The Woman In Blue (Nick O'Brien Case Files)

by David G. Johnson

  “Don’t worry about Clara. She can handle herself.”

  “For her sake I hope so, Jimmy.”

  Mark Allerby ducked around the corner to a secluded desk in the DA’s office research department and dialed the phone.

  “Yeah, it’s Mark. Got a tip. Boss just left to meet an informant with info on the DeLanz murder…Yeah, four o’clock today at Luigi’s in Little Italy… Boss seems convinced this is legit… Look, don’t tell me about stuff like that, I don’t wanna know… I hear things and get paid for passing them to you. What you do with them I don’t need or want to know.”

  Chapter Twenty-three – The Setup

  (Little Italy, Manhattan, NYC)

  Luigi takes some convincing to start turning away his usual afternoon customers and clear the way for the stakeout. A promise from Jimmy that the ADA’s office will reimburse a normal day’s receipts seems to grease the skids a bit. Jimmy has posted two plainclothes cops at a shoeshine stand outside Luigi’s, and two more inside with Marjorie sitting pretty as a picture at the table nearest the large window in front.

  Jimmy and I wait in the alley across the way. I have dispatched my paperboy friend, ginger-haired Billy Boyle to the block down the way to Frank Scalice’s base of operations. If Scalice comes after Marjorie, Billy should be able to shoot back here on his bike quick enough to give us a heads up. We need to keep our eyes out, though, in case trouble comes from someone besides Scalice.

  “I don’t like it, Jimmy.”

  “What don’t you like?”

  “Marjorie is sitting in that window like a fish in a barrel. If trouble comes, there’s no way I can protect her.”

  “Nicky, you know she is in deep trouble for her part in all this. Her help in running this setup is part of her deal with the Boston and New York DAs.”

  “Yeah, I know. I do appreciate you making a way for Marjorie to walk out of this. I have a feeling she’s a good kid that just needs a break and someone to believe in her.”

  “For your sake I hope so, Nicky. You really have fallen for her haven’t you?”

  “Yeah, which is why I’d like to see her live through this.”

  “Relax. We’ve got four cops covering the place and you and I across the way. If anything suspicious rolls this way, I’ve told Ben, the officer at the table with Marjorie, to pull her out of harm’s way.”

  “This Ben is a good egg? You sure he ain’t just going to cover his own hide?”

  “Ben is former secret service assigned to the governor’s protection detail. That’s why I had him assigned specifically to Marjorie. He’ll do his job, Nicky. I’m worried about us. I’m an attorney, not a war hero. I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

  “Don’t sweat it, big brother, I’m covering your six.”

  “Yeah, but you’re on the ground this time, flyboy.”

  I grin and clap my brother on the shoulder. Jimmy easily could have let the boys in blue handle this and sat it out from the sidelines, but that’s not the O’Brien way. Soldier, lawyer, surgeon or snitch, O’Briens look out for each other. Jimmy being here for this is nothing less than I’d expect from him, or Liam, or Uncle Michael, or any of our family. This twisted world may have taken a lot away from me, and this twisted city taken a lot out of me, but nothing under God can separate O’Briens from each other.

  From the west, Billy Boyle comes tearing up the street at full pedal.

  “Nicky, Scalice and a few of his goons just piled in a car and are heading this way. They are coming heavy.”

  “That’s our cue, Jimmy. Signal the boys to be ready and stay back. I’ll yell if I need you.” I hand him my backup Walther PPK.

  “Nicky, I’ve told you I’m a lawyer, not Billy the Kid.”

  “Hang on to it for me, just in case. I don’t want any extra weight slowing me down in case I’ve got to duck and tumble, you know.”

  Jimmy smiles and pockets the weapon, stepping to the side of the alley. When dad took us shooting as kids, Jimmy was always a better shot than I was. If either of us can plug a goon from the alley with a Walther, it would be Jimmy.

  (Little Italy, a few blocks away)

  As Vincent DeLuca steered the car down the streets of Little Italy, Frank Scalice was locked in thought. Charlie Ferrano, pouring sweat and shakily holding a Thompson in his hands, sat beside Vinny in the front seat. Carlo Capricci was with Scalice in the back, looking as if he had something to say but not sure if he wanted to say it.

  After half a block, Scalice broke the silence. “How in Mary and Joseph’s great grandfather’s ghost did this all get so screwed up?”

  “You really askin’,” CC replied, “or izzat whatcha call a rizzo-torical question?”

  Frank, taking no notice CC had spoken, continued his rant. “I mean it was supposed to be so simple, badabing, badaboom. Tommy lifts the stones, I get my chair back, blackjack all around. Yet here I sit rolling after some mystery witness trying to put the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle back together. And for what? FOR WHAT?”

  “You ain’t gotta do nothin’, Frank,” Vinny chimes in from the front seat.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that every time you try and fix this thing, it gets worse. Maybe it’s time to let it play out. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

  Scalice looked like he might shoot Vinny in the back of the head, but CC chimed in.

  “Ya’ know, Frank, Vinny makes sense. Nobody’s got nothin’ but guesses on you. You yank this witness, you put it in a nice, neat package for the cops to pick up. But if you lay low for a while, out of town maybe, then come back once things cool off… Who knows?”

  After another half a block of silence, during which Charlie Ferrano was doing his best to look like part of the upholstery, Scalice sighed. “That’s something to think about.”

  (Outside Luigi’s, Little Italy)

  “Billy, I want you to zip back toward Frank’s, but you keep your head down. Let us know when he gets close, but then you stay out of the way, you hear me?”

  “Yeah, yeah, Nicky. You don’t gotta tell me.”

  With that, Billy spins his bike around and takes off, pedaling furiously, back toward Scalice’s place. Billy is a sharp kid with a brave heart and a work ethic like Jimmy. He’s going to go far, provided I don’t wind up getting him killed playing lookout. Normally I use Billy for eyes and ears when the danger is low, but truth be told if anyone can go through the streets of Little Italy without grabbing a second glance, it’s a paperboy.

  Yeah, Nick, just keep telling yourself that. Billy would follow you into battle and you know it. At the end of the day, though, he’s still a kid.

  (Little Italy, two blocks from Luigi’s)

  Billy Boyle skidded his bike to a halt as the Buick Model 57 rolled to a stop at the curb. After a few moments, the car pulled a U-turn in the middle of the street and took off rapidly in the opposite direction of Luigi’s. The four gangsters in the car locked eyes for a second with Billy before zipping off down the street. Billy turned his bike back in the direction of Luigi’s.

  “These goons are more twisted than a pretzel. Gotta let Nicky know. Man, with all this back and forth, I’m charging him double on this one.”

  (a few moments earlier)

  “Vinny, I always said you had a good head on your shoulders,” Scalice laughed, slapping the driver on the shoulder. “Pull over.”

  DeLuca eased the Buick to the curb, reaching slowly and subtly for the Smith and Wesson .38 in his belt, just in case Scalice was planning to violently switch drivers.

  “This is nuts. I didn’t kill Tommy. I didn’t kill the stripper,” DeLuca found Frank’s memory loss on ordering Rosario killed ironic but didn’t’ interject his observation as Scalice continued. “So the worst anyone might pin on me is hiring the job in Boston to nab the stones. You know, I hear Florida is kind of nice this time of year. Maybe I head to the beach, sip a few fru-fru drinks…”

  “Yeah, Frank,” chimed in CC, “the kind wi
th the little umbrellas.” The car exploded with laughter.

  “Vinny, get me to Grand Central. I got a train to catch.”

  DeLuca turned the Buick around to point it in the direction of Grand Central Station. The street was mostly deserted except for a paperboy on the corner watching them.

  “Hey,” said Ferrano, finally sensing Scalice’s mood had calmed enough to stop trying to be invisible, “I swear I seen that paperboy earlier. Gotta hand it to those Micks. They’re not the brightest mugs in the lot, but them Irish sure do work.”

  (Outside Luigi’s)

  Billy comes speeding up the street toward us. Aside from his rickety paperboy bicycle, no other vehicles seem particularly intent on heading this way.

  “What’s the scoop, Billy-boy?”

  “Dunno, Nicky, but Scalice and his goons are wheeling in the other direction lickety-split. They just stopped a few blocks away, then whipped the car around and started heading uptown.”

  “They must have made you, Billy. Jimmy, looks like we’re busted.”

  “No way, Nicky,” Billy argues, “you know I’m the best street snoop you got, and those goonies didn’t even spot me until they was already whipping around. If you’re busted, it ain’t on account of me.”

  “Nicky, Scalice might just have thought better about it and decided to make a run for it.” Jimmy shouts to one of the plainclothes outside, “Robert, pop inside, use Luigi’s phone, and call in an all-points for Scalice. Have them watch the bus and train stations and the airport. Armed and dangerous, let them know.”

  The shoeshine boy stand-in jumps up and runs inside the restaurant.

  “We were so close, Jimmy. But it looks like we were on the right trail. If Scalice is running, hands down he’s the one we’re after. At least Marjorie is safe.”

  (Scalice’s car, a few blocks away)

  “Hold it, Vinny,” Scalice barks, the red fury returning to his face.

  DeLuca rolls his eyes and pulls over to the curb again. “What is it, Frankie?”

  “What am I doing? This is my neighborhood, my town. If I want a seat back at the table, then I ain’t gonna earn it playing rabbit. Whoever offed Tommy and made off with my diamonds took everything from me. My chance at getting back in the game is in the wind, and the stoolie at Luigi’s is the only person who knows who that is.”

  “You got a point, Frank,” offered CC.

  “Yeah, I do, and it’s about time I made my point. Vinny, you get this can to Luigi’s straightaway.” Scalice pulled his pistol. “We’re taking this stoolie, and dropping anybody stupid enough to get in my way. No gumshoe, DA, or even the mayor is going to get between me and my place in the family.”

  CC and Ferrano readied their Thompson machine guns, and DeLuca laid his Smith and Wesson on the front bench seat beside him. Vinny stomped the gas pedal, whipped the Buick around, and gunned the engine straight toward Luigi’s.

  As the carload whipped around the last corner and wheeled up toward the restaurant, Ferrano noted, “Hey, Frank, there’s that paperboy again.”

  The kid on the bicycle was near an alley. He looked and pointed in the direction of the car containing Frank Scalice and his boys, then turned as if talking to someone in the alley.

  “We’re made, Frankie,” said DeLuca from the front seat. “That kid has ratted us out.”

  Scalice now noted the couple of customers in Luigi’s front window wearing overcoats and fedoras and sitting with a woman in a blue dress. Outside, a similarly-dressed man sat at a shoeshine stand with no shoeshine boy anywhere in sight.

  “It’s a setup!” Scalice exclaimed.

  “What you want me to do, Frankie?” DeLuca asked.

  “Light ‘em up, boys,” answerd Scalice. “None of them walks from this one, and watch that alley.”

  Chapter Twenty-four – Showdown

  As Billy and I are talking, the sound of screeching tires comes from down the street. Billy looks and points in the direction of Frank Scalice’s place.

  “They’re back, Nicky.”

  Almost before the thought can register, the all-too-familiar sound of Chicago typewriters lights up the air. Brick chips are flying off the alley walls and I see Luigi’s front window shatter into a thousand pieces as the front of the restaurant is peppered with gunfire.

  I glance quickly toward Jimmy, who is on the ground with the Walther in his hand.

  Good boy! O’Brien reflexes at work.

  I grab Billy off his bike and toss him deeper into the alley behind a collection of trash cans.

  “Hey,” he objects, “what the…?”

  “Shut up and stay down, Billy.”

  Marjorie!

  I pull my Colt and run a zig-zag into the street as the Buick Model 57 streaks by, spraying both sides of the street with bullets.

  Not the brightest maneuver I’ve ever pulled, but I’ve got to get to Marjorie.

  I pop off two rounds at this side of the car and catch the skinny mobster hanging out the front passenger window in the neck. He slumps over and drops his Thompson in the street as the car rolls past. I can’t help but notice the missing back window and the plates on the Buick: 4S 19 80.

  Guess Rosario was on the level, but nothing I can do for her now.

  The Buick accelerates as it passes Luigi’s, leaving destruction in its wake. A quick check over my shoulder spots Jimmy standing up and trying to brush off his suit as Billy pulls himself from behind the trash cans and heads to check the damage to his bike. As I snap my attention back toward Luigi’s.

  The plainclothes on the shoeshine stand is slumped over with half a dozen dark, wet holes in the front of his coat, and one right in the middle of his fedora. Rushing inside, I see one of the officers who was with Marjorie lying in a growing pool of red on the floor, looking in much the same condition as the cop outside. The shoeshine undercover is rushing from the back, pistol drawn, but otherwise unscathed. There in the corner I see Marjorie, or at least her gams, sticking out beneath the bulk of the other plainclothes assigned to her. He is sporting a wet spot in his upper right shoulder, but otherwise looks whole.

  “Marjorie! Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Nick, I’m fine. As soon as the shooting started, Ben pulled me out of the way.”

  “You okay, Ben?”

  “Yeah.” The officer extracts himself from the pileup. “Ratbag got me in the shoulder pretty good, but I’ll live.”

  Jimmy bursts in.

  “You okay, Nicky? What were you thinking, charging into those machine-guns?”

  “Guess I wasn’t thinking.” I flash a smile at Marjorie whose eyes are locked on me. “Jimmy, you stay with Marjorie, call this in, and look after Ben.” I turn my attention to the shoeshine undercover. “You got a car close, yeah?”

  “Yeah, just outside.”

  “Well, what are you waiting for? We got bad guys to catch.”

  The officer looks at Ben, gets the nod, and heads out with me to the car parked just outside Luigi’s half a block down. We take off after Scalice.

  Fortunately the police know the value of being able to catch up to fleeing bad guys and the unmarked police car is in top shape. Soon we close the gap with Scalice’s Buick. They are less than thrilled to see us.

  Out of the back windows, I spot Frank Scalice hanging out the passenger side with a pistol and another goon hanging out the rear driver’s side leveling a Thompson in our direction. The skinny gangster I shot in the neck is still draped out the front passenger side window, flopping like a rag doll with every turn and jolt the driver of the Buick makes.

  The plainclothes moves his pistol to his left hand, ducks down as far behind the steering wheel as he can while still seeing the road, and hangs his left hand out the window, trying to return fire. Our windshield explodes and I hear a bullet whiz by my left ear close enough to trim my sideburns. I hang myself out the passenger window and try to do something more than just wildly sling lead in front of us.

  It is hard to hit a moving target fro
m a moving target in the best of circumstances, and panic usually keeps guys from worrying about aiming when they are getting shot at. I’ve been shot at a lot, though. Pilots who panic at gunfire don’t last long, so I take a calming breath and take my time even as the air around me fills with bullets from the fleeing Buick. The Thompson is the biggest threat, as it could hit us as easy by pure chance as intent, flinging that many bullets in our direction. I wait for the smooth spot in the road I spotted a second ago and squeeze the trigger.

  Blood explodes from the head of the gangster holding the Thompson. He drops the weapon. His oversized bulk, being more out the window than in, tumbles fully out the window and into the street.

  Bullseye!

  The plainclothes lets up on the gas as though he is going to stop for the downed gangster.

  “No,” I shout, “stay with Scalice. That one ain’t going anywhere.”

  He picks up speed again, firing wildly with the revolver in his left hand until it clicks futilely, all chambers expended.

  “Stop that. You drive, I’ll shoot.”

  I know we have to stop this chase before either a careening car or flying lead really hurts someone innocent. I ignore Scalice for the moment as his pistol goes empty and he ducks back inside the Buick to reload. I focus on the back of the head and back of the seat of the driver. If I can stop him, we can wrap this all up nicely.

  Three bullets later I finally connect. The Buick lurches toward the curb, nearly tossing Scalice out into the street. He had, during the course of my three aimed shots, reemerged from the rear window and started slinging lead wildly at me, hitting nothing.

  The Buick careens into a power pole, finally succeeding in ejecting Scalice out the window and into the street. The gangster boss drops his pistol in the tumble, but isn’t about to wait around to check on his driver. Scalice jumps up and takes off down an alley as our car rolls to a stop behind the crashed Buick. I send my last bullet after Scalice as he rounds the corner, but it flies wide. I tuck my empty Colt back into the shoulder holster.