James Patterson - Cross

Cross

Chapter 1

I'M PREGNANT, ALEX.Everything about the night is so very clear to me. Still is, after all this time, all these years that have passed, everything that's happened, the horrible murderers, the homicides solved and sometimes not.I stood in the darkened bedroom with my arms lightly circling my wife Maria's waist, my chin resting on her shoulder. I was thirty-one then, and had never been happier at any time of my life.Nothing even came close to what we had together, Maria, Damon, Jannie, and me.It was the fall of 1993, a million years ago it seems to me now.It was also past two in the morning, and our baby Jannie had the croup something terrible. Poor sweet girl had been up for most of the night, most of the last few nights, most of her young life. Maria was gently rocking Jannie in her arms, humming You Are So Beautiful, and I had my arms around Maria, rocking her.I was the one who'd gotten up first, but I couldn't seem to get Jannie back to sleep no matter what tricks I tried. Maria had come in and taken the baby after an hour or so. We both had work early in the morning. I was on a murder case.You're pregnant? I said against Maria's shoulder.Bad timing, huh, Alex? You see a lot more croup in your future? Binkies? More dirty diapers? Nights like this one?I don't like this part so much. Being up late, or early, whatever this is. But I love our life, Maria. And I love that we're going to have another baby.I held on to Maria and turned on the music from the mobile dangling over Janelle's crib. We danced in place to Someone to Watch Over Me.Then she gave me that beautiful partly bashful, partly goofy smile of hers, the one I'd fallen for, maybe on the very first night I ever saw her. We had met in the emergency room at St. Anthony's, during an emergency. Maria had brought in a gangbanger, a gunshot victim, a client of hers. She was a dedicated social worker, and she was being protective especially since I was a dreaded metro homicide detective, and she didn't exactly trust the police. Then again, neither did I.I held Maria a little tighter. I'm happy. You know that. I'm glad you're pregnant. Let's celebrate. I'll get some champagne.You like being the big daddy, huh?I do. Don't know why exactly. I just do.You like screaming babies in the middle of the night?This too shall pass. Isn't that right, Janelle? Young lady, I'm talking to you.Maria turned her head away from the wailing baby and gave me a sweet kiss on the lips. Her mouth was soft, always inviting, always sexy. I loved her kisses anytime, anywhere.She finally wriggled out of my arms. Go back to bed, Alex. No sense both of us being up. Get some sleep for me too.Just then, I noticed something else in the bedroom, and I started to laugh, couldn't help myself.What's so funny? Maria smiled.I pointed, and she saw it too. Three apples each one with a single childlike bite out of it. The apples were propped on the legs of three stuffed toys, different-colored Barney dinosaurs. Toddler Damon's fantasy play was revealed to us. Our little boy had been spending some time in his sister Jannie's room.As I got to the doorway, Maria gave me that goofy smile of hers again. And a wink. She whispered and I will never forget what she said I love you, Alex. No one will ever love you the way I do.

Chapter 2

FORTY MILES NORTH OF DC, in Baltimore, two cocksure long-haired hit men in their mid to late twenties ignored the Members Only sign and sashayed into the St. Francis Social Club on South High Street, not far from the harbor. Both men were heavily armed and smiling like a couple of stand-up comedians.There were twenty-seven capos and soldiers in the club room that night, playing cards, drinking grappa and espresso, watching the Bullets lose to the Knicks on TV Suddenly the room was quiet and on edge.Nobody just walked into St. Francis of Assisi, especially not uninvited and armed.One of the intruders in the doorway, a man named Michael Sullivan, calmly saluted the group. This was some funny shit, Sullivan was thinking to himself. All these goom-bah tough guys sitting around chewing their cud. His companion, or compare, Jimmy Hats Galati, glanced around the room from under the brim of a beat-up black fedora, like the one worn by Squiggy on Laverne & Shirley. The social club was pretty typical straight chairs, card tables, makeshift bar, guineas coming out of the woodwork.No welcoming committee for us? No brass bands? asked Sullivan, who lived for confrontation of any kind, verbal or physical. It had always been him and Jimmy Hats against everybody else, ever since they were fifteen and ran away from their homes in Brooklyn.Who the hell are you? asked a foot soldier, who rose like steam from one of the rickety card tables. He was maybe six two, with jet-black hair, and weighed 220 or so, obviously worked out with weights.He's the Butcher of Sligo. Ever hear of him? said Jimmy Hats. We're from New York City. Ever hear of New York City?

Chapter 3

THE BUFFED-UP MOB SOLDIER didn't react, but an older man in a black suit and white shirt buttoned to the collar raised his hand like the pope or something and spoke slowly and deliberately in heavily accented English. To what do we owe this honor? he asked. Of course we've heard of the Butcher. Why are you here in Baltimore? What can we do for you?We're just passing through, Michael Sullivan said to the old man. Have to do a little job for Mr. Maggione in DC. You gentlemen heard of Mr. Maggione?Heads nodded around the room. The tenor of the conversation so far suggested that this was definitely serious business. Dominic Maggione controlled the Family in New York, which ran most of the East Coast, down as far as Atlanta anyway.Everybody in the room knew who Dominic Maggione was and that the Butcher was his most ruthless hit man. Supposedly, he used butcher knives, scalpels, and mallets on his victims. A reporter in Newsday had said of one of his murders, No human being could have done this. The Butcher was feared in mob circles and by the police. So it was a surprise to those in the room that the killer was so young and that he looked like a movie actor, with his long blond hair and striking blue eyes.So where's the respect? I hear that word a lot, but I don't see any in this club, said Jimmy Hats, who, like the Butcher, had a reputation for amputating hands and feet.The soldier who had stood up suddenly made his move, and the Butcher's arm shot forward in a blur. He sliced off the tip of the man's nose, then the lobe of an ear. The soldier grabbed at his face in two places and stepped back so fast he lost his balance and fell hard on the wood-plank floor.The Butcher was fast, and obviously as good as promised with a knife. He was like the old-time assassins from Sicily, and that's how he had learned knife play, from one of the old soldiers in South Brooklyn. Amputation and bone-crunching had come easily to him. He considered them his trademark, symbols of his ruthlessness.Jimmy Hats had a gun out, a .45 caliber semiautomatic. Hats was also known as Jimmy the Protector, and he had the Butcher's back. Always.Now Michael Sullivan slowly walked around the room. He kicked over a couple of card tables, shut off the TV, and pulled the plug on the espresso machine. Everyone suspected that somebody was going to die. But why? Why had Dominic Maggione unleashed this madman on them?I see some of you are expecting a little show, he said. I see it in your eyes. I smell it. Well, hell, I don't want to disappoint anybody.Suddenly, Sullivan went down on one knee and stabbed the wounded mob soldier where he lay on the floor. He stabbed the man in the throat, then in the face and chest until there was no movement in the body. It was hard to count the strokes, but it must have been a dozen, probably more.Then the strangest thing of all. Sullivan stood up and took a bow over the dead man's body. As if this was all a big show to him, all just an act.Finally, the Butcher turned his back on the room and walked unconcerned toward the door. No fear of anything or anyone. He called over his shoulder, Nice meetin' you, gentlemen. Next time, show some respect. For Mr. Maggione if not for myself and Mr. Jimmy Hats.Jimmy Hats grinned at the room and tipped his fedora. Yeah, he's that good, he said. Tell you what, he's even better with a chain saw.Next page