Epilogue – Stratagems

Captain Bruno Dante was relieved to get the call from Irons.  Not only was he glad to hear the news of Nottingham's demise, since Irons' assassin always gave him the jitters, but it also gave him an opportunity to leave his office and avoid the many calls from the press and the Mayor's office.  He wanted to distance himself from the Randy Wyatt suicide and the failed trap at the hospital.  The public had a short attention span; his career depended upon it.

The sun had gone down over an hour ago, so the Irons estate security lights were burning.  It was apparent something was amiss at the mansion.  More guards could be seen patrolling the grounds and the lights inside the manor were ablaze.  Security had been alerted to expect his handpicked team for the investigation of the shooting.  As Dante drove through the main gate, he began to speculate on what might have happened this evening.

He had always belittled Irons' bodyguard, without him being present of course, because Nottingham had always intimidated him.  Actually, the proper phrasing was that he had always scared the hell out of him.  His intellect was formidable enough, but his genetic and chemical enhancements only fortified his already invincible skills as an assassin.  Just the fact that he had survived this long under Irons' tutelage was an amazing feat.  Dante thought there was an outside chance that Nottingham had actually been murdered by Kenneth Irons himself.  Maybe his loyal servant had finally turned on him, forcing Irons to kill him, maybe in self-defense.  He would know more when he got inside.

Entering the mansion, his team was ushered to Nottingham's bedroom by one of Irons' servants.  Dante had never been allowed this far into the manor.  He thought it peculiar that Irons had not spoken to him first.  Perhaps he was cleaning himself up, washing off the blood and gunpowder residue from his hands.  If Dante played his cards right, he would have something to hold over his head.  Of course, this was a dangerous game to play with a man as lethal as Irons.

As Dante's investigative team entered the room; it was apparent that a gun had been fired recently in the quarters.  Only a small lamp on a side table dimly illuminated the room.  Nottingham's bedroom was almost as big as Dante's home.  After more lights were lit, the team had donned their latex gloves and began combing the room for the body.  It was Orlinsky who first saw Nottingham's hiking boots, obscured by the bed itself.

"The body is on the other side of the bed…Over here."  He informed the team so they could get to work. As the detective came around the corner of the bed, he exclaimed, "What the hell?"

*****

Dante was ushered into the Great Room to see Irons, who had made himself suddenly available to the NYPD Captain.  Irons looked older, and had a tired expression on his face.  Before Dante could speak, Irons barked an order as if he were one of his many servants.

"I'm going to want his head wrapped in ice.  No questions asked, Bruno."  Irons continued to look into the fire, not making eye contact with the perplexed Captain.

"Well…I do have at least one question for you.  Is this your idea of a joke?"  That got Irons' attention.  Looking toward Dante, he noticed the Captain was handing him a piece of paper.  Presumably, it was Nottingham's suicide note.  Irons unfolded the paper.  His face reddened with rage as he read the note in Nottingham's own handwriting.

Remember…you made me what I am…and Daddy didn't raise no fool.

What the hell was this?  His thoughts were jumbled in his head; nothing was making any sense.  Irons bolted to Ian's room, taking two steps at a time up the stairs, with Dante close behind.  Dante's team of investigators had been told to stay in Nottingham's room until they had heard from their Captain.  Irons shoved his way into the room, searching for the body, cursing under his breath.  He was beginning to believe he had been had.  This was confirmed when he noticed Nottingham's room had been cleaned out of all his weapons, clothing, and other personal belongings.  Irons began to pace the room, his heart rate elevated, his breathing erratic.  Damn it, Nottingham! He thought. 

Stopping mid-stride, Irons' mind had begun to speculate on what else young Nottingham may have done.  Perhaps because he himself would have done the same.  Leaving a confused group of detectives behind, Irons ran downstairs towards his study and home office.  Dante was fast on his heels.  Wanting his privacy, he slammed the study door in the Captain's face as he made his way towards the safe secreted behind a rather large Monet painting on the wall behind his massive desk.  Peering into the dark interior of the safe, he gasped as he saw what he had expected to see.  Irons had kept a million dollars in cash in the safe and, more importantly, he had kept books on his illegal arms trading.  Both were gone.  There was only a small, folded piece of paper remaining.  Feeling every bit of his age, he collapsed into his leather desk chair, trying to catch his breath.  He read the note, knowing who had written it.

"You harm Sara…and I harm you."

Irons screamed in his frustration, pounding his right hand into the side of his cherry wood desk until it was bleeding and bruised.  Dante, hearing the noise, forced his way into the study, not waiting for an invitation.  The NYPD Captain looked around the room, gun in hand, to make sure it was secure.  Irons' screaming was not an everyday occurrence.  Holstering his weapon, Dante walked over to the desk where Irons now sat, seething with his own hostility.

"What happened?  Your boy get something of value?"  Dante asked, wishing he had not after Irons glare answered his question.

"Guess he wasn't house broken."  Dante pushed, never having been accused of being very bright.

Irons demeanor changed with Dante's last remark.  His emotional outburst was under control.  He now directed his hostility toward the imbecile before him.

"By the way, Captain Dumber…For some inexplicable reason, my trained assassin Mr. Nottingham thinks you intend to kill his precious Sara Pezzini by midnight tonight."

Irons took a moment to watch Dante's reaction.  Unlike Nottingham, the good Captain was much easier to read.

"I would be sleeping with one eye open tonight…and every night from here on."  A smug look came over Irons' face, a much more common expression.

Dante tried to keep a poker face, but Nottingham was a ghost, a lethal weapon.  His heart felt like it would beat out of his chest.  His throat was dry and raspy.  When he thought his career was over, he imagined that was the worst that could happen…until now.

"Now how did he get that impression, Kenneth?"  Dante knew this familiarity would irritate Irons.  Irons had unleashed his attack dog on him.  The gloves were off.

Irons shrugged languidly before answering.

"Haven't a clue.  Perhaps you'll get a chance to ask him yourself."  The thought of staring into the eyes of Nottingham sent chills down Dante's back.   If there were a possibility of being that close to the most deadly Ian Nottingham, he would not be thinking of any questions to ask him.  He would be looking for the nearest exit.  Irons was not done with Captain Dante.  He loved seeing him twist in the wind.

"Oh and Captain?  If there is one thing I have learned today…never find yourself standing between Nottingham and his beloved Sara Pezzini."  Irons smiled wickedly, relishing his advantage over this man he detested. 

Irons would have killed Dante long ago, just for the sport, except for his position as Captain in the NYPD.  The greed and corruption of this dishonorable man had proven handy at times.  Except for his stupidity and lack of imagination, Irons found a kindred spirit in the morality department.  He was a necessary evil unfortunately.

Dante did not understand the story behind Nottingham and Petzini, but it seemed she had some connections he may need to better understand before taking her on again.  Turning on his heels, he stormed out of the Irons' estate with his detectives.  How would he protect himself now?

Still sitting at his desk in his study, Irons felt as if he had survived a hurricane…one of his own creation.  He had pushed his loyal servant too far and had not counted on the extent of his reaction.  Putting himself in Nottingham's place, he was not sure he would not have acted in the same manner.  If he had been playing chess with Nottingham, as he had done on many other occasions, this would be Ian's 'checkmate'.  Thinking aloud, Irons muttered.

"You are right about one thing, young Nottingham.  You are your father's son."  He was not sure if he should feel ashamed over his part in this or feel pride for Nottingham's survival and ultimate victory…perhaps a bit of both.

"I underestimated you, Ian…but that won't happen again."  His voice was cold, reflective of his devious mind.

Irons was confident he would face his once loyal servant again.  Perhaps at their next encounter, the wielder Sara Pezzini would be in command of Nottingham.  The thought of such an alliance unsettled him.  He only hoped Nottingham would still be confused between his love for Irons as a father figure and his hatred of a cruel master. 

It might mean the difference between living and dying.

The End