Julie nodded meekly and Tommy seemed to notice her uncertainty.

“Okay,” Tommy went on. “You see that kid in the jail cell? Semir? You look into his eyes and you tell me there’s any real creative intelligence going on. That guy is just smart enough to follow directions, and no more. I wouldn’t trust him to pick me out a decent loaf of bread at the grocery store.”

Tommy held up his index finger. “There’s only one guy who knows what he’s doing and that’s this Barzani guy. We get him …” Tommy shrugged. “Game over.”

He gave Julie his best ‘Trust me’ smile, then put both hands on the wheel.

Julie guided him into the side road which took them to her gravel driveway, seventy-five yards of tires crunching and shock absorbers working overtime. Tommy parked sideways in front of the single level cabin. It was tucked away in the woods with a small man-made lake in the backyard. Both Nick and Julie had loved the remoteness of the place when they bought it, but now solitude felt closer to dangerous, than peaceful seclusion. She opened the door and immediately Tommy headed for the kitchen.

“You got anything to eat, Jule? I never had lunch today,” Tommy said, opening up the refrigerator.

Julie slid past him and pulled out a tray of leftover lasagna. She cut a piece for him, then put it in the microwave and set it for ninety seconds.

“Thanks,” Tommy said, then shooed her away. “Go grab some clothes and let’s get going.”

There was no urgency in his voice, but she’d been down this road before. After fifteen years as an FBI agent’s wife, she knew enough to stay one step ahead of trouble.

She went into her bedroom and began throwing shirts and jeans on her bed. She kept opening and closing drawers searching for matching outfits. As she made her third trip into her walk-in closet, she checked out the stack of books on a shelf above her shoes. There were books on marriage, self-help books, even some autobiographies she’d enjoyed. Her friends teased her because she’d never read any James Patterson or John Grisham thrillers, but the truth was she’d had enough harrowing experiences in her life. She didn’t need to read about anyone else’s drama.

Julie grabbed a book on finance. Maybe learn how to invest their money better since she’d taken a year off of teaching to move to the mountain community. She turned to go throw the book on her bed and screamed. A man wearing black fatigues stood in her closet doorway with a sinister grin and a pistol trained on her.

“Don’t do that again or I’ll have to use this,” the man sneered.

A surge of blood and nerves rushed into Julie’s head and tightened into a bottleneck around her throat. “Who … who …”

“The name’s Buck Martin,” he said. “I work for a private security force called Iron Mountain.”