William Brown - The Undertaker

Hardin, Sandy, and I found ourselves staring at each other, then down at Tinkerton's body without the slightest clue as to what had happened to him. The big lawyer had been shot, but by whom? That was when we saw a dark, hulking figure slowly emerge from the bushes and walk toward us, backlit by the distant glow of the city. Whoever he was, his left hand leaned heavily on a cane and his right hand held a long-barreled chrome pistol that also had a silencer screwed to the end of its barrel.

“You know, Ace,” the man finally said. “You can get yourself in some of the damnedest fixes.”

“Oh, my God! It's Gino!” Sandy jumped up and ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him.

“Hey!” he growled affectionately at her. “Easy with the freakin’ leg, you ditz!”

“Who are you?” Hardin demanded to know.

“You okay, Sweat Pea?” Parini completely ignored the Senator as he held Sandy out at arm's length and looked her up and down. “You ain't hurt or nuthin’?” He went on, ignoring Hardin and ignoring me too, but I expected that. Finally, Parini looked down at Hardin. “The name's Parini, Senator. Gino Parini.”

“Parini?” Hardin puffed, taking some newly found confidence from the fact he was still alive. “You're Jimmy Santorini's hit man.”

Parini glanced down at Tinkerton's body, then over at Hardin. “Given the general situation here, I'd be careful with the name-calling, if I was you.”

Hardin must have figured that the statement did not bode well for his future. Slowly, his hand reached out for Tinkerton's Glock, which was lying on the grass next to the dead lawyer.

“I wouldn't do that, if I were you, Senator,” Parini warned as he waved his. 45 in Hardin's general direction, then motioned for him to move back. “Looks to me like you're the one keepin’ the questionable company here.”

“Uh, look, Parini… Gino — may I call you Gino? Great!” Hardin turned on his famous, if now somewhat battered, TV smile.

Parini chuckled. “That smooth-guy shit don't work so well when you're missing a couple of teeth, Senator. And all that blood? You're gonna need some serious fixin’ up.”

“Never mind that, Parini,” Hardin tried to focus. “You see that briefcase over there?” He pointed at the alligator leather case lying in the grass next to Tinkerton. “There's seven-and-a-half million dollars inside. Take it. It's all yours.”

“Seven and a half? All mine?” Parini feigned surprise. “Gee, thanks, for what?”

“For cleaning up this little mess for me.”

“Cleaning up? This… mess?” Gino looked confused.

“Yeah, get rid of him.” He pointed at Tinkerton's body. “And get rid of these two, too. Do that for me and the briefcase is yours, okay?”

Parini limped painfully over to where Tinkerton lay, picked up the briefcase, and set it next to his foot. “Get rid of ‘em? Didn't I hear you and this crud Tinkerton talking about that very same thing just a few minutes ago?” Parini bent down, reached into Tinkerton's jacket pocket, and pulled out the three flash drives. “All because of these things huh?”

Hardin looked at the disks and began to panic. “Look!” He bristled. “Do you want the damned money or don't you?”

“Me? You know, I think I'll pass. You see, I'm FBI, Senator, undercover. Remember those guys you never called? The FBI really does indeed have an Organized Crime Strike Force, and I'm on it. That means you're busted.”

“The FBI? You?” Hardin blinked. “What about all those men you killed?”

Parini laughed as his wise-guy Jersey accent began to fade. “Reputations can be funny things. Sometimes they're deserved, and sometimes they're not.”

Hardin looked up at Parini and the realization slowly sank in. “You can't touch me.” He smiled all too knowingly and shook his head. “You can't prove I did a damned thing.”

“Want to bet?” Parini smiled. “I have Panozzo's accounting records, the ones that show all the payoffs, including yours. I have a briefcase full of cash and diamonds with your fingerprints all over it. And as the fait accompli, I have this whole conversation on tape,” he said, patting his jacket pocket. “But none of that matters. When Rico finds out how badly you screwed this thing up, you'll be the one begging for Witness Protection, if you don't want to end up in that cement mix over in Paramus.”

Parini bounced the flash drives up and down in his hand, taunting Hardin.

“Personally, Senator, I'm glad this operation is finally over. It's taken four years, and if I never see Italian food again, it'll be too soon. However, we did put Jimmy “the stump” in Marion, we shut down Tinkerton's security operation. And with Panozzo's accounting files, they'll need a whole new wing at Marion. I can just see you in a cell right in the middle of all the boys. You ever played “drop the soap”, Senator? Well, you're gonna be taking some real interesting showers for the next ten-to-twenty.”

Hardin saw his world crashing down around him and he panicked. His eyes darted back and forth between Parini, the flash drives, and the briefcase looking for some way out, but there was none. Suddenly he lunged for Tinkerton's pistol. A Hardin's fingers found the grip of the Glock, Parini shot him twice in the face. The bullets snapped Hardin's head back and his lifeless body crumpled on the grass next to Tinkerton.

I stood and looked at Hardin, then at Parini. “You wanted him to go for the Glock, didn't you, Gino? That's why you left it lying there and why you kept taunting him.”

“It was his play and that was fine with me. If Hardin had been a more competent lawyer than he was a crook, he'd know that a briefcase full of cash doesn't mean squat. Truth is, we'd have had a hell of a time proving anything against him. Now we don't have to.”

Parini slipped the pistol back inside his jacket and looked down at the two bodies. “Will you look at this!” he made a dramatic gesture toward the two bodies. “A U. S. Senator and a former ‘High Ranking Justice Department Official,’ cut down in the prime of their lives. Another ‘senseless act of urban violence’, a tragedy, that's what I'd call it, a real tragedy.”

“Like the tragedy in the basement of the funeral home in Columbus?” I asked him. “You waited back there in the bushes to see how things would shake out before you made your move?”

“They shook out fine,” he answered with cold, dead eyes.

“Well it's a damn good thing you didn't wait any longer,” Sandy barked at him.

“Don't worry, Sweat Pea, I wouldn't have let them touch a hair on your pretty little head, he said, reverting to the old Newark accent. “Hell, if I wasn't married with four kids, I'd run off with you myself and start makin’ a bunch ‘a little Italian babies. But him?” he looked over at me with disdain. “Him, I'd have let them have.”

“We're a “we” now,” she told him as she scampered over and threw her arms around my waist.

“So I see.” Parini scowled. “But if this dumb mope ever causes you any grief, you let me know and I'll break his freekin’ legs. You hear me Ace!” His face broke into a big smile as he slipped the flash drives into his jacket pocket and handed me Hardin's briefcase.

“I don't want this,” I told him.

“Oh, yes you do,” Parini quickly answered. “He said there's seven-and-a-half million in there that belong to no one. It can get the two of you out of here and buy you a fresh start some place else. In a couple of years, maybe three or four, this whole business should finally be over. Jimmy Santorini will realize he isn't getting out of Marion, Rico Patillo should be sitting in the cell next to him, and no one will remember the two of you,” he said as his eyes locked on mine. “Do you understand me?”