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Judge Thomas Cameron.
1
SKYE
Present Time…
“The investigation into the murder of Philadelphia judge Thomas Cameron is still ongoing, officials say. Cameron was found dead in the restroom of the Louda Underground Lounge; however, the search has yielded little information, except for this photograph. A man the staff identified as Hugo Sanz was seen exiting the club minutes before the body was found.”
I glance at the television, my hand half stuffed into my duffel bag, and look at the blurry photograph of a man leaving the place where my father was murdered. He’s dressed in a dark suit, much like what I’d expect anyone at a place like that to wear, his face angled away from the camera so that not even his profile is discernable.
“If you or anyone you know has any information on this man, please call…”
I shut it off. No one would know that man, because Hugo Sanz doesn’t exist. The man in that photo is a trained killer. A professional hitman hired to take out my father. I’m convinced of it.
A revving engine somewhere in the distance has me jumping. Then when a door slams nearby, I pick up the pace, shoving clothes, jewelry I can pawn, and money into the bag.
Hurry, Skye. Move faster.
“If something happens to me,” my father told Maisie and me last year. “Run. Don’t stick around. Go to the house in Vermont.”
I didn’t have to ask why. My father had enemies. Some were behind bars, harboring a growing hatred toward the man they believed was responsible for putting them there. Never mind that they were criminals.
Others were free. Kept at bay by my father’s keen ability to negotiate.
I’m not a fool. I knew he’d been blackmailed. Money and favors in exchange for his ability to remain in position. And to keep his life.
“For the greater good,” he said to me the day I learned of his dealings with some of the criminals he’d sworn to protect the public from.
Yegor Petrov, the Russian gangster solely responsible for the murder of an entire family in Easton. It was my father who’d approved his release on parole a couple of years ago.
When I asked him how he justified it, he replied, “Everything needs rules and regulations to maintain order, even the streets. Yegor is one of those who enforces those rules and regulations.”
“What about the police? That’s their job.”
He sighed and shook his head, and I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed with me for not fully accepting the idea or himself for putting it into practice. “The world is complicated and far too big for one side to rule it all. It takes the cooperation of both sides to maintain order.”
My father was a good man. I have no doubt about that. A good man who played a volatile game with the enemy. Always trying to stay one step ahead yet afraid to fully win, because it could cost him not only his life, but the lives of his children as well.
Now he’s dead and it’s only a matter of time before the devils he made deals with come calling. Demanding their share of whatever he promised them.
I wanted time to bury him. To mourn him. But we’re not being afforded even that.
Harold Greene, Daddy’s best friend and confidant, told me so an hour ago. “You know Thomas made some deals. Now that he’s gone, you and your sister stand to inherit a sizable life insurance benefit.”
“What?” I asked in confusion. What does money matter now?
“They’re going to want a piece of it, Skye,” he added. “They’re going to come, but it won’t be enough.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Go to the house he mentioned to you. I’ll meet you there in three days and tell you everything.”
“Harry, who are you talking about?”
“Skye, you and your sister pack your stuff and go now. They are coming to colle—” Before he finished the sentence, he gurgled and gasped. Then a menacing voice came on the phone and laughed. That was all it took for me to hang up and finish packing my shit.
Collect.Theyare going to collect whatever money we’re supposed to get. That’s what he was going to say.
