My Kind of Town

by John Sandrolini

  FC

  71

  I stood next to the buzzing television, palms to my face, as everything came crashing down around me.

  Carpaccio had the upper hand now. Hell, he had all the hands. If I went to the Lexington and he brought his boys, I was a dead man. And if I bugged out, Claudia would be in an awful spot.

  But if he stayed true to clandestine form and brought only Claudia, then I just might have a ghost of a chance.

  I didn’t tell Fab how bad it was. I couldn’t. I just told him there’d been a change of plans and I had to meet a guy at the Lexington. He wasn’t buying.

  “Bullshit, Joe. Something’s wrong here. What gives?”

  “It’s just a small wrinkle, Fab. I gotta go by the Lexington, that’s all.”

  He pointed over his shoulder into space. “Why don’t we just stop by the house? It’ll only take a few—”

  “Fabrizio. We are not stopping by the house. No one else gets involved. C’mon, I gotta go.”

  “But Joe—”

  “Now, goddamnit, now!”

  He argued with me the whole way. It made me proud of him, but it was no use. A block north of the hotel, I had him pull over. “Now, look,” I said, pointing toward the hulk in the distance, “I’m going in that building now, and I’m going in alone. You are not coming with me. You have a wife, you have three children, you have the rest of our family to care for.”

  “And what about you?”

  I stared into his face for what seemed like a very long time. “I have the life I have made for myself, Fabrizio. . . . And that includes this.”

  I paused, fought back the tightness I could feel in my throat. “I want to tell you something, kid brother. You did a great job with our family—and yours. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you all these years. But they were all so very lucky to have had you. You’re the real hero in our family, Fabrizio—you always were.”

  He looked over, a tremor rippling through that slate-hard face. Then he threw himself onto me and we hugged each other like we did when I went away to the war. I didn’t want it to end.

  “Fab?” I finally said.

  He wiped an eye brusquely, blinked some. “What?”

  “Tell Mamma I love her. And Cesca—and everybody.”

  “Joe, whatever this is, can’t we—”

  “Fratello?”

  “Yes, brother?”

  “I love you, too.”

  I got out, took off my father’s coat, and tossed it on the seat. Then I laid a hand on the car top, leaned back down, gazed into his eyes. “And one more thing. . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “See you in the morning.”

  72

  The Buick made a slow U-turn, stopped, brake lights glowing bright. I pointed a finger straight out, held it there until the car finally began to roll away. I stood there watching until the taillights faded out of sight down Michigan. Then I was alone on the darkened street.

  I turned, facing the somber expanse of the Lexington, looking for some omen of good fortune in the gray, weather-beaten facade. I went inside.

  The first thing I saw was Robby Freel’s fat face smirking at me from behind the desk. His right arm was in a sling.

  “You’re gonna get yours now, Buonomo,” he sneered as I walked up. “They’re waiting for you in the basement.”

  They’re waiting for you. They’re. It was not the favorable sign I’d been hoping for.

  I stopped at the desk, faced him.

  “You don’t look so good, ‘Detective,’” he taunted. “Maybe someone down there can make it better for you—with one shot.”

  Just in case I hadn’t picked up on it, he shouted “Pow!” after that, spraying little flecks of spittle on me.

  I wiped my chin, regarded him across the counter. His nose was still red where I’d tagged him. I gestured toward it. “That hurt much, Freel?”

  He touched it lightly. “Not as much as that hole you’re about to get in your head, jerkoff!”

  I shot my hand out like I was bagging a fly, snatched his beak, twisted as hard as I could. Something popped inside it.

  He shrieked in pain, falling backward against the mail slots while clutching his schnoz, a splotch of blood spreading beneath his fingers.

  I turned and walked away. Over my shoulder I suggested, “You might want to have that looked at by a doctor, Robby—I think it’s broken.”

  I called for the elevator. Freel was still whimpering at the desk when I stepped in.

  There had been no good omens in the lobby.

  But I found one on the way down.

  As I reached to punch the button to the basement, a hand slipped past mine and covered the panel. Recoiling, I spun around, looking up into two soft brown eyes. As the bronze door rolled shut, the man put a finger to his lips and silently mouthed a Shhhhh. As the elevator began its descent toward the basement, he flicked the stop button, jerking the car to a halt halfway down.

  We had only a few seconds together before he powered her back up, but when I stepped out at the bottom, I had a plan.

  And a ghost of a chance.

  73

  Carpaccio was standing in the middle of the basement, a large pistol in his hand. Carlo the dumb guy was behind him, holding Claudia by her arm. I had learned this on the elevator. It wasn’t real good, but it was workable. Just two guys with guns against me—and Claudia in the middle.

  But I had a Buffalo Soldier on my side.

  I walked over to the big butcher, stopped fifteen feet away. He gave me “the look” every step of the way.

  My eyes met Claudia’s. She didn’t look afraid; she just looked pissed. That was good.

  “Where’s Vinnie?” Carpaccio growled.

  My heart began thumping underneath my jacket. I waited several seconds, reading his face. “He got off down-line.”

  Carpaccio cocked his oversize head and quietly demanded, “Where?” His guttural voice seeped like muck through the musty chamber.

  I started into a stall, then gave up and just threw it out there. “Oh . . . mile marker ninety-nine maybe. I’m sure he’ll turn up soon.”

  He pointed the weapon at me. “You fuck!” he shouted. “I’ll kill you right here.”

  The thumps became drumbeats.

  Big, Gene Krupa ones.

  Rat a tat tat.

  I needed some time. “And miss out on Capone’s treasure?” I shot back. “I know where it is now.”

  “So do I! Vinnie told me. It’s right here—in the Lexington. He said the old lady told you dat! Vinnie heard her. It’s right here—and you’ve got the key. And if you want to see dis lady walk out of here alive, you’ll take me to it right now.”

  He was coming unglued, sweat beading up on his husky brow despite the clamminess of the air.

  Somewhere well behind him, Vernon Pryor crept out of the furnace room, crowbar in hand.

  I shook my head from side to side, held my palms up. “I want to see all of us walk out of here tonight—”

  “Dat’s not open for discussion anymore.”

  His eyes were blazing now in the incandescent light. “You do not walk out of here, Buonomo. You die. An eye for an eye. You show me that treasure and she walks out, dat’s all I’m offerin’.”

  Claudia’s eyes bulged. She struggled to break free, but Carlo jerked her in line. I swallowed down a lump, felt cold beads forming on my lip and forehead.

  “You’re looking in the wrong place, Carpaccio. It isn’t here. Kill me now and you’ll never find it. Mrs. O’Hare can’t help you either. She doesn’t kno
w what I know—she never will. I’m the only one who will ever know where it is, because I learned it from Butch.”

  “Horseshit! You’re bluffing. Gimme dat fucking key! I’ll blast you right now if you don’t give it to me.”

  “How bad do you want to see me die, Carpaccio? Ten million dollars bad?”

  Carpaccio stepped forward, shaking with rage, looking a whole lot like he was ready to pull the trigger.

  Vernon was sliding up along the wall, fifteen feet behind the dumb guy, his hand edging toward a metal panel.

  “I’m giving it to you straight, Carpaccio. I didn’t realize it until I went there, but Butch O’Hare told me where it is twenty years ago. You can never learn what I know, and I’ll never tell you unless you let Claudia go now.”

  Carpaccio clicked his jaws, taking several deep breaths while he thought it over. He looked back at her then over at me again. I didn’t like how long he was taking.

  Then he flashed a funny little smile. “Ya know, you’ve been one helluva lot of trouble for a very long time. It just might be worth the money to see you dead.”

  He raised the gun, pointed it at my face.

  Vernon made a sudden gesture. The entire basement went black.

  I dove to the ground, white flame erupting from Carpaccio’s hand. A deafening boom enveloped the chamber a moment later, reverberating off the Lexington’s brick walls like a broadside.

  There was a thump in the distance. Carlo groaned, then a pistol clacked on the cement.

  I rolled twice, launched myself at an angle into Carpaccio, his grim bulk outlined in the dark as he discharged his weapon again. I checked him hard up around the chin with my forearm and elbow. We both went down.

  Scuttling feet rushed past me as I fell: Vernon and Claudia making a break the way we’d planned it.

  Carpaccio was on his back squeezing off rounds in the darkness, muzzle blind from the flashes and bellowing with rage.

  I was seeing spots, too, but I managed to scamper over to the opposite wall, getting my bearings from the exit sign above the far stairwell. I felt along, nearly blind, smacking pillars with my outstretched hands on the way, pressing on toward the end of the enormous basement.

  Ahead of me, I could hear shuffling steps; behind, Carpaccio helping Carlo up. He was yelling, “Find dat panel, it’s on the wall somewheres.”

  A small yellow glow bloomed ahead in the darkness. It was Vernon’s Great War torch, largely covered by his hands, its small visible arc lighting his path. I did the same with my Zippo, sliding from pillar to pillar as they loomed up before me, clumsily working my way forward.

  At the back wall, I joined the others in front of the water access door. I grabbed Claudia and held her close, shielding her as Vernon pulled the waterworks key out of his pocket and stuck it in the aperture. We were all panting heavily.

  “I kick that son of a bitch Carlo in the face,” she whispered triumphantly.

  Down the hall, there was a chilling clack. The lights began snapping on, rushing our way bank by bank.

  “Shit! Hurry, Vernon, open that door!”

  “There they are!” Carlo yelled. Gunfire exploded again a heartbeat later, bullets ricocheting wildly off the mildewed walls around us.

  Vernon turned the key smartly in the lock, then he flung the door wide, grabbed his flashlight, and dove through.

  A bullet blasted chips of mortar off the staircase above my head, fragments spraying down on both of us. I grabbed Claudia’s shoulders and pushed her into the opening, giving her a solid shove on the rear for good measure as I tumbled through and dog-piled on both of them.

  We were all thrashing limbs as we struggled to get up, Vernon groaning in pain and clutching his game leg. I just managed to pull the door shut as another slug slammed into it with a prang that jolted right through my fingers. Large eyes shone clearly in the lantern light when I spun around.

  “Vernon, can we lock this from the inside?”

  “No, sir,” he said.

  “What do we do, Joe?” Claudia begged, clutching my arm with both hands.

  “But—” Vernon continued, wincing as he reached in to his side pocket—“we do have this.”

  He stuck out his hand, turning his light to shine on it. My eyes flared. In his open palm, he proffered an ancient revolver, slightly rusted but plenty lethal.

  “Take it,” he said, handing me the weapon. “These old eyes don’t see so well anymore.”

  “É un miracolo,” Claudia exclaimed.

  “No. A Colt model 1917,” he stated proudly. “Six shot, double action, fully loaded.”

  Stuttering feet were clattering on the cement outside as the killers worked their way closer, pillar by pillar. I stuck the pistol out the door, aimed in the blind, squeezed once.

  The old Colt spit fire, the discharge erupting like a howitzer in a cavern. The footsteps outside skidded to halts.

  I glanced back at Vernon. “You had this—and you used a crowbar?”

  He looked at me, then beyond, rubbing his thigh. His eyes were somewhere far off. “I killed a lot of men in the Great War.” His face grew tight, teeth grinding as he struggled with his memories. “I jus’ got no more taste for it.”

  I understood, but I had no such compunction at that moment. Darting feet were on the move again in the basement. I pointed toward the sound of a footfall and fired. The boys hit the floor this time.

  “That’ll hold ’em,” I said. “Vernon, didn’t you say there’s another way outta here?”

  “Yeah, Joe, there’s another passage. I can loop us around back to the furnace room.”

  I jumped up, taking hold of Claudia’s arm. “Buddy, I need you to take that one—it’s obvious you can’t go on. Go back, and stay out of sight.”

  I pointed toward the tunnel he’d shown me on Monday. “We’ll go the long way.”

  Vernon nodded. There was little time for further discussion. Carpaccio and Carlo would be on the move in seconds.

  He stuck out his hand. I took it then embraced him, quick but tight.

  “Thanks, old soldier.”

  Vernon Pryor stood up ramrod straight, flashed me a regulation salute, those old brown eyes suddenly a half century younger. “We Can. We Will.”

  Then he went limping off down a narrow cleft between the walls, grunting slightly with each step, the last of the Buffalo Soldiers fading herky-jerkily away as his torchlight receded into the shadows.

  74

  Armed with a fifty-year-old pistol, a Zippo, and a chanteuse, I set off down the narrow tunnel toward the subterranean railway. Thirty seconds in, I heard the boys opening the waterworks door. I stopped, told Claudia to cover her ears, and fired off another blind round. I don’t know what it hit, but there was a good deal of yelling at the other end. I figured it bought me a little more time.

  We pressed on, dodging water pipes and jutting two-by-fours. I stumbled on a loose brick and went down, smacking my head on something on the way. A field of stars bloomed in the blackness, then I felt my thumb burning. I just managed to drop my Zippo as the flame seared skin.

  As I lay wincing on the dirt, a gloved hand reached down and grabbed the hot lighter. Claudia held it up, pointing it forward. “Andiamo, Joe. They are coming still.”

  Behind us, I could hear their grunting, see the small dots of fire from the mobsters’ own lighters as they clambered into the tunnel.

  I got up, hunched low, rubbing my head with my blistered hand. The thought of ambushing them in the narrow space crossed my mind, but I had only three shots, assuming the old Colt even held together.
It was better to forge ahead and use the gun to keep them at bay.

  “Keep going,” I whispered. “I’ll follow you and help block the light.”

  Then we were off again, climbing through one foundation wall, pushing toward the next, desperately scrambling toward the end of the tunnel and the railway beyond.

  Halfway toward the next wall, the Zippo sputtered. Claudia turned, her eyes bigger than I’d seen them before. “What do we do?”

  “Keep moving. If it goes out, just press on. Put your hands out and feel your way. There’s an opening at the end behind a board. Beyond it there are train tracks. We make those, we’re home free.”

  Just beyond the second foundation wall, the lighter finally died and the tunnel went black. Claudia stopped cold, sucked in her breath.

  “Claudia,” I whispered, “remember the other day when we ran down the hallway?”

  “Sì, baby.”

  “We’re gonna do it again. Put your hands up, feel the edges, and keep your feet moving.”

  I put a hand on her back, guiding her along, hoping that the other side was saving their bullets, too.

  Before long, the faintest bluish edge of light appeared, growing bigger incrementally as we neared the opening. I knew that once I opened that board up, Carpaccio would be able to see our silhouettes. We’d have to be quick.

  When we reached the end, I pushed the cinder blocks out of the way and took hold of the plywood slat. “Duck down,” I said, “and when I tip this board, you go in and get off to the side. Run for the tracks, I’ll be right behind you.”

  Just the outline of her head was visible as she nodded and said, “Okay.”

  Down the line, a small orange flame bobbed closer, a second one waving in and out of view behind. I heard Carpaccio murmuring, “Dere’s some kind of light at the end dere, Carlo.”

  I spun the board to one side, helped her through.

  “Dere they are!” Carpaccio yelled.

  Gunfire burst out again as I slipped through. I tried to pull the board shut behind me but lost it when I hit the ground.