MOB BOSS 2 (17 page)

Could hear arguing going back and forth.

As they hurried onto the rickety deck and entered the home, they saw it. One big, burly white man with long, straggly hair was completing a body slam on a police officer, while two EMTs stood

by a gurney. Paul and Bronx immediately rushed over to assist the officer, without noticing that two other officers were in the home behind the door they’d just entered, and both bore striking resemblances to them.

Neither knew what hit them as they were knocked out with just enough force to momentarily incapacitate them, but not enough force to harm them. One of the men dressed as an EMT

immediately took a long needle and injected first Paul Brown and then his partner. As soon as the injections were complete, the men went into action.

The EMTs grabbed a now unconscious Paul Brown, slung him onto the gurney, and puled a sheet up to his nose. The burly “perp” then inspected both Paul and Bronx to ensure their stand-ins

made no mistakes and fit as close as possible in how they were wearing their uniform, their hat, what shoes they wore. The two suspects looked remarkably like Paul Brown and Bronx in build,

coloring, and mannerisms, although a close inspection would clearly show a difference. But they weren’t banking on any close inspections.

Although they left the real Officer Bronx Bratmann passed out in the home, with the official line to be that he was a victim too, the EMTs then grabbed the gurney containing the real Paul Brown

and headed outside for the ambulance.

“Okay folks,” the burly man said, who, in actuality, was running the operation, “let’s make this look good.”

As soon as he said those words, he and his two stand-ins hurried to the door and then fel out of the door wrestling, with the other officers folowing, careful to keep the lookalikes looking

down. And it seemed to work, as Reno’s men were watching Paul Brown’s supposedly secret security detail. Not the EMTs as they loaded the boss in the back of the ambulance. And the fight

became the perfect distraction. Because they had to pay attention. They had to make sure their boss wasn’t in any danger. The ambulance slipped away with only mild interest by the men whose job it

was to keep their eyes trained on their boss, to make sure even that yahoo didn’t get the best of him. And although they saw the ambulance as it whizzed by, their attention was on the fight, a fight that their boss, or at least the man they assumed was their boss, seemed to be easily winning.

***

security was tight, and layered, exactly the way Tommy ordered it.

Inside the room, to nobody’s surprise, was Paul Brown, now conscious, seated in a chair, legs crossed, untied, but definitely imprisoned. A smal table with a glass of wine was seated next to the

chair. Paul Brown, however, refused to drink it.

Tommy and Sal Luca stood back against the door as Reno and Carmine walked up to the reputed mob boss. Reno standing in front of him, Carmine standing behind him. This boss looked

scrawny to Reno, like a wannabe, just like the patrol officer he purported to be. But Reno would not be fooled twice. He trusted Tommy. He trusted that Tommy’s 411 was right on the money. And

when this pile of manure admitted where that boy was being kept, Reno thought, there would be no further doubt.

Reno reached into his pocket, causing Paul to brace himself, but Reno, instead, puled out a pair of beveled-edged barber shears and sat them on the smal table. Paul smiled.

“What you going to give me a haircut?”

“Where’s the boy?” Reno asked him.

“Excuse me? What boy?”

“Excuse me? What boy?”

“Where’s the boy?”

“Again, what boy?”

Reno grabbed the shears, grabbed Paul Brown’s hand, and completely cut off his pinky finger before he could react. The blood gushed and Paul cried out in excruciating pain, holding his injured

hand with his other hand.

“Where’s the boy?” Reno asked again, over the cries.

“What boy?” Paul screamed. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Reno grabbed Paul’s hand again, this time with Carmine holding Paul back as he fought the grab. Reno immediately sliced off the ring finger, Paul’s diamond ring causing a thump as the finger fel

to the ground. And the screaming, and blood, recommenced.

“Where’s the boy?” Reno asked, over the yels. This man hated Reno at this point in time, but he could not have possibly hate Reno more than Reno hated himself.

“What boy?” Paul screamed. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re going to bleed to death,” Reno said, as he grabbed that same damaged hand and sliced his middle finger. Paul nearly fel out of the chair fighting against Carmine, fighting against Reno.

The blood flying, the pain ripping through his thin body like shards of glass continualy slicing against his flesh, and he fought.

“Where’s the boy?” Reno asked once more, his face as unreadable as the hidden pain deep within him. He hated being in this position. Hated what he was doing to this man, what they were

doing to his son, hated al of it. But he had no choice. They started this shit, and he had to finish it.

“Where’s the boy?” he asked yet again.

“I told you,” Paul started and Reno grabbed the decimated hand yet again, ready to dice again.

“He’s here!” Paul screamed, unable to bear another cut.

Reno held his hand, and then tossed it away from him. “In Vegas?” he asked.

Paul shook his head, cradling his hand as one would cradle a baby. “No,” he said.

“Where have you ordered Pags to keep my boy?”

“Here,” Paul said.

“What here?” Reno yeled impatiently. “In Vegas?”

“Here,” Paul said. “At the PaLargio.”

Reno stood to his feel in shock. Carmine, shocked too, let Paul go. Tommy pushed away from the door.

“What room?” Reno asked, his heart pounding.

“You’re a dead man, Reno Gabrini,” Paul said, tearing his shirt sleeve with his teeth to wrap his hand and staunch the blood flow. “I’l see you in hel for this!”

“What room you fucker!” Reno yeled, grabbing Paul by the catch of his shirt and puling him up from the chair.

“Two-ninety-two,” Paul screamed as the pain ripped through him. Reno dropped him to the chair.

“What do we do, Reno?” Carmine asked.

Reno had to digest this. “You watch him and wait for my cal.” Then he looked at Paul. “If you’re lying to me, you don’t know pain yet.”

“And they cal you a saint,” Paul said, stil angry, stil in unbelievable pain. “St. Dominic they caled you. What saint! You’re the most ruthless, dirty bastard that ever lived! How could you do

this to me?”

But Reno wasn’t thinking about him. He began heading for the door. When Reno saw that look in Tommy and Sal’s eyes, a look that made clear that even they were stunned by the brutality

they’d just witnessed, his heart grew faint. But what did they expect from him? You had to give as good as you got or people like Paul Brown would eat you alive. Not to mention that poor little boy.

His son.

When he made it through the door, and cleared the passageway, he ran, puling out the master key.

With his security team behind him, with Tommy and Sal Luca behind them, they took the back stairs to the hotel’s second floor. As soon as they stepped out onto the floor, however, Tommy

puled Reno back, handed the master key to the head spotter, and then motioned to security.

The beefy bodyguards hurried up to room two-ninety-two, which was midway along the corridor. On the finger count of three, they swiped the card at the door’s key slot and bum-rushed

inside, relying on the element of immediate surprise.

Reno, Tommy, and Sal continued to wait. When the signal came, they hurried to the room, entered, and the door was shut behind them.

Inside was indeed little Nicholas, strapped to a chair in the hotel’s one-bedroom suite, black drapes covering al of the wals. Reno, Tommy, and Sal stopped, just as security had, because he

was strapped into the chair with explosives around his neck. Reno moved toward him, but a voice, not to mention Tommy’s hand, stopped him.

“Don’t come any closer, Reno.” It was Pags voice. Coming from the closed bedroom door just behind the chair. “That kid wil be history if you even think about coming any closer!”

“What do you want, Pags?” Reno asked, his heart pounding.

“If you don’t have that wife of yours here within the next minute, it’s over. And don’t try me.”

Reno motioned to Tommy, wondering if Pags was able to see them. Tommy motioned at a clock on the side table that he was wiling to bet was a camera.

“You heard me, Reno. Your wife for your son’s life.”

Tommy whispered to Sal to go and get Katrina.

“But Reno,” Sal said.

“Just get her and get her now,” Tommy ordered.

“Just get her and get her now,” Tommy ordered.

Sal looked at Reno, who was stil talking with Pags, and left the room.

“Where’s he going?”

“To get Mrs. Gabrini,” Tommy offered.

Reno turned and looked at Tommy, astounded. “My wife isn’t coming here. Got that?”

“Your wife or this kid,” Pags said. And I’m not playing Reno!” Pags shouted. “I want her here and I want her here now or this kid wil be blown to more pieces than a Jigsaw puzzle!” The little

boy started crying. “Al I have to do is press this button, Reno, and he’s through!”

“Okay,” Reno said. “She’s coming. She’s on her way. Just don’t do anything stupid, Pags.” Then Reno looked at the young boy. “It’s okay, son. It’l be okay.”

“I want my mommy,” young Nicholas said.

“You’l have her. Don’t worry. She’s here. Everything wil be just fine.”

“How did you find out he was here?” Pags suddenly asked.

Reno looked at Tommy. Tommy nodded. “Paul Brown sent us,” Reno said. “He’s right downstairs, in fact.”

“Paul . . . But how did you . . .?” Then there appeared to be some movement. Reno assumed he was making a phone cal, to confirm that his boss had been snatched.

“Stil there, Pags?” Reno said after a long few moments. “Because we have a proposition too.”

“Paul is on his usual patrol. You don’t have Paul. What are you talking about?”

“Tel your goons to look closer,” Reno suggested.

There was an even longer pause. Then: “What proposition?” Pags eventualy asked.

“The kid for your boss.”

“I want your wife. There’s no ands, ifs, or buts about that.”

“You don’t understand,” Reno assured him. “We wil kil Paul Brown, aka your boss, if you don’t let this kid go and let him go unharmed now.”

“What the fuck you mean I don’t understand! You don’t understand. I want your wife.”

“And what about Paul Brown? What about your boss?”

Trina and Marcy entered the room with Sal Luca. As soon as Marcy saw her son she ran toward him, with Reno being the last man able to catch her and hold her back.

“Don’t you dare come any further, Marcy!” Pags yeled.

“It’s al right, Nicky, okay? It’s al right.”

“Helo, Marce,” Pags said.

“Where are you?” Marcy asked, looking around. Reno motioned toward the closed door.

“He can see us,” Reno said. “Let us handle this.”

“I can also hear you, Reno,” Pags said. “So stop the sidebars.”

Reno looked back. To his relief, Tommy had a hand on Trina.

“You didn’t answer my question, Pags,” Reno said. “What about your boss?”

“What about him?”

“The boy’s life for his life.”

“No thanks,” Pags said as if he was unaffected.

Reno frowned. “What do you mean no thanks? You don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand! Teling me I don’t understand. You don’t understand! It must be your wife. It was my father, it must be your wife!”

Reno was dumbstruck, terrified that they’d just made another miscalculation. “Your father?”

“You iced Frank Partanna. You iced my father.”

“Your father, what do I look stupid to you? You was his henchman, you was his button. You never was any kin to Frank Partanna!”

“He was my father. And you murdered him. Now I wil murder what’s near and dear to you.”

“No!” Marcy cried. “You can’t kil my child, Pags. You said you wouldn’t harm him. You said I had to bring Reno to you, and I did that.”

“Don’t worry Marcy. Your child wil be fine. As long as Reno takes his wife and replace her in that chair. Then I wil disarm your son’s explosives, you can remove them, and he can go home

with you tonight.”

Marcy looked at Reno.

“No, Pags,” he said, shaking his head. “Not my wife.”

“Reno,” Trina said. Reno turned to her. “He’s a child, Reno,” she said, with pleading in her voice.

“No,” Reno said. “No!” Then he turned toward the camera. “You can have me, Pags. I’l sit in your chair. You can have me! I’m the vilain here. I’m the one who ordered your father’s hit.

Take me. But not my wife.”

“Your wife or your son’s life,” Pags said.

“Your wife or your son’s life,” Pags said.

“Me! Only me, Pags!”

“Your wife or your son’s life.”

“Listen to me!” Reno yeled.

“One, two, ” Pags began the countdown.

“Reno!” Marcy yeled. “Don’t let my baby die!”

Reno’s heart felt as if it was coming out of his chest. “Pags, you can’t do this. Listen to me, Pags!”

“Three, four,” Pags continued.

“Put her in that chair, Reno!” Marcy yeled. “Put that black bitch in that chair!”

“Take me, Pags!” Reno yeled. “Take me!”

“Your wife or your son’s life, Reno. Five, six.”

“Get out of here, Tree!” Reno screamed as he ran toward the chair. Trina’s heart dropped through her shoe.

“Seven, eight.”

“No, Reno!” Trina screamed, as she saw what her husband was about to do.