Malone: Sure, go slow. What do you care? Ten years’ll go by and I’ll still be working the bar downstairs.
Vento: Ashpetta, please.
Malone: I want something more from life than this, Eddie.
Vento: Who doesn’t?
Malone: You see where Betty Grable died yesterday?
Vento: Now you wanna be Betty Grable?
Malone: At least she had a life. If I die tomorrow, what did I ever have?
Vento: Speaking of tomorrow, can you let me enjoy what’s left of this fuckin’ day? Bad enough the holiday’s the middle of the week this year.
[A pause on the tape that lasts nearly a minute.]
Malone: You gonna be with wifey tomorrow?
Vento: Don’t remind me. Yeah, with her and her sister and our kids and the other kids and everybody else I can’t stand. I hate this fuckin’ barbecue bullshit. I’ll wanna shoot myself by noon, so gimme a break tonight with what you want. Least until the weekend, gimme a break.
Levin listened to the rest of the tape and the next one. He hoped Detective Sean Kelly’s name would come up but it never did. There were two more tapes he could review in the morning if he woke up early enough, but for now he was too tired.
Tomorrow they would spend an entire day performing useless surveillance arranged by Kelly. He would use the opportunity to try and enlighten Detective Brice to their situation without revealing his own investigation. Levin liked Brice and didn’t want the kid entrapped in the net Internal Affairs had been weaving around Sean Kelly the last few months. It was Levin’s last thought before he fell fast asleep on his couch.
* * * *
“That Jackie Brown guy, he’s headed for a fall,” Melinda said. “Dealing guns like that, at his age?”
John looked up from his coffee and smiled. She’d obviously started reading the novel he’d left for her.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I like it,” she said. “I read the first chapter during my break. I’m enjoying it.”
“Good. I’m curious to see what they do with the movie.”
Melinda pointed to his coffee. “Eating light tonight?”
“Please. I’m still digesting a Big Mac I had with my son about an hour ago.”
“Well, I’ll top you off in the meantime,” she said, then refilled his cup and set the pot back on the warmer. “Let me know if you need Tums or something.”
He watched her work the next half hour. They exchanged glances between her taking care of the customers at the counter. When there was a lull in the action, he waved her over.
“You ever work the tables?”
“Once in a while,” she said. “I prefer the counter. It’s a better turnover. People eat at the counter usually don’t spend much time doing it.”
“Ever have trouble?”
“All kinds. Comes with the territory, but it usually doesn’t go very far. All these diners, the owners make sure local cops get enough free coffee to keep them looking out.”
John noticed the time and told her he had to run.
“See what I mean about the counter?” she said. “You coming back?”
“You want me to?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”
“Then I’ll be back.”
“Okay, then. I’ll see you later.”
He went to leave a tip.
“Don’t you dare,” she said.
“Okay,” he said, “but the next coffee is on me.”
He drove back to the bar in Williamsburg to meet with Eddie Vento. The wiseguy was on his way out when John got there. They walked to Vento’s Cadillac Coupe DeVille where John noticed Nick Santorra wasn’t sitting behind the steering wheel.
“So?” Vento said.
“I’m in for the extra stops,” John said. “But I can’t commit to anything more than that yet.”
“Meaning what?”
“Hanging around the bar,” John said. “I can’t do it.”
“When will you know when you can? Should I hold my breath?”
“I can’t say,” John said. “I don’t know.”
“Not the answer I was hoping for,” Vento said. “It’s good you showed up told me to my face, though. I can respect that.”
“I do appreciate the offer.”
“You do, huh? Should I throw a fuckin’ parade?”
John wasn’t sure what the wiseguy meant. He thought it best to not ask and stood silent as Vento sat behind the wheel of the Cadillac.
“There anything else?” he asked John.
“Just thanks, I guess.”
“You’re not sure?”
“Thank you.”
“Jesus Christ,” Vento said. Then he put the Cadillac into gear and drove away.
It was an uncomfortable moment. John wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or worried.
Chapter 20
The Walther was still under the spare tire in the trunk. Billy had followed Albano to the Ackerman home and watched from half a block away. At any point he could’ve taken the gun, walked to the house, rung the doorbell and shot the man.
He didn’t.
He continued following Albano instead; first to a diner on Queens Boulevard where Albano sat at the counter and had a cup of coffee while he chatted with a waitress.
Later, after Albano paid for his coffee, he was on his way again. Billy kept his distance, but not so far that he might lose sight of the Buick. The trip to Williamsburg took twenty-five minutes. Billy waited off the corner on Hooper Street, close enough to where Fast Eddie’s was located to see Albano park alongside a fire hydrant near the bar.
After a few minutes he was feeling tired. He did a line of cocaine. The adrenaline rush was strong and made him fidgety. A car door slammed up ahead and Billy saw Albano was standing alongside Eddie Vento’s Cadillac. The two men had a short conversation that ended abruptly when the big car pulled away from the curb.
A minute later Albano was back in the Buick heading along the reverse route they’d just taken coming from Queens. Billy pursued the Buick a little closer before he noticed a set of taillights in his rearview mirror. Albano was moving faster this time, catching the synchronized traffic lights without fail. Billy pulled to the curb and let the car he suspected was following him pass. He waited a moment and pulled back into traffic, this time tailing the banged-up Chevy Impala. He lost sight of Albano at the next light and didn’t see the Buick again until it pulled into the diner parking lot on Queens Boulevard. The Impala pulled into the same lot.
Billy parked along the curb and waited a few minutes. When he saw the Buick heading out the exit at the other end of the lot, the Impala followed it. Billy waited until both cars were out of the lot before pursuing them. A few minutes later he realized Albano was following the white car directly ahead of the Buick while being tailed by the Impala. Whatever was going on, Billy doubted any of the other drivers knew what it was.
A short time later Albano pulled into a driveway directly behind the white car. The Impala parked further up the same block.
Albano was out of his car. He followed the waitress to the front door of the house and then they were inside.
“The girlfriend,” Billy said. “What a nice surprise.”
* * * *
They were on her couch, Melinda on top. Things were getting heated fast. She was grinding against him. His hands moved down her back to cup her ass. She moaned when he slipped one hand under her skirt. She could feel herself coming, then pushed herself up and off him.
John looked up and saw she had moved to the end of the couch. She was breathing hard with both her hands raised.
“Sorry,” she gasped. “I had to stop.”
“Why?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t, John, please.”
“You okay?”
“Too okay, yes. I want to, trust me, but I can’t. I shouldn’t. I won’t. Not this soon. I’m sorry, really.”
She
got up off the couch and headed for the kitchen. “I’m getting cold water for myself. You want?”
“Please,” he said.
He heard her chuckle. “I really am sorry,” she said.
He was hard and had thought it would happen after thinking it wouldn’t, not for a while yet. He did his best to lose his erection, but it wasn’t easy.
A minute later Melinda did an exaggerated hop and skip into the living room with his glass of water. She was smiling as she sang, “‘Morning friend, we recommend, blue plate number two.’”
“That supposed to relax me?”
“Yes.”
“It’s from some movie, right?”
“Guess which and I won’t be able to deny you.”
“Something with Betty Grable.”
“Close, but this ain’t horseshoes.”
“Ever hear of close enough for jazz?”
“Moon over Miami,” Melinda said. “I had to say it so you wouldn’t guess.”
“I wouldn’t have.”
Melinda sat in an armchair across from the couch. “You’re a great kisser and I was way too worked up way too soon,” she said. “I’d hate myself in the morning whether you did or not. Then I’d take it out on you. It’s better this way, trust me.”
“Okay,” he said, unconvincingly.
“So, what are your plans for the weekend?”
There was no way he was telling her about the job he’d just agreed to stay with a couple of hours ago, but John did tell her he was busy until Sunday night.
“Can you get off early enough to see the movie?” Melinda asked. “Or we could go Monday.”
“I can try for Sunday night but can’t guarantee it. We could always go for drinks and a late snack.”
“Drinks to loosen me up?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“Clever boy.”
“Or we could be adults and just go for it now.”
“I’d love to, John, believe me.”
He patted the couch alongside him.
“But I think you’d better go.”
“Huh?” he said.
“Please,” she said. She motioned toward the door.
He got up and walked around the coffee table. He stopped at the door. “Kiss good night first?”
Melinda bit her lips. “No way,” she said. “Go.”
* * * *
After convincing Nancy to front him one thousand dollars to cover his gambling nut, Louis spent the rest of his Friday scouting locations for the robbery he planned to commit Sunday. There were seven stops he’d clocked along John Albano’s route. He had focused on the last three in order to guarantee the most bounty, Massapequa, Rockville Centre and Valley Stream, the only stops Albano sometimes took out of order.
Louis still had no idea what kind of cash he might net, but he did know he’d have a bunch of porno film reels. He wouldn’t be able to get rid of the film in New York for fear of the mob behind it, but selling them off on his way south would provide some extra cash for the road trip.
He was thinking about Florida on his way back to the apartment. He’d been there twice, once to Disney World with Nancy on their honeymoon and another time right after their divorce, to Miami, where he went to purchase marijuana from a Cuban connection he’d made in Manhattan.
Florida was also where Louis first learned to hotwire a car. After he’d made his pot deal in Miami, Louis had decided he liked the warm weather and the women in their bikinis on South Beach enough to stay there awhile. He had rented an apartment on Collins Avenue and lived large until the money dried up. When he was forced to find new income, a friend told him about a chop shop in Ft. Lauderdale that provided tutoring on how to steal cars to anyone eager enough to risk the consequences of getting caught.
Louis moved to Ft. Lauderdale and spent the next six months boosting cars. Mostly, he took them from parking lots, but for high-ticket sports items like Porsches and Corvettes, Louis would take them off the streets or go into private driveways.
He eventually stopped when Nancy called him from New York with news that she was pregnant and getting married again.
“To who?” Louis had asked her.
“You don’t know him,” Nancy had said. “What’s the difference? You don’t care. You live down there now.”
It was the first time Louis was jealous over his ex-wife. “What’s his name?” he’d asked.
“John Albano,” she’d told him.
“Never heard of him.”
“How would you?”
“I don’t know. Come down here before you do it.”
“What? Don’t be crazy. I can’t.”
“Yeah, you can. If you love me you will.”
“I can’t, I’m engaged now.”
“Come down or you’ll never see me again.”
“I’ll never see you again anyway.”
“You will, I promise. Come down now and I promise I’ll move back up after you’re married.”
“And what good’ll that do me?”
“Take it or leave it.”
“What do you mean, take it or leave it? How can you say that to me? I hate you, god damn it.”
Louis had hung up on her that day, but his plan eventually worked. Panicked he might turn her away for remarrying, Nancy flew down a few days before her wedding and the two carried on a three-day affair before she returned to New York. Two years later, after his partner in a stolen-car and pot-dealing ring was arrested, Louis didn’t stick around to see if he’d be given up. He flew to Chicago instead, where he stole a car out of the long-term airport parking lot and drove to New York.
His affairs with Nancy had been on-again, off-again, ever since. As much as she was hooked on him, he needed her, too. Although she had argued against his plan, Louis knew he could count on Nancy. He enticed her with a promise to start over; they would take the money and run.
He’d still need a backup plan, however, just in case. Louis was starting to think the bazaar Nancy had mentioned in Valley Stream was the place to make his move. He’d even come up with an idea of how to put Albano in position to be robbed. It wouldn’t hurt to have Holly help him with some of the details.
He gave her a call and was annoyed when her line was busy. He turned on the television to watch the late, late show, but was asleep before the first commercial.
Chapter 21
John was still frustrated when he left Melinda and wasn’t paying attention when a big man standing near his car asked him for a light.
“Huh?” said John, looking up too late to avoid the punch.
He felt the air rush from his lungs a moment before he folded at the waist. The second punch, one to the back of the head, dazed him enough so he didn’t feel his forehead hit sidewalk when he fell forward.
Melinda was kneeling alongside him a few minutes later. She helped him back inside the house and sat him on a kitchen chair. His forehead was scraped where it had made contact with the cement. Melinda held a damp dish towel against the bruise.
“The hell happened?” he asked.
“I don’t know but I looked up and saw one guy holding a gun on another guy and there you were lying on the ground and I screamed. By the time I got outside, the guy with the gun and the big guy were gone. Who were they?”
“I have no idea. I never seen the guy hit me before. All I know is he nailed me in the stomach and I couldn’t breathe. Then you were there.”
“What about the other guy, the one with the gun?”
“Never saw him.”
“Who could it be? What for?”
“Maybe some guy looking to rob somebody, I was the lucky one.”
“Should we call the police?”
John felt for his wallet. “They didn’t take anything.”
“That guy had a gun, though.”
“I’d rather not get the police involved,” he said, then leaned forward. “Back a my head hurts. You got aspirin?”
Melinda went to the bathroom, brought back two
aspirin, filled a glass with cold water and handed them to John.
“I think I should call the police,” she said. She felt around the back of his head and he flinched. “Sorry,” she said.
“Hurts back there.”
“You’ve got a little lump.”
“Sure it’s little?”
“From what I felt. You probably have a slight concussion. Did he hit you with something?”
John finished half the glass of water before shaking his head no. “I don’t know, but I don’t wanna involve the police. I just need to get home and get some sleep before tomorrow. I have a busy day.”
“You can stay here you want.”
“You mean all I hadda do was get jumped?” he said.
“You still won’t get anything,” she said, “but you can stay. You probably shouldn’t drive like that anyway.”
He winked at her. “I’ll manage,” he said. “Just knowing you made the offer.”
There was no traffic when he left a few minutes later. He wondered if Nick Santorra had sent the goon or if he was the most unlucky guy in the world. Before he knew it, John had pulled into a gas station to look through a public telephone book for Santorra’s address.
A few minutes later, his headache hurting a lot worse than it had been earlier, he was driving through Howard Beach. He made one pass by the ranch home and saw where a line of bushes ran the length of the driveway dividing Nick Santorra’s property from the neighbor on his left. The Pontiac was parked up close to the garage door in the driveway.
Earlier in the day his son had gotten a whistle from a candy machine and it reminded John of a story his brother had told him before he joined the Marines. Paul Albano had worked part-time at a local gas station during his junior and senior years of high school. After a teacher failed him for cutting class, a mechanic at the garage told him how to vandalize a car without damaging it.
“Duct-tape a whistle to the bottom of his tailpipe,” the mechanic had said. “All it does is make noise, but it’ll drive your teacher crazy.”
It was a silly, harmless prank, but John had borrowed the whistle from his son to give it a try. It gave him pleasure to think about Nick Santorra trying to figure out the noise his car would be making the following day.
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