Blood Rites (34 page)

Carrera whitened. But Stephen was more intrigued by Volpe’s nearly imperceptive nod, the man’s strong, shocked thought,
Who the hell is he to give such blunt advice
?

Carrera reasoned along similar cautious lines, and in spite of his rage, he answered with carefully controlled calm, “I never expected my son to sit at this desk but I wished him alive and well, giving me grandsons to carry on my name. Dick Wells took this from me.”

Knowing that organized crime rarely retaliated against police doing their duty, Stephen responded, “He only surprised what he thought was a robber.”

“If he’d been working I would have left him alone. I checked around. That bastard had the afternoon off.”

Stephen knew that Carrera distorted the truth. He had to kill Richard. An audacious murder would be the last display of power by a bitter, almost-broken man. Stephen could force him to agree to let Richard live but Carrera would see through the mental control as soon as Stephen left him alone.

“My son was sick.” Carrera’s voice rose a notch, the excuse sounding less like a father in grief than a spoiled child’s whine. “Every patrolman in the area knew it and they had a number to call if Peter caused any trouble. All Wells had to do was back out of that shop and flag down a patrol car and this meeting would not be necessary. Do you understand?”

Instead of waiting for a response, Carrera charged ahead, “Besides, I hold the boys, Stephen Austra. So all you can do is listen. I will exchange Alan Wells for his father, don’t try to argue any more about that. As for your son, you can have him back when all federal charges against me are dropped.”

“That’s impossible!”

“You listen to me. I don’t know why a dead man is sitting across from me. I won’t even ask you to explain. Instead, I am giving you a gift, Stephen Austra. I am leaving your game, whatever the hell it is, intact. I have your reports locked away in a safe place. If you don’t help me, I’ll hand them over to the feds and trade my way out of prison. I’m sure the government would be interested in them, particularly since Stoddard Design is one of your firms.”

Stephen considered this impassively. So much so that Carrera knew he had surprised his adversary. “Why do you prefer to bargain with me?” Stephen asked.

“I make this deal with you. You do your half, I do mine, and we’re even. With the sons of bitches in the FBI the demands would go on and on and in the end we’d both get left with nothing but a lot of enemies and no place to hide. I figure that the firm that collected the information in those reports must pay their contacts damned good money. Spread some more of it around now.‘’

Carrera studied Stephen’s reaction to this, unaware that Stephen had no contacts, at least not in the usual sense. “This may take some time,” Stephen responded carefully. “The boys are young. They should be with their families. Would you consider releasing them in exchange for Richard and a postponement of your trial? You have my reports so you are in a position to cause me a great deal of difficulty should I break my part of this agreement.”

Russ might make a mistake. The kids might be found. Better, Carrera decided, to play it safe and avoid the risks. “An indefinite postponement? All right, you have three days to arrange it.” Carrera scribbled a phone number on a slip of paper and slid it across the desk. “Rumors won’t be enough. When my trial’s postponement is officially announced, call this number and I’ll tell you the time and place of the trade.”

“Very well. But there is one more item I want included in this exchange. I want Russ Lowell.”

Again, Stephen noticed Volpe’s nearly imperceptible assent and, as quickly, Carrera’s response, “You have your people. I have mine. If mine cause trouble, I handle it myself.”

“He killed my ward. And my wife. He had no orders to do so. That makes my revenge as personal as your own, yes?”

“No!” Carrera’s fist hit the desk. He started to rise, then, with a sardonic smile, fell back in his seat. “You can go to the police, if you wish.”

Their traditions were years apart, Stephen realized. Perhaps Ray Carrera would have understood the rules powerful families in Europe had followed for centuries. But too much competition and too many deaths had destroyed the old ways here. All that remained were power and greed, a facade of underdog respectability, and a loyalty fierce as passion and just as fickle. Nonetheless, for Helen’s sake, he tried one final time.

—Give him to me!—

Carrera’s eyes widened and he appeared somewhat stunned as he said “No” with more certainty than he had a moment before. “However, I would consider handling the matter myself,” he added, thinking of Halli and unwilling to condemn Russ to an end like that.

“If you won’t make him part of the exchange, I ask that you not harm him.”

Carrera understood. “You’ll never find him,” he said.

“I found you, yes?” With only a slight pause for emphasis, Stephen went on, “I also need some information from you. I have not followed your case. I need to know which judge is hearing it, who is prosecuting, and so on.”

As swiftly as Carrera listed the names, Stephen absorbed and stored the information, then responded with a reasonable mental suggestion Carrera immediately echoed, “You might think of other questions too. You meet with Volpe here tomorrow at one.”

“Not here. Someplace more public please,” Stephen responded. He recalled a stop he’d made with Helen a few years before. “There is a restaurant in the downtown train station. It is called Harvey’s, I believe. Is it still in operation?”

“Yeah,” Carrera said. “Ang can meet you there. Is that OK, Ang? Ang?”

Volpe sat frozen, staring at the empty wall. “What in the. . .” Carrera began. Then he saw Austra’s eyes fixed on him, two hard circles of darkness pulling at his will. “You can’t change my mind,” Carrera said, though he sounded less certain than he’d been a moment ago.

The reply came softly, a lilting whisper deep within him. —I don’t intend to try. Come with me.—

Carrera followed him down the narrow back stairs, leaving the office door open behind him to light the way. At the base, he stopped and waited until the harsh fluorescents of the bakery flickered on. Jimmy lay on his back, his feet toward the door, his hand still holding a gun as if he’d tried to do his job even past death. Carrera moved closer to him. Volpe had said there wasn’t a mark on him but Carrera’s more discerning eyes noted a swollen crescent-shaped bruise on his neck. Someone had kicked him hard enough to snap his spine.

As if the silence had been deliberately maintained, he suddenly noticed a ragged breathing and followed the sound to inside of the counter. There Red huddled in the corner beneath the cash register, his eyes wide and unblinking. As Carrera approached him, Red began making a soft, keening sound with every exhale as if a scream were trapped in his throat, struggling to get out.

Carrera forced his eyes away from Red and breathed deeply, letting the familiar scents of yeast and anise restore some of his balance. He looked directly at Austra and asked, “What happened to Red?”

—Less than what happened to Halli before he died. Far less than what I will do to you if any harm comes to either of those boys.—

Carrera might have turned and fled but the only escape was toward Austra and he didn’t dare move in that direction. “We made an agreement,” he said stubbornly. “If anything happens to me, those boys will die.”

“I am aware of this. I merely wish to make a point to you alone. I will make these trades with you. You have my word on it. But you have taken responsibility for Russ Lowell. So if anything happens to my son or to Alan Wells there will be no place you can hide from me and no mortician will be able to wipe the agony from your face when I am done. Remember that.”

Carrera’s concentration was fixed on Austra. When something brushed his leg, he looked down at Red whose fingers were convulsively flexing, trying to grab on to him. An instant later he forced his eyes back to where Austra had been standing but the man had disappeared as if the night itself had claimed him.

Carrera rushed to Jimmy’s body and pried the gun out of his hand. Its weight made him feel more secure and he went back to Red and knelt in front of him. “What did Austra do to you?” he asked.

Red looked vacantly beyond him, eyes fixed on nothing. Yet he must have heard because he took a long, deep breath. As Carrera leaned closer, ready to hear any reply, Red screamed out his entire breath, took another, and screamed again.

Carrera pulled back, his arms covering his ears as the screams went on and on.

What if Red became sane enough to talk about what he’d seen tonight? What if his men discovered what kind of a monster stalked him? Deliberately, Carrera aimed the gun at Red’s chest and fired, pulling the trigger long after the chambers were empty. Silence, magnificent and comforting, surrounded him and he stared at the blood spattering the white walls and glass counter doors.

A creak on the stairs drew his attention to the back door of the bakery where Volpe stood, a slip of paper in one shaking hand. “You kill Red?” he asked.

Carrera nodded. “I couldn’t leave him like that.”

“I saw Austra leave. I got the license number on his car. We could make some calls. That Caddie won’t be hard to track down,” he suggested.

“Go ahead. But I only want him watched.”

“I don’t want to meet him tomorrow,” Volpe said.

“Damn it! You’ll do what I tell you!”

Volpe went back to the office and slumped into a chair, covering his face when Carrera joined him. “I don’t want to go the way Halli did,” he moaned.

As he said Halli’s name, Volpe’s hands began to shake once more. Carrera responded fast. “Austra’s going to come through for me. He doesn’t want to but he can do it.” To Volpe, he must have sounded elated but the truth was something more unsettling—relief.

Russ had warned him, diplomatically, it seemed now. When Carrera had felt the tugging at his mind, he’d responded logically. Every time he felt the urge to agree with Austra, he asked himself who would benefit from the agreement. If it was himself, the idea was a good one. If not, Austra was controlling him. The simple plan seemed to have worked.

“I know what you think of Russ but if it weren’t for him, we’d both be dead right now. As long as Russ has the kids, Austra can’t touch us. There’s no reason to worry, understand?”

The power Carrera sensed in Austra made him want to respond with a display of his own. “And one other thing, Ang. We’re going to give Austra a taste of what we can do if he tries to cross us. Get ahold of Willie in New York. Ask him to find out what Stoddard’s building now and slow construction down, better yet have him stop it if he can. Tell him, I’ll call him at home tomorrow night. In the meantime, I guarantee as much as it takes.”

The orders given, Carrera rested his face on his hands. “Russ,” he whispered softly to himself, sustaining the “s” in a sound less a hiss than a sigh. Stella, his older girl, had just turned seventeen. If Russ hadn’t proven to be more a killer than Dominic had ever suspected, he would have made Russ his son-in-law. His father had suggested the match a couple of years ago knowing that Russ was smart enough to ask for advice when things got over his head. Dominic had been prepared to guide him from prison. Now Peter was gone. Russ was as good as dead already, and the best Dominic could do was avoid serving the time until he found the right man to take his place.

“Domie,” Volpe said, resting a hand on Carrera’s shoulder. “You all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Domie, what will we do with the bodies downstairs?”

“We handle it ourselves.” As Volpe reached for the phone, Carrera asked, “Did Austra look human to you?”

“What?” Volpe began to laugh, then realizing Carrera was serious, he added, “Sure.”

“Then how in the hell did he get in here without us ever hearing a sound?”

III

When Stephen returned to the hotel, Richard was waiting for him, sitting in the desk chair he had moved to an inside wall, the revolver in his lap. He appeared to have been fighting sleep for hours. “Did you see Carrera?” he asked.

“I did.”

“And?”

“He doesn’t know where Lowell has the children or even where we can find him.”

“Damn it! How can he not know?”

“They talked by phone and Lowell would not tell him. Intelligent man, yes?” Stephen’s expression reflected the frustration in his tone.

“Yeah, sure. Are Helen and the boys all right?”

“Carrera believes the boys are. Lowell told him that Helen is dead. I thought it best that Carrera continue to believe it.”

“Continue! You didn’t demand that he return her as part of any exchange?‘’

“No, Richard, I could not. Lowell would only lie when asked about her. Then negotiations would become a matter of his word against mine. Days would pass while we resolved this. I want the boys safe. Helen can take care of herself.”

Dick thought it best to not push the lack of logic in Stephen’s final remark. “I get the point,” he said. “What do we do now?”

“I’m sorry, Richard. As I feared, he knows what I am and he knows how to fight my control. So I did the only thing I could—I agreed to the trade. The terms are difficult. I’m not sure I can meet them.”

“It’s not just me?”

“You for Alan. Patrick in exchange for an indefinite postponement of Carrera’s trial.”

“You can’t do that!” Dick’s tone implied that Stephen could but should not.

“He read the firm’s reports. He understood their value and demanded I have the charges dropped completely or he would take them to the FBI. The postponement is a compromise. I don’t know how to comply with this demand. Can you think of anyone who could help us?‘’

“At this point in the investigation, even Hoover couldn’t help you.”

“Then what could we do, Richard?”

Dick considered this a while, then said, “Carrera’s facing ten to fifteen years if the prosecution can make every charge stick. With time off for good behavior his term will be closer to six. For a guy like him that’s no time at all. I think you can deliver better charges than theirs, yes?”

IV

The next morning, twelve Laborer’s Union workers did not report to the Stoddard construction site. By afternoon, the project had lost an equal number of electricians and independent plumbers as well. After a quick call to Stoddard Design, the construction foreman sent the idle drywallers home.