Apaches (36 page)

Mrs. Columbo smiled and edged the barrel of the gun closer to Angela’s cheek. “What do you think?” she said.

Angela lifted her arms slowly above her head. It was all the men around her needed to drop their weapons and run from the van.

“Let’s get in that car,” Boomer yelled, following Dead-Eye to the Cadillac, Rev. Jim already behind the wheel.

“She will find you,” Angela shouted out after Mrs.
Columbo, watching as she removed the gun from her face and ran to join the others. “She will find all of you.”

“That’s what we’re counting on,” Mrs. Columbo shouted back.

•    •    •

S
HE WAS IN
the backseat of the Lincoln, her window rolled down, Dead-Eye next to her, Boomer and Rev. Jim in the front, dust from the back tires kicking up white puffs of sand clouds all around them. Angela and the rest of Lucia’s crew were scattered up hills and down side paths, leaving an array of guns in their wake.

Geronimo and Pins stared down at it all, nestled safely on a rock on the ridge above.

“Now,” Geronimo whispered to himself.

He didn’t flinch as the loud explosion split the black van and rocketed it skyward, sending dust, metal, debris, and cocaine filtering through the air. Red, orange, and yellow flames were reflected in Geronimo’s eyes, the heat of the blast and the strength of the strong steam air washing over him in one swooping wave of destruction. He smiled down at the site in complete admiration. Respectful of its force.

•    •    •

L
UCIA
C
ARNEY STOOD
in the bedroom of her Sedona condo, staring out at the fourteenth hole putting green, the light of a full moon filtering in through the shuttered glass. The thick white lace drapes were drawn to the edge of the porch windows and the blinds were slanted up. She wore a silk bathrobe slit down the sides, open in the front, and smoked a cigarette. She was deep in thought and didn’t hear her husband, Gerald, walk into the room. He crept up behind her, drunk from an evening out with investment cronies, and wrapped his right arm around her waist, softly rubbing her naked flesh.

“Miss me?” he muttered into her ear.

“No,” Lucia said, her eyes still on the putting green,
her mind several thousand miles away, picturing a lost shipment of cocaine and cash.

It wasn’t enough for those bastard Apaches to blow six hundred thousand dollars’ worth of her untapped coke to the wind. They had to heap on an additional insult by driving off in one of her new cars, which was holding two hundred and fifty thousand in hundreds in the trunk. A sum that, she had discovered only hours earlier, had been donated in her name to child abuse centers in three states.

Gerald began to nuzzle the side of her neck, his hands lifting and groping the bathrobe in the clumsy manner of a man who should have stopped three drinks into the night.

“Go to bed, Gerry,” Lucia said, unmoved by her husband’s actions.

“That’s the plan,” he said, his head resting on the edge of her shoulder. “You and me.”

Lucia pulled away from her husband and her view of the putting green, jamming the end of her cigarette into an ashtray on top of a marble end table. Gerald stripped off his blue jacket and undid his matching tie, smiling at his wife, his body juiced by the sight of her bare skin visible under the sheer robe.

He blocked her path as she tried to move past him, his right hand caressing her breasts. “Whatever you want,” he said to her, a broad smile on his face, fingers pulling at her nipples. “That’s what we’ll do.”

Lucia stared at Gerald, wondering why she had stayed with him as long as she had. By now she already had more money than he did and had learned as much about investing as he was ever going to be able to teach. On top of which, she had all his contacts and could just as easily go directly to them to further expand her portfolio.

“Get naked,” she finally said to him. “And turn down the lights. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Lucia walked away, closing the bathroom door behind
her, leaving Gerald waiting. He undressed quickly, twice stumbling over his pants, and eagerly slid back the satin sheets of the king-sized bed that dominated the room. He propped up two pillows and laid his head down, the ceiling above doing a slow spin, his body feeling light from all the booze. He turned his head and smiled when he saw Lucia come out of the shadows of the bathroom light, naked, clutching her robe in one hand.

She moved like a serpent up and down the contours of his body, working him with her tongue and hands, listening to him moan with pleasure, neither one uttering words. She knew when to stop and switch, spreading her legs on top of him, straddling him, her long hair draped in folds around her face and back. She slowly inserted him inside her, rocking her body in gentle, rhythmic motions, running her hands up and down her own body. Gerald continued to moan, his eyes closed, biting down hard on his lower lip.

Lucia leaned her body back, her hair touching the mattress, rocking harder now, one hand gripping Gerald’s leg, the other reaching under her crumpled bathrobe, searching for the .357 Magnum hidden beneath its folds.

She lifted the gun and held it out with both hands, her body moving at a furious pace, hungry to bring Gerald to climax.

“I’m coming, Lucia,” Gerald muttered, eyes still closed. “I’m going to come.”

“And I have to go,” Lucia said, bringing a halt to her motion and aiming the gun straight at Gerald’s head.

The loud shot from the Magnum brought two of her bodyguards storming through the bedroom door. They stopped, guns drawn, when they saw Lucia, still on top of her husband, half her body wet with his blood, bone chips, and brain matter.

She turned to look at them, blood dripping down the sides of her face, the hot gun in her right hand. She slid off the bed and walked toward the two speechless men, handing one the gun.

“I’m going to take a shower and get dressed,” Lucia said in even tones. “Have someone get rid of Gerald and then get us a private jet to New York.”

“How soon?” the one with the gun managed to ask.

“Within the hour,” Lucia said, turning to take one final look at her husband.

“Never get boring,” she said, walking into the bathroom, ready to turn on the shower head and wash off the signs of her latest kill.

P
INS SAT ACROSS
the bar from Nunzio, nursing a sweating glass of tap beer. It was early on a Saturday afternoon, two days after the Camden raid, and the place was quiet except for Ella Fitzgerald coming over the jukebox riffing her way through “My Last Affair.”

“Freshen that for you?” Nunzio asked, polishing his side of the bar with a white cloth.

“No, thanks. It’s still a little early. I’ll stick to the one.”

Nunzio stared over at Pins and spotted a look on his face that shouldn’t have been there. It wasn’t so much fear or even concern that was etched across his strong features. It was more the weight of regret, the look of someone who found himself in the middle of a battle he had no business being in. Nunzio always thought Pins was the least comfortable member of the Apache team. The others were harder, tougher, more at ease with the action. Pins, Nunzio knew, was different. He still had too much heart.

In his specialty, Pins hadn’t seen as many bodies as the others, was less aware of the ugly side of the street. He liked the team and enjoyed their company, coming to life when they were all gathered around a table, swapping war tales and stupid jokes. He went along with their plans and could be counted on to carry out his role, but, unlike the others, Pins wasn’t driven by a need for revenge. He was the only cop, Nunzio felt, who, if given the choice, would take back his commitment and retreat to the quiet sanctity of his bowling alley.

“Okay if I ask you somethin’?” Pins said, pushing aside his glass of beer.

“Doesn’t look like you’re here to drink,” Nunzio said, “and we’re not open for lunch. So I figured it was talk you wanted.”

“The way things are going,” Pins said in soft tones, “it doesn’t seem like it’s going to end good for any of us. You included.”

“Everything’s gone your way so far,” Nunzio assured him. “You’ve done some damage, caused the lady a few headaches, and, most important, you got her attention.”

“That’s right,” Pins said. “Those are all the reasons I’m worried.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” Nunzio said. “I’ll give you that.”

“There’s a weak link in every team,” Pins went on. “I’ve been around long enough to know that. I don’t want to be the weak link here.”

“You’ve held your end,” Nunzio told him. “It wasn’t your talkin’ that got the lady sniffin’ in our direction.”

“It just seems to come easier to the others,” Pins said, his words backed by Ella now singing “Good Morning Heartache.” “The action, I mean. It’s like they’re waitin’ for it. Me, I’m always kinda hopin’ we just take her down, cuff her, and hand her over to the feds.”

“You wanna walk?” Nunzio asked, spreading his hands across the bar. “Might not be too late. Word can spread that you’re out just as fast as it spread that you were in.”

“Maybe I
will
have another beer.”

Pins slid his glass toward Nunzio, who tapped out a refill with a foamy head and reached under the bar for a wooden bowl filled with pretzels.

“They’re scared too, you know,” Nunzio said. “We all are. And there’s good reason to be. Not all of us are gonna make it outta this one alive.”

“I know that,” Pins said. “Except with them, you can’t read it on their faces. With me, you pretty much can. I
think that’s the difference. It’s a look that’s easy to spot—by a cop or a shooter.”

“They’re one up on you, Pins,” Nunzio said. “They’ve been around the action so long, they learned how to hide the look. But that don’t mean it ain’t there.”

“What’s your story?” Pins asked, finishing his beer. “Why are you in this? You got a good life here, solid business, steady. You don’t need to be in the middle of a war.”

Nunzio stared at Pins for several moments, then turned and reached for a bottle of Seagram’s and two shot glasses. “Knowin’ my story ain’t gonna be any help to you,” he said, topping off both glasses.

“You don’t have to tell me, you don’t want to,” Pins said. “I was just curious.”

Nunzio swallowed his drink in a gulp, wiping his lips with a folded paper napkin. “I got a daughter. Sandy,” he said, his voice calm, his body tense. “You may have seen her around the times you been in here. She waits on tables the nights I’m short help.”

“I talked to her once,” Pins said. “Seems like a nice lady.”

“She’s a good kid,” Nunzio said. “Her whole life, she never gave me any trouble. Married a good guy too. His name was Frank. Irish kid from a hardwoiking family. He worked two jobs and was going to classes over at Fordham at night. They were crazy in love with each other. Were gonna have a big family and be together forever.”

“But they aren’t,” Pins said.

“Lots of times forever ain’t that long a stretch,” Nunzio said. “In Sandy’s case it was only three years.”

Pins rested his hand on top of the older man’s. “You can stop there. I think I know the rest.”

“I don’t think you do,” Nunzio said. “They had a baby. A doll of a girl named Theresa. She was only three months old and she already had my heart.”

Pins grabbed for the bottle of Seagram’s next to
Nunzio’s elbow and poured out two more drinks. He moved one glass closer to Nunzio.

“August 6, 1972. It was a hot day and hotter night.” Nunzio held the shot glass, not drinking. “Nobody could sleep, least of all a baby about to break with her first tooth. Sandy and Frank took her out for a walk. It wasn’t just the air they needed. With him workin’ and studyin’ most of the time, they didn’t have all that much time to spend with each other. A walk’s a good way to catch up.”

Pins could hear Nunzio’s voice straining to stay firm.

“They were only ten minutes into the walk,” Nunzio said. “It was a clear night and they were holding hands, the baby asleep in the carriage. And then, in a little less than five minutes, everybody’s world got a lot smaller.”

“They were mugged?” Pins said, hoping the answer was that easy.

“Two guys were standin’ in front of them before they even knew it,” Nunzio said. “They forced them over into some tree cover. They beat Frankie, beat him bad, lookin’ to leave him for dead. And they did things to Sandy I don’t need to tell you about.”

“What about the baby?” Pins asked, his mouth dry, one hand bunched into a fist.

“Theresa?” Nunzio said. He blinked his eyes twice. He would not let tears fall down the front of his face. “They took her right outta her carriage.”

“Jesus Christ!” Pins said. “I’m sorry, Nunzio. I’m so sorry.”

“It changed everything, that night,” Nunzio said. “Took years to put Sandy back together, bring her to a place where she could come close to leadin’ a normal life. And Frankie … he never came out of it. Stuck around for a few months and then one morning, got up, got dressed, and got out.”

“Where to?”

“Don’t know,” Nunzio said. “Don’t need to know. We all handle our wars in different ways. He’s handling his the only way he can.”

“They ever get Theresa back?”

“No,” Nunzio said. “All my wise-guy contacts. All my cop friends. We all came up empty.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Nothin’ to say,” Nunzio said. “Years go by, you bury it, but you never forget it. And then Boomer comes in here and tells me about Lucia. Now, I know Lucia had nothin’ at all to do with takin’ my little Theresa away from us. But you know what?”

“Tell me,” Pins said.

“She might as well have been the one,” Nunzio said. “That’s why I’m in. It’s why we’re all in. To get a taste of even. In our way of lookin’ at things, it’s as good as you can hope for. You can’t ever get back what you lost, so you make somebody pay for it.”

Pins stared at Nunzio, his eyes moist, his throat dry.

“I’m just like the rest of the crew,” Nunzio said. “And so are you, Pins. Our hearts been carved out by different people in different ways. It’s only the taste of gettin’ even that keeps us all going forward.”