Once a Crooked Man (35 page)

For a while she writhed and struggled, but then warm sensations started to run through her body and she tried desperately not to respond. But to her great surprise the restraints holding her arms and legs no longer terrified her but began to heighten what were now waves of pleasure.

With his hands on either side of her shoulders Max slid into her and then put his weight on her whole body.

“Move with me,” he said softly into her ear.

The Sicilian was an expert not only with his hands and mouth but also with every fiber of his body. For a long time he moved, constantly changing the strength, depth and rhythm. At first, Detective Elizabeth Carswell clenched her fists and tried to resist, but the four inches of soft foam padding beneath the rubber sheet encouraged her to move with him.

Just the way he asked.

 

62

When Enzo's phone rang, he was very surprised to find who was on the other end.

“Enzo, I'm sorry,” said Carter, “but I need some information that you may be able to provide. We need to meet.”

“Where?” Enzo asked.

“Somewhere safe. Somewhere quiet. What about the club?”

“Mazaras? Sure. When?”

“Half an hour. I'll meet you there in thirty minutes.” And he rang off.

In the early years, Enzo had accepted his place beneath Sal and Max and had done what they asked without question. Subterfuge was alien to his nature, as he felt it led to unintended and awkward complications. As a result he was never able to develop an honest or lasting relationship with anyone.

Of the three brothers he was certainly the most industrious, putting in long hours to keep the records up-to-date and to make sure that everything owed was collected. It was he who'd found and hired Rocco. It was he who kept the books in a coded language to which only he had the key.

When Sal brought in Carter Allinson as their financial advisor, more than half of Enzo's smooth-running arrangements were abandoned and he found himself with time on his hands. Not one to complain, he began to read. At first he chose recreational fiction, but this soon paled and he turned to broader subjects. Through his books he traveled and researched the world without leaving his living room. Cradled in the cushions on his sofa he visited the Prado, learned how to fly a plane, use a centrifuge and cook a seven-course dinner for visiting dignitaries. When Kindle came along he tried the electronic page briefly but found holding a real book in his hands more satisfying.

Five years later
The World's Greatest Yachts
gave him the thought that he should bring some light and air into his monastic existence. On an uncharacteristic whim he drove to New Jersey and bought the
Gazelle
.

Now she was on the bottom of the fucking Hudson.

Enzo took out a phone and made two calls. One telling Benny to bring the car around fast. The other to his brother.

 

63

At five thirty in the afternoon, Sal Bruschetti had taken a Viagra, washing it down with a glass of Frascati. After a light supper Furella took full advantage of his chemically encouraged vigor. After a soapy shower together they climbed back into the rumpled sheets and entwined in each other's arms they drifted off to sleep. Neither heard the first three rings of the cellphone, but on the fourth Furella shook herself awake and retrieved it from Sal's jacket.

“Oh Enzo! It's you,” she said, doing her best to sound normal. “You want Sal? Hold on. I'll go get him.” She prodded her husband's shoulder until he returned to the land of the living.

It's your brother,
she mouthed.

“What? Who? Max?”

Furella shook her head. Pulling himself up against the headboard, Sal took the phone. After a couple of expressive grunts he said, “Mazaras. Okay. On my way.”

As he dressed, Furella went down to the kitchen and filled up his travel mug with decaf. At the front door she buttoned up his cardigan.

“Whatever it is,” she said, “we can handle it. Call me if you need to talk. I'll be here.”

He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Thanks, babe.”

The Cadillac was parked out front in anticipation of a nine o'clock foursome. Moving his clubs from the backseat to the trunk, he squeezed his belly in behind the wheel and drove off.

 

64

The portrayal of killing and violence is an accepted part of motion pictures and television. Over the years Harry had participated in his share. But what he had just done at the warehouse in Brooklyn was not the product of a writer's imagination. It was the real thing. The reality show to end all reality shows.

In preparation for another long vigil Harry stopped at an all-night deli and grabbed a tuna sandwich, a banana, a large bottle of Diet Coke and four tubes of Pringles. Parking directly across from the entrance to the apartment building, he ate potato chips and ruminated whether it was time to throw in the towel and head for the Witness Protection Program. Opening the Diet Coke, he took a long drink. As he did, his quarry came flying out of the apartment and caught him by surprise. The Town Car barely stopped at the curb. Enzo jumped into the passenger seat and they drove off fast.

Harry threw the Pringles over his shoulder, pushed the Diet Coke into the cupholder and set off in pursuit. He had to use all his driving skills to keep the other car in sight as the driver ahead weaved in and out of the traffic. The trip ended in Lower Manhattan on a side street where Harry's quarry drove up a ramp and disappeared from view. Minutes later a cab pulled up and a tall individual in a gray suit climbed out and stood to one side as a Cadillac DeVille swung around and up the same ramp.

The Chiefs were gathering for a Pow-Wow.

 

65

Sal pulled up and parked. As he got out of the car, Carter came up the ramp.

“I asked to talk to you alone, so how come everyone's here?” he asked Enzo, who was waiting at the door.

“When there's trouble we all work together, my friend.”

“What makes you think there's trouble?”

“You,” said Enzo, and he pressed the buttons on the keypad. The three men trooped inside and down the stairs. In the dining room Nino was sitting alone at a table reading
La Settimana Enigmistica,
sipping a Peroni and listening to a Neapolitan CD on the speaker system.

“Ciao, Nino. Max here?” said Sal.

Nino pointed to the ceiling and made a phallic gesture. Enzo turned and ran back up the stairs.

Max's buttocks rose rhythmically up and down atop a spread-eagled girl who was moaning loudly. Several seconds passed before either noticed the intrusion. Then the girl screamed and Max almost fell off the platform, letting out a stream of Italian invectives.

Max slipped on his pants, shirt and shoes. “Let's go,” he said brusquely.

“What about…?” Enzo pointed at the prostrate girl.

“Fuck her,” said Max. “She's not going anywhere. Who's here?”

“Everyone. Carter wants to talk. Seems there's a problem.”

Four tables had been pushed together in the far corner of the dining room. Sal sat at the head unwrapping a cigar. Benny had joined them and was at a table by the entrance to the kitchen where Nino and Rocco were now busy preparing coffee.

Max sat next to his brother and motioned Carter to sit down. “So what's up?” he asked. “Why the panic?”

Carter said abruptly, “Can we lose the damn music?”

“Sure,” replied Max, and pointed to the curtain.

Carter pushed aside the fabric and switched off the music system. “The Feds have been to my apartment. Asked me if I knew you guys. The agent used your name…”

The phone on the reservation desk started to ring. Carter walked over and picked it up. “Yes!” he said impatiently. “Yes, it is, but it's late. We're closed. What? Oh. Yes, yes, he's here.” He looked over at Sal. “It's your wife.”

Sal ambled over and took the phone as Rocco came in with mugs on a tray. Nino followed him with the coffeepot and then went back into the kitchen.

“Yeah, babe?” said Sal.

An uneasy tension filled the room as Carter listened. It was odd for Furella to call. Sal replaced the receiver and walked back to his seat.

“Well?” said Carter and Max in unison.

“Peggio di cosí
non si puó”
was the enigmatic reply. He looked at Max. “The warehouse just burned to the ground. Vic called to tell his mama that he and Toshi got out, but Blackthorn is dead.”

“What?” said Max.

“Jack Blackthorn is dead. Furella's in a cab on her way here.”

“Why are they coming here?” asked Carter.

“She didn't say. Just said don't do nothing until she gets here.”

“For Christ's sake!” exclaimed Carter.

“Take it easy,” said Sal. “She means well.”

Max looked over at Enzo. “You told us Murphy drowned.”

“He did,” said Enzo. “There's no way he could have made it to shore. It has to be an accident.”

“Don't be so stupid!” growled Sal. “First Villiers is warned, then your boat sinks and now this fucking fire.”

“You think…?” said Enzo.

“I don't think; I know. When you heard about the
Gazelle,
what did you do?”

“Got in the car and went to the Marina.”

“Anybody follow you?”

“I didn't look,” said Enzo.

“Anyone follow you here tonight?”

There was a momentary pause. Rocco moved towards the front door.

“No!” said Enzo, standing up. “I know what the bastard looks like.”

“We'll all go,” said Max. “But if he's out there I want him back in here unharmed. Understood? I want him in one piece. I need some answers.”

 

66

It was time for Harry to call the Feds. With so many people inside the building, the odds were no longer in his favor. Not that they ever were. He would just take a quick look around and then call for reinforcements.

Climbing out of the car, he crossed the street and went up the ramp. At the top was a parking garage. A Cadillac and a couple of other cars were at the far end. Close to them was a fire door. There was no other way in or out.

He paced out the distance from the door to the right-hand wall. Forty-eight steps. He ran down the ramp and along to the corner of the street. He marched off forty-eight paces and found himself at the door of an Italian restaurant. A faded wooden sign overhead read: Mazaras. It seemed closed, but the lights were on inside. The windows were covered with opaque curtains. Harry pressed his ear against the glass but could hear nothing.

A little farther along the sidewalk was a hardware store. At one side of the doorway was a pay phone. Harry walked over and pulled out Luigi's card. He dialed the operator to call collect, but before he got an answer, four men came out of the restaurant. Two went out into the center of the roadway. One went to the left and the other to the right. A third waited at the curb. Behind him stood the man in the gray suit in the shadow of the doorway.

It's amazing how fast the human brain can process information. It would only be seconds before one of them spotted him. To his right was a brightly lit street with trucks, cars and pedestrians. To his left the cross street was dark and with no sign of life. The man heading to the left was trim. The one heading right was heavier and probably slower on his feet. Harry figured his best chance was to outrun the heavy guy and take his chances in the lights.

Fear gave him speed and he was able to get a head start before being spotted. A sudden squealing of brakes slowed him down as a van swerved to avoid hitting him. This maneuver caused two cars to skid to a stop. The drivers leaned out and screamed obscenities at each other. A vacant taxi drove past, but Harry's pursuer was too close to give him time to get in.

As he ran, he tired. With his stride shortening and his breathing becoming labored Harry could hear the heavyset man gaining ground and relentlessly closing the gap. No matter how many times Harry changed direction, the bastard doggedly followed. When only a few yards separated them the footsteps stopped and Harry heard a loud strangled gasp. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the man stumble, lean against the wall and clutch his chest in a huge effort to breathe.

It is also amazing how idiotic the human mind can be upon occasion. Harry's first instinct was to go back and help. Reason was soon restored when he remembered that this was someone intent on doing him serious harm. It would be wiser for him to pray the man drop dead.

Free from pursuit, Harry dashed off around the first corner and ran headlong into the man who was thin and fit. The collision sent both of them sprawling to the ground. Seconds later a hard blow to the side of Harry's head knocked him senseless.

 

67

When he began to regain consciousness Harry knew that his left jaw and cheek had taken most of the damage. He also knew that his arms were securely bound to a chair, one of many arranged around tables. Harry kept very still with his eyes almost shut but saw that each table was neatly laid with white cloths, cutlery, glasses and little vases of flowers. Nobody was near him. No one had noticed he had regained consciousness. The effect was surreal. Film noir.

The individual who had suffered the apparent heart attack sat slouched at the entrance to the kitchen with his face in the shadows. A slim woman with red hair held a wet towel to his forehead. Near to them was a pudgy individual chewing on a cigar butt. Beside him was Enzo Bruschetti, now tieless. The man who had collided with Harry leaned against a far wall. It was Enzo's driver.

The gray suit came in from the kitchen with a glass of water and handed it to the man in the chair. Then he spoke to Enzo.

“What exactly are we waiting for?”