Cutter (40 page)

Le
t
m
e
floa
t
awa
y
fro
m
thi
s
lif
e.
Her
e
i
n
thi
s
sultr
y
countr
y.
It’
s
a
s
goo
d
a
plac
e
a
s
an
y.
G
o
ahea
d.
Tea
r
m
e
ope
n
an
d
le
t
m
y
bowel
s
rus
h
fort
h,
jus
t
a
s
I
hav
e
don
e
t
o
thos
e
wome
n.
I
t
al
l
end
s
th
e
sam
e
wa
y.
Blacknes
s.
Dreamles
s
slee
p.
Oblivio
n
.

Juanit
o
deliver
s
m
e
dow
n
th
e
hall
s
an
d
ou
t
int
o
th
e
ai
r
an
d
int
o
th
e
limousin
e.
Whe
n
h
e
secure
s
m
e
insid
e
th
e
Cadilla
c,I
fee
l
almos
t
disappointe
d
tha
t
I’
m
stil
l
her
e,
stil
l
breathin
g,
stil
l
i
n
thi
s
worl
d
.

Wher
e
d
o
I
ru
n
nex
t?
I
n
whic
h
directio
n
d
o
I
ai
m
mysel
f?
Wher
e
wil
l
th
e
win
d
tak
e
m
e
no
w
?

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Sheriff had men around the perimeter, just as we did. This was a cooperative bust, county and city.

Once Marco Karrios’s picture made it to the newspapers and other media, it only took a few days for all this to turn up. It appeared that Marco and Ellen had done their shopping at a store in the college town. One of the cashiers made him and her from photos, and then we found the farmhouse.

We were going in about 4.00 a.m. It’d still be full dark. There was not much to illuminate the area surrounding the farmhouse. Just one dim streetlight from out at the end of his quarter-mile driveway.

Everyone had their bulletproof vests on. If he was in there, we expected that he’d know we were coming. There was only one car parked in front of the house. It looked like a Camry, but we couldn’t be sure from where we were sitting.

I radioed the Sheriff’s people it was time to go. They affirmed, and Doc and Jack Wendkos and I got out of the Taurus. Jack took out his Nine, as I did. Doc removed the.38 from his holster. I had the Bulldog strapped, and I also had the switchblade in my pocket.

We moved up to the house. There were four cars in front and five behind the place. We were in communication with the Sheriff’s cops at the rear. We waited until the time we had set, and then two cops hit the front door with the horizontal sledge that we used to pop open doors. The jamb and panels splintered and we crashed inside.

There was no light as we barged in. Doc sought and found the switch in the living room. No one was in here. The Sheriff’s police rammed the back door, and now they were in the house with us. The bulb was in an overhead fixture and it made everything in the living room appear garish, nightmarish.

We saw the blood when we scoped out the rug. There were large pools of it and there were ropes of it threaded across the carpet. Someone had lost more than a few pints out here, and it was rather recent, too. The rug was still wet with the stuff.

Jack yelled to me from the bedroom. When he emerged, he leaned back against the wall near the doorway. His face had turned white in a hurry. Doc and I rushed past him into the bedroom.

Wendkos had turned on the overhead light in that room. The room was bright, like in a hospital.

Ellen Jacoby was hung upside down by her ankles. She dangled from the ceiling fan next to the globe of light. She’d been tom open, and her entrails hung out over her chest and face.

Marco had also taken the time to give her a Colombian necktie. He’d pulled her tongue and its connecting tendons out of her mouth and had looped it around her neck. It was what the drug guys from down south did to anyone who betrayed them.

Her throat had been cut, her eyelids severed, and there were too many stab wounds to count. She dangled just beyond the foot of the bed. There was another pool of blood beneath her. This job appeared recent. We hadn’t missed him by too many hours, but the ME would let us know how close we’d come.

‘This guy’s a fucking hound, Jimmy. We got to put him to sleep. She might’ve had it coming, but the
n
nobod
y
has all this coming,’ Doc said softly.

The Sheriff himself walked in behind us.

‘Oh my lord ... It’s like a slaughterhouse in this room.’

When we’d seen enough, we got out of there. There were policemen all over the farmhouse. There were cops out in that one-time cornfield. But Marco Karrios wasn’t here with the rest of us.

*

‘You could go on vacation today.’ Billy smiled when we sat down on his couch in the safe house in Evanston.

‘Yeah? Why?’ Doc asked him.

‘Because Jackie Morocco don’t allow shit like this to happen to his own family. That’s why,’ Billy laughed.

‘You saw that woman, Billy Cheech, you wouldn’t be laughing,’ I told my cousin. ‘This guy Karrios might think he owes himself an informant, namely you.’

Billy lost the grin and he gulped.

‘He tore her up real bad, I guess,’ he admitted.

We didn’t answer him.

‘I thought you said you’d protect me.’

‘Yeah. But from who? They’re standing in line to whack you, coz.’

‘Jimmy. Yo
u
ar
e
gonna find this Karrios prick, aren’t you?’

‘That’s why they sign the checks, Cheech.’

‘Come on, Doc. You’re gonna haul in Jackie too, ain’t you?’

‘The Feds are in it with us,’ Doc told him.

‘See? It’s a done deal, then. The Feds take out the Big Man and Chicago’s finest deliver that fuckin’ Farmer guy.’

He gulped again when he saw that neither Doc nor I gave him any solid affirmation. 

Chapter Twenty-Five

Sa
l
Donofri
o
i
s
m
y
contac
t
t
o
Jacki
e
Morocc
o.
He’
s
th
e
gu
y
I
di
d
busines
s
wit
h.I
kno
w
it’l
l
b
e
difficul
t
t
o
as
k
hi
m
fo
r
an
y
favor
s
afte
r
they’v
e
hear
d
abou
t
Elle
n,
bu
t
I’l
l
mak
e
hi
m
a
fin
e
offe
r.
It’
s
on
e
o
f
thos
e
kind
s
o
f
deal
s
yo
u
jus
t
don’
t
tur
n
dow
n
.

I
arriv
e
a
t
hi
s
bungalo
w
a
t
4.
0
0
a.m.I
arriv
e,
o
f
cours
e,
unannounce
d.I
ge
t
throug
h
hi
s
scree
n
doo
r
an
d
hi
s
bac
k
doo
r
wit
h
a
burglar’
s
pic
k.
Thing
s
tha
t
Sa
l
taugh
t
m
e.
Sal’
s
a
mad
e
ma
n
an
d
a
soldie
r,
bu
t
hi
s
allegianc
e
t
o
Joh
n
Fortun
a
goe
s
onl
y
a
s
fa
r
a
s
Sal’
s
walle
t.
Thes
e
me
n
hav
e
n
o
code
s,
othe
r
tha
n
gree
d
.

Bu
t
h
e
wouldn’
t
hel
p
m
e
ou
t
becaus
e
hi
s
bos
s
woul
d
kil
l
hi
m
i
f
h
e
di
d,
an
d
s
o
I
hav
e
t
o
pu
t
th
e
screw
s
t
o
m
y
on
e-
tim
e
contac
t
.

I
lea
n
ove
r
hi
s
be
d.
Hi
s
wif
e
i
s
snorin
g.I
jostl
e
hi
m
lightl
y
.

‘Hu
h?
’

‘It’
s
m
e,
Sa
l.
Ge
t
u
p
..
.
N
o,
n
o,
n
o.
Don’
t
reac
h
fo
r
th
e
nigh
t
tabl
e.
’

I
sho
w
hi
m
th
e
blad
e
.

H
e
sit
s
u
p
slowl
y.
Hi
s
ol
d
lad
y
continue
s
t
o
snor
e
.

‘Whatt
a
yo
u
wan
t?
’

I
motio
n
fo
r
hi
m
t
o
leav
e
th
e
bedroo
m
.

‘Don’
t
reac
h
fo
r
anythin
g,
Sa
l,
o
r
I’l
l
d
o
yo
u
jus
t
lik
e
I
di
d
you
r
boss’
s
siste
r.
’

He’
s
full
y
awak
e
no
w
.

W
e
wal
k
int
o
hi
s
kitche
n.I
si
t
hi
m
dow
n
a
t
th
e
tabl
e
. 

‘I nee
d
a
plasti
c
surgeo
n.
Yo
u
kno
w
th
e
gu
y
I’
m
talkin
g
abou
t.
U
p
i
n
Lak
e
Fores
t.
’

‘D
r
Richmon
d?
’

‘Yea
h.I
nee
d
a
ne
w
fac
e.
’

‘An
d
wh
y
th
e
fuc
k
woul
d
I
hel
p
yo
u
ge
t
on
e?
’

He’
s
a
fort
y-
yea
r-
ol
d
guine
a.
Shor
t,
squa
t.
Wear
s
al
l
th
e
usua
l
gol
d
aroun
d
hi
s
nec
k.
Yo
u
ca
n
pictur
e
Sa
l
standin
g
ou
t
fron
t
o
f
on
e
o
f
thei
r
privat
e
‘clubs
’
.

‘Becaus
e
I’l
l
tel
l
Bi
g
Joh
n
yo
u
helpe
d
m
e.
I’l
l
le
t
hi
m
kno
w
yo
u
trie
d
t
o
kee
p
m
e
goin
g
eve
n
afte
r
hi
s
siste
r
go
t
al
l
cu
t
u
p.
’

‘H
e
won’
t
believ
e
yo
u,
yo
u
craz
y
motherfucke
r.
’

‘He’l
l
believ
e
m
e.
H
e
know
s
you
r
en
d
o
f
th
e
tak
e
o
n
ou
r
busines
s
ventur
e.
He’l
l
believ
e
yo
u
wan
t
m
e
t
o
ge
t
u
s
u
p
an
d
runnin
g
agai
n.
You’r
e
losin
g
a
lo
t
o
f
cas
h
b
y
m
y
bein
g
unemploye
d.
N
o?
’

‘I
t
ain’
t
gonn
a
wor
k,
Marc
o.
’

‘Ye
s,
i
t
wil
l.I
ge
t
a
ne
w
fac
e.I
disappea
r.I
giv
e
yo
u
th
e
sam
e
cu
t
you’v
e
bee
n
gettin
g—
withou
t
Fortuna’
s
tribut
e.
How’
s
tha
t
soun
d?
’