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“We don’t have to do either,” the officer said smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. “We have every right to detain him.”
“True, but you won’t. Not only is my client injured, but he’s also traumatized. The media would have a field day if you detained him . . . as if you don’t already have enough damage control to do. You don’t need to add harassing an innocent man to it.”
“Harassing? Innocent? He’s one of them!”
“Him?” Mr. Borza asked, glancing at Carmine. “You honestly believe the public is going to look at this boy and think ‘criminal’?”
Agent Cerone sighed. “You’re right.”
The officer looked at him with disbelief. “You’re going to let him walk?”
“I gave my word,” Agent Cerone said quietly, pushing his chair back and glancing at his watch. “Sit tight while I secure your release. I told you I’d have you out by morning and it looks like I was right, considering the sun will be up soon.”
38
Kelsey and Haven sat at the diner near their brownstone in a booth by the door. It was Sunday morning on their first weekend of summer vacation. There were a few other patrons in the diner, an elderly couple a few seats away and a family in the back, as well as two men drinking coffee at the bar.
A lady in a white top and khakis with a black apron tied around her waist plopped two plastic menus down on the table. “What can I get you ladies to drink?”
“Coffee,” Kelsey said. “Two creams, a dash of skim milk, and three packets of Splenda. Oh, and two ice cubes.”
“I’ll take coffee, too,” Haven said. “Just black, please. You know, normal.”
She returned with their drinks as Haven opened the menu and scanned it. Kelsey rattled off a list, emphasizing her need for extra bacon, whereas Haven asked for a stack of pancakes. As hungry as she was, nothing sounded appetizing.
“I’ll have it to you in a jiffy,” she responded, taking the menus and walking off. Haven sighed and picked up her coffee, taking a sip of the hot bitter liquid as she gazed out of the window. She heard one of the men ask the waitress to turn on the television and a few seconds later the diner was filled with the sound of the news.
The reports were mainly politics, with local scandals dominating the headlines. She had spent some time learning about political parties in New York. Kelsey’s dad was running for office again and Haven often asked her about it, but she always blew off the questions and claimed none of it mattered. She said she wouldn’t bother voting if her father’s job didn’t rely on it, insisting nothing would ever change no matter who got into office.
Haven never contradicted her, but she didn’t agree at all. Abraham Lincoln and the Thirty-eighth Congress passed the Thirteenth amendment that abolished slavery. Woodrow Wilson and the Sixty-sixth Congress passed the Nineteenth amendment to give women the right to vote. To Haven, it mattered.
The men started debating issues, the two opposite on everything. She sipped her coffee as their bickering grew louder, a debate about gun control, and Haven froze, spilling her coffee when she caught a glimpse of the television. Her stomach lurched at the sight of the familiar man, her eyes quickly scanning the caption on the bottom of the screen: D.O.J. Special Agent Donald Cerone.
The coffee scorched her skin and she gritted her teeth from the searing pain as her coffee cup clattered to the table, slipping from her hand. The diner grew quiet as people turned to the commotion at her booth, but Haven ignored them, her attention focused squarely on the television. She had a hard time catching the words, the throbbing in her hand distracting, as she felt like she was sinking under water.
“. . . Issued a statement about the incident in Chicago . . . embarrassment for the department . . . massacre at alleged Mob boss Salvatore Capozzi’s home . . . single deadliest incident in the history of the Outfit . . . debate on how witnesses are to be properly handled . . .”
It hit Haven like a ton of bricks when a picture of Dr. DeMarco flashed on the screen. “Alleged mobster had been on the run . . .”
“Oh God,” she gasped as they showed a clip of a large mansion, dozens of police cars parked in front of yellow tape.
“A federal witness . . . provided information that triggered the raid . . . opened fire before police arrived . . . unsure of the main target . . . warrant issued for Capozzi . . . believed to be injured in the gunfire . . .” They showed a picture of Salvatore with a number on the bottom to call. Haven shuddered, tears welling in her eyes. “. . . Seven dead at the scene . . . several taken into custody . . .”
Haven gasped as a picture of Carlo flashed on the screen, followed by footage of several others. Victims, they said, dead when police arrived. She stared in shock . . . Carlo was dead? She was so stunned she almost didn’t catch the next words.
“DeMarco’s funeral is scheduled for tomorrow . . .”
Funeral.
One of the men in the diner sighed exasperatedly. “Perfect example of why we need gun control.”
“No way,” the other man said. “They do us all a favor by killing each other.”
A loud sob escaped Haven’s throat when it hit her and she quickly brought her hands up to cover her mouth. She trembled, shaking her head furiously. Funeral? Dr. DeMarco was dead?
“Hayden?” Kelsey’s voice rang out. “Are you okay?”
Haven tried to respond, but as soon as she uncovered her mouth another sob echoed through the diner. She jumped up from the booth and nearly fell, her legs barely able to withstand her weight. She pushed past her friend as she ran for the door and bolted down the street to her apartment. Kelsey yelled after Haven but she didn’t turn around, fumbling for the keys and rushing inside. Leaning back against the door, she closed her eyes and tried to get a grip on herself. The words of the news report continually ran through her mind, although she couldn’t make sense of it. How could he be dead? What happened?
