A MATTER OF LIVING

A MATTER OF LIVING1

As he struggled to consciousness, Jack Corbin felt the burning of sweat rolling into his eyes. Where am I? Slowly, his vision cleared. He was in a basement, stone walls smelling of mildew, and cobwebs hanging from the ceilings. His hands and feet were shackled and he was strapped in a chair reminiscent of a throne, or perhaps the electric chair.  He tried to re-construct the events that preceded his awakening.  He had met with Dutch, supposedly an informant for the Rochester Police Department.  Since he hadn’t confirmed with RPD whether they had an informant named Dutch, the guy in the parking lot could have been anyone!  Dumb ass move, Corbin!

            Jack struggled to free himself. He felt grimy and disoriented.  Elements of the Timmins’ case surfaced and he could not associate what was happening to him with Henry Timmins. Any connection between a discontented genius bent on suicide to this predicament seemed remote, although he had suspicions related to Timmins’ daughter, Delilah.  There was definitely more to her than being a concerned offspring.

As he surveyed the room, he thought of his father, visions of him gasping for life during his final moments.  He couldn’t help but think that his own demise might be eerily similar.  Dying a cop, clinging to life.  Someone wanted Jack badly, so much so that they would risk the penalties that went along with the abduction and murder of an FBI agent.  

            Suddenly, a light glowed in his clouded mind.  It was like when you’re trying to come up with the answer to something you know, are sure it’s buried in the recesses of your brain, and then, voila, it appears!  Enrico Massucci!  That has to be it!  Why? Because here comes this big ginzo from Rome to New York and then this happens.  The kidnapping isn’t connected to Timmins.  It’s connected to Jack putting away Rico’s father in a not-so-pretty way, spitting in his face before putting a round between his eyes!

            Jack heard a door open and footsteps descending the wooden stairs.  The person shuffled behind him and then appeared in front of him.  It was not Massucci.  He had guessed wrong.

            “So, you think you are so smart and clever, Mr. FBI man.  Look at you now, stupido!  Helpless and afraid and now I’m the boss!”  The man was slight in stature with a small mustache and dressed in an olive green suit with paisley tie and a white shirt with cuff links keeping the sleeves together.  He tugged at each sleeve after his little diatribe, posturing like one of the big dogs.

            Jack smiled through the sweat on his face.  “You aren’t the boss of anyone, not even yourself, you little slime bucket.  Big guys in the business have runts like you as appetizers.”  He could see he was aggravating the little twerp so he continued.  “Bring in the big guy and I’ll deal with him.  You couldn’t decide what foot to put your left shoe on, you moron.  Who’s your boss?” Jack raised his voice as if scolding the little guy.

            Suddenly, the little guy came at Jack and punched him in the face, drawing blood from Jack’s lip.  “My name is Giorgio, but you will call me Mr. Giorgio if you don’t want more of the same!” he shouted.

            “More of what?” Jack mocked.  “That punch, if you want to call it a punch, didn’t even turn my head.!  Oh yeah, you better get on a chair next time if you want to reach my jaw.   What does Giorgio mean in Italian?  Midget?  Or stupid?””  

            Jack could see Giorgio foaming at the mouth, ready to take another shot at him.  However, at that moment, the door opened again and footsteps made their way down the stairs.  

***

The footsteps had reached the bottom of the stairs.  Two distinct sets were evident, one heavy-footed and the other, a click of high heels. Jack didn’t want to waste time turning to look.  He knew he’d get his opportunity to see them both soon.

            A wry look covered Jack’s face as the pair stood in front of him.  He was confused to a degree but figured there’s no better way to clear the air than to ask the question.  “How did you two hook up and what the hell do you want with me?” 

            Standing in front of Jack, Enrico Massucci laughed and Delilah Timmins smiled.  She was the first to address Jack’s questions about them.  “You see, Agent Corbin, had you made the connection earlier, or perhaps had a more talented group on the case, or even spent more time trying to unravel the enigma, you might have accelerated our plan.  Just so you know, I am not Delilah Timmins.  She’s dead by necessity and that necessity fit nicely into our plans.  My real identity is Gina Massucci, Rico’s sister and the daughter of the man you so mercilessly killed.”  At that point, she slapped him hard across the face.

Jack’s head twisted and then straightened, a smile of realization overtaking his countenance.  “Was that foreplay, Delilah?  Or do you prefer Gina?” he chided.

            She slapped him again.  “Don’t flatter yourself, Agent Corbin.  I’ve purchased better pieces of ass from a sex shop.  And they come in a variety of colors,” she smirked.  

            “What’s the game, kids?”  Jack wanted to know.  “Revenge?  Yeah, that was what it was for me when I emptied a clip into your old man.  You see, he had my father killed, too.  My father was a cop, not a mafia scumbag like your greaseball sperm donor.  Sure, I could have let him live but he didn’t care about my dad so I couldn’t care less about him.  If it’s revenge you’re pursuing, I can understand.  But why the whole charade?  

            Gina and Rico sat down at a table at the back of the room, about ten feet from where Jack was tethered.  The table had fruit and cheese and glasses of wine. In the middle of the table, a large, black cloth covered what Jack presumed to be some of their favorite ways to torture individuals.  “You don’t know the half of it,” Gina finally said.    

“Clue me in, Delilah, because, you know, as a federal agent involved with investigation, I’m curious.  Curious as to why you would go to such lengths when you could have had me assassinated or dropped in the ocean.  Why the charade?” Jack repeated.  “Why did you have to involve others?”

            Gina turned to Rico and they joined hands and smiled.  “It pleasured us to mastermind such a plot to lure you in like a mouse into a bait trap,” she replied with satisfaction.  

            Rico then spoke.  “It wasn’t enough for us to just kill you,” he explained.  “We wanted to embarrass you, expose your weakness, and, when we have finished, shame you in the face of your colleagues and government.”

            Gina continued.  “First, as you may have stumbled onto the fact, Henry Timmins is dead.  So is Delilah Timmins. The reason she was chosen was due to her striking resemblance to me.  If the ruse was to succeed, we had to realize the extent of your resources.  There would be the investigation into funds, bank accounts, family history, and the rest of that tripe.  So, we had to rig the game.  I’m sure there were red flags that surfaced, but we were quite positive that you would ignore them.  In the case where you followed leads that might implicate us, we had your boss on the payroll.”  She grinned at Jack who sat stone-faced even though he was surprised.  

            Jack shook his head.  “You had Milt Saunders assign us to a bogus case and then you dump him in the Potomac.  I have to say, I didn’t think there was a lower form of existence than your old man, but I guess slime begets slime!” he laughed.  Rico sprang up. Gina held him back.

            “Go ahead and joke and try to test our nerves.  It will be you who suffers and we will have the last laugh and the final drop of blood,” Gina boasted.

            “The notes?”  Jack asked with an inquisitive gaze.  “The guy in Paris?   It was all part of the scheme?”  he questioned.

Gina beamed.  “I must admit, I had fun writing the notes, although I didn’t expect to have to come up with two.  The gentleman in Paris was an actor we hired once you began to close in on the fact the whole thing was a set-up.  We had to re-instigate that doubt in your mind, although from what I can recall from our interactions, I don’t believe you were ever convinced that Henry Timmins was dead.  Yet, as long as there was an element of doubt and Milt Saunders remained our puppet, we were in control.”

Jack continued to be amazed at what had transpired and how the Massuccis had orchestrated the charade.  “Why Rochester?”  was his next question.

“Very simple, Agent Corbin.  It was the scene of your most notable failure, the Brinks job,” Gina answered.  “When all is said and done, it will appear you withheld information and conspired for personal gain.”  She could see the rage build in Jack’s face.  “New information will surface and you will be the one who played a part in the heist and cover-up.  Your name will be dragged through the mud, your family, including your drunken sot of an old man, will be tarnished and we will ride into the sunset satisfied with our accomplishment after they find your ravaged body in the midst of others who had been your accomplices.”  They each picked up their glasses and toasted their genius.  “Saluta!”  Rico said as they clinked glasses in victory.  Gina continued as she pointed to Giorgio.  “Please don’t get comfortable,” she said to Jack as Giorgio removed the cover from the torture tools.  “There is still much to do!” she smiled as Rico and Giorgio let out spirited laughs.  “There is still much to do.”

***

A pail of water doused Jack’s face and brought him back to reality after passing out. “Delilah!” he exclaimed.

 “Fantasizing, Agent Corbin?” a faint voice inquired.  “Welcome back to the fun and games.  Well, at least for me and my brother,” she chided.

            Jack smiled too.  “I was just about to splatter your old man’s brains all over the ground before I came to.  That would have been enjoyable, you know, doing it again.”

            He felt more water splashed over him and then an electric shock that rattled his teeth as he strained to stay alive.

            “How’s that for a welcome back?”  Giorgio wanted to know.

            Jack sat limp in the chair.  He could feel pressure in his ears, like coming out from a swim, only ten times worse.  As his head was bent over, he could see that his right small finger had been severed, the bandage bright red with fresh blood.  Delilah walked slowly around him, twisting his hair between her fingers and then letting it slip through, only to grab several more strands and repeat the process.

            “Foreplay, Delilah?” Jack asked sarcastically

            Gina laughed in turn.  “You satisfied me once Corbin and you will do so again as we continue our trip down memory lane.  I was too young to know about how your father met his end.  Needless to say, I’m sure he deserved it.  We don’t kill people to kill people, especially those outside the family and especially a cop.  Sorry to say, Agent Corbin, but your father was dirty and he stepped on the wrong toes and dealt with the wrong side of the mafiosa.  You, too, dealt with the wrong side when you murdered my father and for every agonizing second he felt pain, I want you to feel tenfold because he was an honorable man and, even more so, he was my father.”

            It took all of his effort to release a sarcastic guffaw.  “Your father, honorable?  Come on, lady, you can’t be that naïve.  He was a gangster and he killed more than just those in his operation that wronged him.”  Jack spit out some blood that had trickled from his forehead into his mouth.  “Yeah, my dad may have gone along for the ride with his precinct buddies in engaging in questionable operations.  So what?  Even if he interfered a little in your old man’s outfit, I’m sure it had little effect on outcomes.  Let’s face it.  He was a greaseball and my father a mick.  And, I snuffed out your old man quick.  He didn’t agonize over anything except ending up on the wrong end of a gun barrel.  He wanted to say something but I blasted his brains out before he could say anything.  I wasn’t going to let him get the last word.”

            “Anything?”  Gina asked as Rico returned.

            “Our sources say there’s activity at the FBI office.  We need to accelerate the process and get out of here before they track us down,” Rico ranted.

            “In due time, fratello.  In due time,” Gina assured him.  “Chances are they are looking elsewhere and we have our sources along with our sentries and an escape plan.  If we have to end this quickly, we will.  But I want my pound of flesh!” she huffed.

            Jack could see Giorgio moving toward the torture paraphernalia with one hand on his chin while the other propped his elbow, almost as if he was mulling over the right cut of meat at the grocery store.  “Ah, this will be a good one, don’t you think Gina?”

            Gina turned her attention to Giorgio, scrutinized the device, and nodded.  It was a clamp that would fit around the head and, as it was tightened, would cause an appreciable amount of pain, making the victim feel as if his head was being squashed and his brains pushed out through his ears.  Jack could only drop his head as he readied himself for the next round of torture, although he kept one eye toward the door in hopes the troops would arrive before his body was strewn across the basement floor.

***

It is said that there is a time before death where one achieves personal clarity and sees their life before their eyes and within their mind.  No matter how long this clarity lasts, it’s a sign the end is near.  Jack Corbin could sense that feeling, almost as a sedative to the pain endured at the hands of Giorgio and the minds of Gina and Enrico Massucci.  The hope of being rescued had vanished and he could only think of dying.  It had never crossed his mind that he would die like this, at the hands of captors who sought to kill for revenge.  He would be murdered in a shootout, or beheaded by one of the bimbos he had bedded down and left hanging.  Not like this.  Not helpless and beaten.  A hail of gunfire, now that’s the way to go!  

Even the most optimistic people run out of hope when the inevitable becomes real.  Jack didn’t quite see himself as optimistic, but more cynical, so how could this scenario turn out positive?  The plus signs were heavily weighted to the Massuccis.

            Jack was spent, physically hurting and mentally drained.  As much as he didn’t want to give in to the ginzos, he didn’t think he could withstand much more.  “Get it over with, you scumbags!” he shouted at the trio sitting smugly at the table, sipping their wine like Roman emperors in the Coliseum waiting to give the thumbs down to the gladiator.  “You don’t want anything from me. Hell, even if you do, there’s nothing left for me to give,” his voice trailed off as his head drooped to his chest.

            Gina wasn’t moved by Jack’s request.  She had a cold heart, yet what did please her was to see Jack suffering, how he began to beg.  She wanted to break him completely, to have him whimper like a wounded dog dragging his tail into the woods to die.  “You will die as I see fit,” she scoffed.  “And, yes, you will die with little dignity, drooling over yourself like a rabid dog and soiling yourself so that your last memories will be a suffering stench that you will drag with you to hell.”

            Jack summoned up a last laugh.  “You’re quite the lyricist,” he commented, choking briefly on blood draining into his mouth.  “When I do reach Satan and all his douche bag friends, I’ll be sure to say hello to your old man while he’s swapping spit with the devil,” he mocked.

            Rico stood up, enraged.  “Now, Gina!  He’s gone too far!”

***

            With his last ounce of strength, Jack felt the ties release.  He eyed the scene.  He would move to take Giorgio’s weapon and make quick work of him and the Massuccis.  It was his last gasp and only alternative.

Giorgio had nodded off and was slow to react.  Jack’s first move was for Giorgio’s weapon.  Both Gina and Rico were taken by surprise by the turmoil.   Gina took a hunting knife from the table.  Rico reached for the pistol in his waistband.   It was too late.

             Gina was enraged, both by her miscalculation and the imminent demise of her plan.  She screamed and raced toward Jack Corbin.  Jack fired two head shots that stopped her in her tracks, then trained the weapon on Rico and Giorgio.  Before they could react, Jack put two rounds in each of them.

            “Lyricist, huh?” Jack said as he wiped his mouth with a towel.  “Well, here’s a dead one,” he stood over Gina’s lifeless body.  The ordeal was over and all Jack could think about was that this had been just a matter of living.