J.M. Griffin - Vinnie Esposito 06 - Death Gone Awry (21 page)

Running a brush through my uncontrollable curls, I opened the door a crack and listened. I clipped the unruly locks back and sauntered into the room. Aaron stood before the French doors, talking on his cell phone.

“She’s going to work. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Aaron listened for a few seconds and then said, “Don’t, just wait for me.”

Hot coffee scalded my tongue as he slid the phone into the pocket of his suit jacket.

Aaron turned to me. “We have a development. I can’t stay, sorry, Vin.”

I gave him a nod, held back the questions crowding my mind and said I’d see him later. My curiosity soared in eagle-like fashion. What was the development? Had Tim been found? Was he all right? Was he really in Rhode Island as my father had said? Who had to wait for Aaron? Those questions and others nagged me as I grabbed my valise and handbag, and began the journey across the state to class.

Buffeted by the wind and pelted by raindrops the size of nickels, kids hurried across the parking lot and into the foyer of the monstrous building. My umbrella whipped this way and that, my leather valise was drenched, and my boots were water-logged by the time I’d gotten indoors.

A few people came in late, shook off the raindrops that had gathered on their book bags and jackets, and the class came to order. Assignments were given and another discussion on the Rico Act began. An hour or so later, I let the class go with a reminder of the Rico paper that was due in two days time. Only one student remained after the rest had gone. I looked up and saw the young woman staring at me from her second row seat. She’d cupped her chin in her hand and flipped a pen back and forth with the other.

“Can I help you, Marley?” I asked as I readied to leave.

“I have a message for you,” she said and held up her phone.

“And that would be what?” I asked softly. My day had started out on an okay note, but it looked as though it wouldn’t last. I get a wicked cramp in my ass when that happens.

“Tim Slaggard wants you to meet him at Votte’s Cantina on Atwells Avenue. Do you know the place?”

I thought long and hard before I answered. She stared, as did I. We were at an impasse, so I asked, “Why would I be interested in seeing Tim Slaggard?”

“You know the answer, I don’t, just go meet him there, he’ll be waiting for you, so hurry up.”

Marley gathered her things and rushed away before I could ask another question.

Traffic had thinned on the George Washington Bridge and I took the Broadway exit to Atwells Avenue. A thin mist of rain had replaced the downpour and though parking on Federal Hill is a bitch, I squeezed the Altima into a spot not far from the Cantina.

The hood of my jacket lay flopped over my head as I moved quickly across the piazza toward the restaurant. I knew the place well, since I’d been here many times with friends and relatives for morning brunch and light lunches.

Several people walked past, giving me odd looks as I hesitated to enter. Through the wide front window, I stared into the tiny interior. A dark-haired man sat with his back to me—he was tall, even though he was seated. His long legs didn’t fit under the petite table and I wondered why he’d sit in such an uncomfortable place. It reminded me of a parent trying to fit into a chair at a child’s tea table.

Approaching him, I noted the counter helper leave for parts unknown. The galley kitchen beyond was also empty, and I slowed my pace as wariness set in. The door behind me opened and I heard a familiar voice say, “You’ve arrived at the perfect moment, Lavinia.”

My feet glued themselves to the floor and I didn’t move. I glanced over my shoulder and forced my feet to turn so I could see her. I’d taken a deep breath, gave myself a silent pep talk in fearlessness, and faced Marion Sarducci.

“Marion, it’s so wonderful to see you again,” I said with a welcoming smile. I advanced toward her and held out my hands in greeting.

She kept her hands in her coat pockets and gave me a frigid smile. I waited until she came abreast of me, while hoping Aaron and his FBI crew were in the vicinity, watching, and waiting to pounce should things run amuck.

“Take a seat, Lavinia,” she said and jutted her chin toward the seated man.

“Sure, no problem,” I agreed brightly and did as she asked. I wondered if a gun lay clutched in one of her  hands and that’s why she kept them hidden from view.

I stepped past the man and sidled onto a seat, my eyes still on Marion. She pulled a chair from an adjacent table and sat close so she could view me and Tim Slaggard, who was not only bound, but had a huge piece of duct tape that stretched across his mouth onto his cheeks.

In shock, my mouth hung open, and I gawked at the man whose good eye pleaded with me. The other eye was closed, puffed out and purplish-red. Nasty looking, at best.

I dragged my gaze from him and asked, “What’s this about, Marion?”

“You’ll not have this man, nor will Ben Gravani. Tim is mine, Lavinia. You both should have known better than to try and take him from me.”

Demented, the woman had lost her marbles, I could swear it. Her eyes had taken on a crazed gleam, a deadly one, at that.

“Who told you such a thing, Marion?”

“Nobody, I could tell by the way you talked about him and the church. Your aunt said you were no longer seeing that trooper and that’s when it occurred to me that you wanted Tim for yourself. Well, Lavinia, it’s not going to happen. He’s mine, all mine. When the Gravani boys began searching for Tim, and abducted you, I knew I had to get Tim to safety.”

The thought of a gun in her hand sent shivers over my body and I nearly freaked out. If I hadn’t been so scared, I’d have run screaming from the building. My arms and legs refused to comply with the orders I was sending them to get ready for the battle of my life. Hells bells.

Oh, for God’s sake, buck up, will you? You can take her, she’s no match for you.

Where had that shut-up button gone? I wondered briefly and cast a quick glance at Tim. He would be of no use to me.

“Marion,” I said in a pleading tone. “Did you have to beat this man to a pulp? Good Lord, he’s thin, haggard, and a right mess.”

She shifted her eyes from me to him, and nodded, pulling out the gun from her pocket. “He lied to me about why Gravani wanted him, so I had the boys work him over. He won’t live long enough to give Ben the information he seeks, and you won’t be around here to take Tim from me. You can both go to hell together.”

Her harsh laughter scared me more than the gun did and reminded me that she’d lost touch with reality as I knew it. Never had I thought this woman lay behind the attacks on me or those on Tim. I’d been quick to accuse Ben Gravani and Frankie Tomatoes, but it hadn’t occurred to me to look at Frankie’s wife as the guilty party.

My body trembled. Whether from fear or the amount of adrenalin that juiced through my veins, I didn’t know. I took a breath and tried for a state of calm thoughts of escape.

Fear. The word should be wiped from the vocabulary and the dictionary. I lifted my head, stared into her frenzied, dark eyes, and decided I feared nothing, not her, nor her stupid gun. It was a small caliber, she waved it around like a toy, and it could have been for all I knew. Guns and I don’t mix, and I liked it that way.

Mentally, I measured the distance between me and Marion. She wasn’t three feet away and I could get the upper hand if need be.

She smirked and said, “Don’t be stupid, Lavinia.”

I guessed she’d figured I would try getting the upper hand. I nodded. “You’re right. I wouldn’t be that dumb, especially since you have a gun. But, just so you know, my father is looking for you, Marion.” I had no idea who my father was looking for, or if he was. I’d flung the words out there in an attempt to give her pause over her upcoming actions.

“That’s why we’re going to take a ride. Your father knows Frankie owns this place and he’s sure to come here first. She waved the gun at me and ordered me to get Tim to his feet.

While I struggled with Tim’s wobbly frame, Marion yelled, “Angelo, get out here.”

The helper who’d made a fast exit when I arrived, slowly entered from the back room and rounded the counter to stand next to Marion.

“Get him into the car,” Marion barked.

With a nod, he looked at me and I nearly fell flat on my face as relief flooded my being. Jordan Strange, a student who’d taken my class this year, had written a helluva paper, and would make a great detective, put an arm around Tim’s waist and nearly dragged him from the room. When Jordan passed me, he gave me a wink and I was sure we were being watched.

“Hurry up, I haven’t got all day, Angelo.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jordan murmured and continued through the back room and into the alley.

Single file, Marion and I had walked out the back door, Jordan and Tim in the lead, with me right behind, followed by Marion. I stumbled and fell against Tim and Jordan, who lost their balance and we toppled to the ground in domino fashion.

Marion yelled epithets and threatened to shoot us, when people rushed to the scene. Frankie Tomatoes grabbed Marion’s arm and wrested the gun from her grasp. Tim was hauled to safety by Jordan, and I was hefted off the ground and set on my feet.

“Good job, Vin,” Aaron murmured in my ear as he hugged me to him.

I nodded, but was unsure what job I’d done, good or otherwise. I’d merely tripped over a root protruding from the single tree near the wall.

Grateful for the save, I listened as Marion ranted and raved like the nut ball she’d become. Her craziness reminded me of Tony Jabroni’s wife, and left me to speculate whether all mob wives were a little short on sanity.

Someone marched Marion and Frankie T off to who knew where and Aaron escorted me to my car. He tucked me into the front seat as though I’d break like fine glass and instructed, “Go home, straight home, Vinnie. No stopping anywhere, do you hear me?”

“Okay, sure, I’m going,” I murmured and took off down the street past the piazza. I swerved into traffic without a backward glance. My hands shook and I gripped the steering wheel with all my might as I sped toward Scituate.

Chapter 22

Time dragged, daylight waned, and I awaited Aaron. It was hours since he’d sent me home, and I worried that things had not gone as planned for anyone.

A call to my father proved that he’d known Marion was the problem, but he’d been promised by Frankie T that all would be well and I had nothing to worry about. “She was supposed to be taken care of yesterday. I guess Marion gave Frankie the slip. My mistake, Lavinia.”

“I’m safe now, Dad, that’s all that counts.” I hung up and counted to ten.

My nerves were a mess, my head ached, and it seemed that paranoia was now my companion. I’d locked myself in the house, left the lights off and huddled in the dark. When headlights blazed and a truck drove into the driveway, I knew Aaron had arrived.

Light switches flipped and I looked out the driveway side window of my office to make sure it was Aaron and not a thug sent to kill me, since my death and Tim’s had gone awry.

I drew a deep breath and ran for the door. Looking bedraggled, something I’d never seen before, Aaron walked into the room as though he hadn’t a care in the world. I’d called Lola earlier and she marched in behind him, her arms filled with a casserole warmer and a bag of something I was sure tasted delectable.

I took the goods from her and ushered the two of them toward the dining table. Wine, glasses, and beer were set in front of them and I scrambled about the kitchen for plates, cutlery, placemats and napkins. Lola chatted with Aaron, and I served the food after I’d taken a seat.

“So, tell me, what happened after I left?” I urged Aaron.

“Frankie and his henchmen hauled Marion off to a mental hospital, the preacher was taken to the emergency room, and Jordan and I took care of everything else.”

“Frankie’s wife lost her cookies, huh?” Lola asked.

“She held a gun on me and said she planned to kill me and Tim. Imagine? She thought I wanted to take him from her. Ben Gravani wanted Tim for his own purposes and had ordered him to be put out of commission if he wouldn’t comply. How’s Tim doing?”

Aaron laid his fork on the empty dish after having made short work of the casserole. “He told us she’d kept him in a root cellar. Like the one where you were held, I’d guess. She was protecting him from Ben Gravani, who, for his own reasons, was interested in Slaggard. Ben and Marion had made a pact, but Ben defaulted on his end of the bargain. He wanted information from Slaggard concerning his former computer skills and programs he’d written that were detrimental to young Ben’s book-making business. Ben worried that Marion would finish him off before he got the information. If it hadn’t been for your interference, Vinnie, we might never have found the preacher, or taken Gravani into custody.”

“Would Gravani have allowed Marion to kill Tim?” Lola asked.

“I don’t think so,” Aaron said. “Vinnie had mentioned Tim spent a year or so in Italy. Come to find out, Italy has a program that they use when they’ve arrested Mafia sons in Italy. They take the juvenile sons away until they turn eighteen, and show them there are better ways to live than by being in the mob. The program isn’t as successful as the Italians would like, but nearly so. It’s put a severe dent in the longstanding power of fathers and sons in the Mafia world. Tim’s mother was part of the Cardillo family. She married a Canadian and took his name rather than keep her own. The family was appalled when she refused to allow her son to be pulled into mob life.”

“She had better plans for him, then?” I asked.

Aaron smiled and nodded. “Tim was sent to Italy and entered the program. Before he got in touch with God, he’d been a computer guru who manipulated numbers that would make Wall Street cringe. Gravani got wind of Tim’s ability and wanted him to give the information to Ben Jr. in order to further their numbers empire. Instead, Tim spent some time in the seminary and refused association with the crime world, no matter how much pressure was brought to bear.”

“Was that when Marion got her hooks into him?” Lola asked, before I could.