One Dog Night (27 page)

It wasn’t until ten after ten that Fowler looked at his watch and said, “I don’t like this.”

“He’ll be here,” Loney said. “If I have to drag him out of bed.”

“He should have been here by now. This is not a guy who’s out drinking beers and forgot the appointment. To him this meeting is one of the most important of his life.”

“Then let’s go find him,” Loney said.

“Where?”

“His house.”

Fowler shook his head. “No, we don’t want his wife and kid to see us. That just complicates things.”

“So let’s grab the wife and kid. Then the judge will do exactly what he’s told.”

“No. Let’s call him first. I think you should be the one to do that. Tell him that not coming here is unacceptable.”

Loney nodded, and took out his phone. Just as he was about to dial, Fowler said, “Hold it. I think I hear a car.”

He walked to the window, which was behind Loney. He had to wipe away the dust to look outside, then stared out there for about ten seconds.

“You see him?” Loney asked.

“No. You’d better call him.”

Loney turned back to his phone. It was set up exactly the way Fowler wanted it. Loney was concentrating on dialing, his hands occupied, and his back to Fowler.

It was therefore the easiest thing in the world for Fowler to take his handgun from his pocket and shoot Loney three times in the back.

Loney fell forward, landing on the floor just before his cell phone did the same. He was already dead by that time, but Fowler felt for a pulse to make sure. “Damn,” Fowler said to Loney’s body. “Now that I think of it, I forgot to tell the judge about the meeting.”

Fowler wasn’t terribly worried about the body. It would be a long time before anyone entered this warehouse, and the discovery of a dead gangster could not in any way come back to him. He had been careful not to leave fingerprints or any other evidence that could implicate him.

But he didn’t want to just leave the body where it was, so he took one of the large, empty drums that was in the warehouse, and laid it on its side. Then he half pushed and half rolled the very large Loney into it. He put the top on, but could not lift the drum upright. Which was fine.

Fowler locked the place and left. It had been a while since he had personally killed anyone, and as a marine in Kuwait that had been done more anonymously.

But this didn’t bother him at all. Not a bit. Which was good, because Loney would not be the last person he would have to kill.

The door opens and two men step out.

They’re not particularly large, maybe an inch taller than me and not much heavier. One of them looks at me, then Marcus, then back at me. “Not him,” he says. “Just you.”

I nod and ask Marcus to wait outside the door. He doesn’t seem happy about it, but it’s been prearranged, so he goes along with it. I let the two men lead me into the room, realizing with horror as they do that I forgot to make the call to Cindy at the FBI, so I could show it to Ricci on my phone.

I thought they were leading me into a hotel room, but that’s not what this is at all. It’s an apartment, as nice as any I’ve ever seen. It is amazingly elegant, and the main room is an atrium with a glass ceiling and a spiral staircase up to the second floor.

The furniture seems clearly very expensive and perfectly designed to complement the room, though I don’t have the slightest knowledge of furniture, designs, or even rooms. In the center of the room is a grand piano.

The room is set down a few feet, and one has to go down two stairs to get to it. I wonder if the people in the rooms below it have to duck down, because their ceilings are lower than everybody else’s.

Making the place somewhat less appealing to the eye are three very large men, none of whom are smiling. One of them comes over to me and frisks me, very carefully and intimately. If the TSA people frisked people at airport security like this, everybody would take trains.

I’m assuming that none of these people are Ricci, since they all seem to have basically the same level of authority. Once it’s determined that I’m not armed, they lead me into another room off the main one. Only one of the goons goes in with me, but he leaves moments later, leaving me alone in what seems to be a den.

The room has a desk and three chairs, all recliners, all facing a wall with eight televisions. There is one large one in the middle, probably sixty inches or so, and then a bank of seven others, each maybe thirty-two inches.

The one in the center has the Lions-Packers game on; it’s a measure of how scared I’ve been that I had forgotten that Thanksgiving is a big NFL football day.

I watch the game for about five minutes, still all alone. If I’m being kidnapped and held, I can think of worse rooms to do it in. There’s also a full bar, but I resist the temptation to make myself a drink.

I could really use a drink.

Finally, a door opens and a man comes in. I assume it’s Carmine Ricci. He’s dressed casually, tan slacks and a green pullover shirt, and seems to be in pretty good shape. He doesn’t have the sophisticated air of Dominic Petrone, and is at least twenty years younger. Ricci looks like he’s earned his stripes the hard way.

“You a football fan, Carpenter?”

I nod. “Big Giants fan. Huge.”

“I have a large bet on the Cowboys to win the NFC.”

“I hope they wipe the floor with the Giants.”

“Dominic Petrone says you’re a wiseass, but that I shouldn’t kill you unless you really piss me off.”

“Trust me, my goal is not to piss you off.”

“Then talk,” he says.

I ask him if he knows about the Galloway case and he says that he does, from reading the papers.

“Galloway is innocent,” I say. “He’s been set up; he didn’t set the fire.”

“Why should I care about that?”

I decide to go head-on. “Because your man Loney has been doing all the dirty work. Among other things, he threatened Galloway’s wife, he killed Danny Butler, and he has blackmailed a number of people, including a judge.”

I’m not sure if all the things I said are true, but I’m also not sure Ricci would know if I’m wrong.

He doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “There’s a lot more that I suspect, but which I’m not sure of. But rest assured I’m in the process of finding out.”

“Get to the part that will make me give a shit,” he says. I don’t think I’ve cowed him yet.

“This is all going to come out in the trial; I have an obligation to do it on behalf of my client.” I pointedly add, “If I were suddenly unavailable, my associates would do it. But I can leave your name out of it; Loney will be my target. But I need you to call him off.”

He thinks for a moment. “So you’re threatening me that if I don’t call Loney off, assuming I know who the hell Loney is, that you’ll drag my name through the trial?”

“I wouldn’t call it a threat,” I say.

“What would you call it?’

I think for a moment, but come up with nothing. “I don’t really have a name for it,” I say. “But I definitely wouldn’t use ‘threat.’”

“If my name comes up in that trial, you are a dead man,” he says.

“Will you call Loney off?”

“If my name comes up in that trial, you are a dead man.”

The door opens, and the guy who led me in comes in to lead me out. I don’t know if Ricci pressed some kind of button or the guy was listening on an intercom, but he knew when to show up.

Thirty seconds later I’m in the hall with Marcus.

“Okay?” he says.

“I’m okay.”

He nods and says, “Sushi.”

Six hours later we board the redeye, and Marcus shows that the trip out was no fluke; he simply spends every moment he is on a plane asleep.

It gives me time to think about how the meeting with Ricci went. Other than the fact that he didn’t kill me, it’s hard to know if I accomplished anything. Certainly he didn’t say anything to make me think I had, but I wouldn’t have expected him to openly agree to anything. The real answer will come from his actions, from what he does with Loney.

Although the fact is that I may never find out what Ricci does. Loney and Ricci operate in the shadows, and I haven’t come close to penetrating their world. Ricci could have him killed, or appoint him Emperor of Crimedom, and I probably wouldn’t know it.

And whatever I don’t learn, the jury doesn’t learn.

Carmine Ricci got the phone call about an hour after his meeting with Carpenter.

He was having lunch, or maybe even breakfast, though it was four
P.M.
Carmine rarely slept, and when he did it was almost never at night, so assigning names to meals based on the time he ate them was not something he bothered to do.

It was a call he expected, and no time was wasted on chitchat. “It’s done,” Fowler said.

“Without incident?” Carmine asked.

“Without incident.”

The fact that Fowler was able to dispatch Loney so easily impressed Carmine, though he would never admit it. Loney had been tough and smart, not Carmine’s most talented employee, but right up there.

“This puts you out of it,” Fowler said. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Not quite,” Carmine said. “There is a large amount of money outstanding.”

“I understand. We’ve discussed and agreed to the timing of that. Thirty days from the conclusion of the operation.”

“Where does that stand?” Carmine asked.

“It will be very soon. I can’t say exactly.”

Carmine didn’t want to ask too many questions about the operation, but he was pretty sure that he knew the basic points. The firestorm that it would create would be too hot for anyone, even Carmine, so he wanted no connection to the actual events whatsoever.

Carmine had simply provided the muscle, and much of the financing. Substantial, secret collateral had been provided, but all parties knew that debts to Carmine were always paid in full, or the debtor did not live to borrow again.

“Carpenter was here to see me,” Carmine said. “He knew all about Loney.”

“That’s not a problem, seeing as how Loney no longer exists.”

“The next time I hear from you, you will be calling to arrange payment.”

Fowler smiled. “I look forward to it.”

Sam Willis finally got what he was after.

Actually, he didn’t personally get it; Hilda Mandlebaum once again had that honor. But they were a team, and their triumphs were joint ones.

The first step was getting Judge Holland’s phone records, supposedly safely tucked away in the phone company’s computer system. Once they had that to examine, Sam was sure that he identified the number that the judge called that belonged to Loney.

Andy Carpenter had provided the idea. He told Sam the date and time he had tried to reach the judge, mentioning Bauer’s name to the assistant. Andy figured that the judge might get worried and quickly call people related to the case, hopefully Loney.

Sure enough, a call was made from the judge to a cell phone just two minutes after Andy had called him. The call lasted four minutes. And when Sam obtained the phone records for that number, it was registered under a fake name.

It had to be Loney’s.

The next step was equally easy; they retrieved Loney’s phone records. But that was not the big prize, and they just printed out a copy of the records to show Andy. The big prize was delivering on Hike’s suggestion. Hilda, under Sam’s able direction, was able to use the phone company’s computers to track the GPS signal to learn where Loney was. They had the street address in Dover, Delaware. The significance of that was not lost on Sam. He knew that Judge Holland lived in the same city, and MapQuest quickly told him the two addresses were less than a mile away.

Andy was in Vegas, and when Sam tried to call him it went straight to voice mail. Marcus was with him, so he wasn’t an option. Sam considered calling Laurie, but she would just tell him to wait until Andy got back.

Sam didn’t want to wait.

Leaving his elderly crew behind to continue work on the list of missing persons from the time of the fire, Sam made the three-hour drive to Delaware. It was Hilda’s responsibility to keep track of Loney’s GPS signal, in case Loney was on the move. She would be able to redirect Sam to where Loney had moved to.

But Hilda kept reporting in that the signal had not changed, which Sam was pleased about. He used the drive to figure out what he would do when he got there.

He had no intention of being a hero; he was not going to go in, guns blazing. He had brought his gun, but only for protection, in case things were to go wrong. His goals were modest. He would confirm that Loney was there, and perhaps follow him if necessary to learn where he lived.

Perhaps more importantly, he would try and get a look at Loney. Loney was a mystery man so far, and Sam was sure that Andy would appreciate his getting a cell phone picture of him.

When Sam arrived at the GPS address, he was surprised to see that it was an abandoned warehouse. He had expected it to be a hotel or apartment building, and the fact that it was not caused him to rethink his plan. There was no real way to approach the building without being seen, and Sam had no desire at all to be seen.

So he sat in his car for two hours, a half block from the warehouse. It was a fairly deserted area, so there was a danger that Sam could be noticed by anyone inclined to care, but no one around seemed to pay any attention. And no one went anywhere near the warehouse; the abandoned building certainly seemed abandoned.

But Hilda was certain that the GPS signal still showed that the phone was in there, which meant that Loney very well might be in there as well.

It was not in Sam’s DNA to turn around and go home, so he got out of his car and walked down the street, toward the warehouse. He did so nonchalantly, as if he had not a care in the world, but his hand was in his jacket pocket, clutching his gun.

When he neared the warehouse, Sam walked around to the back and looked in the window. It was dusty and hard to see through, but Sam saw no signs of life. He checked some other windows to give himself a different vantage point, but again, there was no apparent activity at all.

Feeling more emboldened but fearing that this entire episode was a waste of time, Sam checked each window until he found one that was unlocked. He climbed through the window, not the easiest maneuver in the world for the unathletic accountant.