No Justice: A Michael Sykora Novel Read online

  After a moment Michael flipped the phone shut. “He’s a little pissed off about the message I left him,” Michael said. “The guy that attacked you was his cousin.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Nothing that matters. Turn the ringer off for the night. Don’t answer it.”

  Nicki took the phone back from Michael. She wanted him to lie with her. But that was a silly wish. That part of their relationship had ended as quickly as it had begun. She flipped her phone open and turned off the ringer. “Thank you,” she said.

  Michael stood in the darkness for a moment. Then he said, “Sweet dreams,” and disappeared, closing the door behind himself.

  Chapter 36

  Michael had been in his office since 7 a.m. At 8:05 the outer office door opened and Ruby’s melodic voice echoed through the walls. She continued singing at her desk. An old country song as far as Michael could tell. He tuned it out and tried to focus on work.

  Ten minutes later, Ruby poked her head in his open doorway. She said, “I didn’t expect you to be here this early. That mean things are back to usual around here?”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Michael said. “How are you this morning, Ruby?”

  “Better than you, I’d say. Those dark circles under your eyes damn near hit your chin. Haven’t you been sleeping?”

  Ruby crossed the room and sat in one of the leather chairs. She wore a bright purple sleeveless dress and matching strappy heels. Her lipstick, eye shadow, and nail polish were that same shade of purple. The whole thing sparked an image of M&M candies. And that meant he definitely needed sleep.

  “Not as much as I should,” Michael said.

  “Has that woman that was here been keeping you up late?” Ruby asked. “Cause that would be good, except you look more stressed than in love these days.”

  “I’m not in love, Ruby.”

  “What is it then? Lust?”

  “I just have a lot on my mind.”

  Ruby tapped her long purple nails together and gave a little huff. “You going to tell me it has nothing to do with that sexy young thing?”

  “Her name is Nicki.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing,” Michael said. “She’s just a friend.”

  “She married?”

  “No.”

  “Have you turned gay?”

  Michael crossed his arms in front of him. “What?”

  “Come on now, Michael,” Ruby said. “She’s beautiful. I saw the way you looked at each other. And you’re telling me you’re just friends? I figured she’d either have to be married or one of you is only interested in your own gender.”

  “And you assumed I would be the gay one?”

  “Well is she?”

  “No.”

  Ruby gave him a little smirk and shook her head. As she rose from her chair, she said, “You two would make some beautiful babies together.”

  With that she disappeared from his office, leaving Michael with thoughts of Nicki that he couldn’t shake. And they were not the kind of thoughts he wanted to be having.

  ***

  For the next couple of hours, Michael alternated between work and thoughts of Nicki. At lunchtime Ruby brought him a roast beef sandwich she’d made with her weekend leftovers. She sat with him, making small talk for awhile. Then she asked, “How is your daddy doing?”

  “Holding his own,” Michael said.

  “Must be hard,” Ruby said, “being that sick, stuck in the house all alone. Not only battling cancer but the alcohol, too. Such a shame.”

  “Yeah…”

  “I know it’s been hard for you to let go of the past and be there for him. But you’re doing the right thing. For both of you.”

  Michael nodded, then quickly changed the subject. “Did you play bingo over the weekend?”

  “I sure did,” Ruby said.

  Being wise to his moods, as usual, Ruby easily went with the subject change. She managed to turn her night out at bingo into a grand story with larger than life characters that made Michael laugh.

  “And that Marianne,” Ruby was saying. “She’d been chomping on this apple, annoying us all. We’re trying to hear the numbers and she’s crunching away in our ears. Then, next thing we know, she’s holding her apple up and her teeth are stuck to it! Even the man calling the numbers had to step away from the microphone ‘cause he was laughing so hard. But Marianne, she just pulled her teeth from that apple and stuck them back in her mouth as if nothing happened.”

  “You’re making that up,” Michael said through his laughter.

  Ruby held her right hand up. “It’s the honest to God truth.”

  “Well I hope she at least stopped chomping on the apple after that.”

  “She did. And I won myself a hundred dollars!”

  Once Ruby had left Michael alone again, he turned back to his computer. He started up the program he wanted to work on but Ruby’s earlier words were haunting him. For some stupid reason, he now couldn’t help but envision his father in that house, all alone, slowly dying. He picked up the phone and dialed.

  Michael listened to the ringing through the wires. By the fifth ring his nerves had him edgy. His father didn’t own an answering machine. The man hated electronic devices. He had a VCR only because Michael had bought it way back when he still lived at home. The thing was ancient but his father could run it and it worked well enough for the occasional movie his father popped in. The man absolutely refused to get a DVD player. And he claimed that merely watching someone use a computer gave him a headache. A cell phone was out of the question.

  By the twelfth ring, Michael gave up and disconnected. Ridiculous to worry. His father was a grown man. He still drove and took care of himself. He could be anywhere.

  Michael worried anyway.

  Mid afternoon he fumbled through a conference call, hoping he didn’t sound as unprepared as he felt. His private life had not only invaded his work time, it had also bullied its way front and center into his brain and was now stoically holding fort. Something had to change soon.

  He reached for the phone and punched in his father’s number. In the midst of the third ring, his father answered with a weary hello. “You okay, dad?” Michael asked.

  “Sure,” John Sykora replied. “Just a little tired.”

  “I called earlier. Were you out?”

  “I spent the morning out back watching the birds.”

  Watching the birds? “It’s about a hundred degrees out there.”

  “Eighty-seven. There’s a nice breeze from the lake today.”

  The last Michael knew, his father hated the hot humid weather and had never given more than a passing glance at the birds that flocked the lake behind the house. His world was making less sense by the minute. He said, “Do you need anything?”

  “Nah. I’m doing okay.”

  “You all set for money? I can help. It’s not a problem.”

  “I got all I need,” John said. “But thanks for the offer.”

  “How about dinner again soon? Maybe Chinese?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “I’ll call you,” Michael said. “In the meantime, if you need anything…”

  “I know, son. And I appreciate it.”

  After hanging up, Michael sat in the silence of his office. He propped his arms on the desk and rested his forehead in his hands. He could see his mother doting on his younger sister, putting ribbons in her hair and going on about how cute she was. And he could see his father watching from the doorway, frowning, then grabbing a bat and telling Michael to come hit some balls.

  When had they become two separate families? And why?

  On a whim Michael pulled up a Google search page on his computer. Of course it was a long shot that he’d actually find his sister this way. He wasn’t even sure what he would do if he did find her.

  The first result was a real estate agent in California. Michael studied the woman’s picture. What would his sister look like after all these ye
ars? The gap between her front teeth would likely be gone. Would her hair still be blonde with that hint of strawberry? He sighed as he looked at the middle-aged heavyset brunette realtor. Definitely not his sister.

  The next result was an interior decorator in New York. The only pictures were of the work, not the woman. Michael clicked on the About Me page and read the woman’s bio. She had been an interior decorate for more than 20 years. Unless Tracy had begun her career at the ripe old age of twelve, this wasn’t her either.

  Next he found a page that listed Tracy Sykora as a wanted criminal. Wouldn’t that be his luck? Out of morbid curiosity, he clicked on the link. The picture was definitely not his sister. Small miracles.

  During the next 15 minutes, Michael clicked on countless links. He found a black singer and a little girl who’d won a beauty pageant. He did not find his sister.

  Michael hadn’t actually expected to find his sister that easily, though it would have been a nice surprise. He had nothing to go on. For all he knew, his sister was married with a new name and five kids. She could be living in London, Italy, Africa, or the next street over. He didn’t know what she looked like, where she’d gone to school, or if she even still went by the first name Tracy. Maybe their mother had changed her name to Sara. Or Simone. They could have joined a cult or a traveling circus.

  Finding his sister was worse than the proverbial needle in the haystack. At least with the needle, you had a starting point and a specific search area.

  Michael slumped back in his chair and blew out a long breath. However daunting the search might be, he would do it. As soon as he straightened out the mess with Nicki, he’d find his sister. One last gift for his father.

  Chapter 37

  The air was too heavy to breathe. The act was like trying to suck ice cream through a straw. Michael crossed the parking lot and opened up his car. A wave of heat exploded in his face. He groaned, glad the day was over though the night wasn’t looking much better. He had to do something to end this situation with Nicki. Soon.

  He slid into the driver’s seat. The leather burned through his clothes. He lowered the windows and flipped on the air conditioner. It poured out more heat. He cursed as he shut it off and grudgingly waited.

  While he sat, Michael realized that he’d left his disposable phone in the glove box. He retrieved it and checked his messages. One voice mail. The usual from Sean. “Call me.”

  Michael dialed the number. Sean said, “Got some gossip for you.”

  “Something good, I hope,” Michael replied.

  “That would depend on your perspective.”

  “When?”

  “I’m ten minutes away.”

  “Give me twenty.”

  Michael shifted the car into drive, then flipped the air conditioner back on. It mercifully blew cold air in his face. Eighteen minutes later he pulled into the parking lot at The Rusty Anchor. He found Sean inside, drinking a beer in a back booth. Michael ordered a draft from Josh and took it to the table.

  “The kid pierced his lip,” Sean said, referring to Josh.

  “I noticed,” Michael replied.

  “I asked him why he did it.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He likes to stand out in a crowd.”

  “And that he does.”

  “So does a clown,” Sean remarked.

  Chuckling, Michael said, “Did you tell him that?”

  “No. He’d probably start spitting in my drinks.”

  “True.”

  Sean leaned back, sipping slowly on his beer. Then, his voice dropping to that low tone reserved for business, he said, “Word is that one of Lotto’s guys, a cousin, was executed.”

  “That would be true,” Michael said.

  “And left on their own turf,” Sean said with a smile. “Nice message. I’m impressed.”

  “Damn. I must be getting good if I’m impressing you.”

  “Talk is your girl hired a pro.”

  “Hiring would imply getting paid, so I guess that’s false,” Michael said.

  “Want me to correct that rumor?”

  “I think we’ll let that one stand.”

  “Pushed Lotto right to the edge,” Sean said. “He and his wanna-be bangers are out for blood. Now they want the girl as well as the guy who did the cousin.”

  Michael nodded, sipped his drink. He watched out the window as he considered the situation. Taking out an entire group of people hadn’t exactly been in his plans. Yet it was looking like he didn’t have many options left.

  “They’ve been asking around,” Sean said. “Looking for her. And info on the mystery hit man.”

  “Are they learning anything?”

  Sean chuckled. “Yeah. They’re learning why you’re called The Ghost.”

  That made Michael smile. He said, “Any word on whether the cops have been watching Lott?”

  “They picked him up, took him for a ride. I hear they questioned him but they’ve got nothing solid.”

  Michael frowned, ran a hand through his hair. “Here’s my problem,” he said. “Lott’s my only connection to the goons he has after Nicki. I take him out, I don’t know who they are. But the longer I let it go, the more likely the cops will grab him.”

  “And you don’t want that.”

  “No.”

  “You’ve got a bit of a dilemma.”

  “Your insight is mind blowing.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Sean said through a grin. “But I can help you out even more. There were five of them that were pretty tight. Four now. Lotto, another cousin whose name is Darius, and two pieces of shit from the same neighborhood. Can’t help you with their names. A few other guys hang with them now and then but those four are your only concern. They hang out at a dive called Rafferty’s on Madison.”

  “Yeah, I followed Lott there one night,” Michael said. “Guy in an old black Lincoln picked him up.”

  “One of the goons. Seems to be Lotto’s chauffeur. Feakin’ weird.”

  “Maybe he thinks he’s a mob boss.”

  “Yeah, like he stepped out of a Godfather movie. Christ.” Sean finished off his beer, then said, “You need any help with this?”

  “No,” Michael replied. “At least I don’t think so.”

  “Okay. Let me know.” Sean leaned closer to Michael and said, “They’re all scum. Marcus, the dude you took out, has gone down for rape. The other three have a revolving door at the prison. You’d be doing the world a favor by getting rid of them all.”

  With that, Sean slid from the booth and strode from the bar. Michael remained for awhile, sipping his beer and wondering how he was going to kill four people without being seen or stepping into a shootout.

  Chapter 38

  Nicki made omelets for dinner. Watching her cook in his kitchen gave Michael an odd mix of unease and contentment. After they’d eaten, they sat out in the shade by the pool. He had not told her about his conversation with Sean. The less detail she knew, the better it would be for her. He asked, “Did you speak to your boss today?”

  “Yeah,” Nicki replied. “I won’t be working there anymore.”

  “I’m sorry. She fired you for the time off?”

  “No. I quit.”

  “You quit? Why?”

  Nicki gave a little shrug. “I’ve given it a lot of thought these past few days. I realized that I can’t do it. At least half of those women wind up going back to the guys abusing them. I can’t sit around and watch that happen anymore.”

  “I can understand that,” Michael said. “So what are you going to do?”

  “Not social work,” Nicki replied. “A hell of a lot of good that degree will do me.”

  “It never hurts. You might use it for something.”

  “Maybe. I’ll figure something out.”

  “I have no doubt that you will.”

  “So what’s next?” Nicki asked. “With Lott, I mean. Do we have a plan?”

  “I have a plan,” Michael said. “You have to stay
right here, out of sight and out of trouble.”

  “Can you at least fill me in?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you think I can handle myself? Or maybe help?”

  “That’s not the issue,” Michael said. “It’s better if you don’t know details.”

  “In case the cops connect Isabel to me and question me.”

  Michael smiled but didn’t reply. “I’ve got to go out later.”

  “Business or pleasure?”

  “Some might say both.”

  “I see.”

  “I’ll be late. Or early, depending on which way you look at it.”

  “I’ll be right here waiting when you get back.”

  Michael pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He handed it to Nicki and said, “If something happens to me at any time during this ordeal, call that number. Tell him your first name and that I told you to call.”

  Nicki held Michael’s eyes for a long moment. She said, “I don’t like this.”

  “It’s just a precaution.”

  “Stay safe. Okay?”

  “Count on it.”

  ***

  Michael parked the rented Bonneville in the lot at Rafferty’s. The old Lincoln sat in the next row, six cars down. The inside of the bar looked as bad as the outside. Michael chose a barstool with cracked black leather that was positioned so that he had a good view of the place. The wood on the bar was scratched, the polish long worn off.

  The bartender, a two hundred pound bouncer type, said, “What are you drinking?”

  “Jack and soda,” Michael replied.

  While the bartender poured his whiskey, Michael glanced around. Two potbellied guys and one skinny woman were playing darts. Two middle-aged men – one with long hair and a scraggly beard, the other shaved bald – sat at the bar near him. At a table near the back, Lott and his merry men were huddled in a heated conversation.

  Michael sipped his drink and watched from the corner of his eye. He was too far away to hear what they were saying but no one was smiling. He finished his drink, ordered another and carried it to the back of the bar. Two pool tables sat unused a few feet from Lott. Michael set his drink on the edge of one and racked the balls.

  With a casual glance at the table, Michael said, “Anyone up for a game?”

  Lott’s eyes were narrow and hard, his mouth set in a thin line. He had a moustache and dark hair that fell in his face. He was muscular, though not very big. He stared but said nothing.