by Nova Rain
“It doesn’t feel right,” I commented, pursing my lips. “He’s got motive; I’ll give you that. The guy’s in his fifties. He’s been a stockbroker since we were knee-high to a poodle. Does a guy like that sound able to mastermind a plan to avenge his cousin?”
“You’re forgetting something else he’s got, Donny,” Joe complained. “Money. I agree with you. He’s been pushing papers all his life, but he can buy the best assassins in town and ask them to mastermind a plan.”
“No pro I know would ever use a machine gun to take out their target,” I argued, recalling the holes all over Jimmy’s Audi. “It’s too goddamn loud and attracts too much attention. The same goes for the bomb.”
“Maybe, but both scream ‘personal,’” Joe retorted, his voice louder this time. “We hurt the Santone family, Donny. We destroyed it. Why shouldn’t a Santone try to avenge the death of his cousin?”
“Because he doesn’t know, asshole!” I yelled, furrowing my brow. “Only a handful of people know who threw Eric off that roof. Hell, half of them are in here. That information never left New York. Now, you’re trying to convince me that a paper jockey—who by the way, doesn’t even bother hiding and stays in the financial district—is out for revenge? Come on, Joe! Use your head!”
“There’s only one way to find out,” Joe stated, his tone stiff. “Jimmy, what’s the guy’s routine?”
“I’m afraid he doesn’t have one.” Bryan’s cousin shook his head in disappointment. “He heads to Wall Street in the morning and spends his afternoons with clients. I know that because I’ve seen him in the hotel lobby bar three times in the past three days, hanging out with men in fancy suits. Joe…” He paused. “I know I don’t have your experience or anything, but wouldn’t he have a protection detail if he was actually going after you?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because he doesn’t,” Jimmy claimed and pointed at the screen. There were four, separate screens, depicting Kevin Santone in a lounge chair, talking to different clients, with his secretary sitting on his left in all of them. “That’s Kelly Walsh, his PA.”
“We still have to pay him a visit,” Joe made his intentions clear once more, his voice losing some of its nerve. “Jimmy, I take it there are security cameras on every floor of that hotel.”
“That’s right. There are four on each floor, to be exact,” Jimmy informed him, looking up at him. “I’d suggest disabling them remotely, but you guys will have to show your faces in that hotel. Someone might recognize you. The parking lot is your best bet. It’s underground. No one will see you go in at night. I’ll disable the two cameras down there instead.”
“Alright,” Joe nodded in agreement. “Bryan, take Jimmy back to New York first thing tomorrow morning. We’re meeting tomorrow over at his place. Five o’clock should be fine. We’re taking his van. Any questions?”
“What do we do when we find Santone?” I asked, my voice coming out in a monotone.
“We don’t shoot,” Joe’s response was sharp. “We talk to him first.”
“Okay.” I nodded to him. “Jimmy, call me or Joe if Santone leaves his hotel early. You kids have a good night.”
“See you tomorrow,” Joe said as I strolled back to the front door.
Finding myself back out in the cold, I couldn’t help but laugh at what we were about to do. Joe had made a few points, but so had I. The way I saw it, we were just going to waste our time. No matter how much money Kevin Santone had, he was a stockbroker. He had earned it by a legitimate form of gambling. He didn’t belong in the organization and didn’t have the necessary muscle in New York to pull off such a feat. I chose to agree to the plan because Joe and Bryan were desperate to check him out. Neither of them would shut up until we did.
Chapter Seventeen
Donny
Two things were plaguing my mind on the drive back to the city.
One of them was Ava’s reaction to our mission. She might have acted cool about this sort of stuff before we got together, but women could get manipulative. A great example of that? Michelle. For all I knew, this was just a trick to convince me into dating her. I couldn’t be sure that she wouldn’t object to what me and my boys had to do. Ava could give me her friend’s speech, maintaining how dangerous it would be for me to meet Santone head-on. As crappy as it sounded, I could get caught in a similar situation to Joe’s. And witnessing that mess firsthand was not a pleasant experience. I wanted to slap him in the face and yell at him, because he had allowed a woman to interfere with his business.
My second concern was the mission itself. We had all been in much more dangerous situations than this, but few of them were in such a public place. We would be out in the open, exposed to danger from all sides. Although that danger didn’t include armed men, witnesses were just as bad. It would take just one man or woman to spot us in the dark. In case that happened, we would have to take action, and that meant “shoot to kill.” Gunshots fired in a downtown hotel parking lot was a recipe for disaster. Within minutes, we’d end up being chased by the cops. In the jammed roads of Manhattan, this would be one of the shortest chases ever.
Still, Ava’s reaction was unlike anything I’d been anticipating. Lecture? No. Words of advice? No. Any of the other stupid crap that Michelle had used and pulled on Joe? Not that, either. Instead, she smiled and said:
“It won’t be a problem for you guys. You’ve gone up against more dangerous men than a rich stockbroker.”
That was a relief… It was other things, too, but that’s the feeling I had when she uttered those words. More than anything, it was proof that Ava wasn’t the controlling woman her friend was. She didn’t want to put me on a leash. Of course, in that case, it would have been over between us. I was nobody’s pet. I wouldn’t become one either, not even for the hottest date I’d ever had. We could be together, but we would only do that on my terms.
The following day, I stuck to Joe’s plan and went over to Jimmy’s apartment in Queens. After a short chat with my friends and the geek, we all left in the “van of gold” as we used to call it. We were broke when we drove that Transit to Las Vegas, and we came back millionaires.
Well after dark, Jimmy turned into the hotel parking lot, with Joe, Bryan and me hiding in the cab. After rolling past the cover of a storm drain, he drove it down into an area in the middle of the lot, out of the range of the surveillance cameras.
“Santone just reached the lobby,” he informed us, his eyes glued to his laptop. “I’ll need a minute to disable the cameras. I’ll cough when I’m ready.”
In silence, Joe slid the side door open. I hopped out, hoping that this wouldn’t go sideways. My gaze was met with six rows of cars, with three corridors in between them. Each of those corridors featured large overhead lights, just feet from one another. It was then that I realized that we couldn’t make our move before those cameras were out of the game. A chase in either direction would put us well within their range. All this light was guaranteed to give away our presence. Straightaway, I headed for the nearest column and hid behind it, Joe and Bryan following suit.
“If Santone’s behind this shit, I’ll beat the living crap out of him,” Bryan spoke in a near whisper, halting next to me. “I’ve had enough of that damn family. I never want to hear about them again.”
I parted my lips to offer him my viewpoint, but as I did, the faint ring of the elevator sent my senses into overdrive. Several yards to the left, Kevin Santone’s tall, scrawny figure emerged, his blonde PA going over documents as they crossed the lot. I tapped my fingers on the column, eager to get Jimmy’s signal. He didn’t let us down. Santone hadn’t covered more than thirty feet, when the kid’s cough spurred us into action.
“Walk. Do not run,” Joe advised. Stepping away from the column, I did as I’d been told, because running could spook them. I kept my focus on the row of cars to my right, pretending to admire a green Mustang with black stripes in the middle. I looked down at its spoiler and its fat wheels, the sounds of Santone
’s shoes and his PA’s heels getting louder by the second. With him just inches from my spot, I thrust my arm up. My flexed bicep crashed against his chin, throwing him off balance. He landed flat and hard on his back, my ears catching his assistant’s muffled screams. I dropped down to the deck and dragged him behind the Mustang, Joe strolling past me.
“You’re carrying one of the most hated last names in town, mister,” Joe began, sitting on his knees. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Who are you people?” Panic sped Santone’s voice, his gaze shifting from me to Joe.
“We’re the last people on Earth you want to piss off,” Joe grumbled, grabbing him by the neck. With a quick thrust, he slammed his head against the rear bumper of the Mustang. “Don’t make me ask again.”
“I’m in town for business,” he gasped out. “I’ve been trying to land some clients for months. Don’t hurt Kelly.”
“Kelly’s going to be just fine,” Joe assured him. “Last question. Did you know Eric Santone?”
“Eric?!” Kevin scoffed with an ironic smile, his whole body shivering in fear. “I’d only seen that rotten man twice. I wanted nothing to do with him. The world’s a better place without him if you ask me.”
I recognized Joe’s regretful look as he turned his attention to me. This scared little man didn’t even like his cousin. For him to have come all the way to New York to avenge him was one of the most ridiculous scenarios I’d ever heard.
“Don’t tell anyone about this, or the next time you see us, I’ll give you more to worry about than a bump on the head,” Joe threatened him, arising to his full height. “Let her go,” he told Bryan as we strode back to the van.
Jimmy started the engine, and we entered the cab, a shadow engulfing my mind. I was right, but that didn’t mean anything. We were back to square one, without any leads as to who could have planted that bomb in Joe’s mall.
“Fuck!” He shouted, banging his fist against the side of the Transit.
“What did he say?” Bryan asked, his eyes wide with anticipation.
“Long story short, Kevin hated Eric’s guts,” I answered, staring into the void. “You should have seen him, man. The guy was shaking, and we didn’t even put a gun to his head.”
“Damn it…” Bryan huffed in exasperation, tilting his head back.
“Drive us out of here, Jimmy,” I urged his cousin, running my fingers through my hair as the van reached the exit. The silence was so thick I could cut it with a knife. All I could hear was the rumble of the exit, along with the sounds of oncoming cars. None of us had the courage to utter a word. We were back in uncertain territory, not knowing how to proceed. In this game of cat and mouse, this could prove fatal to one of us or even all of us.
Chapter Eighteen
Ava
“What’s taking them so long?”
Michelle was driving me crazy. She posed the same question every one or two minutes, checking the time on her living room clock. For all my attempts to distract her with other topics like my new relationship, she just wouldn’t stop. Pacing up and down, she gave me a brief comment, allowed me to ramble and then repeated herself, over and over.
“They didn’t go on a supply run to the local supermarket. They’re taking care of something important,” I addressed her in a calm tone. “And last time I checked, Manhattan was thirty miles from here. Just driving to and from there will take them an hour-and-a-half; maybe more, depending on traffic.”
A quick vibration of the floor drew our attention. The headlights of Joe’s SUV lit the driveway, the power gate opening inward.
“Look at that. They’re here!” I spoke in sarcastic tones, my eyes wide with mock surprise.
“I am not amused,” Michelle groaned, her jaw hardening.
“Me neither,” I responded, taking my eyes off of her. “If you want us to do this again, I suggest you be more patient.”
Michelle didn’t dignify my last comment with a comment of her own, which was good. The two of us had had enough verbal sparring. Arguing with her would not resolve anything. It would just hurt our already battered relationship.
The minute we heard the key turning in the lock, she sprinted off to the door. Donny moved past her and Joe, his friend pushing the door shut. Our friends locked in a tight hug, he looked at me with saddened eyes. I liked that kind of expressiveness, because he couldn’t hide from me. In this case however, his eyes betrayed a bad turn of events.
“What went wrong?” I wondered as he trotted up to me.
“Nothing,” he replied in a soft voice, maintaining eye contact with me. “We got in and out undetected. It’s just…” He faltered. “Kevin Santone almost pissed his pants when Joe and I grabbed him. It turns out he and his cousin were not that close. He had nothing to do with the bombing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I uttered, my voice mellower. “Do you guys suspect anyone else?”
“Nope. He was pretty much our only suspect,” he answered, looking back at his friend.
“We should go see your boss, man,” Joe suggested, Michelle walking alongside him. “Maybe Maltese’s people have heard something on the street we don’t know of.”
“Sure,” Donny shrugged his shoulders. “He probably would have told me about it but screw it. It’s not like we have something to lose. I’ll arrange a meeting.”
“I’d like to go home if you guys are done,” I told Donny, my fingers embracing his wrist.
“Yeah. Thanks a lot for tonight, big Joe.” He fist-bumped him. “Take care. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight.”
As we left that extravagant house, I came to a realization. Setbacks like this were capable of breaking Donny’s wings. An otherwise cool, smiling guy could transform into a sullen man of few words. He didn’t mind danger. The Donny that left me in Westchester that afternoon didn’t seem at all scared. What he did mind, was coming back empty-handed. Maybe he thought he had let down his buddies and me; I couldn’t know for sure. In any case, he had shown me another aspect of himself. And like almost every other aspect I’d seen so far, I liked that, too.
Chapter Nineteen
Donny
Just another wild goose chase.
I had that thought since the moment of Joe’s suggestion. Why? Because I was Maltese’s people. Bryan and I were his assets. We had a good relationship with him, and he trusted us. We didn’t fear him, but we did respect him, because he listened to reason. The money he paid us, and the occasional bonuses, were factors, too. Had he heard anything about us, I was confident we’d be the first people to know about it.
Still, I couldn’t blame Joe. We had run out of suspects. In this hour, he meant to turn to the people he had a chance of getting help from. A former henchman like him couldn’t rely on the cops, no matter how hard he tried to change. To them, he was a criminal, just like me and Bryan. This wasn’t just my impression. If Joe didn’t have a history in the organization, they would have contacted him after the bombing. They would have asked him to go downtown for a chat. During that, they’d have provided a list of suspects. In general, the cops would have shown they were interested in cracking the case. So far though, all they had done was show up after the blast and be their usual, stupid selves. None of them had called him. This meant that they thought the bombing was just about two criminals settling scores with each other. They would probably close the case, if they hadn’t done so already.
Reaching my place, my first thought was to call Maltese. But just when I was about to find his number on my contact list, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from him.
“Yeah?”
“Times Square, Carmella’s Café, seven-thirty tomorrow night. Bring Mancini.”
“Huh?”
My gasp went unanswered. My boss hung up the phone, leaving me puzzled. This wasn’t like Maltese. It sounded more like the late Eric Santone. Peter Maltese wasn’t the most talkative guy in the world, but he was never this blunt. Our phone conversations didn’t la
st more than a minute at a time, but this one was by far our shortest ever. Four seconds. That’s how long it took him to ask to see me. To add to my confusion, he didn’t want me to go to that café alone. Amazingly, he wished to see Joe, which didn’t add up. He liked him from when Joe was with Santone. This was no secret. Every time he saw him following that midget, a smile of satisfaction lit up his face. Yet, the two of them hadn’t seen each other in months. Also, if he was so eager to meet with Joe, he just had to call him. He didn’t need me around to have a cup of coffee with him.
Both of my friends were surprised when I contacted them that night, asking the same questions I had. Some speculation later, we agreed to attend that meeting together. We didn’t suspect foul play, but it sounded like the right thing to do. After all, Maltese was a Don. He might have been good to us up to that point, but we could never be too careful.
The speculation continued, even when the three of us got to Times Square. According to Bryan, the reason why Maltese wanted to see Joe, was that “some extra muscle wouldn’t hurt.” Joe on the other hand, thought that he wished to meet with him to ask how his life was outside the organization. I didn’t agree with either of them. In both cases, the Don could have seen Joe in private, away from any prying eyes. He wouldn’t have demanded a sit-down in such a public place.
The smell of freshly-ground coffee was lingering in the air in Carmella’s. Popular with young families, it was packed, the buzzing of children’s voices audible over the soft music. As usual, the Don hadn’t abandoned his favorite brown scarf. Sitting at the table nearest to the left side of the structure, he gestured us towards him. Four men of his security detail were at the tables around him, watching us like hawks.
