“Why?” the girlfriend asked again.
Billy turned to her. “Shush,” he said.
Eddie Vento was getting in on the front passenger side of the Oldsmobile. The Marquis cut in ahead of the car wash line and was next to go under the spray. The Oldsmobile took off. Billy put the Valiant back into gear and followed.
That had been little more than half an hour ago. Now Billy was walking the woman through Fast Eddie’s bar using her like a shield. He pointed the barrel of the Walther at her head as he told the old man behind the bar it was best to close the place down for an hour or so. When the old man didn’t move fast enough, Billy shot him in the chest.
He fired another shot into the ceiling and the place emptied.
The woman collapsed back into his arms and he had to carry her down the stairs.
* * * *
The blue 1970 Cadillac Fleetwood Eldorado was parked in Sharon Dowell’s driveway. It had been freshly washed and waxed and was gleaming in the afternoon sunshine.
Louis was all smiles as he pulled into the driveway and parked directly behind the luxury coupe. Even if he paid seventy-five hundred for the car, Jimmy’s contact had agreed to pay at least five thousand above the sticker price for the same car. Assuming he threw Jimmy a five-hundred-dollar finder’s fee and maybe handed off something smaller to Sharon, Louis stood to make an extra four grand. Considering what he was driving around with and the way things had gone so far, Louis felt the worm had finally turned; Lady Luck had finally smiled his way.
Twenty minutes ago Jimmy had said the buyer was excited about the car before he reminded Louis about a kickback.
“I hope you intend to do the right thing,” the loan shark had said. “There’s a dozen other guys I could feed this thing didn’t make me wait for my money every week.”
It was the first time Louis wondered why the big man had let him in on the sale in the first place.
He asked why and Jimmy had said, “Because with you I get a finder’s fee.”
“Right,” Louis had said. “What was I thinking?”
Now he peered into the passenger window of the Cadillac and admired the white leather upholstery. He saw the huge dashboard and said, “It’s a beautiful thing.”
“It sure as shit is,” he heard someone say.
Louis turned and saw it was Jimmy. The big man was standing at the gate entrance to the backyard. Louis was surprised.
“Here,” Jimmy said. He held out an open can of beer.
Louis was speechless. He grabbed the can and drank deep. He finished half the can before he stopped to belch.
“Excuse,” he said, then finished the beer.
“Gimme,” Jimmy said. He took the empty can from Louis, crushed it between his meaty hands, then tossed it toward a garbage pail, missing it by at least four feet.
Louis was led up a short flight of wooden stairs to a deck connected to Sharon’s living room. He stepped inside and nearly gasped when he saw a couple of guys he knew were muscle for the two bookmakers he owed money. He thought about running when Jimmy’s huge shadow blocked the sliding glass doors.
* * * *
John’s head was sore from the head butt he gave Santorra, but then he heard the gunshot and dove to the floor in front of the desk. He heard Vento scramble behind the desk and then there were two more shots before a grunt and a loud thud.
John looked up from behind one of the folding chairs and saw Melinda dangling from a choke hold. He stood up without thinking. He didn’t recognize the man behind her until it was too late. The gunshot knocked him back over the top of the desk. His head struck Vento’s chair before he landed on the wiseguy’s body.
It had happened so fast he didn’t feel the piercing burn just below his right shoulder until he tried to stand again. He stumbled on one of Vento’s arms and had to use the desk to support himself. Melinda was being held from behind in the office doorway. John saw it was the cop he’d knocked out a few months ago and he had a gun pointed at Melinda’s head.
“Don’t,” John told him. “It’s me you want.”
Billy Hastings had his weapon pointed at Melinda’s head. He looked at John and said, “I watched mine die, now you watch yours.”
Then there was another gunshot. Then another two as John scrambled across the desk.
* * * *
The blood running into his mouth caused him to choke and regain consciousness. Then there was a gunshot that made him flinch. By the time Nick could focus again, John Albano was rolling across the top of Eddie Vento’s desk.
Nick was on the floor, where he must’ve dropped to when Albano head-butted him, but now his hand was inside the bag and he could feel the grip of the handgun. He pulled it out slowly when he heard movement behind him in the office doorway.
He saw it was the undercover cop they’d had trouble with in the past. Billy Hastings had been the guy Vento always joked about and the one John Albano had knocked out. The dirty cop had an arm wrapped around some woman’s neck and was holding a gun to her head.
Nick realized it was Hastings that had shot Albano. He looked across the floor and saw Eddie Vento lying on his back with thin rivers of blood flowing from one side of his mouth.
Albano said something and then Hastings said something and Nick shot the cop at least three times before the sound was too much and he fumbled the gun. Albano tumbled from the desk to the floor and pulled the woman to him as Nick reached for the gun he’d just dropped.
* * * *
She had tried to make herself deadweight after the bartender was shot, but then her abductor carried her down the stairs anyway. When they were in the basement he pulled her hair and she’d yelped.
“I thought you were faking it,” he’d said.
He draped an arm around her neck and shoved her inside the small office. Melinda had closed her eyes when she heard the gunshots. When she opened her eyes again she saw John a moment before she heard another gunshot. Then she saw he was hit and Melinda struggled to try and free herself until the pressure on her windpipe tightened and she couldn’t move.
She heard John say something and then there were more gunshots as she fell back in the doorway. Her ears were ringing when she sat up and saw John reaching for her. She glanced to her right and saw a man with a bandage on his face. Blood was pouring from his nose. He had a gun in his hand and was pointing it at John.
Melinda cocked back her right leg and then kicked up at the gun but missed and caught him under the chin. His eyes rolled a moment before he collapsed against the back of a folding chair. The chair slowly slid from his weight until it was against the far wall and the man was lying on his back. Then John was holding her against him and she squeezed him back as hard as she could.
There were footsteps on the basement stairs and someone shouted “Police, freeze!” but Melinda didn’t let go of John.
Chapter 52
Nancy had followed her ex-husband to Woodhaven in Queens. She watched from half a block away as he parked at the curb in front of a blue colonial house with a Cadillac parked in the driveway. Louis got out of his car and looked the Cadillac over, leaning on the passenger door to look inside before walking down the driveway and disappearing from her view. She drove to the far corner and parked in front of a small discount store. It was a one way street and Louis would have to pass her when he left.
She decided to make a few calls from a pay phone while she waited. She started with Marie Albano to see what was going on there but the old bag hung up on her three times in a row before Nancy gave up. She had two dimes left when she called Nathan at his sister’s house.
“It’s me,” she said as soon as he picked up. “Please don’t hang up.”
“What is it now?” Nathan said.
“I’m sorry, Nathan. I really am.”
“What do you want, Nan?”
“I need your help.”
“You can’t have it.”
“It’s for John. For my son.”
“I wish I could b
elieve you, but I don’t.”
“Please, Nathan. I mean it.”
“What happened?”
“Meet me someplace.”
“No. Tell me what happened or I’m hanging up.”
She sniffled into the phone.
“I’ll count to three,” Nathan said.
“I need money,” Nancy told him.
Nathan hung up.
She returned to her car and waited for Louis.
* * * *
“You two live together?” Louis asked Sharon and Jimmy.
“He wishes,” Sharon said.
“I’m serious,” Louis said. “Are you two an item I don’t know about?”
“You count an occasional blow job,” Jimmy said, “call it whatever you want. Why? What’s the difference?”
“Bricklayers should have to work as hard,” Sharon said.
The three of them were alone in the house after the others had left with the money Louis had to pay them because they knew he had it to buy the car. He had to use more of the money he’d taken from John Albano and the mob. Louis picked up on something between the big man and Sharon, something that wasn’t right. He’d asked if they lived together and could feel his color drain when he learned they were friends.
It was then Louis knew he’d been scammed. The paperwork for the car was on the coffee table where he’d dropped it once he saw the book value was a lot less than Sharon had said.
First off, he had no idea the car was three years old. The blue book on it was almost two thousand less than what he had agreed to pay. Even if the guy Jimmy claimed to have waiting to buy it paid five above book, Louis would still be coming out with a lot less than what he had when he walked in the place.
Then there were the dents he found on the driver’s side door, the side he hadn’t bothered to look at because he’d just assumed the car was in mint condition. At the least it needed bodywork. God knew what the engine sounded like.
“I’m feeling kind of fucked here,” he said. “I mean those guys being here and all. I feel like you set me up.”
“Those were friends of mine,” the big man said. “Just like you’re a friend of mine. I did them a favor and I’m doing you one. You think about it, I did you one letting you pay them before they did a number on you.”
“And how much they gonna kickback to you for getting me to walk in here all flush?”
“If you’re talking about their appreciation, I may well see a small gratuity, but what’s that got to do with you and this car you don’t seem so anxious to buy anymore?”
“That car is a piece of shit,” Louis said.
“Except you got a guy on the hook wants to buy it.”
“What he wants is the car in the movie,” Louis said. “Something tells me that one didn’t have the dents this one has.”
“Now you’re accusing me of hustling you? That supposed to be gratitude?”
Louis looked to Sharon. “Thanks,” he told her.
“Hey,” she said. “I did what you asked me to do.”
“Look, kid, you want the thing or not?” Jimmy said. “I got someplace I gotta be soon and you’re looking like you might be on the toilet all night. I could’ve asked you where the fuck you got that money you’re lugging around in that bag of yours, you’re so flush all of a sudden, but I didn’t. It’s not my business. You’re a bright kid and a hustler, I figure you had a score selling that shit the kids smoke or maybe you actually won a few bucks somewhere. Whatever the fuck, I don’t really care. I got other business besides yours. What’s it gonna be?”
Louis took a deep breath and said, “This guy gonna show up with the money and buy the thing?”
“What he told me, yeah.”
“He gets here and he still wants the car at a price I won’t lose on it, I’ll buy it.”
“He gets here, he still wants the car you didn’t buy yet, I’ll sell it,” Sharon said. “Whatta ya take me for, a moron?”
Louis looked from the paperwork on the table to Jimmy to Sharon and then back to the paperwork. His knees nearly buckled when he stooped to open the bag.
* * * *
Detective Levin restrained Detective Brice from a fistfight with a federal agent outside the Brooklyn House of Detention. Brice and the fed had gotten into it over a temporary court order charging Detective Sean Kelly with police corruption rather than granting federal jurisdiction. After an exchange of several sets of insults, Brice had suggested the fed remove his sunglasses since it was about to rain. When a group of NYPD officers laughed at the comment, the fed took the first swing. Brice swung back and a short melee ensued.
Levin walked an out-of-breath Brice toward the curb. “You’re taking things pretty personal for a guy wants nothing to do with IA,” Levin said.
“It’s got nothing to do with IA,” Brice said. “That brownnosing punk. The hell does he care about jurisdiction?”
“You’re probably right about him being a brownnoser, but you need to get over it before we go back inside. You really commandeer a car or just robbed one?”
Brice wasn’t smiling.
“Look, you should get six commendations for following Albano,” Levin said. “That turned out to be smart.”
“And you should get fired,” Brice said.
“Let’s not get into that now. I still may get fired.”
Levin took Brice’s left arm and tried to guide him toward the building. Brice jerked his arm away.
“Why go back there?” he said. “I thought it’s settled.”
“It’ll piss Kelly off.”
“What will?”
“My being there.”
“You want to go back inside just to piss off Kelly?”
“Yes.”
Brice spotted a hot dog vendor across the street. “I need a soda first,” he said.
They had crossed the street and were drinking Yoo-Hoo chocolate drinks when a special agent in charge identified himself. “Flynn,” he said. “I’m the SAC on a federal investigation involving Eddie Vento.”
“Congratulations,” Levin said.
“You’re his friend,” Flynn said. “He here now or what?”
“I’m whose friend?” Levin said.
“Don’t fuck with me, Detective. I’m not in the mood.”
Levin turned to Brice. “You know what he’s talking about?”
“Not a clue,” Brice said.
Flynn handed Levin the badge. “Special Agent Stebenow,” he said. “He left this for me. He left it here. Where is he?”
“Hey, I barely know the guy,” Levin said. “He left a message for me to contact you. I did that. I don’t know anything else.” He handed the badge back to Flynn.
“He left a message means he knows you. How would he know you?”
Levin gave it a moment.
“Detective?” Flynn said.
“I contacted him,” Levin said.
“You contacted him?”
“Yeah, about a tape I listened to from Organized Crime. A woman was mentioned on it I thought was in danger.”
Flynn offered a sarcastic grin. “You wanna float that shit to a federal prosecutor, it’s your funeral,” he said.
“Hey, what can I say? Your boy wasn’t very discreet. I spotted him during surveillance. Then I approached him.”
“You expect anyone to believe that?”
“Personally, I don’t give a rat’s ass what you believe.”
“You do realize we’ll have Kelly under our jurisdiction in a day, two at the most.”
“Then you’re on a roll. Congratulations again.”
“You’re a smart bastard, aren’t you?”
“I have my moments.”
“He here or not?”
“I don’t know.”
“Or you won’t tell me.”
“That, too.”
Flynn pocketed the badge. “Well, if you see him, your new friend, tell him he’s in the middle of a shit storm. And if or when I find out how much you’re involved, so
will you be.”
Levin turned to Brice. “I guess you’re off the hook.”
“Hey, you know what?” Brice said. “Fuck the both of you.”
Flynn mumbled something under his breath before walking away. Levin pulled a dollar bill from his pants pocket and motioned at the frankfurter vendor. “Two more,” he said.
* * * *
A member of the Army’s Green Beret, Darrel Stebenow was part of a search-and-destroy mission outside the village of Dak To in early November 1967. The North Vietnamese had begun a border battle strategy attacking from villages along western Kontum Province. Hill 1338 was the dominant hill mass south of Dak To and where several bodies of a South Vietnam Civilian Irregular Defense Group unit were discovered during a reconnaissance patrol. Shortly after securing themselves in a position at the base of the hill, Stebenow’s unit came under heavy fire. The unit was immediately pinned down and within hours they were overrun. Stebenow was forced to cover himself with the bodies of colleagues to survive and spent the next several hours nearly motionless waiting for a chance to escape. Fighting went on throughout the night, but when two NVA troops began scavenging the bodies Stebenow was shielding himself with, he quickly and stealthily broke their necks and found his way off Hill 1338.
He’d snapped both men’s necks in such a way as to sever the spinal nerve pathways above the heart and lungs, insuring death. Stebenow had killed other enemy combatants during the war, but never with his hands. As it turned out, the two he killed with his hands were the last. Three months after his escape from Hill 1338, Stebenow’s tour of duty was over and he returned to the States.
Now he observed Detective Sean Kelly looking cocky sitting across from his expensive attorney inside the small conference room in a subbasement of the Brooklyn House of Detention. Stebenow had expected United States marshals to guard Kelly, but there weren’t any. Unless they hadn’t arrived yet and were on their way, Kelly’s only protection right then was a single Department of Corrections officer.
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