The Iceman (11 page)

Nobody got away with the kind of shit Sposato tried to pull. Not with Richard Kuklinski. That fat-ass slob had had the nerve to come to his house last month.
His house
. Came with two goddamn Puerto Ricans to collect money.
Came to his home
.

He had watched them from the upstairs window. Sposato sitting in his car like he was some kind of king while the spics came to the door and hassled Dwayne. They asked Dwayne where his father was, said they didn’t believe him when Dwayne said his father wasn’t home, said they wanted to come in and look for themselves. Kuklinski stood at the top of the stairs and listened to all this shit. He had a gun in his hand, and he was ready to shoot the two of them if they showed their faces inside the door. His home and his
family were sacred, and anyone who messed with them was asking for trouble. Big trouble.

But Sposato didn’t know how lucky he’d been that day. The spics didn’t press their luck with Dwayne. They weren’t stupid. They were probably afraid “Big Rich” was in there waiting for them.

Standing there, listening, he’d heard the two greaseballs telling Dwayne they’d be back later. He went to the window and saw them going back to their car. Kuklinski was ready to rush down and follow them in his car, run them off the road, shoot that bastard Sposato right through his fucking thick head. But a police car happened to pass by, and the cops stopped to see what these scumbags were doing in a neighborhood like this. Kuklinski stayed upstairs. If the cops hadn’t shown up, Sposato and his two Puerto Ricans would be rotting together someplace right now. Sposato didn’t know how lucky he’d been.

Later that day he had gotten Sposato on the phone and told him point-blank, “You do not come to my house. You do not talk to my family. You do not
look
at my family. Ever!” He threatened to go down to Sposato’s place in south Jersey that very night to show Sposato he wasn’t kidding.

That put the fear of God into Sposato for a little while because the fat slob knew Kuklinski would do it. But Sposato remained a problem. Sure, they’d been making money together, but Sposato seemed to feel that he was the senior partner from the way he’d been acting lately. He thought he could talk any way he wanted to Richard Kuklinski. He must have figured he had enough on Big Rich that he could throw his weight around. He was very wrong about that.

Sposato was going to die. There was no question about it. But not right away. Once again Sposato had gotten lucky.

As he ran his thumbnail down the notches in the wooden knife handle, it all started to jell in his mind.

He was going to be needing Sposato a little while longer because there was still money to be made with him, gun money. Dominick Provenzano had just given Sposato a new lease on life. Kuklinski’s fingernail clicked down the notches as he thought this all out, considering all the angles.

Dominick wanted heavy steel, military weapons. Sposato had access to all kinds of weapons. If Dominick was on the up-and-up, he could make a nice profit brokering Sposato’s merchandise to him.

But there was one thing Kuklinski had to take care of first, something that had been bothering him for a long time, clouding his thinking, making him crazy: Percy House and his woman, Barbara Deppner. Percy, the pointer. They
had
to be the ones who talked to those two cops, Kane and Volkman.

Percy House had been the “foreman” of a gang Kuklinski used to run. They mainly did burglaries and car thefts. But there were a few killings, too. Kuklinski ended up having to kill the two workers in the gang, Barbara Deppner’s ex-husband, Danny, and her cousin Gary Smith. They had become weak and scared, and that made them liabilities. Percy House was stuck in jail at the time, so he couldn’t keep them in line, and Kuklinski could not risk having Danny Deppner and Gary Smith out of his control—they knew too much.

Barbara Deppner hadn’t exactly been an active member of the gang, but she always seemed to be around when things were going down and she had big ears. She and Percy had shacked up together with her eight kids when she was still married to Danny, and the word going around now was that the state had gotten to them. Kuklinski knew that the state police were very interested in him. And he was willing to bet that Percy and Barbara had spilled their guts to those two detectives—not completely, but just enough to keep their asses covered. Percy knew enough not to play all his aces. From what Kuklinski had heard, the state had even relocated
the couple and given them new identities in exchange for their cooperation. But nobody hid from Richard Kuklinski. He had sources, he’d find them. And when he did, he’d have to get rid of them fast and quiet—no guns, no blood. That was why he needed cyanide. To take care of a couple of rats.

Kuklinski pressed his lips together and shook his head. Too bad he had gotten rid of “Mister Softee.” At the time he didn’t realize that you had to sign papers to buy pure cyanide and that it was sold only to companies that had a legitimate use for it. He couldn’t risk trying to get it for himself, not now, not that way. The state cops would love to catch him buying cyanide. Somehow “Mister Softee” had never seemed to have any problem getting it. Kuklinski sucked his teeth and shook his head. If he’d only known.

He stared at the late-afternoon light coming through the blinds as he sorted it all out in his mind. The way he saw it he would first have to do the coke deal with Dominick Provenzano just to gain his trust; actually he didn’t even need the stuff, but he wouldn’t have any problem getting rid of it. Then once Dominick got him the cyanide, he’d do Percy and Barbara, get those two rats out of his life. Then he’d arrange a nice arms deal with Dominick, something big. He’d string Dominick along for a while, put the guy off a couple of times just to make him hungrier, then he would tell him he was having problems, that he was sorry but he was going to have to up the price a little. Maybe tell him he could get him something better to make the guy good and crazy. Finally he would tell Dominick to meet him someplace, Sposato’s warehouse maybe. He’d tell him to bring cash. When Dominick showed up with the money,
boom!
One right in the back of the head. Stick his body in a steel drum, fill it with cement, then make it disappear. Nice and neat.

Kuklinski grinned at the thought of telling Sposato they’d be splitting a million in cash, maybe more, on the arms deal with Dominick. The grin grew into a toothy smile as he imagined Sposato’s face as he held a gun in the fat bastard’s face later on,
after they’d gotten rid of Dominick’s body, and he told Sposato he was taking
all
the money. It would almost be worth taking a picture just before he pulled the trigger.

Yes, yes. Sposato was going to die. No question about it. But not until Kuklinski took care of some business and made some money. Because that’s what it was all about, really. Making money. It was only the green that counted.

Kuklinski clicked his thumbnail down the notches.

Percy House.

Barbara Deppner.

Dominick Provenzano.

John Sposato.

He let out a long sigh of satisfaction. He felt better now. He didn’t think he was going to get that headache after all.

A short knock came from the other side of the door. “Daddy? Dinner’s ready.” It was Merrick.

“I’ll be right there, honey.”

He tossed the knife back into the attaché case, shut the lid, closed the latches, and set it on the floor beside the desk. He switched off the desk lamp and left his office.

The aroma of the baking lasagna filled the hallway. “Smells good,” he called out as he headed for the kitchen.

He was hungry.

The next day Richard Kuklinski sat at his desk and stared at the paper Dunkin’ Donuts napkin in his hand. Dominick Provenzano’s beeper number was written in ballpoint pen on the napkin. Kuklinski couldn’t decide whether he should call him or not. He wanted to get things rolling with Dominick, but he didn’t like going to people, coming right out and saying what he wanted. It made you seem desperate and put you in a weaker position. He preferred to have people come to him.

But he needed the cyanide. Percy House and Barbara Deppner were out there somewhere. They could get in a jam and start talking again. They would tell stories about him just to save themselves. They’d cut another deal with the state, agree to give up a bigger fish in exchange for dropped charges. They’d do it, no question. That’s why Kuklinski needed the cyanide, and he shouldn’t wait on this. Dominick said he could get it.

Kuklinski picked up the phone and punched out Dominick’s number. He waited for the tone that gave him the go-ahead to enter his own phone number into the system. After it sounded, he hesitated for a second,
then punched out his number. He hung up the phone and waited.

A half hour later the phone rang. He stared at it and let it ring a few times. He didn’t want to seem anxious.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Rich?”

“Yeah.”

“Dom.”

“How ya doing?”

“Good, good. Yourself?”

“I’m okay.”

“What’s up?”

He glanced down at his briefcase on the floor. “Remember what we were talking about yesterday? The stuff we were talking about? The white stuff?”

“Yeah?” Dominick sounded cautious.

“Is it okay to talk?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’m at a pay phone. How about you?”

“I’m at home.”

“Oh.” Dominick sounded cautious again, and suspicious.

“Listen, I was wondering. How much of that stuff could you get?”

“How much do you need?”

“A lot.”

“How much is that, Rich? What’re we talking about here?”

“Fifty.”

“Sure, no problem.” Dominick didn’t hesitate. “Let’s get together and we’ll figure out the when and where.”

“Yeah, okay. Soon as I know my buyer is serious, we’ll get together.”

“Whattaya mean, ‘serious’? You never done business with this buyer before?” Dominick sounded upset.

“No, I’ve worked with the guy before. He knows I don’t like no
bullshit, so he’s always been straight with me. When he knows for sure he can put the cash together, he’ll call me. Then I’ll call you.”

“Oh.”

“No sense our wasting our time for nothing, right? I like sure bets.”

“Of course.” Dominick still sounded suspicious.

“So you can get it?”

“I told you, no problem. My guy’s good for it. All I need is two days’ notice. Okay?” Dominick seemed very confident of his source.

“Soon as I know my buyer’s good for the money, I’ll call you.”

“Great. I’ll give my guy a call to make sure he’s got stuff coming in. But don’t worry. This guy’s never run dry on me before.”

“Good.”

“Okay, Rich, you call me when you know something. I’ll be talking to you—”

“How about that other stuff we talked about, Dom?” Kuklinski picked up the Dunkin’ Donuts napkin.

“What stuff?”

“The other stuff.”

“Oh, the stuff for the rats?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m working on it. I got a call in to someone. I’m waiting to hear from him.”

Kuklinski crumpled the napkin. “Okay. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget.”

Dominick laughed. “My friend, when it comes to business, I do not forget.”

Kuklinski smiled into the phone. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“Okay, if you want to do this big order, you call me. Soon as I know about the other stuff, I’ll call you. Can I usually get you at this number? Three-eight-five—?”

“Yeah. If I’m not here, the machine picks up.”

“Okay then. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Right. Take it easy, Dom.”

Dominick hung up on his end. Kuklinski laid his receiver back on the cradle. He looked out the window at the backyard.
Bullshit
, he thought.

He picked up the phone and dialed the pay phone at “the store.” It rang twice.

“Hello?”

“Is Lenny DePrima there?”

“Yeah, he’s here. Who’s this?”

“Tell him it’s Rich.”

“Who?”

“Just tell him it’s Big Rich. He’ll know.”

“ ‘Big Rich’? Okay.”

He could hear the hubbub of “the store” coming through the line. Kuklinski picked up a pen, smoothed out the napkin, and drew a box around Dominick’s phone number. There were very few people he trusted in the world. Lenny DePrima was one of them. Lenny had always played straight with him, no bullshit.

Someone finally came back to the phone. “Hello, Rich?”

“Yeah.”

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Huh? Whattaya mean, big guy?”

“This Dominick Provenzano—is he for real or what?”

“Sure, he’s for real.”

“How do you know?”

“Hey, Rich, if he wasn’t for real, do you think I’d send him to you?”

“Yeah, but how do you
know
he’s for real? What do you know about him?”

“I know he’s connected.”

“Yeah, right. Everybody’s connected these days.”

“No, for real. I heard that from someone else. I sold Dominick
some stuff myself. He’s always been good for it with me. I never had any problems with the guy.”

“So you think he’s for real.”

“Hey, his cash is green, and he keeps his promises. That’s about as real as he needs to be as far as I’m concerned.”

“Yeah … I guess so.” He underlined Dominick’s phone number a few times. “As long as his cash is green, that’s all that counts.”

DePrima laughed. “You can say that again, brother.”

“All right, I just wanted to make sure before I got into anything with him.”

“He’s okay, Rich. You don’t have to worry about him.”

“Tell me something. You hear anything about Buck lately.” Buck was Percy House’s nickname.

“Whatta’you, kidding? He knows better than to come around here, the bastard. I hope he’s got cancer, the fuck.”

“Nobody’s seen him?”

“Nah. State’s got him in protective custody. You know that. He won’t be coming around here no more. Not after what he did.”

Percy House had worn a wire for the police and got a kid in his own gang to admit on tape that he took part in a house robbery where a man was killed. The cops were dying to lock up somebody for that murder, and the kid was good enough. Thanks to Percy, he was serving a life sentence in Rahway now. Percy would rat on his own mother, Kuklinski felt. As for Barbara Deppner, she had helped Percy try to trap her own cousin Gary Smith into admitting to that murder, but Gary wouldn’t talk about it. These two were inhuman. They’d turn in their own families. Richard Kuklinski knew he had to take care of them before they did any more damage.