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“Don’t say that!” Speed begged him. “I’d happily take that bullet for you if I had to do it all over again. I just wish I could have done something to help Mickey. I never should have gone out there with him. I keep wishing we would have just listened to you.”
“I knew he wasn’t going to listen to me. He never listened to me.”
“Are you going to be ok?” Speed asked. The line was silent for several long moments.
“He didn’t want a funeral. He said he wanted to be buried at home in New York with his mother.”
“Do you want me to be there with you? We could have our own private service,” Speed offered.
“Nah. Maybe later, after things have died down and we know it’s safe. There might be a reason they didn’t kill me.”
“What do you mean?” Speed became concerned but squeezed an eye shut as he waited.
“I think you were set up or your guy inside the FBI turned on you.”
“Nope. There’s no way.” That was exactly what they wanted Francis to think but Speed acted indignant.
“You’ll see it if you think about it.” Francis sounded like he’d made up his mind. “They had to know you’d take the fucking tape straight to Mickey.”
“So they gave me their best piece of evidence and risked it getting out in the open?”
“There was nothing on the tape, Speed. I listened to it and it’s some guys talking but neither of them are Mickey and it’s just some therapy bullshit or something.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Speed demanded.
He was rather proud of that tape, actually. He’d spent months and months scouring the internet for it but struck gold after a few weekends of garage sale shopping in the suburbs around New York City.
Speed put on a wig, thick glasses, a tracksuit, and wore a fanny pack. The beat-up minivan was disgusting but Speed had the time of his life, chatting up people who believed he lived just a few streets over with his mother. He focused on neighborhoods that would have attics full of junk from the year the cassette tape was manufactured. Speed pretended he collected local radio station recordings and old mixtapes from the early 2000s to the year he started college.
He offered $5 foranycassette tape. People rarely thought twice, they sent their kids into the house to grab “that shoebox of old tapes” for a quick $50-$100. It wasn’t long before Speed hadfourof the exact same model tape and one with two men speaking in thick New York accents. One of the cases had a sheet of extra blank labels so Speed had everything he needed to make a convincing replica.
“It wasn’t Mickey on the tape. I had to listen for a few minutes to figure out what was going on but it had nothing to do with Mickey and Jimmy Coonan.”
“This was my fault,” Speed mumbled weakly but Francis shushed him.
“The FBI used you because they were scared of what Mickey was gonna say and they knew they were running out of time. I think they kept me alive so they could pin Mickey’s death on me or frame me for the break-in at the FBI. Once I’m out of the way, there’s no one left who can prove that they were taking money from Mickey and that he was calling the shots.”
“Fuck,” Speed whispered. “I’m getting the son of a bitch who did this to us. He has no idea who he fucked with.”
“Your guy at the FBI?”
“Yeah. I came to him with the idea. I told him I could make him a millionaire if he helped me lose some evidence but he must have chickened out or ran his fucking mouth. He took my money and he fucked me. I’m going to fuck him so hard, his fucking ancestors will feel it. His goddamned grandkids are gonna be walking around with raw asses because I’m burning down every fucking thing he’s got and then I’m gonna rip out his heart with my bare fucking hands,” he yelled, then ducked as he checked the windows. He couldn’t see Blake but it was likely that he was in the garden or had the terrace doors opened.
“I’m looking into it too but my friends in the FBI are fucking worthless. They don’t know much and they’re scared to look into it. Which is why I know it was them. They’re covering for dirty agents and don’t want it to get out that the FBI ordered a hit on Mickey.”
“I’ll take care of this, Francis. I obviously can’t trust my friends in the FBI but I have other friends in higher places. That motherfucker is gonna pay.”
“Hey,” Francis said firmly. “You be careful. They probably want you out of the way too. You know about the hit and you bribed an agent.”
“I’ll be careful,” Speed promised and grinned at the back of Lavender’s head. “He’s been on ‘administrative leave’ and fell off the face of the earth but I’ll find him.”
“There’s something else I’d like to find,” Francis said, becoming emotional again. “Tell me you took Mickey’s rosary while you were holding onto him,” he asked but Speed understood that Francis was begging him.
“No! What are you talking about?” Speed asked loudly, making himself sound just as upset.
“It’s gone, Speed. I’ve searched the whole fuckin’ house and every inch of the front and backyard.”
“Why would you look…? Mickey had it. I saw him holding it right before—” Speed said and Francis cut him off.
