BELLA MAFIA

by Lynda La Plante

  "Where's my handbag?"

  "What?"

  "My handbag, where is it? Did you bring it back with you?"

  "Do you mean from the club? I didn't even see it. Did you take it?"

  "Oh, my God, please, God, don't say I left it there."

  They searched the car, they searched the study, and Teresa became more and more panic-stricken. When Sophia tried to calm her, she became hysterical.

  "Don't you understand? Are you stupid? If whoever shot Dante was still there, and he finds my handbag, he not only saw us but now knows exactly who we are."

  Sophia snapped back, "Don't blame me. It's your handbag. You left it, not me."

  "Okay, okay, I'm sorry . . . But we'll have to go back. Give me the bag we brought from there, and I'll replace it."

  "Why don't we call the police? Teresa, please."

  Sophia was still trying to persuade Teresa to call the police while they drove back to the Armadillo Club, but Teresa wouldn't hear of it. They parked a little distance away and turned off the lights.

  "We'll just watch the place for a while, see if anyone comes or goes. If it's all quiet, I'll go back in. You wait outside, and if anyone looks like he's going into the Club, give three blasts on the car horn."

  Luka Carolla was in trouble. He had managed to get himself back to his own rented room, but he could not stanch his wound. He had torn up a sheet to make a bandage, but the blood was seeping through that.

  The bullet had to come out, and the wound needed cleaning; but he could not go to a hospital. There would be questions. He was aware that the gun he had used to kill his father was in the bag the women had taken. All he had was Teresa Luciano's bag. The contents were now spread across his bed.

  Sophia watched Teresa hurry across the road and disappear into the alleyway beside the club. Sophia turned the radio on while she waited, then off. She waited, waited. . . .

  Suddenly there was pandemonium. A police car with siren screaming, followed by an ambulance, drove into the street. They slowed down, right outside the main entrance to the club. Sophia pressed the car horn once, twice, three times. Dear God, she thought, will she hear me?

  The police car turned down the narrow alley. The ambulance was too wide, so two men jumped from the back and followed the police on foot. A group of kids began running this way and that, some from the alley and some toward the blinking police lights. Sophia pressed the horn again, once, twice, then switched the engine on and blew the horn a third time.

  Teresa ran from the front entrance of the Armadillo Club, carrying a bag. It was all Sophia needed to see; she reversed fast, and Teresa got in.

  "Didn't you hear me? Didn't you see the police?"

  "Drive, drive! Get out of here."

  "Did you find it?"

  "No. Put your foot down, don't go so slowly."

  "You want to get us picked up for speeding? Why did you bring that bag out again?"

  Teresa hugged the leather carryall. Luka's bag. "I realized it's got my prints all over it. I thought it was safer to bring it. I'm praying I was wrong. Maybe I didn't leave my handbag after all. I should have looked in the bedroom."

  "Oh, thanks! Now you tell me. . . ."

  But Teresa knew she hadn't left it at the villa. She fell silent, trying to remember the contents. Perhaps she could call the police, as Sophia suggested, without saying they had been at the club, and report the theft of a handbag.

  As they let themselves in, Rosa rushed to greet them, pointing to the dining room and gesturing them to silence. Teresa paid no attention, thinking she was referring to Graziella. She entered the study and shut the door.

  Rosa gripped Sophia's wrist. "There's a man in there, in the dining room. I didn't know what to do. He's weird; he says Mama knows what it's about."

  Teresa, white-faced, came out of the study, her eyes on stalks. She locked the door. "Rosa, go to bed. Get up the stairs nowV

  "But, Mama, who is he? He's in there, just walked in when I opened the door."

  "What?"

  Sophia found her voice. "There's someone in the dining room. He told Rosa it's something to do with you."

  Teresa almost screamed, "Rosa, do as I say! Just go to bed, nowV

  She watched until Rosa reached the top of the stairs and was out of sight, then whispered, "Well, why don't we go in and find out what he wants?"

  Luka was sitting in the don's chair, a balloon glass of brandy in front of him. He was very pale, and blood still seeped from the wound through the makeshift dressing. His right hand, with Dante's gun in it, rested on the bandage. Close to him on the table was Teresa's handbag.

  He half rose to greet them, but the pain was so bad he sat back instantly. "Allow me to introduce myself; I am Johnny Moreno. Which of you is Teresa Luciano?"

  "I am."

  "This, I believe, belongs to you."

  Teresa stared at him. "What do you want?"

  "I have a bullet in my left shoulder. I need the wound treated. It must be obvious to you why I can't go to the hospital. You'll have to take care of me."

  "What makes you think that we'll agree?" asked Teresa.

  "Because you were at the club. I'll make a deal with you. I'll take the cash you stole and walk out of your lives as soon as I am fit. The papers you can keep. I have no interest in them."

  "What's to stop us calling the police right away?"

  "If you wanted their involvement, you would already have called."

  "Did you kill him?"

  "In self-defense." He looked directly at Teresa. "The money you stole from Dante he owed to me but was not prepared to pay. It is a very simple arrangement, ladies. Now, do you agree or not?"

  Sophia shook her head. "We didn't mean to take any money. You can have what we took, but you cannot stay here."

  Luka looked pointedly at Teresa, and she hesitated, then eased open the door. She looked out to see if the coast was clear. "Put him in the small room at the top of the house. I don't want Mama to know he is here. I'll get some disinfectant and hot water."

  Angry, Sophia turned to her. "Are you agreeing to this?"

  "Why not? It seems we all need each other right now, unless you want to discuss this evening's mess with the police. I don't think they would be too cooperative, especially after the Graziella episode. ... He gets the cash, we get the documents. . . . It's a deal, Mr.?"

  "Moreno, Johnny Moreno."

  Luka relaxed, sure he had made the right decision.

  The police found a corpse in the parking lot at the rear of the Armadillo Club. The body was identified as Dario Biaze, ex-boxer, doorman, and bodyguard to Enrico Dante. The bloody footprints led the police from the lot to the back entrance of the Armadillo. The doors were open.

  It was clear that Dario's throat had been cut near the club fire exit and that somehow, bleeding badly, he had staggered down the alley to the parking lot.

  The club looked as if it had been ransacked, so robbery was considered the first motive. The double murder was in Mincelli's territory, and the harassed man was dragged out of his bed to deal with it.

  Commissario Joe Pirelli was having a beer with his detective sergeant less than three blocks away. They intended to drive past the scene of the crime, but Ancora pulled up.

  "The Armadillo's part owned by Paul Carolla," he said.

  Without another word they got out of the car, crossed the road, and entered the club. Patrol cars were lined up along the sidewalk and an ambulance was standing by.

  As the two men entered, Detective Mincelli called Pirelli over to look at Dante's body, then yelled at him to step around

  the cordoned areas. Mincelli put his arm around Pirelli's shoulder.

  "You're trying to trace Paul Carolla's son, right? Well, I'm doing you a big favor. I know this is in my territory, but this guy worked for Carolla, and the other stiff in the parking lot was his bodyguard. Could be a link." He raised his right eyebrow, clowning, wanting this investigation no more than Pirelli did.

  Pirell
i looked at him. "Thanks for the tip. I'll keep it in mind. Maybe I'll come down to your office in the morning to see what you've come up with. But don't let me keep you. Looks like you'll be here all night."

  Pirelli winked to Ancora as they left, murmuring to him to stick around and see if there was anything useful for their case. Pirelli wondered if in fact, there was a connection, but he couldn't fathom what it could be. He punched his pillow and tried to switch his mind off by conjuring up the face of Sophia Luciano. He could see her, standing hesitantly at his office door. He turned onto his back, feeling like a schoolboy with a crush. He laughed aloud at the thought and told himself he'd better wrap the case up fast and get back to his wife in Milan, at least for a weekend.

  CHAPTER 13

  Luka was shown up to the small bedroom at the top of the house. It had been a maid's room and contained only a single bed, a wardrobe, and a chest of drawers. There was a small handmade rug beside the bed.

  Sophia brought a pair of pajamas from Michael's room and handed them to Luka. He waited, and it was a moment before she realized he wanted her to leave him to undress. While Teresa looked for clean bed linen in the laundry room, Sophia busied herself boiling water and fetching bandages and antiseptic.

  Alone, Luka kicked off his shoes and took off his trousers. The pain was so intense that he had to sit on the bed to undo his shirt. He felt the wound drag as he pulled it off. The bandages had stuck to the caked blood. He gritted his teeth. "Oh, sweet Jesus."

  Teresa found him sprawled across the bed, but he still held the gun in his right hand.

  "I have to make up the bed. Can you stand?"

  Luka leaned against the wardrobe while Teresa prepared the bed. Sophia entered with a bowl of hot water.

  "We'll need more," said Teresa, taking the bowl. Sophia went back down the stairs without a word.

  When the bed was ready, Teresa gestured to Luka to lie down. She dipped a cloth into the hot water.

  "You'd better take that chain off, I'll have to disinfect the whole shoulder."

  Luka removed the gold chain with the small gold heart and tucked it beneath his pillow, watching Teresa as she moved back and forth.

  She checked his bandages and said, "I'll have to soak them until they come away easily, I don't want to rip the wound."

  Sophia was creeping up the stairs carrying a bottle of brandy and a tumbler. "Is this what your mother wants?" she whispered to Rosa.

  Rosa whispered back, "She says he's got the gun under his pillow. Maybe if we give him enough of that, he'll pass out, and then we can take it."

  Sophia passed her the brandy. "I am having nothing to do with this. I still say we should go to the police."

  She stopped as she heard Luka moan, and Teresa came to the bedroom door. "I'll need some help. The bullet's still in him, and I don't know if I'm doing the right thing or not. He's lost so much blood, and he's in agony."

  Sophia snapped, "Why don't we stop all this nonsense and call a doctor? If he's still losing blood, he could die. Then what would we do?"

  "He's not going to die," Teresa said sharply. "I just want him fit and out of here as soon as possible. Now will you help me? We need fine tweezers to get the bullet out."

  Luka lay with his eyes closed, his wound streaming blood. The room was heavy with the smell of antiseptic and steam from the bowls of hot water on the chest of drawers.

  Sophia picked up the tweezers and joined Teresa at the bedside. She leaned over the bed. "Mr. Moreno? I've brought some brandy. Maybe it would better if you had a few drinks. This is going to be very painful, and we have nothing to stop the pain."

  He shook his head, and Teresa switched on the gooseneck lamp, directing the light into the gaping wound. "Can you see the bullet, Sophia?"

  Sophia nodded. The skin around the wound was red and swelling fast. The bullet was deep. She leaned closer. "Are you all right?"

  Luka nodded, gritting his teeth. Sophia poured the antiseptic all over his shoulder, then looked at Teresa. "Okay, I'm going to have a try."

  Teresa looked away as Sophia began probing the wound. Luka winced, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

  Sophia could not clamp the ends of the tweezers around the bullet; they were too narrow. After two attempts she gave up. Luka gave a long, shuddering sigh.

  Sophia washed the tweezers and stretched them as far as she could. "I'll have another try. At least he won't feel it now; he's out cold."

  Luka did not stir when she slipped her hand beneath the pillow and brought out the gun.

  "Steady the light," said Sophia. "Okay, you ready?"

  She worked for fifteen minutes and finally eased the bullet out. She dropped it into a bowl. Teresa worked to stanch the wound as the blood drenched Sophia and the sheet. Then she bent to feel for the pulse in Luka's neck.

  She freaked. "Jesus, Mary, Holy Mother of God, I can't feel anything. ... I can't find his pulse. . . . Sophia, there's no pulse."

  Sophia pushed her aside and touched Luka's neck. Even she had difficulty finding a pulse because it was so faint. Blood still oozed from the wound.

  "It needs stitches; it'll never heal open like this. Get me a needle and cotton, anything. Go on, hurry."

  An hour later the bleeding had been stemmed and Sophia had stitched Luka's wound with white cotton. She poured more antiseptic over it and then carefully wrapped heavy pieces of lint around his shoulder. Finally she made a sling and folded his arm across his chest, so tightly that he could not move and break the stitches open.

  Luka rested against Sophia for a moment. She smoothed his hair back from his sweating white face. "I think he's started a fever. We'll take turns sitting with him. I'll take the first shift. You get a few hours' sleep and take over. Where's Rosa?"

  "I sent her to bed. I'll wake her when it's her turn." Teresa inched open the door, afraid to make any noise, and whispered, "If we can get him to eat, we can keep him drugged. I've got a few sleeping pills. We can break them up and put them in his food."

  When she had gone, Sophia fetched ice cubes and more hot water. She sat beside Luka, alternating hot and cold compresses on his head. Occasionally he moaned softly, but he did not return to consciousness.

  Three hours passed. The fever was worse, and his pulse was even weaker. When Teresa came up to do her shift, Sophia was loath to leave but was so tired she needed rest.

  "What time is it?"

  Teresa squinted at her watch. "Almost five."

  Sophia sighed. "You'd better wake me if his condition deteriorates."

  Sophia's mind was in turmoil, and she could not sleep. She had used up most of her supply of Valium, so she crept down into Graziella's room and searched her dressing table.

  "Is that you, Sophia?"

  "Yes, Mama. Go back to sleep, I'm just looking for those tablets. Remember the ones you gave me. Are there any left? I can't sleep."

  She returned to her room with almost full bottles of Valium and Seconal. Her hands shook as she tipped out the tiny yellow pills. She even swallowed a sleeping tablet to make sure she would sleep. She was so drugged that Teresa had to shake her awake. The young man, she said, was shivering. One moment he seemed cold, and the next he was sweating. He looked terrible, and she was scared.

  Sophia hurried upstairs. Luka's body was burning up with fever, yet he was dripping with cold sweat. She ran downstairs to get her duvet and tucked it around him. Finally, the shivering subsided, and he seemed to grow calmer. She pulled up a chair to sit by him.

  "Father . . . Father . . . Father ..." Luka's voice was less than a whisper; his words were almost unintelligible. Sophia bathed his head, and his face twisted with pain. Then his eyes opened wide. He recoiled from her, not knowing who she was, pushing her hand away. He felt as if he were buried in soft clouds. Then his body filled with pain, and the clouds began suffocating him. He couldn't breathe. ... He pushed the duvet from his racking pain. He was hot, burning hot.

  Sophia rinsed the cloth in ice water and held it gently to his n
eck, his chest, and his right shoulder. The bandages were still clean; the bleeding had stopped. His body relaxed at last, and he slept.

  Rosa slipped into the room. "Mama said I should take over. How is he?"

  "I think he's doing fine. The fever broke, and now he's sleeping. As soon as he wakes, his bandages must be checked, just to see that the wound is clean. We must keep it clean. It was already showing slight signs of infection. I wish we had some antibiotics."

  Rosa approached the bed and looked down at Luka. "He's very handsome, isn't he?"

  "What?" Sophia was winding the bandages to be washed so they could use them again.

  "How old do you think he is, Aunt Sophia?"

  "Oh, I don't know, and to be honest with you, I think the less we find out about him, the better."

  "What's his name? He's American, isn't he?"

  Sophia crossed the room to pick up Luka's clothes. "Moreno, Johnny Moreno. Sounds like some kind of ballad, doesn't it?" She checked the pockets of his bloodstained jacket and trousers; they were empty. "He has nice clothes, very expensive labels, and all American. He sounds American. Maybe he is American."

  "His shoes are Italian," said Rosa, holding up a Gucci loafer, "and very expensive."

  Sophia picked up his gold Gucci watch and put it down again. It was still only eight-thirty in the morning. "Call me if the fever starts again. I'm going to take a bath."

  Even though he had hardly slept the night before, Pirelli was in his office at eight, and he didn't even give Ancora time to take his coat off.

  He began, "Main suspect for the Carolla hit, you're not going to believe it. . . . They've been checking out every person in the courtroom, a few of them not interviewed as yet." He listed a few names, then waved a printout, smiling. "This is the one. Listen to this: 'Brother Guido.' Our boy's last known address was a monastery, right?"

  Ancora threw his hands up. "What are we waiting for?"

  "Hang on, there's even more. The man who was sitting in front of the monk came forward last night. They've found traces of wadding on his coat, which was laid over the back of the seat, in front of the monk."