Bad Apple (21 page)

Rows of single-paned, arch-topped windows lit the space with natural light. There was a good view of the Hudson and the Manhattan skyline through the east wall windows. Using the Empire State Building as his gauge, Tozzi figured they were either in Hoboken or Weehawken, not too far from the Lincoln Tunnel. Tozzi shook his head in disbelief. He lived in Hoboken, probably less than a half-mile from here. If all of this hadn't happened, he'd be over at his apartment right now, resting up for the black-belt test he wasn't going to be taking tonight. Shit.

Bells went to the kitchen area and started looking through the drawers. “Sit down. Make yourselves comfortable.” He pointed to the sofas with his gun.

Tozzi started to move toward the black sofa, but Gina stayed put. She gave Tozzi a dirty look, but he ignored her and kept walking, pulling her along with him. He was sick of her shit.

He sat on the end of the sofa, and she sat as far away from him as she could with Tozzi's bunched-up coat between them as a barrier. They both kept their wrists bent against the cuffs, determined not to even touch each other.

Gina glowered at Bells, who was crouched down looking through the bottom drawers under the counter. “What're you gonna do with us now, Bells?”

Bells kept rummaging through the drawer. “Kill you. What'd you think?”

“You're not funny.”

“I'm not trying to be.” He continued his search for whatever he was looking for.

Tozzi cleared his throat. “Hey, Bells, what's the story here? I mean, let's stop fucking around.”

Bells stopped his search and stared at him. “I'm not fucking around, Mikey-boy.
You're
the one who was fucking around. Both of you, together. And that's why I'm gonna do what I gotta do.”

“You mean kill us.”

“That's right.”

Gina looked at Tozzi, her face drawn. “Is he really serious?”

“You know everything. You tell me.”

Bells laughed to himself as he stood up and dropped a length of heavy steel chain onto the countertop. “You two are getting to be like a comedy routine.” He lifted the chain with the hand that wasn't holding the gun and dangled it from one end. It was short. Maybe two, two and a half feet long. “Too bad you gotta go. You're very funny.”

Gina went to cross her arms, but the cuffs stopped her. “Oh, go to hell.”

“You want some coffee or something? I think I've got some soda here.” He opened the refrigerator and checked. “Pepsi,
ginger ale, beer, and fizzy water. Have something. This is gonna take me a while. What can I get you, Mikey? A beer?”

“Nothing.” Tozzi was looking at the green phone with the long cord that was sitting on the counter. “
Gina, it's me. Gimme a call.
” He was wondering if Bells had called her from here.

“Whatta'ya want, Gina? A ginger ale?”

“No. I'll just have to pee.”

Bells jingled the chain and grinned. “Not if I'm fast.” If the devil had a face, this was it.

Tozzi leaned forward and let out a sigh. It was time to show his cards. “Look, Bells, you're making a big mistake here. There's an army of federal agents out looking for you. Don't make it any worse for yourself.”

Bells dropped the heavy chain on the counter, and the sudden noise made Gina jump. His eyes glowed as he stared at Tozzi. “Why would they be looking for me, Mikey?”

“Because you killed two agents from the Federal Bureau of Investigation today. What the hell do you think?” Tozzi could feel the blood rushing to his face.

Bells shook his head. “My, my, my. For a rat, you think you know a lot. But you don't know nothing. For one thing, I only shot one guy, the old guy with the swollen face in Macy's. That other guy on TV, the one up on the Turnpike—what's his name, Paterson? I don't know nothing about him. That's a frame.”

Bells was too calm, too rational. He was fearless, and Tozzi didn't like that. Unless Bells wanted something or feared something, there'd be no negotiating with him.

“You telling me you didn't shoot Petersen, the one on the Turnpike?”

Bells shook his head. “Wasn't me.”

“But they think you did it, and they're looking for you.”

Bells shrugged as he rummaged through another drawer.

“It's not just the cops looking for you. Your own people are looking for you, too. You know that, don't you?”

“Why's that, Mikey? 'Cause they think I shot a fed? You been watching too many movies, my friend.”

Fury ballooned inside Tozzi's head. “You
did
shoot a fed. And you shot my fucking partner, jerkoff. The cops, the FBI, everybody's gonna bust balls until they have your ass nailed to the wall. And don't act like you don't know that because you do.”

Bells just looked at him, calm as could be. There was almost pity in his face for Tozzi.

Tozzi's head was throbbing, he was so pissed. He was losing his cool, lashing out, while Bells was the one keeping his center, letting it all come to him. Tozzi had been practicing aikido for almost six years now, and what had he learned? Nothing. Aikido principles are supposed to apply to all situations, not just when someone's throwing punches at you. He shouldn't be losing it like this. But apparently Tozzi just hadn't gotten it yet. But Bells, he was like some kind of Zen master; he had it all together. He was making Tozzi the aggressor even though Bells was the one who had kidnapped him. Jesus!

Tozzi threw himself back against the couch in frustration and yanked on the handcuffs.

“Hey! Watch it,” Gina complained.

“Shut up!”

“You shut up!”

Tozzi bit his bottom lip and looked up at the cracked plaster ceiling. He couldn't believe he was letting everything get to him like this. He'd been in bad situations before. It wasn't like this was a first for him. Then he thought about Gibbons and sighed. It was his first bad situation without Gibbons. Maybe that was the problem. Gibbons never got flustered, and he never let himself get stuck. Gotta keep moving, he'd always say. Life was like
driving a car in deep snow. If you can't go forward, go backward. Do anything you have to to get something moving because the most important thing is to keep things moving. That was Gibbons's philosophy.

Tozzi dropped his chin and watched Bells going through that drawer. He took long, measured breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth—aikido breathing exercise—until he felt a little calmer. Gotta keep things moving, he kept repeating to himself, trying to get centered. You can't just sit there. Gotta keep things moving. Even going backward is movement.

“Bells, look.” Tozzi opened his sport jacket and pointed to the beeper clipped to his belt. He'd totally forgotten about it until just now. Stupid. That's what happens when you're not centered.

As Tozzi went to unclip the beeper, Bells thrust out his gun hand. “Whatta'ya doing?”

“Relax, Bells. I just wanna show you something. No tricks. Shoot me if I try something funny.”

“Don't get wise, Mikey.”

Tozzi unclipped the beeper and held it out to Bells. “See this?”

“Yeah?”

Tozzi wrapped his fist around the transmitter so they wouldn't be overheard. “It's not really a beeper.”

Bells narrowed his eyes.

“It's a transmitter, Bells. It broadcasts everything we say to a surveillance van.”

Gina smirked. “What is this,
Star Trek?
”

Tozzi ignored her.

Bells's suspicious expression didn't change. Neither did his gun hand extended at Tozzi's head.

“Here's the deal, Bells. You wanna escape, I'll help you. You
take off, go wherever you wanna go, and we'll keep talking as if you're still here. Better yet, if you don't trust me, just put the thing somewhere where it'll pick up some conversation. Someplace like a diner or a store. It'll throw them off the track.”

Bells looked skeptical. “Lemme see that thing.”

Reluctantly Tozzi uncurled his fingers and tossed the transmitter to Bells, who caught it in his left hand. He examined it at arm's length. Tozzi feared that Bells would smash the transmitter to bits with the butt of his gun, and then they'd really be up shit's creek because it was the only bargaining chip he had. But he kept thinking about Gibbons's philosophy. Gotta keep moving. Gotta keep gambling if you wanna stay in the game.

Bells held the beeper like a microphone and started to scat-sing into it to the tune of “Swinging on a Star.” He started to laugh then and tossed it back to Tozzi: It landed in the folds of the coat. “Nice try, Mikey-boy, but no cigar.”

Tozzi picked up the transmitter and wrapped it in his fist again. “I'm telling you the truth, Bells. I'm an FBI agent.”

“Is that so?” Bells nodded. “Interesting.”

“I'm telling you. I can help you out here if you listen to me.”

Gina rolled her eyes. “Give it up, will ya?”

Tozzi glared at her sideways. He wished she'd shut the hell up.

“You're throwing away a good chance to save yourself, Bells. Your only chance. Believe me.”

Bells's face turned hard. “Believe
you?
Why the fuck should I believe a professional liar like you?”

“Don't be stupid, Bells—”

“I'm
not
stupid. That's why I would
never
listen to you, my friend. You are the lowest kind of rat there is. Any fucking cop who goes undercover and gains a man's trust just so he can send the guy to jail is less than shit on my shoe.”

Gina nodded. “He's got a point.”

“And you're no better, my dear Gina.” The gun shifted its attention to her. “What can you say about a woman who turns her back on a man's sincerest offer? Huh? I tried to be nice to you, Gina, but you turned your back on me. You said to yourself, ‘Fuck him. Who needs him?' Right? You probably even heard her say it, huh, Mikey?”

“I don't know what you're talking about, Bells.” In fact, Tozzi didn't. He had no idea what this “sincerest offer” business was all about. But once again Bells's voice on Gina's answering machine came echoing back to him. He glanced at Gina and the wedding ring hanging around her neck. What the hell was going on between these two?

Bells was wearing the devil's face again. “What can I say, Gina? You turned out to be a real class-A bitch. Worse than that, you betrayed me.”

Gina spat. “You're crazy. You don't know what the hell you're talking about.”

Tozzi was stumped. “What
are
you talking about?”

“It's none of your business,” Gina snapped, then turned back to Bells. “When are you gonna let us go, Bells? I'm getting sick of the both of you.”

Bells started to shake his head, back and forth. He kept shaking his head.

“What's that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

Bells tilted his head sideways like a curious dog. “It means I'm not gonna let you go. I'm gonna kill you. I thought I told you that.”

“Oh, cut the shit, will ya?”

Tozzi felt like there was a baseball lodged in his throat. He couldn't understand why she didn't believe him. She saw him
kill Gibbons that morning. The man was crazy. He'd do it again in a minute.

Bells shook his head in pity. “You don't get it, Gina, do you? Do you know what this place is?”

“I don't know, and I don't care.”

Bells looked at Tozzi. “Do
you
know?”

Tozzi shook his head.

“You never heard of the Belfry? That's not what
I
call this place, but I know a lotta guys do.”

“You got
bats
in the belfry,” Gina said.

“And that's not all.” Bells grinned.

“So what is this place?” Tozzi asked.

“This is where I make people disappear.” He said it as if he were admitting that he collected stamps.

“Mikey-boy, don't look so shocked. This is what I do. You mean to tell me the FBI didn't even have a clue? I'm flattered, really. I'm better than I thought.”

Gina threw her hand out. “Go ahead. Pat yourself on the back. You're good at that, Bells.”

“That's not all I'm good at. See, I'm so good at making people disappear, that's my main gig now. I'm, like, the official executioner for the family.”

Now Tozzi looked skeptical.

“It's true, Mikey. I am the capo of retribution. You like that? Capo of retribution. Nice, huh? See, whenever somebody does something wrong, and they decide the guy has to be whacked, we lure him up here, and I do the deed. I must've done at least thirty guys up here. No shit. I got it down to a science. First I either shoot 'em or strangle 'em, whatever seems right at the time, then real quick I stab 'em through the heart a couple of times to stop the blood from pumping all over the place. Blood spurts if you shoot a guy, makes a big mess. Then I let 'em sit for
a while until the blood congeals, ya know? When they stop dripping, I drag 'em in the bathroom.” He nodded toward the boxed-off room in the corner. “I cut 'em up, wrap the pieces nice and tight with plastic garbage bags and duct tape, then I get rid of the packages. Never all in the same place, just in case. Dumpsters, landfills, sewers, out in the Meadowlands, in the river—I know all kinds of places. My record is perfect. As far as I know, none of them have ever been found. Not a hand, not a foot, not even a finger. I'm very good at this.”

Bells was bragging, but Tozzi had a bad feeling that he wasn't stretching the truth. He'd given Tozzi the creeps the first time they'd met, but Tozzi never thought he was this bad. He was a friggin' vampire, this guy.

Gina glared at Bells. “You're sick, you know that?”

“I know.” Bells grinned. His eye was on the chain swinging in his hand, but the gun in his other hand was still leveled at them. “You know, Gina, I forgot to tell you. Everybody I ever brought up here I did basically the same way, cutting them up and making packages and all. All except one.”