Maximum Rossi

by Paul W Papa

  “These grounds are gorgeous,” Tina said.

  She was right. At night the grounds were lit with enough mood lighting to make Valentino envious. Every olive tree, palm tree, and bush had its own light shining upward from the ground. Even the pool was lit at night. It gave the place a surreal feeling. I was just glad I didn’t have to pay the electric bill.

  When we got to the room, I pulled out my key. I didn’t have one of those fancy pockets the bellman had, so I just used the one that came with my pants. I slid the key in the door and turned the knob. Then I stopped and turned to Tony and Tina.

  “You should carry her,” I said.

  “What?” Tony asked.

  “You should carry her,” I repeated. “Just like it was the real thing. Trust me, you’re going to be amazed when I open this door,” I said. “You’re going to wish you owned the place. Let’s make it stick and do the whole thing right.”

  Tina giggled as Tony picked her up in his arms.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Cremonesi,” I said and threw open the door. “I give you the Citation suite,” I stepped aside and let Tony carry his bride into the room.

  I let them have a moment before I joined them. When I did, Tony was still carrying Tina. The two were spinning around slowly, trying to comprehend the enormity of the thing. I understood how they felt.

  “This is one room?” Tony asked.

  “One suite, yes,” I said. “But you ain’t seen nuttin’ yet. Why don’t you put that lovely lady down and I’ll give you the nickel tour?”

  I showed them around the place, just like the bellman had done for me, only I made sure to include the phone. I could see it had the same effect on them it had on me. About a half hour later we found our way back to the main room.

  “Max,” Tony said. “We couldn’t possibly…”

  “I insist,” I said, cutting him off.

  “There are two bedrooms, Max,” Tina said. “Why don’t you keep one and we’ll take the other?”

  “Now who wants to be a third wheel on a couple’s honeymoon?” I said. “I’m perfectly fine. Just let me collect my things and I’ll be out of your hair.”

  Tina gave me the eyes. It was clear she wanted me to leave but was feeling a tinge guilty. I walked over and took her hands. “Really,” I said. “I’ll be just fine. Consider it my gift to you.”

  “We’re not giving you back your other gift,” Tony said. He had already found the bar cart and was pouring drinks. “What did you give us anyway?”

  “A colander,” I said.

  “Yeah, we got about thirty of those.”

  “Tony!” Tina chided him.

  I laughed. “She’s gonna keep you in line,” I said.

  “And I’m gonna need it,” Tony replied.

  I stepped over to the cart. “I hope you’re pouring one for me,” I said.

  “Of course I am.”

  Tina walked over to the large curtains that ran floor to ceiling against the back wall. “What’s behind here?” she asked.

  “That, my dear, is your own private pool. Though not for skinny dipping. Remember, there are people in the other rooms.”

  “Oh Max,” Tina said. She took a curtain in each hand and flung them open, holding her arms wide. It took her a moment to register what she was seeing. I suppose it would have taken anyone a moment. But when she did, she let out a scream. That’s when the shots began. Tony pushed the cart out of the way and ran to Tina. He should have run faster, but his legs seemed only able to move at a turtle’s pace.

  He was yelling, but I couldn’t hear him. I think I might have been yelling too, but I couldn’t tell. As Tony leapt into the air toward Tina, I pulled my gun from its holster. It took minutes, or was it seconds, to get the thing in front of me and minutes more before I could pull the trigger. Tony had landed on top of Tina and glass was flying everywhere.

  The man standing on the other side of what was left of the sliding glass door was holding something at his waist. Something that was spitting fire repeatedly. I tried to aim for the fire. I pulled the trigger over and over again until all I heard was clicking. But the fire was still coming. I tried to leap behind the sofa and that’s when someone touched flame to my shoulder. I fell hard on my back. I would have gotten up, but the room went black.

  Twenty-Two

  WHEN I CAME to, I was horizontal in a hospital bed. And, much to my surprise, still of this world. I wondered how I managed that. I made a quick check and found I was still equipped with all factory parts. I was, however, missing my coat, tie, shirt, and lid; though I was still, thank goodness, wearing slacks. A tube filled my left arm with some type of clear liquid, and a very large bandage encased my right shoulder.

  I tried to lift my right arm, but received a stinging pain that made me think better of it. I tried it again, but the pain was still there. Enough to make me groan loudly. The noise caught the attention of a bluebottle that must have been stationed outside my room. He poked his head in.

  “You awake?” he asked.

  “It would appear so,” I answered.

  “Good. Lieutenant McQueeney wants to see you.”

  “O goody,” I said, but I don’t think he heard me. I made another attempt at lifting my arm and received the same shot of pain for my troubles. I groaned again.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to be doing that,” Queeney said as he entered the room.

  “I seem to be doing a lot of things I shouldn’t lately.”

  Queeney walked over to the side of the bed. “You’re not gonna get an argument from me,” he said. “You look like hell.”

  “That seems to be the consensus.”

  He leaned against the radiator cover. “I don’t think people around here like you much.”

  “It’s starting to become mutual,” I assured him.

  Queeney pulled out a pen that looked like a toothpick in his thick hands and a pad of paper. “All right,” he said. “Spill it.”

  “Spill what?” I said.

  “Don’t get wise Rossi. Now’s not the time. There’s a dame in the other room fighting for her life. A dame that was in your hotel room.”

  “With her husband,” I corrected him.

  Queeney’s eyes narrowed. “That don’t matter when you got bullets in you.”

  The fire moved from my shoulder to my gut and sat there like a three-day old potato. “She gonna make it?” I asked.

  “Doc says it’s too soon to tell. She’s out of the operating room, so that’s something.”

  “What about Tony?”

  “He the husband?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He ain’t in much better shape. Took a couple in the gut. He was bleeding pretty bad.”

  I closed my eyes. Tina was standing in front of the window screaming. I imagined she’d be in my head for a while. I could hear the glass shattering and Tony crying out. It was coming back to me. Tina. He was yelling Tina’s name.

  “Do we have to do this now?” I asked.

  “I’ve been here all night, waiting for you to come around, so yeah, we gotta do this now.”

  I looked around the room, trying to get my bearings. Why were hospital rooms so drab? The walls a light gray and the floor that same linoleum they all seemed to use. The one that was somewhere between dingy white and stained yellow, even when new. How was a person supposed to get better here? How were they supposed to find hope, to pull through and get back to the relationship that made them whole? I thought of Tina and Tony lying in their beds, but it didn’t sit right with me.

  “Did you get a good look at the guy?” Queeney asked.

  I knew he would ask that question, but I didn’t have an answer that would suit him. “All I saw was the muzzle flash,” I said. “I think he had some type of machine gun. The bullets came too fast for a regular gat. Tina never saw it coming.”

  Queeney steadied his voice, the way coppers do when they want to put someone at ease, get them to talk. “Why don’t you walk me through it, from the beginning
,” he said. “Starting with who your guests were and why you were all in a suite instead of your room.”

  I weighed my options. There wasn’t much to weigh. The scales were about as unbalanced as they could be. I knew to keep my mouth shut in these situations, but I doubted that would take now. I looked at Queeney. He was doing his best to appear soft. It didn’t suit him.

  “Bobby moved me there,” I said.

  “Bobby?”

  “Bobby Hill,” I said. “He’s the pit boss at the Sands. I did him a favor and he returned it. The suite was comped, so I thought what the heck? I know I have an apartment, but why not live the high life for a bit? It’s not like anyone was getting hurt.” The words were bitter in my mouth.

  “Go on,” Queeney said.

  “I knew Tony and Tina from Boston. Tony’s Vic Cremonesi’s kid brother. Vic and I go back. I was at their wedding.”

  “Here?” Queeney asked.

  “No, in Boston, six months ago. They came here for their honeymoon.”

  “Just now getting around to it?”

  “Couldn’t afford it ‘til now. You know how it is.”

  Queeney nodded. His thick fingers seemed to have no trouble operating the toothpick he was holding. I was impressed.

  “So you were all just sharing a drink?”

  “Something like that,” I said.

  Queeney looked up from his notepad. “Something?” he asked.

  I brought my left hand to my mouth and began chewing on my thumbnail. I didn’t know how long it had been since I’d eaten and the nail needed a trim anyway, so why not? Try and stop me.

  “I gave them the room,” I said, finally.

  “You did what?” Queeney said, louder than either of us expected.

  “Why not?” I said. “I had a place to stay, and they were on their honeymoon. What better way to celebrate than in a suite at the Sands?”

  “How about the morgue?” Queeney said. “What the hell were you thinking? You got people after you. Did you forget the beating you took only the night before? You put those kid’s lives in direct danger.”

  I felt like a kid being scolded by his father. But there was nothing for me to say, Queeney was right. It was a bonehead move. I was a hopeless romantic, my mother always said so. Don’t believe me? You go ask her. I let my feelings get the better of me.

  “Who knew you’d switched rooms?” Queeney asked?

  “The bellman, the people at the front desk, and, of course, Bobby.”

  “Is that all?”

  “The dirtbag who shot up the place,” I said.

  Queeney shook his head. “I should have pinched you when I had the chance.” He paused, as if he was considering doing it now. Finally he spoke. “You sure you didn’t see the guy?”

  “Like I said, all I saw was muzzle flash. I pointed my .38 in the direction of the fire and emptied it. I doubt it did much good though.”

  Queeney hesitated.

  “Did it?” I asked.

  “You hit something,” he said. “There was blood all over the patio. Blood that couldn’t have come from your two guests. It led out the back gate and disappeared.”

  “Probably to an awaiting car.”

  “Probably,” Queeney said.

  That explained why the guy didn’t finish the job. I must have hit something important. Something that made him not be able to stay awhile. That and the bullet he put into me. He probably figured he’d done the job already and skedaddled.

  I looked over at Queeney. He was still scribbling. “Why aren’t you arresting me?” I asked. I didn’t think he’d tell me, but it was worth a shot.

  Queeney looked me over before answering. “The blade didn’t match,” he said. “It’s amazing what those white coats can do nowadays. They can tell from the cut in the skin what type of blade was used. Yours didn’t make the cut.”

  “And that surprised you?” I asked. “Did you really think I’d kill Bilotti with the same blade I used to shave?”

  “I’ve seen stranger things,” Queeney said. I could see the red rising in his cheeks. “It was worth a shot.”

  “And Jeanie,” I asked.

  “If she ever did exist, she’s nowhere to be found. No plane ticket, no bus ticket, no train ticket. All I got is dead ends. But you’re still my prime suspect, Rossi. You’re just better at hiding your tracks than I thought you’d be.”

  “Not so good that I don’t know how to hide a body though,” I said.

  Queeney looked at me hard. He stood and hovered over me.

  “There’s a guard outside the room,” he said. “He’s gonna be there for a while, so no funny business.”

  “What do you think I’m gonna do?” I asked.

  Queeney turned and headed to the door. He stopped before he left and looked back at me. “Good thing you had that gun,” he said.

  Good thing indeed.

  Twenty-Three

  QUEENEY HAD NO sooner left the room when a man wearing the kind of coat doctors wear entered. He was distinguished looking with just the right amount of gray at the temples. The kind of man life came easy to. A junior or third, possibly a fourth. The kind who drove a Cadillac series 62 or a Coupe de Ville, probably a convertible. Definitely not a Barritz man. The kind that wore coats that bore his name followed by MD over the breast pocket.

  He leaned slightly to the left when he walked, which probably caused him to hook his drive. It was likely his only flaw. At least he had one. That made me feel better. A stethoscope was wrapped around his neck like a snake and a nurse followed him in.

  “Well Mr. Rossi, how are we feeling today?” he said. His voice was deep, the kind that carried authority.

  “There’s only one of us lying in a hospital bed, Doc.” I said.

  He flashed me a forced smile and walked over to the side of the bed. “Sit up, please,” he said.

  That proved to be a task easier commanded than accomplished. After my first attempt failed, the nurse came over and helped me upright. The doctor removed the black snake from around his neck and stuck an end into each of his ears. He placed the head of the snake on my back. He’d been keeping his snake in the icebox.

  “Deep breaths,” he said.

  I did as asked while he moved the snake’s head around my back and then onto my chest. He listened with a stern face and I began to wonder what my back and chest were telling him. Hopefully they weren’t revealing too many of my personal secrets. But who knows, you just can’t trust anybody these days.

  “You smoke?” he asked?

  “Only when on fire,” I said.

  The doctor was not amused. “Mr. Rossi, I would appreciate it if you’d keep the quips to yourself and answer the questions as asked.”

  That was twice I’d been chided today.

  “No,” I said. “I do not smoke.”

  He gave me the stone face. After a moment he spoke. “Your lungs sound just fine. I think we can take that IV out now,” he said more to the nurse than to me.

  “Yes, Doctor,” she said and sprang into action.

  “You’re a very lucky man, Mr. Rossi,” the doctor said. “The bullet went straight through your shoulder. No broken bones or major damage. A clean shot, so to speak. It should heal nicely.”

  “Lucky me,” I said.

  He ignored me.

  “We’ve cleaned out the wound and stitched you up. There’ll be some pain in your shoulder for a couple of days, but you should be shipshape in about a week.”

  “Just in time to join the Navy,” I said.

  He picked up the chart at the end of my bed, wrote something illegible, and attached his signature. “I don’t see any reason why we can’t release you today,” he said. “Give us a couple hours and we’ll have you out of here.” Then he turned to leave.

  “Doc,” I said. “What about the other two I came in with?”

  “You a relative?” he asked.

  “A friend of the family,” I said. “A close friend.”

  He gripped the snake
around his neck with both hands, slightly bouncing as he stared at the ground. After a moment he looked up. “You’re a dangerous friend to have,” he said. “It doesn’t look good for either of them, especially the girl. She was hit several times. Direct shots to vital organs. Are you a religious man, Mr. Rossi?”

  “Raised Catholic,” I said.

  “Good. You might want to say the rosary. If your young lady makes it through the night, we’ll count it as a miracle.” He turned and left.

  The nurse had pulled the IV out of my arm and was covering the wound the needle made with a small ball of cotton and tape. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.

  “You got any rum?”

  She smiled and crinkled her nose. “How about some nice apple juice?”

  “That’ll do,” I said. “If you’ve got any that’s fermented,” I let the rest of the sentence hang.

  She smiled a second time and left.

  I was beginning to get my bearings and with the IV gone, figured I could try to stand. I was already leaning upward, so the hard part was over. I started to push myself to the end of the bed, but a sharp pain shot up my arm. You never realize how much you use an arm until you need it. Stupid arm always lets you down when you need it the most.

  Despite my bum arm I slid off the side of the bed. I needed to test out my legs. I hoped they weren’t spaghetti, but I’d settle for al dente. Lucky for me they were in better shape than my arm. Good sturdy legs. I knew I could count on them. My shoulder was throbbing, and I felt a little like I’d lost a bet to Marciano. I tested a step and after I didn’t fall flat on my face; I figured I was good to go.

  I made my way over to my clothes and tried them on for size. There was a hole in my jacket right at the shoulder big enough for me to put my pointer through. My shirt had a matching one, only that one was stained red. Still, they were the only duds I had, so I did my best to slide them on. It wasn’t as easy as I had hoped, but I managed to get my arm into everything and before I knew it, I was properly dressed, ready for the tables. Well, almost. I couldn’t manage the tie, so I slid it into my jacket pocket.

  I was just getting my lid into position when the nurse returned with my juice. “Going somewhere?” she asked.