My head continued to nod as her words, her story, invaded my mind, fitting pieces into empty puzzle spaces. The mob. Fuck. I knew very little about organized crime. But her tone, filled with conviction and fear, confirmed my concerns. “How? How do they own you?”
Her pleading eyes found mine. “There’s no time. You need to get out of here.”
“How do they own you?”
“Johnny told me he’d kill your parents and you if I didn’t come back to him.”
“If he goes near my parents-”I sucked a breath between clenched teeth and lumbered across the room, and leaned against a bureau. “He sent a man to kill me in Korea, did you know that? Ask him how that worked out.” I shook my head. I needed to think versus vent. She had been coerced to join Johnny. This wasn’t her choice. I turned and faced her. “You’re right; we need to figure out how we’re getting out of here so we can warn my folks. Because after your husband finds us gone, sounds like we’ll have our own little war to fight. But we are going to fight it together.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Night had fallen as a clock chimed in the hall outside of the second floor Venturini bedroom.
“Oh my God, Johnny will be home soon. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you or your family,” Sara said, bowing her shaking head.
“And I feel the same way about you,” I said.
“Everyone will be fine if you can get out of here unseen.” She nervously glanced at the window.
I hooked her chin with my finger, swiveling her face to look at me. “Sara, do you love me?”
She looked down. “That’s not fair.”
“Do you?”
Her eyes met mine. “Yes.”
I swallowed hard and touched her cheek. “Then tell me, would you rather live for a few days, perhaps a lifetime, in happiness; or for the rest of your life in a prison controlled by a crook?”
“Mick, I-”my lips silenced her protest.
I kept the kiss light. She was right, we needed to leave.
“How many armed guards are there in the house?”
“Ten, not counting the chauffeur. Two per shift to man the wrap-around balconies, and four others because there’s a war going on. The balcony guards normally stand on opposite corners so they can see the whole yard.”
“Shit. We can’t afford to alert them. We wouldn’t have a chance. Any ideas about how we can get out of here?” I asked.
She glanced at my gun, then into my eyes. “Yes.”
Sara and I had a plan. All we had to do was to get from her room to the garage without being seen before her husband got home.
We tiptoed out of her room to the top of the stairs. The house was quiet. But I was sure someone would hear my heart pounding.
I never thought I could be more afraid than I had been in Korea. But I had never tried to escape a fortified prison with the person I loved more than life.
I motioned at Sara with my cocked pistol. Her body trembled as we started down the carpeted steps.
When we were more than halfway down the stairs, a first floor interior door opened and closed followed by footsteps somewhere in the hallway paralleling the staircase just below us.
We stopped.
I squeezed her hand and motioned for her to be quiet. Then I stepped in front of her as the clomping footsteps came closer, multiple feet treading on carpet.
A man appeared, smoking and leading a Weimaraner on a leash.
Breath held, I followed the man in my gun sights as he walked past us.
The dog’s head turned and looked up at us, obviously picking up our scent. The large grey hunting dog tried to pull away and come to us, but the man yanked him onward.
Blowing out a stream of smoke, the man opened the front door and led the dog outside, pulling the door shut behind him.
I released a held breath and wiped the sweat off my brow.
Sara, her face flushed, hastily stepped around me, grabbing my hand and leading me quickly down the steps and toward the rear of the mansion. Close to the back of the house, she opened a door and pulled me through a laundry room and a mud room to another door. She leaned against the crucifix-designed panels, listened for a second, and then opened the door.
I stopped her and let my .45 lead the way into a huge multi-car garage lit in trapezoidal patterns by the yard lights beaming through the many windows.
Two steps into the garage, I stopped. “Holy shit,” I whispered as I scanned what had to be fifteen, no, sixteen cars parked in this extensive garage. At a glance, I saw Sara’s Red Packard. Then I saw a 1947 Maserati A6 1500 Pininfarina parked next to her Packard. Like a kid in a candy store, I had to take inventory; a 1950 Roll-Royce Silver Wraith, a 1950 Jaguar XK120 roadster, a brand new Cadillac Fisher Fleetwood, and-reality plus a tug from Sara terminated my inspection.
I walked over and pulled on the door handle of the Cadillac. It was locked. “Are they all locked?”
“Yes, except for the Packard. These are Johnny’s trophies. The keys are locked away in his study. That’s why we have to wait for the chauffeur. He has a family and goes home every night. But he always parks the car in here upon returning. Johnny doesn’t like the limo sitting at the front door. Then, depending on the time, the driver either eats or has a few drinks with some of the other guards before leaving.”
I shook off my distracted interest. I was in a rich crook’s showroom full of exotic cars paid for with blood money.
Sara stopped, looking around. “We need to hide. The chauffeur should be here any minute.”
I nodded. And I led her to the front of the Rolls-Royce where we sat on the bumper. My concentration was tested by being this close to a Rolls-Royce. But my nerves won that battle.
Mere minutes later, a car rolled up outside.
We squatted down behind the large silver car.
The single garage door in front of one of the few empty spaces rose. My mind and body reacted to the noise as if it were a Chinese bugle blowing.
Seconds later, the Lincoln rolled inside, and the engine shut off.
The pistol, gripped in my white-knuckled hand, seemed to get heavier by the second. I glanced at Sara. I could get us out of here. I would. Even if I had to kill someone.
The car door opened and then closed, and I stood up.
The liveried chauffeur was wiping off his driver’s door mirror when he saw me, dropping the cloth and reaching inside his jacket.
“Don’t do that!” I stepped closer aiming the gun at his face.
He raised his hands. “Who the fu-”
“Shut up,” I commanded. “Take off your clothes, now!”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
While Sara pointed the gun at the chauffeur stripped to his jockey shorts, I bound him with his shirt and pants. At first he struggled, but when he looked up at Sara he stopped fighting me; causing me to study her as well. She stared at the driver with a cold expression as if killing him would be an easy thing.
What had happened to the person I thought I knew?
This mob life must have done something to her.
Using the shoulder straps of the man’s undershirt, I tied the garment over his mouth as hard as I could knot it. Then I stuffed as much of the body of the shirt into his mouth as I could.
We dragged him a few bays down to her shiny red Packard. I rolled him into the trunk and closed it.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead as I studied Sara. She was half-turned away from me, clutching the pistol with both hands. Her eyes were large, her jaws clenched. Mannequin still, she stared at the door accessing the house from the garage.
They had done something to her.
Wearing the driver’s hat and coat, I backed the Lincoln out of the garage. The cocked gun on the seat beside me; my fingers rubbing Dad’s shell.
Sara laid on the back seat clutching the chauffeur’s gun. My concerns about what had happened to her had to be put on hold.
The outside lights flooded the car’s interior.
I
eased out a deep breath as I levered the transmission into forward. If we could get through the gate without someone getting killed it would be a miracle.
I prayed she couldn’t see my hand shaking as, shell finger-pinched, I adjusted the rearview mirror.
I rolled past the house and slowly drove down the drive.
“There’s a gate button on the light pole close to the gate,” Sara said from behind me.
“I know,” I said hoping my voice sounded calm.
I stopped by the stanchion next to the driveway. A rain-shielded button was on the post. I rolled the window down while my eyes searched the shadow-darkened second floor balcony in the driver’s door mirror. Nothing. I pushed the button. The gate opened. Could it be this easy?
I accelerated through the gate and turned onto the road toward Youngstown.
“We’re out,” I said, rolling up the window, feeling like the enemy had just retreated without firing a shot.
“I pray we’re doing the right thing,” Sara said sitting up; her words coated with doubt.
I glanced in the rearview mirror at her dark silhouette. “You scared me back there . . . the way you looked and handled the gun.”
She sat back and looked away, saying nothing.
What could I say, the subject had been tabled.
I focused on my driving. My temptation to speed was squelched by the fact that I was driving a stolen car.
The Lincoln rode over the headlight defined road as I’d imagined a luxurious sedan would, tight and smooth.
By the time we got to downtown Youngstown, the silence in the car had grown louder. I had so many questions, but they could wait. I had Sara. Sara had chosen me.
I followed Route Eleven south to a gas station on the other side of town.
“I’ll be right back. I’m going inside to see if they have maps; would you like a Coke?” I asked, as an attendant filled the tank.
“Sure, but hurry,” she said.
Sara was standing by the car when I returned. I handed her the drinks. I paid the attendant, and he disappeared inside.
Sara gave me one of the Cokes. Her face though pale in the overhead lights had a determined look. She shook her head frantically. “Mick, I’m sorry, but this is a mistake. I let your kisses and my dreams get in the way back there. I can’t do this. Please leave me here.”
“We’re going to be alright, Sara,” I said with as much conviction as my rumbling gut could muster. I took her by the hand and led her to the rear door.
She pulled free. “You don’t know Johnny. He always gets what he wants. Always. Wherever we’re going, he’ll find us.”
“It’s a big country,” I said as I opened the car door.
“I’m his possession. And no one takes anything Johnny Venturini owns; not without paying a horrible price. By your own admission, Mick, he found you amongst all those thousands of soldiers in Korea; he will find you again.”
“I’ll be ready if he does.”
“But what about your family, Mick?”
“I’ll make sure they’re safe along with you. Now please get in, and let’s get out of this damned town.”
Sara sighed and got into the car.
I drove south keeping the chauffeur’s hat and coat on just in case.
Within a mile, Sara was sobbing. “Mick, pla-please, pull over and let me out. I’ll, I’ll walk back to that station. I’ll call him and . . . and tell him you’ll leave me alone from now on.”
“But-”
“Pull over!”
I eased the big car onto the berm and stopped.
“Sara, we love each other and we-”
“You have no idea,” she said, “no idea how inhuman Johnny and his family can be, do you?”
I twisted in the seat and looked at her. “I don’t care. He and his relatives don’t matter to me. Only you. I want you.”
“He’ll kill you, Mick! He’ll kill you and your family. We can’t hide, especially you. Your picture has been plastered all over the country. They have people everywhere and an army of trained killers. Please, let me go and forget about me. You’re a hero, start a new life.” Her cheeks glistened with tears in the dim dash lights.
“Sara, I’d rather die with you than to live without-”we were lit up in headlights as a car drove by.
We both ducked.
I sat up as did she, head bowed.
Like a switch had been turned off, she quit sobbing. She raised her head and focused her now cold eyes on me. “Either let me out or drive,” she said through clenched teeth. “Don’t sit here. All the local cops work for him. And they know this car.”
I accelerated, spewing gravel as I steered the Lincoln back onto the highway.
Several headlight-eaten miles silently passed under the long hood of the Lincoln.
“I lied to you.” Sara sniffed.
I glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “More than once.” My response was a reaction, and I immediately wished I hadn’t said anything.
“How did you know I lied?” she asked.
“At my urging, my parents hired a private detective to find you. And he found more than just you.”
Wondering how she would react, I glanced at her in the mirror.
She leaned forward. “A private detective? Really?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
“Wha-what did he tell you?”
“Not much, just how to find you.”
“Oh.”
I glanced at her again. She was searching her purse.
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” she said. “I was afraid you’d have nothing to do with me if you knew the truth. When I first met you, I admit you were an escape from reality; a boy-toy.”
“A what?” I asked, shaking my head. I didn’t want to admit that I had thought the same thing back then.
“You heard me. I was lonely.” She lit a cigarette and rolled down her window an inch or two.
What had a woman this worldly ever seen in a small town teenager like me? Hell, I would’ve believed anything she told me back then. But could I believe her now?
“The more time we spent together, even though I realized how futile our relationship was, the more difficult it was to break away. You became more, you became my hope; a wish come true. For the first time in my life, I’d fallen in love. Then you left, and I was-”
“Pregnant,” I said, glancing at her in the mirror. The tip of the cigarette glowed as she inhaled. Then she slowly turned and blew smoke out the window.
“Johnny never had TB,” she said. “He was never in an iron lung.” Another plume of smoke rolled forward. “Johnny’s uncle, the Pittsburg mob boss, picked Johnny to go to Youngstown; a gang war was going on. I wanted both of us to stay in school. That was our plan. But I didn’t get a vote. A few months later, Johnny, being his uncle’s choice, decided he must make a name for himself. He set up one of the opposing gang’s leaders and killed him. Two days later, one of Johnny’s favorite cars blew up when he started it.”
Her pause caused me to check her in the mirror. The tip of her smoke glowed bright red as she sucked on it.
“From the beginning, our marriage had never been based on love. It had been arranged by our parents. We never really knew each other until Youngstown. Any hope for us ended there. I had quickly grown to both detest him and fear him. And after the attempt on his life, I . . . I prayed he would die.”
I saw sparks fly on the road behind us when she threw out her cigarette.
“But somehow Johnny survived. And he needed an eye operation as well as plastic surgery on his face. The family was advised to take Johnny to a specialist in Savannah. There we were told that Johnny required multiple surgeries. That is why he spent so much time in and out of the Saint Joseph-Candler Hospital.”
Her words added to my building anxiety. She wouldn’t be telling me all of this if there was a good ending. I tried to ease my strangle-hold on the steering wheel.
“I had moved in with your parents before Johnny had his l
ast series of operations. And he was incoherent for a long time afterward due to the pain medication. So he never found out I had been absent. A few days before his release, when he could finally understand what his parents had been trying to tell him for weeks, he discovered I was gone.”
She hesitated, and I could see her head shaking in the dim glow from the dash lights.
“I don’t know how, but his thugs found me. When they forced me to return to Okatie, the family was packed up and ready to move back to New York. So now you know what happened.”
“Not everything. What happened to our baby?” I tried to imagine Sara with a basketball for a stomach. I wondered what it would’ve been like to touch her and feel the baby, our baby, moving.
She rolled her window down further, letting the cool night air wash over her.
“You left, Mick. I . . . I don’t want to talk about that, not now. I want you to take me back to Johnny, before it’s too late. It’s the only chance you and your family have.”
“That’s not going to happen, Sara.”
Her lighter flicked and a cloud of smoke dissipated as it rolled past me toward the windshield.
After a mile or two of testing silence, I was ready to explode.
I eyed a driveway ahead and pulled into a lane leading back to a farmhouse. I shut off the lights, got out of the car, and climbed into the back seat. I pulled her into my arms. “Please forgive me for leaving you.”
She pushed out of my hug. “This isn’t about you.” Her words were flat and hard. “I have to go back,” she said firmly. “There are more lives at stake than just yours and your family’s.” She shook her head. “It’s a long complicated story that I can’t talk about, not without making things worse. I can’t believe I let you talk me into leaving. Please, please, take me back.” She reached out and touched my hand. “We can’t bury the past.” Her voice surprisingly flat and void of emotions, like a conceding loser. “What I’ve done has ruined any chance for us. Believe me, I’m . . . I’m so sorry. Unfortunately, I can’t change that. But I can change the future if you let me go back now.”
Mickey's Wars Page 21
