Motor City Shakedown (43 page)

Sergeant Rogers: Giuseppe's on Rivard. 11:00 PM. Adamos
AND
Gianollas. Hurry!

She showed it to me. I nodded.

We had a chance. If Rogers found the note in time, he could upset the Gianollas' plan. I had to keep us alive until then. I set the note on the kitchen table before putting the glove back on and changing into a black shirt and trousers. We settled on the sofa in the parlor to wait.

I nudged her. “So you were saying before we were so rudely interrupted?”

“What?”

“You came back in July?”

“Oh.” She laughed and immediately clapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she whispered. “My uncle Peter—my mother's brother—was trying to get her money. He had her committed. She was locked up at Eloise asylum for almost a month before I could get her out.”

“Oh. Gosh, I'm sorry.”

“I didn't have anything to do with the murder, if that's what you were thinking.”

“I didn't think so, but…”

“You couldn't help but wonder.”

I nodded.

She took my hand. “Don't worry about it. I understand.”

Homemade fireworks began to explode in the sky, lighting the night green and white and red. In the distance, I could just hear the city's fireworks booming out over the river a mile and a half away. I wondered about the Gianollas' timing. The official fireworks would be finished before eleven, but there would be plenty of people shooting off fireworks and firecrackers well into the morning.

It would be an ideal time to shoot people.

*   *   *

From this far away the fireworks downtown were nothing more than a distant thud and a glow on the horizon. Occasionally the bursts rose far enough that they peeked out above the skyscrapers as they exploded.

Elizabeth sat next to me on the sofa in the parlor, nestled in under my left arm, one of her arms around my waist, the other hand resting on my stomach. Her hair smelled of vanilla. She was no more than a vague black form, yet I could picture her exactly. I traced the outline of her cheek with my left hand and then leaned down and kissed the top of her head through her short curls.

“Elizabeth,” I whispered. “Thank you for giving me another chance.” A string of firecrackers blew off down the street. I waited until the explosions stopped. “Being with you like this is worth a thousand beatings. It's worth my life.”

She reached up and caressed my cheek. “Mine as well. I never thought I could be happy again.”

I took hold of her hand. “I want you to stay here tonight. Let me go alone.”

She sat up slowly, not the angry response I expected. “No, Will. Neither of us will be happy again without the other. I've faced that.” She laughed quietly. “We're both ruined for anyone else anyway. So if either of us has to die tonight, let it be both.”

I started to protest, but she pressed a finger against my lips, then leaned in and kissed me. It was a soft kiss, but her lips lingered. I knew she was memorizing this moment, just as I was—her smell, the feel of her soft, full lips pressed against mine, the love that passed between us. It was only a moment, but it was perfect, the most perfect moment of my life.

She wrapped her arms around me and laid her head against my chest. We sat like that until the downtown fireworks stopped. The next part would be tricky. We needed to get away, but we also needed to alert the detectives to our departure.

I nudged Elizabeth. “Are you ready?”

She sat up. “Yes. Let's go.”

“You've got your gun and knife? And they're hidden?”

“Yes. Nobody's going to find the gun, but I've got a bruise that's killing me.”

“I noticed.” My arched eyebrow was a waste in the dark. She didn't say anything, and I wondered if she was smiling. “Okay, let's go out the back. We'll sneak to get past him, but I'm going to shout for you to run once we get far enough away.”

After I ducked my head into the hall to see if it was clear, we tiptoed to the stairs and padded down to the first floor. I eased the back door open and slipped outside into the dark, Elizabeth right behind me. We crept alongside the building, ducking under windows so as not to be framed by the light.

From somewhere behind Third Street, a shrill whistle split the silence, followed by a bright white burst in the sky.

“Hey!” the detective yelled. “Get back here!”

“Run!” I shouted. We raced across the lawn. I looked back over my shoulder to see the cop lumbering along, much nearer to us than I'd hoped he'd be. Given that I had to get the Torpedo started, it was going to be close. No one ever wished they had a self-starter more than I did right now.

“Stop, or I'll shoot!”

“Keep running, Elizabeth!” I called over my shoulder. I turned the corner onto Charlotte and sprinted to the car, which sat just outside the cone of light from a streetlamp. I jammed the key into the ignition, flipped the spark and throttle levers to a quick approximation of starting positions, and ran around the front. Elizabeth reached the car and jumped up in the seat as I started spinning the crank. The engine didn't catch. I spun it again. Still nothing.

“Elizabeth, check the spark and throttle!” I yelled.

I looked out at the street. The cop was perhaps a hundred feet away now, running toward us with his gun hand extended. His hat flew off his head. “Stop, asshole!” he shouted.

“Turn the crank, Will!” Elizabeth yelled.

I spun it again. The engine caught.

I ran around, jumped into the car, and jerked down on the throttle lever. The tires spun and the car fishtailed away from the curb. The back end caught the cop in the hip, knocking him to the pavement. I hurtled around the corner, just able to squeeze between a pair of cars on Woodward.

Elizabeth was still turned in her seat, looking out the back. “That's not going to be good, Will.”

“Really?” I demanded. “Running over a cop isn't going to be good? Any more important information you'd like to share?”

We glared at each other until Elizabeth started to giggle. And then we both broke out laughing. When she caught her breath, she said, “I don't think you really hurt him, but you should have seen his face.”

I glanced over at her. “What did he look like?”

She made a face, her eyes wide and her mouth in a big
O.
“Somewhere between surprise and sheer terror.”

“Well, thank heaven for small favors. I'd hate to add cop-killer to my résumé.”

Once Rogers discovered his car wouldn't start, he would go back inside my apartment looking for clues as to where we'd gone. I hoped all would be forgiven between us when he found the note and caught the Gianollas. It would take the police a while to get to Giuseppe's. If the timing didn't work out, we were in a lot of trouble.

I drove through alleys where I could, otherwise staying on side streets. It was ten minutes of eleven when we arrived in front of the mission. I didn't see Adamo. I hadn't expected to. He would be at least as suspicious of my motives as he would of Pietro Mirabile's. For him to wait like a sitting duck would have been stupid. And Vito Adamo was anything but.

I pulled to the curb, fished the switchblade out of my pocket, and set it on my lap while taking off my glove. After Elizabeth shoved the knife into the finger hole, I pulled the glove back onto my hand. I tried to hide the pain when I jammed the stub of my pinkie in with my ring finger, but her sympathetic frown showed I didn't do so well.

When I thought I could keep the pain out of my voice, I held my hand up in front of her. “Not too bad, huh?”

Nodding, she said, “It might pass. If they don't look too closely.”

“I may need your help with that.”

“I know just the thing.”

I looked at her with a question on my face, but she just shook her head and smiled. Half a minute later, the blue E-M-F pulled up alongside us, Angelo the only occupant. “Follow,” he said, and the car shot forward. I drew down the throttle and trailed behind.

“Where do you suppose the Adamos are?” Elizabeth asked.

“I don't know. But they're not taking any chances. That's good.” I looked over at her. “We're going to need them to keep us alive tonight.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Along the way, we passed four or five children I thought were likely members of Abe's “business group.” When Angelo pulled the E-M-F to the curb in front of Giuseppe's Restaurant, I parked just behind him, almost directly under a streetlamp. Ray Bernstein sat on a stoop across the street. When I caught his eye, he shrugged and held his hands out to his sides.

He hadn't seen anyone? That seemed unlikely. I leaned toward him and made the same gesture back, pantomiming,
Nobody?

He shrugged again and shook his head.

Angelo climbed out of the car, unholstering a pistol as he did. Filipo Busolato came from around the side of the restaurant and walked up to him. They spoke for a few moments. Angelo nodded and pulled a sawed-off shotgun from the backseat. He turned to me and nodded toward Ray. “Gianollas?”

“He says no.” I bit my lip. “But we better be sure.”

“My man say the same. But we will be sure.” He turned toward the restaurant. “Come with me.”

He walked to the door, shotgun in one hand, pistol in the other, followed by Busolato. Elizabeth and I fell in step behind them. When Angelo opened the door, a pair of toughs who were just inside let us in. The interior was well lit, but the walnut paneling made it seem dim. Streetlights shone through a pair of small windows in the front wall. Starched white tablecloths covered every table, which otherwise were empty. Behind the dining area was a corridor that I assumed led to a back door. I thought it looked like a relatively safe place to meet. Or as safe as a place could be with the Gianolla brothers present.

An older man in a dark suit stood in the center of the dining area, his silvery hair shining in the restaurant's lights. He said something in Italian, and the men stepped back and let us pass. I squeezed Elizabeth's hand, and we walked in behind Adamo's men. The pressure on my pinkie finger was incredible. I tried to move it, hoping to relieve the pain, and was rewarded with even more.

The old man was short and squat, and had three deep scars on his left cheek that fanned out like a cat's whiskers. “
Buona sera,
gentlemen, miss,” he said, in a deep, gravelly voice.

Angelo bowed to him. “Don Mirabile.”

They talked in Italian for a minute. I discerned from the tone of the conversation and Angelo's hand motions that he wanted to search the restaurant before handing over his weapons, a sentiment with which I wholeheartedly agreed. Mirabile gave his approval, and called two of his men from the kitchen to join Adamo's men in their search.

Mirabile turned to us. “Mr. Anderson, Miss Hume, we gotta search you. No weapons at this meetin'.”

“Fine,” I said. “But they'd better be careful with her.” I nodded toward Elizabeth.

“Sì,”
he said. “My men will show respect.”

He called one of the men from the door to search us. I gave him the .32, held my hands out to the side, and tried not to look nervous. He started at my ankles and worked his way up.

When he began patting down my arms, Elizabeth lifted her skirt above her shoes, showing her ankles, and said, “Say, I have a knife.” His hands stopped at my wrists. She took a step toward us and turned to show off the knife sticking out of her shoe, giving us a lovely flash of her right calf. The man searching me stopped immediately, his eyes glued to her legs. She plucked the knife from her shoe and handed it to him.

“Grazie,”
the man said, and forgot me completely. I started breathing again. After apologizing to Elizabeth, the man searched her, beginning with her hat. He confiscated her hatpin and started moving downward. He didn't touch her breasts but looked carefully enough. I held my breath when he politely asked her to spread her legs. She moved her right leg over about a foot. He began at her ankles, patting the outside of her skirt, higher than I thought he would. And sure enough, his hand touched the pistol.

His eyes darted up to her face. “She got a gun.”

Mirabile folded his arms across his chest. “Miss Hume.”

Elizabeth, her face flushed, reached up under her dress and pulled out the little pistol. I tugged at my glove, desperate to ease the pain in my hand. I tried to hide the movement, but at this moment, I could have carried in a Gatling gun. Not a man in the room had his eyes anywhere other than Elizabeth's legs. She handed the pistol to the man who'd searched her. “I want that back.”

When he took the gun he made a mock-grimace and passed it from hand to hand, like it was a hot potato. Every man in the place except for me burst out laughing.

“Hey,” I said. “What about respect?”

“What about respect?” Mirabile said with scorn. “Your girlfrien' brings a gun to a meetin' with no weapons, and you ask me about respect?”

I didn't have an answer for that.

We were down to my switchblade. Our margin was getting thinner.

*   *   *

Adamo's men soon returned with a pair of waiters in black trousers with white shirts, and searched them. No weapons were found. Still, I was certain this was a trap. I pulled Angelo aside. “Do you know these men?”

“No, but Don Mirabile say they work for him for years. He trust them.”

I looked over at Mirabile. “So once again we have to trust
him.
”

“Don Adamo trust him. That is enough.”

“All right. But don't let Vito come until the Gianollas are here and unarmed.”

He nodded and said something to Busolato, who walked outside. Angelo stopped in the doorway with Mirabile's men and handed over the shotgun and pistol, another pistol tucked inside a shoulder holster, and a stiletto.