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“Somebody cut the chain,” Amalfi says. “Somebody above me.”
Suddenly, I realize why I’ve been summoned here. “You work with middlemen, cutouts. Isn’t that right, Mr. Amalfi?”
“Yeah. That’s how it’s done.”
“That’s how you’ve managed to stay out of that ugly prison down the road all these years.”
He nods. “I protected myself. I protected my family. I never did any time.”
“Okay. So what’s to stop me from having you arrested now for conspiracy to commit murder?”
Amalfi stares out the window for a few moments. “You’re an attorney. You know how long an investigation takes. By the time they bring charges and set a court date, I’ll be done.”
Now I understand. I squeeze the bed rail so hard, my knuckles turn white. I try to stay objective, use my left brain. Like Garrett taught me.
I lean in, close enough to smell his rotten breath. “You know who cut the chain, Mr. Amalfi, don’t you? And it was a violation of your code. That’s why you called me here. You didn’t call me to apologize or to wipe your soul clean. You didn’t call me here to ask for my forgiveness. You called me here because you wanted to tell me that you weren’t the one who gave the order to kill Garrett—and you know who did.”
“That’s right,” says Amalfi. “And you can put it in that book you’re writing.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because I’m a dying man with nothing to gain by lying.”
“I’m listening. Say it, Mr. Amalfi. Say it! Tell me who ordered Garrett Wilson killed.”
“It was the man in the White House,” he says.
Holy shit. We were right. This noble First Gentleman act is just that—an act.
Suddenly, Amalfi lets out a load moan. He lurches on the bed. His hands claw at the covers. He gasps for air in loud, wet wheezes. Drool dribbles from the corners of his mouth. The men he sent out earlier come running in.
I back away from the bed.
I hear footsteps behind me. The woman pushes me aside. “Leo!” she cries, leaning over him. “What happened?”
I look on helplessly as Amalfi’s body spasms. His face twitches.
One of the men comes around and grabs the woman’s shoulders. He holds her tight as she sinks to the floor, wailing. “Call the doctor!” he says.
The old man’s chest rises and falls. His breaths come harder. Then, suddenly, he’s frozen still, mouth and eyes wide open.
One of the other men takes a step toward me. “You need to leave.”
Suddenly I feel a cold, dark chill in the pit of my stomach. Were these the men Amalfi sent? Were these the last faces Garrett saw?
My mind is spinning with all kinds of dark thoughts as I back out of the room and hurry to the Subaru.
I just watched Leo Amalfi die and I don’t know how I feel about it.
I reach into my pocket and grab my iPhone. I click to the voice-memos app. Yes. It’s all there. The whole precious five minutes. I press the red button to stop recording and save the file.
A dying declaration from a hit man.
Garrett would be proud of me. At least I hope so.
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