Broken Sky Page 14

  “My husband…” she trailed off.

  “You remember your husband? Dennis Rossi…” Pearce sighed as he fumbled through the Polaroid pictures lying on the bed, snatching up one within his hand, pointing to his picture. She looked at it closely, studying the cigar clenched within his lips, the dark sunglasses, the slicked back grey hair and the arrogant, conceited sneer written all over his pockmarked face. She swallowed hard, her eyes flickering in recognition as she dropped the Polaroid onto her lap.

  “It’s not a face you forget easily is it?” Pearce smiled “you spent eight years of your life loving him, raising his child, helping him spread his empire…and then the last eight trying to run from him, save your life after you realised the only place he belonged was behind bars, as far from you as possible.”

  “My daughter..I remember my daughter, that’s why…” she trailed off as her breathing became shallower. “That’s why you came to Manhattan isn’t it?” Pearce answered “but by coming here, you’ve placed her life in jeopardy. If you’re here she’s not safe..I don’t know how you found this information out, you had my number Gina..I was your liaison with the agency, you fell off the grid, you never called me, I thought you were dead until I found you here..”

  “They took her away from me” she mumbled, her chin dropping down onto her chest as she stared at one of the photographs. The picture was worn around the edges, yet the image clear. There she was, seated on what looked like the balcony of a villa, the customary sunglasses wrapped around her face, a cigarette loosely dangling from her lips, the raven hair curled and twisted around the frame of her neck and a younger lady-maybe in her mid to late teens or perhaps older-seated beside her with a resigned look on her face.

  Her hair auburn, her lips full, her body posture defeated and resigned as she leant forward, uninterested in what was happening around her.

  On a chair beside the pair of them was Dennis Rossi; a half shirt, shorts, chomping a cigar, dark sunglasses and a shark like smile revealing all his glimmering teeth. A tall, suited man flanked all of them, his hands folded carefully in front of him as he looked beyond the scene off into the distance.

  “We had to relocate you remember” Pearce said “it was just the way it was after the trial; it was safer for everybody concerned”

  “No..” she snarled, gazing down at the picture, focusing on the forlorn expression of the young girl in the picture “..I wasn’t happy with it, that’s all I can remember…I didn’t want you to take her away from me.”

  “Dennis went to prison because of your testimony Gina, we had to do what was best for you and we couldn’t risk your daughter being there..it was the price that you had to pay, and you were happy to do it from what I recall..don’t you remember that? You wanted to leave your daughter..” Pearce replied, standing to his feet, stuffing his hands into his pockets and yanking out a cell phone, tracing his fingers over the buttons as he peered over the rim of his glasses at her.

  “I can’t remember…I….I recognise her face…I know she’s my daughter…but I can’t remember her name, I can’t remember a thing about her…my God..what the hell has happened..” she quietly wept as she pushed the pictures away. Her neck sunk back into the pillow and she closed her eyes, ignoring Pearce’s attempts to collect the pictures together.

  “Doc says you’ve forgotten a lot” Pearce chimed in “this injury to your head has screwed up your memory..but it will come back in time, slowly and surely you will be able to piece the parts together again..you can recognise your own daughter in that photo Gina, that’s a good start”

  “Stop calling me that” she breathed heavily “my name’s not Gina, my name’s not Gina…”

  “Then maybe you’ll remember one of the names we gave you…” Pearce smiled “Miranda Keller, for instance?”

  She paused for a moment, racking her mind for a fragment of a memory that would explain everything, to explain the man before her, explain the photos, the fact that deep within her heart she felt such longing and love for her own daughter and yet could not remember her name, her face, a single thing about her.

  “Gina” Pearce went on “they’re going to find you and they’re going to kill you…now we have to get out of here, we have a safe house downtown and we’ll get you there by the end of the day. I can’t trust anybody in this hospital. We need to start again, Dennis has already got people out looking for you, his parole is up very very soon..if he gets out on compassionate grounds, then there’s a real possibility he’ll come looking for you himself…”

  “I won’t go with you” she refused “I don’t trust you, I don’t trust nobody-where’s John? I want to see him..where’s John?”

  “You can’t trust the police, you can’t trust anybody but me Gina” Pearce sighed as he rose to his feet “I was the agent responsible for your relocation, I was the one you stayed in touch with before you disappeared…if you could remember anything, you’d know I’m telling the truth.”

  “I..I hurt my head, I fell down some stairs…I got assaulted, I don’t remember anybody trying to kill me” she snapped, turning to her side as she looked away from him.

  “You might get one over on this quack doctor here” Pearce smirked, flashing a glare at her as he walked to the door “but you’re in no condition to know what’s best for you, that’s why you’re in this mess in the first place”

  “Leave me alone” she shook her head “or I’ll scream, I promise you I will”

  “This is getting us nowhere..” Pearce sighed as he returned to his seat, placing his hand in hers, only to relinquish it as he noticed her grip tightening “now come along with me peacefully before I have to make you.”

  She felt her mind go blank as she focused on his spectacles, the dots on his blue and red tie became blurry, multiplying in number as he she closed her eyes, bringing her hand up to her head as she leant her head against the pillow.

  She felt nauseous, an overwhelming sense of dread and despair engulfing her as images flashed through her mind. She wanted to speak, but her head throbbed in intense pain, a numbness spreading throughout her body as she failed to comprehend the words coming out of Pearce’s mouth.

  “Come with me..” Pearce whispered as he clasped her hand, stroking her hair as he helped her rise from the bed, gently guiding her through the doorway as they stepped out into the hallway “we’ll get you somewhere safe where nobody can hurt you, I promise..”

  *

  Her face leant against the window as she watched the streets roll past her. The speed of Pearce’s car was beginning to pick up; his eyes darted up at the rear view mirror every few seconds to ensure she was still seated. She was quite still, her body shorn of the constricting seat buckle and her expression sour and disdainful as he continued to glower at her. “There’s nothing for you here anyway..” Pearce explained as the car came to a standstill in a centipede shaped strand of traffic up ahead “given the state you’re in you’re better off with us, we have the best medical staff, we’ll take good care of you, and protect you.”

  “I don’t want to be taken care of..” she moaned, her eyes focusing on the street corner. It must have been the corner of East 10th Streetto West 10th at Broadway and she recognised one of the transients huddled amongst a group standing in front of a chestnut stand. The bellowing smoke curled around their sorrowful, unbelievably bored faces, except for one. Only one moon shaped face could wear a static ear to ear smile despite the torrential rain, despite the chill in the air and despite the fact that he was shivering. It was Pollard.

  “You ran away because they came for you” Pearce ignored her “now you’re doing the same this time, at least this way you won’t jeopardize your own life or that of your daughter’; Doctor says things are gonna be unpredictable and risky for a while, because of this injury..”

  “I came here…” she muttered as she locked onto Pollard’s gaze some twenty five feet away “to find my daughter…”

  “I thought she lives in Long Island..” Pearce sc
offed “anyway, what has she got to do with anything? I thought you couldn’t give a shit about her..”

  She glared at him, her eyes locked onto the back of his head as he stared forward towards the traffic up ahead. He angrily swatted the steering wheel and let out a droning, loud sigh. She stared back at Pollard who was tentatively stepping away from the chestnut stand, his expression gleeful, his hands waving as he recognised her. “My daughter is all I have left..” she hissed as she gripped the interior car handle and snagged it open.

  A cold blast of wind swept through the car as Pearce whipped his head around, attempting to grab her before the belt buckle yanked his torso back to his seat. “Where the fuck are you going?” he growled as she kicked open the door, stumbled out of the car and ran towards Pollard as fast as she could, her heart thumping, her sense of balance and direction distorted.

  The cacophony of blaring vehicle horns rang through the air as she snaked through the stationary cars and towards Pollard. Her head throbbed but she refused to acknowledge the pain as her legs gathered pace. “Where you been babe?” he chuckled as she embraced him before whipping her head round to see Pearce struggling out of the car, looking around frantically to see where she had fled.

  “I gotta get away from that guy..” she pointed, struggling to breathe as she clung onto Pollard’s shoulder. “What the hell’s wrong with you? You look like shit” Pollard observed as she grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the street corner.

  “He’s a cop, some crazy cop” she replied as she strode ahead, zig-zagging through the commuters walking past her “they took my suitcases Pollard, they took everything, they’re not letting me find my daughter, I’m going crazy, I’m going crazy” she whimpered as Pollard struggled to keep up with her.

  “It don’t matter right now babe” Pollard smiled as he motioned for her to dodge left through the crowds “we got each other, and who else can ya trust but me, huh?”

  Chapter Twelve

  John sat back in his chair, staring blankly at the television screen. In his right hand he clutched a can of beer and in the other a crumpled piece of paper. His eyes were tired, reddened and glazed over. The television volume was low, his mind elsewhere. He looked up at the clock above the set. It was only four in the afternoon and he had been sitting there for hours, sipping cans of beer and reading the letter over and over with bemusement. Rain spat against the window panes and he heard feet scurrying across the floorboards in the flat above. He could have reached over to switch on the light but he wouldn’t move.

  Instead he rose to his feet, letting the can slip to the floor, joining the pile of five already crushed under his feet. Raising his left foot, he gleefully stamped down upon them and stood there looking around for his pack of cigarettes. At that moment he heard the low murmur of voices, one female one male, crossing over one another in hushed fierce disagreement. He took an uncertain step forward and realised the voices were coming from behind the front door. He contemplated backtracking to his room to grab his gun but decided not to. He leant his ear to the door and could make out the grumbling of two voices debating whether to knock on his door and whether or not he was inside.

  He peeled the chain off the lock and swung the door open, greeted by an empty corridor. He stood there momentarily as he stared out to the opposite wall. ‘John?’ whispered a voice. He knew who it was. She ghosted to the front door entrance from his left, looking up at him with haggard eyes, her hair soggy and wet, breathless. “It took me a while to locate the apartment again…but I found it” she smiled. He stared back at her blankly; studying her face, watching the drops of rain falling from the shirt she was wearing onto his hallway carpet, the same shirt of his she was arrested in. He could see that she had stuffed it over a hospital gown, and noticed the ward bracelet on her hand. She was shivering.

  “Is he there then?” a voice piped up from behind her. “Yes..” she snapped as she motioned for Pollard to come into view. John stared down at him, surprised by his diminutive stature and the odd size of his large, moon shaped face. “Hey there” Pollard smiled “My name’s Pollard, nice to meet ya..”

  “Who the fuck is this?” John snarled, ignoring him as he stared at her.

  “Aren’t you gonna let me in?” she asked, wrapping her arms around herself as she leaned against the door frame.

  John shrugged his shoulders, turning his back as she followed him in with Pollard in tow. The door closed behind her and John returned to his seat, switching buttons on the remote control and watching channels flicker past one another as she stood there impatiently.

  “We’ve been running and running” she said “I realised we could be maybe three or four blocks from your place; luckily Pollard knows the area so we managed to get here.”

  “Before the cops got hold of you again?” John interrupted, shooting an angry glare at her, whilst staring at Pollard who he noticed was seated on the couch with his feet up, rummaging through a pile of old magazines and newspapers atop the coffee table “hey you, get your feet off my fucking couch” John warned.

  “Don’t talk to him like that” she cut in “without Pollard that guy would have got hold of me..why are you being such an asshole?”

  “Me?” John scoffed as he threw the remote control to the floor “I don’t know what it is with you, one day you’re this tramp with a mink coat, the next you’re this damsel in distress living it high at the Continental with drug money and at the same time you might be the wife of a mob boss..whatever you are it’s not safe for you to be here, so before I arrest you myself, hit the road…”

  “You would have done that already if you meant it” she replied “so why don’t you?”

  John smirked as he shook his head, a sheepish giggle escaping from his mouth as he sunk into the couch, his eyes glazing over the letter in his hand for the hundredth time. “Y’know why I can’t arrest you?” he replied “’cause effective as of last night I’ve been suspended, being investigated by Internal Affairs, on Captain Durning’s shit list, all because they think I’ve been harbouring a goddamn felon..and as for all this FBI shit, they don’t even know if they can trust you either”

  “Suspended?” she gasped “look I wish I could explain all this but, but..” she trailed off as she noticed John crunch the letter up into a ball and flick it across the room, watching it bounce off the ground. “Don’t tell me..” John scowled “fuckin’ amnesia…fuckin’ hit your head and you have selective memory…bullshit…no tramp carries all that cash in suitcases without a good reason. No tramp lives in a suite for months at the Continental on credit..I shoulda seen it comin’, if you really knew I was a cop when we met you woulda run for the hills lady..what a disappointment this must have all been for you…GINA.”

  “Look, look I can’t explain everything” she hesitated “..I came here because you could help me, I came here because you’re the only one I can trust, who has been good to me, who hasn’t used me” she trailed off as he rose to his feet, squaring up to her “I don’t know about the money, I don’t know anything…when I say I can’t remember, I mean it..please John, help me” she pleaded.

  John glanced over at Pollard with a smile. “You” he pointed “I guess you’re her right hand man, is this how she does all her cons, it’s sorta like the blind man with the monkey on the street corner and you’re the monkey..or maybe I’m wrong and you’re the one with the brains behind this operation, is that how it is?”

  Pollard swallowed hard, looking to her for assurance as he began to bite his nails. “What do you want from me?” John sighed “you want pills? You want a line of coke? I don’t know how to help you, if you’re really nuts then you need to go back to the hospital; if you’re Dennis Rossi’s bitch then you need to hand yourself in to the nearest precinct and if you really are some kind of delusional street tramp with a memory problem, then you better take your ass back there where I found you ‘cause I want nothing to do with you anymore…”

  She looked into his reddened eyes, studied
his slovenly, unkempt appearance and looked around the apartment. She felt her head throbbing again; she put the fingertips of her right hand to her temple and massaged the skin. Thoughts and visions fluttered through her head, images from the past 48 hours, images of a child swaying gently from side to side on a garden swing, images of the rippling curves and grooves of the ocean as she fluttered her fingertips through its shimmering coolness, images of a girl staring up at her as they both embraced, images of a black suited man standing over her smashing his fists down upon her head as she cowered at his feet. And then just as quickly as the images crashed against her brain cells, they fused together, merging into a kaleidoscope of blurred thoughts and colours she could make no sense of.

  “To hell with you then…” she grimaced, shutting out the pain in her head, her eyes narrowing in disgust as she motioned to Pollard to leave. “You and your husband make me sick…” John hissed, the stench of his alcohol infused breath carrying across the room “I hope he fuckin’ rots where he is” he added with a kick to the cans at his feet. She stood at the entranceway, her balance impaired and her breathing shallow as she yanked the door open.

  “I really wish you would just listen to me…just try to see things from where I am” she replied, a tear trickling down her cheek as she stifled a sob “if I could remember everything, if I could tell you the things I feel then you’d still not want to believe me, would you?”.

  * *

  The room was empty now. Dennis Rossi put his ear to the telephone and listened intently. It was the fourth attempt to place a call through to his daughter.

  He rested his upper body against the phone booth and struggled to contain the wheezing cough that was spluttering from his chest whenever he breathed in. He noted the suspicious look in the eyes of the guard prowling around him, slowly pacing up and down the corridor, straining to listen in to Rossi cursing under his breath. He stuck his palm out expectantly and the guard slipped him a dime. Anybody else and their time to make a phone call was up, not Dennis Rossi, and not even the most morose penitentiary guard would not deny a dying man another request.