Sicilian Defense (20 page)

8:00 P.M.

The phone rang.

“Hello,” Gianni said.

“This is the time to start going,” said Bull's deep voice on the other end. “You guys ready on your end?”

“We're ready to move,” said Gianni. “Before you say anything about any plan of yours, I've got one of my own.”

“You want to talk to your man. I know,” said Bull. “I've got him right here.”

“It's more than that,” said Gianni. “I want to be sure he's still alive when the money is turned over.”

“He'll be alive, man. Why should we kill him if you pay the money?”

“I've got a plan that'll help us both—you and me,” said Gianni.

Gianni's men were leaning forward as they listened.

“Man, I'm not about to be sucked into some trap.”

“It's no trap,” Gianni said. “I think it covers you, and gives me a little more of an edge than you gave the guy you threw on our doorstep.”

“Let's hear it,” said Bull.

“You'll have to rent two cars with telephones,” said Gianni.

“What? You kidding me, man?”

“No,” said Gianni.

“Where am I going to get two cars with telephones, even if I wanted to?”

“Look it up in the phone book. You see, that's the beautiful part of it: you pick it yourself—I don't know where, I don't even want to know. I'm not trying to trap you. I just want some insurance.”

“Yeah. What we supposed to do with the two cars?”

“You'll have some of your men in one car. Put Sal in the other car.”

“By himself? You crazy, man. Why would you pay if we let him go first?”

“You won't let him go. You'll be right on top of him—your car right behind his. How can he get away?”

“Go ahead. It sounds too complicated already.”

“That's all there is to it,” said Gianni. “This way, Sal can telephone me here, and tell me he's in a car by himself. I'll tell my men to pay off. Your pickup man is in the car with the other phone. When he calls and tells you he's got the money, you let Sal drive away.”

“Why do I want to go through all that trouble?” asked Bull.

“Because you want me to pay you the money. Even if you kill Sal, what is that worth to you? This is eighty-five thousand we're talking about. Eighty-five cash. That buys a lot of things. What do you want, the extra hundred bucks it costs for the cars? I'll send an extra hundred.”

“It's not that, man. Don't be smart. Who needs it? I tell you it's no—you don't pay, I kill this old man.”

“And then what will you have for all this? Nothing.”

“But it's not as simple as that, man,” said Bull. “I'm not going to tell you right now where to make the payoff. I'm not going to get trapped by nobody.”

“I don't want to trap you. I've figured it out so nobody's trapping anybody. You get the cars wherever you want, drive anywhere you want, one car behind the other. How can you be trapped that way?” asked Gianni.

“Let me get this. We drive anywhere?”

“Right. Sal is in your hands, but not in your car. And we don't know where. We don't want to know. All I want to do is get my man back safe. He can drive home by himself when you drive away.”

“I'm only going to give you the first stop now, so we can see if you're fucking around. When you get there, we'll call and tell you where to leave the money,” said Bull. “How we going to do that with all this cat and mouse stuff?”

“That's easy,” said Gianni. “Just be sure that your payoff place is near a phone. This way one of your men in the payoff car can be on the phone with you. When the others get the dough, they tell him and he tells you. You let Sal drive away. It's clean and simple. And we're not trying to trap you.”

“Hold it,” said Bull; “let's see: we got two cars with phones. Your old man gets in one. We get in another.”

“Right,” said Gianni.

“And we drive wherever we want—him up ahead, us behind?”

“Right.”

“And then your old man calls you on the car phone and tells you he's in there by himself?”

“Right. Now he stays on the phone with me. After you tell my boys where to drop the money, they call me. I tell them it's okay to pay, because the old man's on the phone with me. And you get your money.”

“And when our payoff man says he's got the money, we let your old man go.”

“That's the whole thing. It's not so complicated,” said Gianni.

“Yeah, man—and then right away you trace the cars and get to us. That's some big fly in the ointment.”

“Are you telling me you can't rent the cars under some phony name? Why, you can steal them for all I care. How can we be fairer than that? You do what you want, where you want. All I want to know is that our man is alone, and you let him go.”

“I guess we can do that. It'll take some time to get the cars,” said Bull.

“How long?”

“Maybe a couple of hours. But remember, man, any funny business and your old man gets it from ear to ear.”

“I know you mean it. That's why I worked it this way—you have control.”

“Okay. It's 8:15 now. At 10:15 have one of your guys at the Woodhaven Lanes—that bowling alley in Queens. There ain't much traffic there, and it ain't got nothing around it, so we can see if you're trying to fuck around. Be there. Someone'll phone and tell you where to go and where to leave the money. They'll page Larry Fields. Have your guy answer to that name. And remember, man, don't think we're kidding.”

The phone clicked. Gianni listened to the dead air for a moment.

“How can you be sure they'll let Sal go, even then?” asked Frankie the Pig.

“We can't be 100 percent sure, but at least he's got a running start. Sal was always a good wheel man. And remember, you don't want to fall in the cops' hands. The cops heard all this. They may stake the place out and follow you to the payoff. So shake them if they try it.”

“Don't even worry about it,” said Bobby Matteawan.

8:25 P.M.

Lieutenant Schmidt was on the phone. Feigin was standing next to him. Quinn had remained at the listening post in case anything else came in meanwhile.

“That's right, Woodhaven Lanes,” Schmidt said into the phone. “Now get somebody over to the telephone company office and get a tap on all phones in that place. Make sure you get the public phones as well as the office phones.” He listened to the voice on the other end.

“No, not just tapes. I want men on each of those taps for the next few hours. The call from the kidnapers will come in over the wires and we have to act on it immediately,” said Schmidt. “We want to be in on the payoff if we can.”

Schmidt listened again, looking at Feigin, his eyes inquiring if he had left anything out. Feigin shook his head.

“That's right. And as soon as the kidnapers call in, get word over Communications. We'll be nearby in private cars with squawk boxes.”

The voice on the other end was talking again. Schmidt fished a cigarette out of a pack on the desk, cradled the phone under his chin and lit the cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

“Okay, right,” said Schmidt. “We'll be here a little while longer, then we're going out to that bowling alley.”

He hung up and looked at Feigin. “Get Barrios to come with us. And tell Curtis he's coming too.”

“Curtis? The young colored kid?” asked Feigin. “He's still wet behind the ears. What about Quinny?”

“We need someone on the wire here, and we need Curtis because he's probably the only detective Sal's boys don't know yet. He'll be able to go inside the bowling alley and hang around to see what's going on. The fact that he's colored makes it even better. Nobody will take him for a cop.”

“Can't Barrios stay on the tape machine and let Quinn come with us?”

“You going to be lonely without your partner?”

“He's been in on this thing from the beginning. He knows the whole case,” said Feigin.

“That's a good reason for him to stay on the wires,” said the lieutenant. “But, okay, let Barrios take the wires, and Quinn can take one of the cars.”

“Right, Lou. Are we going to alert some of the squads out there?” asked Feigin.

“No—the only thing they could do is fuck it up. We'll be at the bowling alley, and we'll get to the payoff at the same time Sal's people do. I'm afraid that more cars'll just endanger Sal even more. The way they got it set up, one word on the telephone to those goddamn cars, and they'll kill Sal.”

“Yeah, how about that Aquilino? Two cars with phones—the whole works. Just like the movies,” said Feigin.

“But it's good. It keeps us out of the picture and keeps them in, and yet lets Sal get a little breathing room. He's a clever bastard, that Aquilino.”

“Can't we get those conversations on car phones by radio?” said Feigin.

“Yeah, have Communications set up their radios to pick up car phones—it's just like ship-to-shore. But I don't know what good it'll do. They could be anywhere. And by the time we got anything, they'd be someplace else.” Schmidt waved his hand. “Have Communications try anyway.”

“Okay.”

“And let's move it. If we get out there now, we can set ourselves up and get a first-hand view of what's happening.”

9:30 P.M.

Lieutenant Schmidt drove his station wagon into the large parking lot that surrounded the bowling alley. It was a square, windowless building; neon lights in the front blazed the name through the rainy night. Randolph Curtis, a young detective third grade, was sitting next to his lieutenant.

“There's Quinny's car,” said Schmidt. He was looking straight ahead and could see the old red convertible with the black top that some punk vandal had sliced while the car was parked across from the station house. It was now parked on the far side of the bowling alley. Schmidt parked on the near side.

“I didn't see anybody in Quinn's car, lieutenant,” said Curtis.

“They're in the back seat. Probably Feigin's jawing about turning in his papers.”

Curtis smiled. He was eager, and pleased that the lieutenant had tapped him for this assignment.

Schmidt lifted the walkie-talkie from the seat beside him. “Stake Two, this is Stake One. Come in,” Schmidt said into the small black speaker.

There was an abrupt squawk. “Stake One. This is Stake Two. In position,” Feigin's voice replied.

“See anything?”

“Nothing. Only a nut would come bowling on a night like this,” replied Feigin. “We're freezing our brass monkeys.”

“Would you rather be nice and warm at home?” Schmidt asked him, smiling.

“Funny, Lou,” said Feigin. “Here comes a car,” he whispered in a quickened staccato. “It looks like—Matteawan's Cadillac. Sure, that's it.”

“Anyone with him?”

“Looks like Frankie the Pig, and Angie,” said Feigin. “They're parking about a hundred feet from us.”

The wind gusted and rocked Schmidt's station wagon, fighting to get inside. The walkie-talkie gave a faint sound of static.

“They're looking around now,” Feigin whispered into the walkie-talkie. “Matteawan and Frankie are getting out and moving toward the front door. Angie the Kid is coming over in your direction, Lou.”

Curtis and Schmidt ducked low as they watched Angie the Kid walk to the corner of the building and study the parking lot. Then he retraced his steps.

“He's coming back your way,” whispered Schmidt.

“Yeah. He's going inside now,” said Feigin.

“Okay, now,” Schmidt said to Curtis, “you go in there and mosey around. Just keep an eye on what's happening. Got your walkie-talkie?”

“Right here, lieutenant,” Curtis said, tapping his trenchcoat pocket.

“Good,” said Schmidt. “Take your coat off inside and put it down. If anything happens that we should know about, call me.”

“Right.”

“You have your gun with you?”

“Of course, lieutenant.”

“I just want to be sure. These aren't kids in the street, Curtis—they're all killers. I'm not exaggerating to impress you. They really are. All of them.”

“I'll take care of it all right, lieutenant.”

“Sure you will. Go ahead.”

Curtis got out of the car and started toward the bowling alley.

Gianni was sitting at his desk. He checked his watch and began to leaf through the newspaper on the desk for the third time. The phone rang.

“Hello?” said Gianni.

“
Ma, che cotz
?” gasped an exasperated Sal on the other end of the hollow-sounding connection. “Who's this? And what the hell's going on?”

“Hello, Sal. This is Gianni.” He smiled.

“I should have recognized one of your hair-brained schemes.
Compard' ou me
. These niggers have me on a highway in the middle of the night talking on a goddamn phone. I don't even know where the hell I am.”

“Are you alone, Sal?” Gianni asked.

“Yeah, but the bastards are right behind me.”

“Are you all right?”

“Sure I'm all right,” said Sal, “except that I haven't had a decent meal in four days. I keep thinking of those veal and peppers Maria was having for supper Monday. They must be cold by now.”

Gianni laughed. “At least you're in good spirits. We're going to stay on this phone until the payoff and then you'll be on your own. Everything's under control.”

“Gianni, with you on the job, what do I have to worry about? I knew you'd be out there. But I'd like to hit these bastards. When I get back, get me a gun. I'm going to find them by myself and kill them.”

“Sal, this is short-wave radio. Everything you say is being broadcast. Be careful what you say. And right now I only want to know when they let you go. How many of them are there?”