The Ortega Gambit: A classic crime thriller

by J. Palma

  "I don't think she's home," Vincenzo said, peeking through the vertical panels of glass beside the front door. He held a clipboard in his hand.

  "No shit Sherlock. Ring it again,” said Fat Mikey, disgust resonating in his voice. A ten-foot wall surrounded the property and appeared secluded enough for the new plan. Fat Mikey was not shy in voicing his frustration, “Why wasn't this the original plan all along?”

  Vincenzo rang the doorbell yet again.

  "I thought you bastids were supposed to be expert planners for fucksake." Fat Mikey did little to conceal his contempt for the two hired assassins from Naples and was comfortable disrespecting them whenever he could.

  Vincenzo remained tight-lipped and professional, and never replied in anger. He had a job to do, a job he intended to finish as he always had. Fat Mikey and Tony Pipes were there for logistical support. When it came time for the wet work, the clan assassins would perform the task. But with each passing day Fat Mikey and Tony Pipes found themselves more involved.

  "Let's check around back. I’ll go this way. You and your brother go that way." Fat Mikey pointed to Vincenzo and then to the opposite corner of the house.

  They regrouped on the terrace.

  Nino walked along the edge of the pool.

  The terrace and surrounding lawn were empty. Vincenzo pressed his forehead against the glass of the back door and said, "No one is home."

  "Again with the brilliant observations." Fat Mikey walked the flagstone terrace with his pistol drawn.

  Nino said, in Neapolitan, "We should kill him today."

  Vincenzo closed his eyes and shook his head slightly.

  Fat Mikey asked, "What did he say?"

  "He's worried about the cameras. The alarms."

  "I told you guys, they're disabled. Don't worry about that shit." Fat Mikey took a few steps and turned to face the brothers. "Everyone told me you guys were supposed to be expert planners. Meticulous down to the last fuckin' detail. You know what I think? I'm gonna keep it real. You know that one? What that means? Over here, we say we're gonna keep it real when we want to tell it like it is. I think this is a different game over here. You're not used to it. Even the little things are throwing your game off. I bet in your little town, your little village where you guys fuck goats and shit, you guys are like the shit. But over here, this is the big leagues, and you guys don't know nothing. "

  Reluctantly, Fat Mikey called Rizzo. Rizzo said he would call back in five minutes.

  Boats roamed the small bay that opened out into the harbor. Dozens more were anchored. The placid waters looked cool and inviting.

  Fat Mikey paced the terrace, frustrated.

  Vincenzo took a seat on the terrace wall, certain he had a low-grade fever. He felt like he was melting under the afternoon sun. The pounding in his head had worsened and he started sneezing. His insides stiffened and ached. This did not go unnoticed by Fat Mikey.

  He said, "You know what you got? You sick bastid, you allergic to something? Hay fever is fucking nuts this time of year. This is why I stay in the City. Fuck Mother Nature, that's what I say. You need some Vicks or something. Don't make me put you on the DL."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Man, you don't know nothin. The DL. Like in baseball. You know? The disabled list. Shit. You don't know nothing.’"

  Nino squatted by the pool, dipped his fingers in the water. He looked up at the sky, judging the angle of the sun. He immediately stood, his attention set on the chaise lounge out of place from the others, dragged closer to the pool's edge.

  Nino said, "Look at this." Nino inspected the lounger. "The nanny, she sits here while the boy swims. I can see cigarette ashes. She's right handed. She sits here and has a cigarette and works on her tan. Or she sits in the shade—see the rings from her drinks on the side table. Vincenzo pictured the scene with the boy splashing in the water, and the nanny, not paying attention, smoking or on her phone.

  Vincenzo went to the chair and then the lounger.

  The brothers were looking at the harbor in the afternoon sun, each holding a hand up to shield their eyes from the harsh summer glare.

  Vincenzo said, "She takes the boy in the water in the early to late afternoon, when the sun is at its highest."

  Nino said, "We've been coming in the morning. We've misjudged her."

  "Then where is she today?"

  "I don't know. Tomorrow, we come back in the afternoon. Before dinner."

  Fat Mikey said, "What are you two numb nuts talking 'bout? You know what? I don't want to know."

  Vincenzo said, "Why don't you check the app?"

  "I did already. Before we rang the fuckin' doorbell. It said she's here. She's fucking here. I'll check again."

  Fat Mikey pulled out his phone with his free hand and used his thumb to activate the app. He turned slightly. "The app says she's in the house. It hasn't moved. Maybe she's taking a nap?"

  "Doubtful. The boy would have answered. All the lights are off inside."

  Fat Mikey's phone rang. It was Rizzo.

  Into the phone, Fat Mikey said, "That was a long fucking five minutes. It says she's in the house."

  Rizzo said, "Did you check?"

  "Look, no one's home. We're here right now. We rang the doorbell for like ten minutes, walked around the house. Looked in the windows. I'm telling you, no one is home."

  "Shit. All right. Well, look again, and then get out of there."

  Fat Mikey hung up.

  "I got an idea," Fat Mikey said pressing the edge of the phone against his chin.

  Vincenzo looked up at him like he was an animal, his eyebrows raised into a neat pair of arches, mostly curious.

  "We tell Tony to hide the truck, park it somewhere. Then we break in and wait for the two to come back."

  Vincenzo said, "No. Absolutely not."

  "What did he say?" Nino asked.

  "He wants to break in and wait for them in the house."

  "Not a bad idea."

  Vincenzo glared at his brother.

  Fat Mikey said, "Why not?"

  "We can't break in. This I have considered. There would be evidence that the house was broken into. And where do we hide the truck?"

  Fat Mikey winced. "C'mon. Once they find the bodies and the note they won't be looking to see if there was a break in. Jesus. Think."

  "No. Too much can go wrong that way. There can be panic, confusion, mistakes. But if we're invited in, we can do this without ever lifting a gun."

  Fat Mikey said, "I'm dealing with a couple of fucking idiots. You don't know nuthin." He turned his back and took a few steps. Speaking into his walkie-talkie, he told Tony Pipes they were heading back.

  When Lucina broke rule number Five, the sky was a cloudless hazy blue. Lucina wanted to take the upscale speedboat with the cabin but couldn't find the keys. The keys to the Whaler, a 23-foot vessel with a fabric canopy over the center console, were in the cup holder beside the steering wheel.

  The water was quiet and still, empty of other boaters, providing a great opportunity to learn how to pilot a small watercraft. They did a few loops, slow at first, and then she brought the boat to a stop, about four hundred yards from their dock. Laid out like a magnificent dollhouse, she was struck with disbelief that she could now call the place home.

  Outfitted as Batman, Charles went to the bow. Fishing pole in hand, he sat with his feet hanging off the side. He cast his line. It didn't go very far and he waited. The dark water was without a hint of fish or any other marine life.

  Lucina called out, "When was the last time you were on a boat?"

  "This one? I dunno. When my parents were still alive I guess." He swung his feet as he spoke and didn't turn to reply, focused instead on his line. He held the rod with both hands the tip angled at the water. "We have a bigger one. Way bigger than this or the other one."

  "Is this true?"

  "It's a yacht, but they keep it somewhere else. Not sure where. Connecticut, I think. You have to drive a long time to get there."<
br />
  "Will and Dot don't take you out on the water?"

  "No. Dot's afraid of the water. They never go out on the boats. She can't swim. And Uncle Will, well you saw. He's drunk all the time. They don't do anything with me. Never have."

  "What a shame. Well let's not waste our time with talk of them."

  "Sounds good to me. Are you going to buy me a phone?" He twisted his head, looking at her directly.

  "Enough with the phone." At that moment, she looked up at the house, about to say look at what you have and yet you want more, a speech really comparing the have and the have-nots and he was lucky to be on one side and not the other, but instead, no words came. Speechless, she witnessed three men, two from one end of the house, and one from the other, converge on the terrace.

  "What is this?"

  "I dunno," Charles said indifferently, "They look like repairmen."

  "For what? What are they repairing? Were they scheduled to come?"

  "I don't know. Ask Aunt Dot."

  Lucina suddenly looked concerned. "Charles, do you have the Batman binoculars?"

  "I sure do." He lowered his fishing pole and detached his binoculars from his utility belt. He looked through them first. "Like I said, they're repairmen. They're looking in the windows. Huh. Maybe we should go back and see what they want?"

  "Let me see," Lucina said, moving from behind the steering wheel towards the bow.

  He tossed the binoculars at her underhanded, but they slipped from her fingers and fell between them. He sprang from his spot to pick them up at the same time Lucina stooped. The crown of his head smashed the bottom of her chin.

  She staggered back, massaging the underside of her chin with the heel of her hand. A dull pain resonated from the point of impact. She said ugly things in Neapolitan dialect.

  "I think you chipped a tooth."

  Eventually she lifted the binoculars to her eyes. The plastic binoculars felt cheap in her hands and they should, after all, they were a toy. But she was not displeased with how they worked.

  Standing behind the console, she braced her elbows on the edge of the windshield, and steadied the binoculars. She turned a small dial on top and zoomed in on the terrace. Three men stood near the pool, engaged in an animated debate. As Charles pointed out, the men wore the same dark blue jumpsuits.

  Two of the men, each standing near the pool's edge, moved their arms as they spoke. One pointed to the chair she often sat in, and then gestured to the chaise lounge where she often stretched out and napped. A third man, bald and with dimensions considerably larger than the others, stood nearby seemingly watching the others debate. Something was strange. What kind of repairman were they? Where were their tools? Why were they peeking in the windows?

  She shrieked. Through the lens, the bald-headed man, now angry, admonished the other two as he waved something in the air, something that resembled a pistol. She attempted to zoom in on his hand but the boat bounced and her focus suddenly jumped to the roof. When she refocused, the bald man had turned, his body eclipsing what was in his hand. She looked over her shoulder. A sailboat had passed, running with its motor. At the wheel, a man in a gray cap waved as he passed, the Whaler rolling back and forth in its wake.

  With the binoculars refocused on the terrace, she watched the two other men move to the terrace wall. What were they doing? Were they pointing at her? She dropped behind the steering console, keeping out of sight. She had a lump in her throat and her mouth grew dry.

  Death had marked certain moments in her life and those moments served as a kind of watershed ushering in a new phase of her life. The first day of third grade walking to school, Lucina and her classmates found a dead body in a ditch on the side of the road. Riddled with bullets, rigor had set in. His hands were frozen at his face. Their teacher, a nun, had found them and made the sign of the cross at the sight of the body. The teacher told the class she knew the man. He had gone to church and he was a good man with a family. She whistled at the children and shepherded them to school. The body was still there on the return walk home. Later that day, her mother would be admitted to a psychiatric ward for the first time, and to Lucina, the two separate events were linked in her mind.

  Or the time Carlotta let the liquor store owner's son feel her up in exchange for a small bottle of gin. Hoping to watch the setting sun from an overlook, instead they only watched death. The Carabinieri were busy that day, hauling dead bloated bodies out of the back of an abandoned shipping truck. Locked from the outside, dozens of African migrants died in the confined heat. Shortly after, Lucina’s Nonna was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. It seemed to Lucina that deaths in the community were somehow harbingers for bad luck in her family.

  Now, she wondered, would she add this moment to her list of events marked by death?

  She closed her eyes and waited. Afraid to start the engine and draw attention to herself and the boy, she held her breath and waited. After a few minutes, she stood and watched the backs of the three men skulk towards the front of the house.

  Squinting through the binoculars, she followed the departing men, reading what was on their jumpsuits. The company name burned itself into her memory: Long Island Electric. The big man, the man she thought held a gun, was shielded by the others, preventing her from confirming her initial suspicions.

  Lucina and Charles spent another thirty minutes on the water before she decided to return to land. She periodically surveyed the house with the Batman binoculars while Charles fished, content and seemingly unbothered.

  She started the engine and pointed the boat back to the dock.

  "I want to stay out longer."

  "We can't."

  "Why?"

  "Because I said so." She hated the sound of her voice, strained with fear. In a conciliatory tone she added, "I need to call Dot and find out what's going on. I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding. Stupid me. I left my phone in the house." The words, now that she said them aloud, calmed her, seemed logical.

  Carefully, she turned the wheel until the bow pointed towards the dock. She cut the engine and the boat drifted closer under its momentum. But she had not cut the engine soon enough. The gunwale of the boat banged against the dock and she lurched forward. She seized the dock edge with her hands, slowing the boat to a near stop. Charles, without having to be told, hopped onto the dock. Lucina threw him a line and he fastened the boat against a docking cleat. She climbed out of the boat, noted how the other boat was tied up, and did the same. The boats were now parked bow to bow.

  Inside the house Lucina located her phone in the downstairs bathroom near the kitchen. But before she called Dot, Lucina discovered she had several missed calls, all from Dot.

  The phone rang and it was from Dot, again. Lucina answered.

  Before Lucina spoke, Dot said, "There was a plumber scheduled for today. But you weren't home. He's been trying all week. Did Will call? He said he did. He said he called to remind you of the appointment."

  "No, Will did not call."

  "He said he did. Are you sure?"

  "Yes. I am certain."

  "What took you so long to answer the phone?"

  "I was in the bathroom."

  "What's rule number One?"

  "The phone is to be on me at all times."

  Dot softened her voice. "Will you be home later today?"

  Lucina hesitated and lied. "Signora, we're about to head out. To go to the City."

  "How so?"

  "We called a cab and then taking the train…"

  "So the cab is on the way?”

  “Yes.”

  “In that case, I’ll tell them to return tomorrow."

  "Is there something wrong?"

  "Nothing dear. But you must be home tomorrow. To let them in."

  "Who did you say is coming? I'm making a note, so I don't forget." Lucina stared at her feet.

  "The plumber. I'll tell him to come by tomorrow with his crew. Be sure you're home. They shouldn't be long. But you need to be there, like I said, to
let them in."

  "What's wrong?"

  "Oh nothing. One of the pipes, I'm not sure exactly. Something about a leak."

  "I have seen no leak."

  "Don't concern yourself with such details. Just remember to be home tomorrow so they can fix it."

  The name on the back of the jumpsuits said Long Island Electric. She recalled the name clearly and without any doubt. But she also recalled their agitation and posture, which convinced her of their bad intentions. Whatever they were, Lucina was certain they were neither plumbers nor electricians. She fumbled with what to say next. Where was the cook or the driver to do these things? Then the call abruptly ended.

  Dot didn't say goodbye. No questions about her or the child.

  Immediately, Lucina searched for Long Island Electric on her phone and found a listing for a company based in Queens. Her call went straight to voicemail.

  Charles sat at the kitchenette and rested his head on the table. Trusting her intuition, Lucina made a split-second decision. They had to get out of there.

  "My little Batman, how would you like to go on a trip? Some place away from here."

  "Oh man," he said, brightening. "You know I would." The prospect of deviating from the pattern of the last two weeks—much less the past few years—invigorated him.

  "You go upstairs and pack your bag and meet me outside in front of the garage. Can you do that?"

  "You know I can." With his arms extended, he ran. Wings unfurled from his arms and fluttered as he ran.

  She smiled and couldn't help but be entertained. In two weeks' time, he had slimmed down. His stomach no longer played peek-a-boo with his shirt bottoms, and he had a healthy tan. His hair was more blonde than brown, and he looked happy. Even the night terrors were less.

  Lucina spent exactly five minutes getting changed and packed. Wasting not a second, she changed into shorts and a t-shirt and tied a gray hooded sweatshirt around her waist. She wadded up a pair of leggings, a tank top, a clean t-shirt, and her boots and jammed them in her shoulder bag. On the way out, she scooped up the corkscrew and put it in her front pocket and then went to the garage.