by David Stever
“I thought you left town,” I yelled.
“C’mon out. This is a friendly meeting. I want your proposal. About our mutual interest.”
I came out of the shadow. “I’m not sure how mutual it is.” I moved forward; my eyes darted around to make sure it was only the two of them.
“Oh, it’s very mutual.”
“I was hired to do a job. That’s all.”
“That money belongs to me.”
“My client feels otherwise.”
“Your client is wrong. I was there. The money is mine.”
“Then you should have hired me. Or are you mad you didn’t think of this first? Is it true you left town with your tail between your legs when Dixon got whacked?”
He took a step forward and his goon put out an arm to stop him. “You don’t know what went down.”
“Okay. The past is the past,” I said. “What are we doing here then?”
“You find my money, you give it to me. End of story.”
“Did you kill Sammy?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Get him out of the way. Is Tony next?”
“I’ll square with Tony.”
“He’s coming after you.”
“You find the money and we’ll all end up happy.”
“Tony won’t be happy.”
“Like I said, I’ll take care of Tony,” said Rosso. “We’re brothers. We go back. I take care of my friends, you’ll see.”
He nodded to the muscleman and he went around the car and opened the trunk. He pulled a bound-and-gagged Claire from the car and dragged her around to the front. Her hands were tied around her back. The goon had a fistful of her hair in his hand and held her between him and Rosso.
My hand instinctively went to my jacket.
“Don’t do it,” Rosso said. Both goons had guns on me. Claire screamed through the gag. “Shut up. Delarosa, hands up.”
I put my hands in the air. “Rosso, what are you doing?”
“My insurance. You now work for me. You find the money, she lives.”
“We don’t even know if the money exists.”
“There’s money.”
“Let her go and we’ll figure this out. Claire, you’ll cut him in, right?” I said.
She nodded and tried to say yes through the gag.
“Can’t take the chance.”
The skin on the back of my neck began to crawl. I sensed somebody behind me and took a step to my right, hoping to angle him into my peripheral vision.
“Don’t move,” said Rosso. “You need to know I’m serious.”
A sharp pain on the side of my head and a white-hot flash in front of my eyes—I went down to one knee and put a hand on the ground to steady myself. Then another bolt of pain, and everything went black.
Chapter
36
I woke to the sound of tapping keys. I was lying flat on my back on my sofa, staring at the ceiling in my living room. I raised my head only to be knocked back down by sharp pain.
“Welcome back from the dead.” Katie was working at the table. She came over to the sofa and I looked up into the mop of blonde hair. “Do you want to sit up? You got yourself a nasty bump and cut on your head.”
With her help, I slowly got myself into an upright position. “Did Mike bring me in last night?”
“Yes. Do you remember?”
“No.” I put my hand to my head and I had a lump the size of a golf ball. “Damn.”
“We had ice on it all night.”
“We? You were here?”
“Yep. When you didn’t respond, Mike called me for your location. You parked a bit away from where he found you.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“I called him and he told me what happened and I came over.” She went into the kitchen and came back with an ice pack. “Here, hold this on your head.”
“What time is it?”
“Nine thirty.”
I held the ice to my head and the cold felt good, but then it all rushed back to me. Rosso and Claire, her hands tied and the gag in her mouth, and then my lights going out. Katie sat in the chair opposite me.
“Rosso has Claire.”
“What? Oh my God. Mike wondered what happened. I wanted to take you to the emergency room but Mike said there wasn’t enough blood. Some crazy rule you guys came up with. I sent him a text telling him you are awake.”
“Mike’s right. Hospital only if the bleeding won’t stop.” I pushed myself up to my feet, wobbled a bit and Katie grabbed my arm until I was steady. “I’m going to wash up. If I’m not out in ten minutes, come in.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
I took a quick shower to wake up and changed into clean clothes. I got back out to the kitchen to find Mike sitting at the table with Katie, and a bottle of my bourbon and two glasses in front of him.
“Can you believe she doesn’t like bourbon?” Mike said.
“You can get her drunk later. We got problems. Rosso has Claire and wants the money in exchange.”
“Well, that’s a bummer.”
“I know.”
“Call Marco?’
“Who’s Marco?” Katie asked.
I poured myself a shot, knocked it back. “Our cop friend—and no, we don’t call him. We figure this out. I never thought Rosso was behind this, but now I’m not so sure.”
“You think he got wind of this money-hunt and just showed up?” Mike asked.
“He got wind of it, but he’s been in town awhile. Found out he and Claire have a connection. Sort of step-cousins.”
“Interesting. What’s the play?”
“If Rosso is the mastermind, he put Claire out in front so he wouldn’t attract attention, right?” I said.
“Doesn’t seem likely, but okay.”
“I agree. I think Claire started this like she said, but Rosso finds out and moves in.”
“And Tony?”
“Rosso stirs things up to draw Tony out?” I paced around the room, my usual thinking process. “No, that can’t be right. Tony’s name was on Claire’s original paper. So Rosso figures out his name is not on the original paper and gets bent out of shape. He decides to play his own game.”
“We need to round up Tony. Like now.”
“Right. I need him on my side of this. Claire’s side. I’m headed out to the salvage yard.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Not sure yet. The Harbor Court Motel. Do you want to sit on that for a while?”
“Sure.”
“Or Junior or Carlos if they’re available.”
“Don’t forget my appointment at the bank at one,” Katie said.
“Right, we need to keep that. I’ll meet you there at twelve forty-five. Figure out what we’re going to say. Dress professional. Bring a folder and a notebook.”
“What is that?” Mike asked.
“A lead on the number Bocci gave us. Lady at First National.”
“Damn.” He turned to Katie. “Did you find this?”
“Sure did.”
“Well. Good job. Let’s hope you found the money and we can put this to bed.”
“Before someone else gets cracked in the head,” I added.
“Description of Rosso?”
“Tall, skinny, maybe sixty, gray ponytail. And Claire—well, you’ve seen her.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“If they’re not at the Harbor Court, then—I’m not sure.”
“I’m on it. Let me square up things downstairs, first.”
“A McDonald’s across the street gives you a good vantage point.”
Mike left and I went back to Katie. “Okay, I’ll meet you at the bank. Keep the GPS app open and an eye on me. Hopefully, Tony won’t
take a two-by-four to the other side of my head.”
“I’m going home to change first.”
“Hey, thanks for last night. I appreciate you staying.”
“Sure, boss.”
“What did you say to your folks?”
“I was at Mandy’s.”
“When this is over, we’ll talk about your hours and duties. You’ve done an incredible job, but you can’t be out all night.”
“Okay, Dad.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that…anyway, you know.”
“Just giving you a hard time.” She picked up her purse and headed for the door.
“Oh, and Katie, I told you to keep some extra clothes in your car, but you can keep some clothes up here, too. There is some room in the closet.”
She turned back to me. She knew my suggestion was an affirmation of my confidence in her.
“Could I bring an extra make-up bag and hair dryer, too?”
“Don’t push it.”
Chapter
37
Tony answered on the first ring, and he was jacked up, as I knew he would be. I tried to calm him down enough so we could talk. He said he’d be waiting for me in his parking lot with his friend, which meant his twelve-gauge shotgun. He wasn’t kidding, either.
I pulled onto the gravel and there he was, leaning back against his truck with his arms folded across his chest and his gun propped next to him. I got out of my car and he picked up the gun.
“You better be here to tell me who killed my brother.”
“I have an idea, but I want to talk through this with you. You were right. This missing money is making people crazy. Hear me out—we’ll figure a way through this and get Sammy the justice he deserves.”
He didn’t say anything but leaned the gun back against the truck. I took a step closer. I had the coiled-up cobra listening to me; I didn’t want to provoke it further.
“You called it when you said Brindisi was back in town,” I said.
“Brindisi?”
“He’s working for Rosso.”
“Rosso is back?”
“Evidently he’s been in Port City for some time with a new identity and some shitty job. Staying low.”
“Where is he?”
“Hold up, Tony—”
“Where is he?”
“Tony, this is what we don’t want. Let’s talk through this.”
He picked up the shotgun and aimed the barrel at my chest.
“Sammy was my only family. I promised my mother I’d look after him. I failed. It’s because of what you started. I told you not to open this.”
“I know—”
“No, Johnny, you don’t. He was run over deliberate. His body was in two pieces. You ever see something like that? Huh?” I shook my head. “They made me identify him. My brother. I had to tell the cops that the bottom half belong to the top half. How fucked up is that?”
“Tony, I’m sorry…”
“It don’t matter now anyway.” He was all over the place. Grief, anger, revenge; it all flowed from his pores. He jabbed the gun toward me. “Where is he?”
“No idea. But that’s why I’m here,” I said.
“He’ll pay for this. They’ll all pay for this. Maybe even you.”
“Listen. Listen to me. Let me make it right. Okay? Put the gun down and let’s figure this out. I’ll give you Rosso. I’ll give you Brindisi. I promise. I just need some time.”
“I’ll give you five minutes.”
“Tony—”
“Where is Rosso?”
“I will find him. I don’t want them coming for you. If Rosso finds the money, they’ll want you out of the way. Guaranteed.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Tony. Please. They took Claire.”
“The girl?”
“Yes. Donny’s daughter. Rosso has her and wants the money in exchange. That’s why I need you to work with me. So we all don’t end up dead. No doubt in my mind he’ll kill us all if he smells a chance at the cash,” I said.
“Which you haven’t found.”
“Right.” A car drove into the lot; the driver saw Tony holding the shotgun on me. The car backed out, tires squealing. “Now you’re scaring away customers.”
Tony looked at me with such sadness, his face like a mask. “Doesn’t matter. I’m going to burn the place down anyhow. Only kept it to give Sammy a legit job. He was a natural. He understood cars better than anything. Without him, why bother? I’ll go back to hustling. Work out of the club.”
“I’m sorry, Tony. I really am.”
“I want my time with Rosso. Brindisi, too.”
“Of course you do.” I took a few steps closer to him. He pushed the barrel of the gun into my chest. “Tony?”
Tears filled his eyes. “Go do what you have to do. Now. I want Rosso’s location by tonight. Understand?” He pushed me backward with the gun until we got to my car.
“Let me find them, and I promise you’ll get your piece. Okay?”
He pressed the barrel into my ribs. “How long do you think it will take me to find Brindisi?”
“Minutes.”
“If I want, that little weasel faggot will be dead before he hits his second martini. He’ll never see me coming. But I want Rosso first. He’s better at disappearing.”
“I understand.”
“Once I finished with him, you and I will conclude our business.”
“Tony—”
“Capisce, paisan?
“Capisce.”
He backed down. I decided to not push my luck. I think I bought myself—and Rosso—a few hours. Tony knew everyone on the street and he’d have no problem finding Brindisi and sticking those double barrels up his coked-up nostrils. I pulled out of the lot as Tony stood there with his arms folded around the gun. I felt sorry for him. He had a big heart in that old, round body. And now it was broken.
Chapter
38
On my way to the bank, I called Claire’s phone again and it went to voicemail, and then called Leah and asked her to make sure her guys kept an eye out for Brindisi. The junkie-drunk would need a fix. He could not hide all day and would likely show up at one of his regular spots. I hoped for Leah’s place.
First National was one of the smaller banks in the city and Katie and I were to meet at the downtown location at one o’clock. We both parked in a garage across the street and sat in my car to discuss a strategy. She dressed the part: blue skirt, white blouse, two-inch heels. Professional and conservative. The last thing we needed was to appear like long-lost greedy relatives showing up to collect a payday after our beloved Uncle Carlo passed away so unexpectedly.
We asked for Mrs. Finley and we were directed to a waiting area in the lobby. Ten minutes later, a linebacker-wide African-American woman in a skin-tight black pencil skirt that did no favors for her rolling hips and backside and a light-blue satin blouse that stretched over a major league bosom that challenged every button, teetered over to us on three-inch stilettos that I swore were made of titanium rods and greeted us with a big toothy smile. The scent of gardenias enveloped us like a toxic gas.
“I’m Margaret Findley.” She extended a hand. We exchanged introductions and followed her to a small, private office. The flowery scent of her perfume was so strong the office smelled like a funeral home. She sat at her desk and we sat across from her on two small chairs. The walls were decorated with family photos, notes and greeting cards, and small posters with positive messages about “learning to get back up after falling” and “to persevere is to live,” and an odd poster that said, “Bankers Do It With Interest.” A computer monitor and keyboard sat on the desk at an angle.
“All I could think about was your call and the number you gave me. It kept eating away at me. The number was familiar but it wasn’t, know
what I mean?” she said.
“Well, yes—” Katie began.
“At home the other evening while making dinner the number still tickled at my brain. You know when a word is on the tip of your tongue? That’s what this felt like. I had that number stuck in my head, and then it hit me. Work it like a puzzle.”
“Oh—” Katie tried.
“So I did…I got out a paper and a pen and wrote it ten different ways and finally it occurred to me. Our safe deposit boxes are numbered with four-digit numbers and the customer has the option of adding a six-digit passcode. I haven’t been in the retail end of our bank in a couple of years or I would have thought of the safe deposit box the day you called.”
“We appreciate you taking—” I attempted to cut in, but the linebacker wasn’t having it.
“Sure enough, the next morning I got here early and opened the safe deposit box roster and—praise Jesus!—number 1115 with a six digit passcode.”
“And it matches the rest of our number?”
Just when I thought this was going to be easy, she smiled and looked at us. “Well, I can’t tell you that unless you are authorized to access the box. You understand.”
“Umm, yes, we do. Up until now we weren’t sure what we had. As I mentioned on the phone, this number came from my uncle, Carlo Bocci. We found a paper tucked in with his belongings and weren’t sure what it was. It’s amazing that you discovered this,” Katie said. “Thank you.” I let her keep going. She was doing terrific. “Can you tell us if it belongs to Uncle Carlo?” She said it with such melodrama I thought she was going to dab her eyes.
“No, I can’t, dear. Unless you are authorized as an owner of the safe deposit box.”
“Well, any chance my name is on there? Katherine Pitts.”
“Ms. Pitts, if you rented a safe deposit box here at First National, I don’t think you would be happy with us if we gave out information about your safe deposit box. Would you?”
“Of course not.”
I flashed a badge. My turn to take a shot. “Mrs. Finley, this is not police business, but please understand, we have the best of intentions here. My fiancée here, Ms. Pitts, is struggling with the death of her uncle, and we’re at a loss on how to proceed. This could be nothing. But if you could just give us something to go on, we could resolve this ourselves. Is there anything you can tell us? Was Mr. Bocci on the account by himself?”
