by Susan Fleet
The Ringmaster took him aside and gave him a heavy roll of coins. “The most important factor in a fight is surprise. Go to the playground tomorrow. If a bully hits you, wrap your fist around the coins and punch him in the nose.” The next day, he did. When his fist hit the bully's nose, it gave a satisfying crunch and blood spurted. The boy screamed in pain. The other boys stared at his bloody nose, then at Orazio.
Using an expression he had overheard at the gym, he yelled, “Vafangulo! Un colo di merda!” Go fuck yourself you shitty ass!
When he told The Ringmaster, he said, “Good, but some other fucker, bigger and stronger, may take his place. You learned the first rule. Surprise. Now you must master other weapons.”
The Ringmaster took him to a room he hadn't seen before. Inside glass cases were knives and daggers, curved scimitars and foot-long swords. The Ringmaster taught him how to feint and parry before he went in for the kill. Then he told him the second rule. “Kill only when absolutely necessary. Killing brings too much attention. Wound these bullies and hurt them, but do not kill them.”
The next time he went to the playground with a knife hidden in his sleeve. Sure enough, a bigger boy confronted him. Orazio whipped out the knife and sliced his arm, drawing blood. Enraged, the boy put his head down and charged. Octavio ripped his cheek with the blade. The bully backed away, clutching his cheek, his eyes fearful.
A moment of triumph he never forgot. After that, none of the boys bothered him. But he still felt like a cripple.
He massaged his right leg. Sixteen years after the operation his leg still pained him at times, especially in damp weather or when he was forced to sit for long periods of time.
Julio slowed and stopped at the corner of a narrow street. “I won't be long,” Orazio said. “Park here and stay alert.”
He got out and studied the narrow street. Stylishly dressed women and men in business suits approached him. Seeing no threat, he set off down the sidewalk. He always made his travel arrangements in person. Phones could be tapped, but Luigi, another trusted soldier, owned a travel agency. Luigi also created false documents and passports for him.
No need to worry. Luigi's lips were sealed. Comforting when his travel needs were urgent, as they were now. He had to get Tommy and Catarina out of Venice until the heat died down.
He puffed his cigar. Catarina was getting on his nerves, always complaining and so manipulative. Tommy let her lead him around by his dick. Stupid! Orazio did no such thing. In Italy, men ruled the family. He used women to satisfy his needs and discarded them.
As he strode down the sidewalk, his thoughts turned to the girl. He had intended to kill her, but upon reflection he had changed his mind. Why not take her with them? When they landed in New York City, they would look like a happy Italian family coming to America for a vacation, the perfect cover to get the spoils of their heist through customs undetected. Now that he'd hired the nanny, he could finalize the trip.
Something about the woman grated on his nerves. Still, she might be useful. She could stay with the girl in one room. Catarina could sleep with Tommy in another and fuck him senseless. Then Tommy would be more compliant, less apt to question Orazio's orders.
He tossed the cigar in the gutter and entered the travel agency. He would have Luigi book five tickets to New York and five more to their final destination. Tommy and Catarina thought they were staying in New York City. They were in for a surprise.
_____
12:30 PM –- New Orleans
“One day,” Frank said. “That's all I meed.”
“No fucking way!” Vobitch said. “Do you know how much heat I'm taking? Headlines in the fucking local rag every day? The Assistant Super called me at home last night, said the reporters are hounding him. A young mother shot in a public housing project and NOPD can't find the killer. And I got nothing to tell him because we can't find the fucking scumbag. How's it gonna look if I put in a travel voucher for you to fly to New York?”
Frank squirmed in his chair. He didn't like the headlines either, but he was going to New York City come hell or high water. A half hour ago—6:00 PM Venice time—Conti had called him. The 'Netti gang would land at JFK on Friday morning at 11:30 AM.
Natalie would be with them, and he was going to arrest her.
“I'll put it on my own credit card.”
Vobitch crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair and gave him his patented frosty stare.
“If I arrest Natalie and bring her here, we can close three murder cases and up our clearance rate. The Superintendent should like that.”
“You got an answer for everything, Frank, I'll give you that.”
His heart sped up. He was almost there, could sense Vobitch weakening, already picturing himself on the early bird flight to JFK. Three hours non-stop, he'd be there in plenty of time.
Vobitch heaved a sigh. “Okay, book the flight, but keep it quiet. And if Natalie pulls a fast one and escapes—”
“She won't. Conti will be on the same flight. He'll meet me outside of Customs. They collect their bags and go through Customs, we follow them and I grab her. I didn't tell Conti about that part of the plan.”
“Screw him. We don't owe him anything.”
“He figures they'll stay at a hotel. I figure they'll put Natalie and the girl in a separate room. That's why they hired a nanny. I go to their room and grab her.”
“What about the girl? She's five years old, you said.”
“The woman will take care of her.” But a nagging voice in his mind said, Would the wife of a Mafia goon really protect the girl?
“Okay, Frank. Get out of here so I can dream up some bullshit statement for the media, keep them off our backs.” Vobitch glowered at him. “But remember. One day. No more.”
Energized, he left the office, planning what he needed to do.
When he got to the Homicide office, Detective Orville Wilkes was coming out the door. Vobitch had pulled him out of the D-5 homicide office to fill in for Kenyon. Like Kenyon, Wilkes was African-American, an older man with years of experience working homicides.
“Good to see you, Orville. You look beat. What's up?”
“Good to see you too, Frank. Caught a fresh one, four o'clock this morning, a drive-by in Tremé.” Orville ran a hand over his salt-and-pepper hair and pulled a face. “Enough of these bangers kill each other, maybe the law-abiding folks can stop dodging bullets.”
“Thanks for helping out. David and I have our hands full, looking for King Rock.”
“No problem. How's Kenyon?”
“Much better. The doctor let him go home yesterday. Tanya's riding herd on him.”
Orville laughed. “Nothing new there. See you around, Frank. Gotta go squeeze some witnesses.”
“Good luck,” he said and entered the office. David was at his desk, working on his computer. “What's up, David? You get anything?”
David swiveled his chair and shook his head. “Not a peep. People are too scared to talk.”
“With good reason, probably. A detective friend of mine in Boston works in the BPD Gang Unit, keeps tabs on a drug dealer who went up there after Hurricane Katrina. The kid left New Orleans but didn't stop dealing.” Frank shrugged. “New city, new customers. The kid told him King Rock was the baddest motherfucker in town.”
“Maybe he's hiding up there,” David said. “Maybe we're wasting our time looking for him in New Orleans. Or anywhere else in Louisiana.”
“We'll get him. He can't hide forever. I'm flying to New York City on Friday.”
David frowned. “Why?”
Seeing the dismay on David's face, he said, “Just for one day. A woman is flying into JFK. We've got three outstanding murder warrants on her. I arrest her, bring her back here, we clear three cases.”
“Fine, but that won't help me find King Rock.”
“Kelly can help you, go talk to some people in Iberville. You know, give it the woman's touch. She's good at that.”
“I know she's good, but s
he works Domestic Violence.”
“True, but she's working this case on the QT. Does her stint with her clients, works after hours on Angelique's murder. She wants King Rock even more than we do.”
David's face brightened a bit. “Okay. I'll email her my reports.”
“Great! I'll call and tell her.” Frank zipped out the door, hustled out to his car and called Kelly.
She answered on the second ring. “Detective O'Neil.” Her usual greeting when other people were around. She knew it was him.
“How's my favorite detective today?”
“Just got out of a meeting. You?”
“I'm in my car. How about some hot phone sex?”
Kelly laughed. “I might enjoy it, but certain other people wouldn't.”
“Vobitch told me to keep you in the loop on the murder. David struck out when he talked to Angelique's neighbors. I told him it needed a woman's touch. Can you go to Iberville and talk to some people?”
“Hell yes! I'll do it tonight after I get off work.”
“I've got more news, but it's complicated. Can we have dinner at your house tomorrow night?” Kelly still lived in the house she'd shared with her husband, Terry O'Neil. Terry had been an NOPD cop, too, until he died in a senseless car accident.
“Sounds good to me. Bring some take-out. I'm working till six.”
“I will. See you then,” he said, and ended the call.
For the first time since Angelique's murder, Kelly sounded happy.
Which made him happy.
But when he told her he was going to New York on Friday to arrest Natalie, he had no illusions about what her reaction would be.
Happy? Fat chance. His fiery Italian lover might blow up like Vesuvius.
CHAPTER 12
WEDNESDAY, December 15 –- 2:15 PM –- Venice
Venting his fury, Orazio attacked the punching bag, a vicious right, then a left. Had the diamond heist gone as planned, he would be flying to America alone. No Tommy, no Catarina, no girl and no nanny. But his original plan had failed. Tommy was supposed to hold Dominic's wife and the girl hostage at home, have Sofia call Dominic and tell him to bring the uncut diamonds home. He'd told Tommy to explain what would happen if he didn't. His wife and daughter would die. But Dominic hung up on him.
So he had to revise the plan. Merda!
His fists slammed the leather bag, a left jab, a right hook.
When Catarina parked in front of Ruffino Jewelers and beeped the horn, Dominic saw Tommy holding a gun to Sofia's head, unlocked the door and let Orazio into the store. He told Dominic to hand over the diamonds or Sophia would die. Dominic readily complied, pleading with him. “Please, don't hurt my family.” He put the diamonds in his duffel bag and slammed the Uzi against Dominic's head, rendering him unconscious. Using Dominic's keys, he unlocked the glass display case and began stuffing jewelry into the duffel. But then he heard a shot.
When he ran outside, a polizia officer lay dead on the sidewalk. Already a crowd was gathering. When Sophia tried to escape he shot her. The rest was chaos. More gunfire. More bodies. The only part of his revised plan that went as planned was their escape in the cigarette boat. Now, thanks to the outcry over the dead polizia and the Ruffino family, they had to leave Venice immediately.
Sweat dripped from his nose as he slammed his fists into the bag. Dante's Gym smelled the same as it had when he'd come here as a boy, a robust man-smell, the odor of worn leather and sweat. After the Ringmaster died, his oldest son had taken over the gym.
This was as it should be. In Italian families, fathers passed their wisdom and experience to the oldest son. And their businesses.
He turned away from the punching bag and mopped his face with a towel, honest sweat from pushing his muscles to the limit. He glanced at the men on the other side of the gym, grunting as they lifted weights. Some were bare-chested. Orazio wore a T-shirt. He didn't want them to see the scars on his torso, inflicted years ago by two shopkeepers who refused to pay tribute to the Antonetti Family. He allowed no one see them, not even the women he paid for sex. The scars were a sign of weakness. He had allowed these men to injure him.
They would never speak of this, of course. He had killed them.
He tossed the towel on a chair and attacked the punching bag, thinking about the woman he'd hired to mind the girl. She claimed to be Chinese-American. He didn't believe it. She looked like Maggie Q, the half-Vietnamese actress who starred in the TV series he liked to watch. Nikita. Ling Lam was the name on her passport, but she called herself Laura. When he asked why it had only one entry stamp, he'd seen the momentary rigidity of her body as she groped for an answer. The passport was new. Her old one had many stamps. Or so she said.
But she had coglioni. Balls of steel. Rebuking him for not offering her a glass of water. He respected her for that. Still, her story seemed too convenient, tailor-made to win the job. She was studying psychology at the university. He knew a thing or two about psychology. Observing people to see if they were lying, employing certain unpleasant tactics to make them speak truthfully.
Laura was thirty-two and unmarried, with no children, he assumed. What American woman in her thirties was still in college and unemployed? He had been working since he was a boy. For years he had envied Tomasso's agility, his handsome face, his ability to charm people. Envied Father's love for his youngest son most of all. That changed in 1992.
On his twelfth birthday, Father had taken him into the library where he met with his friends, a room Orazio had never been allowed to enter. He would never forget that glorious day. Father had him sit in a leather recliner opposite a large mahogany desk. The only light came from elegant wall sconces. Enthralled, he stared at the books on the floor-to-ceiling shelves. He wanted to read them all.
Father cut off all thoughts of books, saying in a stern voice, “You must never reveal what I am about to tell you. Not to your brother. Not to your mother. Not to anyone.”
Eager to please the man he loved more than anyone in the world, he said, “Not a word, Father.”
“The time has come for you to know your family heritage. We are La Cosa Nostra. Some call us The Black Hand, others call us the Mafia.”
His heart thumped his chest. At the gym, he'd heard Father's friends talk about this when they thought he wasn't listening.
“I am capo di tutti capi of the Antonetti Family in Venice.” His father smiled at him, a proud smile as though he'd done something special. “Someday you will take my place.”
Thrilling words. He knew what this meant. Someday he would be as powerful as Father, the man he loved and respected above all others!
“We live by a strict code of silence. Omerta. Break the code, you die.”
“I will never break the code, Father. Never! I swear it!”
“I believe you. That is why I reveal to you that I answer to only one man, a man whose ancestors left Italy long ago and became the first of our kind in America.”
He gazed at his father, rapt. “Is that why you told me to learn English?”
“Your ability to speak English will be an asset, but the reason I have chosen you to inherit my place in the family is your loyalty. The most important trait a soldier can have.”
Father went to a sideboard and picked up a glass decanter filled with amber liquid. He poured a small amount into cut-crystal glasses and handed him one. “Today, we seal our promises with brandy. Later, after you prove yourself, we seal it with blood. Drink your brandy and listen carefully while I tell you about the capo di tutti capi in America.”
Orazio stepped back from the punching bag, sat on a chair and mopped his face. Recalling this day brought him great joy, but now the family responsibilities rested on his shoulders. His alone.
His thoughts returned to the nanny. The girl seemed to be afraid of her, had refused to talk to her. Good. If the girl wouldn't talk to her, she wouldn't tell her what happened to her mother. But Father had warned him about Asians. They were smart, but treacherous.
An entertaining film but also instructive. He would keep a close eye on this woman with the Asian eyes and the balls of steel.
After he completed his business in America, he would have no further use for the girl. Or the nanny.
_____
7:30 PM –- New Orleans
Frank rinsed the dishes, loaded them in the dishwasher, stored the leftovers in a container and put it in the refrigerator. He usually had dinner at Kelly's house on Fridays, relaxing over a glass of wine after their work week.
But this Friday he would be in New York to arrest Natalie. He hadn't told Kelly yet.
One of her clients had called just as they finished dinner, sobbing hysterically. Kelly was on the phone in the living room, trying to get her to leave her boyfriend, who'd just beaten her bloody. Frank couldn't understand how men could beat up women they supposedly loved, in many cases the mothers of their children. Or kill them, like King Rock.
Kelly walked into the kitchen and said, “Thanks for cleaning up, Frank. Sorry for the interruption.”
“No problem. How'd it go?”
“She said she'd think about it. The usual bullshit. He'll give her a fancy present and she'll stay, until the next time he hits her.”
“Has she got kids?”
“No, but she's pregnant. That's one of the most dangerous times for women in violent relationships. I get tired of trying to get them to leave these assholes.”
“You do the best you can. Bottom line, it's her decision.” Just as it had been Angelique's choice not to ditch King Rock. A fatal decision.
“I need some ice water to cool down. Want some?”
