Buffalo jump

CHAPTER 50

For the second time that day, I found myself questioning Ryan’s sanity. The words fucking and crazy featured prominently in my remarks.

“I can’t shoot an unarmed man,” I hissed.

“But I can?”

“It’s what you do.”

“Nice, Geller. Real nice.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“The fuck you didn’t.”

“Come on.”

“I should have let Staples shoot you. Or Stefano. Or Marco. How many times do I have to save your ass before you wake the fuck up?”

“But why?” I asked. “Why do I have to?”

“Because sooner or later, I’m going to have to face the old man, Vinnie Nickels. I’m going to have to look him in the eye and tell him I didn’t do his boys, and it’d be easier if it was true. But the real reason is if I do it, you’ll have witnessed three killings. Staples, Ricky and Stefano. You’ll have that on me the rest of my life. I like you, Jonah, and I trust you, much as I do anyone. But how do I know what you’d say if the cops bring you in? How do I know you won’t flip? You finish Stefano, at least we have something on each other.”

“I would never say a word against you.”

“You say it now and I believe you. Or at least I believe that you believe it. But it’s different when the cops start sweating you, laying charges on you.”

“So if I do it, I’m a co-conspirator. If I don’t, I’m a witness. Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t leave witnesses.”

“Don’t go there, Jonah. Please.”

I looked down toward the river. I thought I could make out the dark shape of Ricky Messina’s body in the water, partially obscured by fallen cedar boughs. Stefano Di Pietra was lying on the stepping stones that led from one side to the other. He wasn’t moving. Maybe he was already dead and talk of killing him could stop. Then I heard him call out faintly for help. There would be no easy way out.

I looked at Dante Ryan. His left eye was horribly swollen. Blood was drying on his cheek. He had to tilt up his chin to look at me.

“I’m making my break,” he said. “I’m going home to my wife and my son. I’m going to clean myself up and hope I don’t lose my eye. I’m going to play with my boy, lie down with my wife and sleep for a week. Or until Vinnie Nickels calls me.”

I said nothing.

Ryan laid the gun on the ground. “You do whatever you want with Stefano. Kill him or don’t. If his life means that much to you, let him live. As long as you understand we’ll both be dead in twenty-four hours.”

Ryan started walking down the road toward the gate.

I picked up the gun and made my way down the river-bank, hoping Stefano would expire on his own or slip into an irreversible coma.

He was lying spread-eagled in the river, water lapping at his sides. There were large granite rocks under him, one with a sharp edge, as if it had cleaved off a larger boulder. The edge was right under Stefano’s neck. The tungsten lights brought out the pink of the granite. The water around him had a pink tinge too.

“I can’t move,” he said. “I can’t feel anything.”

I waded into the river and sat down on a rock beside him. The water level was halfway up his face, covering his ears. His eyes were glassy, unfocused. His hands bobbed in the water, palms up. Blood seeped out of a large gash in the back of his head, mixing in the water. Another pollutant fouling the Don.

“You should know Staples is dead.”

He moved his eyes to where I was. Strained to bring me into focus. “No…”

“Ryan killed her. She was about to shoot me and he shot first. Once in the chest, once in the throat.”

He groaned softly.

“I want you to know exactly how many people died because of you.”

“I can’t… feel my…”

“Can you feel this?” I tapped his chest with the barrel of his gun.

“Please…”

“Please what? Kill you or get you out of here?”

“Out?”

“You killed Kenneth Page.”

“Ricky did-”

“You ordered it done, yes?”

His eyes moved to the gun against his chest and then back to mine. “Yes.”

“And Francois Paradis.”

“Yes.”

“And Amy Farber.”

“Who?”

“Barry’s wife. Staples killed her before she took a shot at me.”

“Not Barry?”

“No.”

“She was supposed to get Barry too.”

I stood up with the gun in my hand and looked down at Stefano. His injuries mirrored his worst qualities: a cold man shivering in cold river water; a twisted man whose limbs were broken and askew; an unfeeling man whose extremities were numb.

In all my time in the Israeli army, I rarely saw my enemies’ faces. Stones would come flying out of a crowd. Masked men would open fire. Rockets would rain down from behind walls and orchards. Now I was looking an enemy in the face. The man responsible for so many deaths. Who would have killed me had he had the chance. Who’d still have me killed if I let him live.

The Book of Jonah says even your most intractable enemies are worthy of salvation. But what happens when you need saving more than they do?

I pointed the gun at Stefano Di Pietra. It felt much heavier than its one and three-quarter pounds. He closed his eyes.

I had to do it. The justice system couldn’t help me. Even if there was enough evidence to convict Stefano, he could order my death from behind bars in a minute. He could kill us all. He’d be getting three meals a day while my body broke down in the ground somewhere, and my mother and Cara and Carlo Ryan and the Silvers’ extended family mourned their losses.

I held the gun trained at his chest for what seemed like hours. Then my arm got tired and I lowered the gun. I used Stefano’s shirttail to wipe it clean of prints, then dropped it in the water beside Stefano.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

I reached down into the water. The cold felt good on my right wrist. I took hold of the rock that was supporting Stefano’s neck. Pulled. Pulled harder. Pulled till I eased it out from under him. His neck and head sank down under the water. Bubbles streamed from his nose and mouth. The rest of his body was still. His eyes stayed open the whole time.

After a while the bubbles stopped. I waded back through the water and found my shirt where I had left it in the brush. I washed as much mud as I could from my hands and face, then put on my shirt and climbed up the riverbank and went to find Dante Ryan.