by Susan Fleet
He closed his cell and took his bag out of the overhead bin. Conti was already standing in the aisle with his suitcase. The attendant opened the hatch and the first-class passengers began filing out of the plane. He and Conti joined them and hustled up the gateway.
As they walked through the gate area Frank said, “Once we reach the concourse, we can hunker down somewhere, wait and see where they go. I doubt they'll stop anywhere inside the airport.”
“Your colleague will follow them?” Conti said.
“Yes. My car is parked in the garage.”
When they reached the top of the ramp, the usual trad jazz was playing over the speakers. Frank took a right and entered Dookie Chase's Pub, a local restaurant. “We can hang out near the bar where the mobsters won't notice us. But we'll see them when they go by.”
Conti parked his suitcase near the wall, looking troubled and anxious. “I can't figure out why they came to New Orleans. There are several Mafia crime families in New York and some of the best diamond cutters in the world work in New York's diamond district.”
Frank stifled a smile. Conti had been wrong and he hated it.
“True,” he said, eyeing the passengers hurrying past the pub. “But there are other diamond cutters.”
“Here in New Orleans?”
Recalling the jibe from Vobitch, telling him to buy Kelly a diamond ring, he said, “Believe it or not, John, even people in New Orleans get married. I've never needed one, but you never know.”
Clearly annoyed, Conti said nothing for a moment. Then, “How long will it take us to get to your car?”
“Relax. David's a great detective. He's in an unmarked and he knows how to do a tail.”
Two minutes later the mobsters walked past the pub, towing their luggage, Orazio in the lead, then his brother Tomasso. Natalie, Catarina and Bianca brought up the rear.
“Where are the taxis?” Conti whispered.
“Downstairs.”
But the Mafia group didn't take the escalator down to ground transportation. They congregated near a window beside the glass exit doors with their luggage. Then Orazio went outside and lit up a cigar.
Frank called David. “They're waiting near an exit door upstairs in Departures. The head honcho is outside smoking a cigar.”
“Roger that,” David said. “You think someone's meeting them?”
“I assume so. If they wanted a taxi, they'd go downstairs. Hang tight for now.” He ended the call and said to Conti, “Looks like they're waiting for someone. Maybe they've got friends here.”
“Look,” Conti said, pointing as a big black SUV pulled to the curb beside Orazio. He motioned to the others, waving them outside as a silver Lincoln Town Car pulled up behind the black SUV.
Frank called David and said, “Two vehicles are picking up the targets. They're loading luggage into a black Toyota Sequoia SUV. A spiffy silver Lincoln Town Car is behind it.”
“I'm on it,” David said.
He ended the call and said, “Soon as they get in the cars, we go to the parking garage.”
Five minutes later he opened the trunk of his unmarked Dodge Charger. They slung their bags in the trunk and got in the car.
“If their friends picked them up,” Conti said, “maybe they're not staying in a hotel.”
Correct, Frank thought and he didn't like it. How the hell was he going to snatch Natalie out of a private residence?
But he'd worry about that later. He backed out of the space, headed for the exit and got on his cell. “What's doing, David?”
“They just got on the I-10 headed east. I'm three cars behind them.”
“Excellent. I'm leaving the parking garage now. Keep me posted.”
“We got a tip about King Rock yesterday,” David said. “Someone spotted him.”
“Great! Where?”
“Near the corner where the B-n-L gang sells their product. I was on it right away, but by the time I got there, he was gone. Kelly's out driving around looking for him.”
“Damn. That could be dangerous. Hold on.” He pulled up to the cashier's booth and took out his wallet. He paid the cashier, drove out the exit and said, “When did you talk to her?”
“A little after noon. She was on her lunch break, driving around looking for him.”
Armed and dangerous, he thought. “I don't like the sound of that.”
“Me neither. Gotta go, Frank. They're taking the Clearview exit. Keep in touch.”
He closed his cell, zoomed through a yellow light onto the airport exit road and accelerated. His unmarked had emergency lights and sirens, but he didn't want to use them.
“You sounded upset,” Conti said. “Is something wrong?”
Yes, he thought. Something was very wrong and if Kelly found King Rock it might get worse. No telling what kind of weapons King Rock was packing.
“Another case we're working,” he said. “David has the target vehicles in sight. They just got off the Interstate in Metairie, a suburb of New Orleans. Ten minutes and we'll be there.”
His heart zoomed into high gear. He couldn't wait to see where Natalie would be sleeping tonight. If it was a private home, things might be complicated. But not impossible.
Now that he had her in his sights, nothing was impossible. He'd think of something.
CHAPTER 17
FRIDAY 4:40 PM – Metairie, Louisiana
The house looked haunted. In the fading light, the second floor windows were dark and blank like the eyes of an unlit Jack-o-lantern. On the first floor, slivers of light seeped around drawn Venetian blinds. Standing near the end of the driveway, Natalie glanced at the flowers along the front walk of the lavender ranch house next door. The house where she would be staying had drab chocolate-brown siding, an attached two-car garage, and no flowers, just overgrown shrubs.
Unlike other homes on the street, a six-foot-high plank-wood fence enclosed three sides of the house. Worse, there were security cameras, easy to spot if you knew where to look for them, tucked under the eaves on the front corners. To prevent anyone from escaping? Or to alert the mobsters to approaching enemies?
She felt a sudden chill, the Vietnamese spirit gods sending her a clear message. Evil things happened in this house.
She glanced down the street in both directions. After they landed, she'd seen Conti and Renzi leave their seats in first class and exit the plane. If they'd managed to get on the same flight, maybe they had also managed to follow them. She saw no suspicious-looking vehicles, but that didn't mean they weren't somewhere nearby, watching.
Orazio and the driver of the Lincoln Town Car, an older man with thick white hair, approached the house. The front door opened immediately. Orazio turned and beckoned to them. She was tired and hungry, but she didn't want to go inside. Bianca didn't look happy about it either, fearfully watching Orazio. But they had no choice.
The SUV driver took their luggage into the house. She and Bianca followed. Unlike the grim exterior, the foyer glowed with light from an ornate crystal chandelier. A young dark-haired maid in a short black skirt and white blouse took them into a dining room to the right of the foyer.
Two more chandeliers hung over a long rectangular table laden with food. The delicious aromas made her mouth water. Metal containers held Chicken Marsala, Shrimp Etouffee, and meatballs in red gravy. Beside them was a huge pan of lasagna. On the far side of the table, platters held sandwiches, cold cuts and various cheeses. Bianca tugged her hand and pulled her to a sideboard with cookies and Italian pastries.
The centerpiece was a bouquet of fruit: pineapple chunks, fat red strawberries, slices of cantaloupe and green grapes.
“Strawberries,” Bianca said, pointing.
Natalie speared a strawberry with a toothpick and gave it to her. Bianca bit into it and juice dribbled down her chin. In three bites the strawberry was gone. When she gave her a napkin, Bianca wiped her mouth and said in English, “I love strawberries!”
She speared another strawberry and gave it to her. Bianca un
derstood English, not a lot perhaps, but some. How had she learned it? From her mother? From watching television?
“Don't eat too many,” she said in Italian. “You'll spoil your appetite for dinner.”
Bianca wrinkled her nose and reached for a slice of cantaloupe. Fearing the girl would throw a tantrum, she arranged an assortment of fruit on a small plate and settled her onto a folding chair in the corner of the room. Orazio, Tommy and Catarina were filling dinner plates with hot food. The men seemed pleased. Even Catarina looked happy.
She went to the table, took a plate, spooned Shrimp Etouffee over white rice and added a small slice of lasagna. Everything smelled delicious and she was ravenous. When she returned to sit beside Bianca, the fruit on her plate was gone.
“Want a sandwich?” she said in Italian. Bianca shook her head.
“How about some lasagna? Want to try a bite of mine?”
“No,” Bianca said in English. “I want a cookie.”
Despite her anxiety, Natalie smiled. The girl definitely had a mind of her own. Fine as long as she didn't make a fuss. If she did, Orazio would scold her. Not what she needed right now.
She wanted to be invisible, wanted Orazio to forget she was even there.
“One cookie,” she said. “But no more until you eat some dinner.”
Bianca rushed to the sideboard and took a chocolate chip cookie. Smiling happily, she came back to her chair and took a big bite.
Relieved that Bianca seemed content, Natalie ate her dinner, thinking about her next move. A new iPhone was in her purse, but she and Bianca were staying in the same room. Calling Pak Lam would be a problem.
_____
6:00 PM
Orazio stood at the window of his second floor bedroom and watched Silvano Tucci drive off in his silver Lincoln Town Car. The driver of the SUV sat beside him. Silvano was The Boss's consiglieri and closest confidant. An attorney with a degree in accounting, he invested the family's money in real estate or deposited it in off-shore accounts.
Anthony “Tick-Tock” Rotondo ruled the Rotondo Family in Louisiana and the Antonetti Family in Venice. Few people knew this. Two decades ago, Tick-Tock had retired and kept a low profile. During the ride from the airport, Silvano had set up a meeting. Tomorrow morning Orazio would have a sit-down with Tick-Tock at his mansion.
He lighted a cigar, puffed carefully and blew a cloud of smoke out the window. The Boss had welcomed them with a bountiful meal. A sign of respect. Silvano had lent him his black Toyota Sequoia for the duration of his stay. Another sign of respect.
Now he needed to prepare for the meeting, but a shrill voice distracted him, Catarina berating Tommy for something. How could he think with her screeching? If she didn't shut up, he'd go to their room across the hall and silence her. He rued the day Tommy had married her. A necessity due to legal problems, but still. Tommy let his dick rule his life. Earlier he'd been flirting with one of the maids. Catarina hadn't noticed, but Orazio had. If Catarina caught him, there'd be hell to pay. Intent on seducing women, Tommy wore flamboyant clothes and flashy jewelry like the Dapper Don. But he didn't have John Gotti's intelligence or the cojones to keep people in line. He expected Orazio to do this.
At least the kid and the nanny were quiet in the room beside his. Catarina was a pain in the ass, but easily controlled. Take her shopping and she was happy. But the girl had eaten no dinner, just fruit and a cookie. Laura wasn't a very good nanny. He'd keep an eye on that one.
He puffed his cigar and studied the Christmas lights on the home across the street. A nice enough house, but it had no security cameras like this one. This was Tick-Tock's hideaway. His mansion was several miles to the north, near a big lake. Orazio had been there many times, first as a youngster with Father, and after Father died, alone.
Tommy wanted to meet The Boss, but he didn't trust Tommy to keep his mouth shut about the stolen jewelry. He didn't want him around when he talked to the diamond cutter, either. The Boss's nephew, Angelo Esposito, owned a jewelry store in the French Quarter. He'd find something else to occupy Tommy and Catarina, a visit to the zoo perhaps, or a ride on one of the Mississippi riverboats to see the sights.
But his main concern was tomorrow's meet. It was important to strike the correct pose. Appear confident. Show respect, but do not be obsequious. Years ago before his first meeting with The Boss, Father had said, Never show weakness. He will respect you more.
Silvano had given him an untraceable cellphone—a burner, he called it—with 25 hours of calling time. He would use it to call a livery service. Why arrive at an important sitdown in an ordinary SUV? He would hire a limousine and have the driver take him there.
He emitted a soft belch and patted his stomach. The home-cooked Italian food was a welcome relief after the crap they dished out in airplanes, and his bedroom was elegant, Tick-Tock's room when he stayed here. Embossed wallpaper, thick wall-to-wall carpeting, and a bathroom big enough for an elephant. Tick-Tock wasn't as big as an elephant, but he was a very large man.
His gaze fell upon the briefcase on the bed. Inside were the uncut diamonds he would take to the meeting. Tick-Tock would decide how many to take as tribute. Orazio would say nothing about the stolen jewelry. There had been no mention of this in the newspapers. The polizia couldn't ask Dominic. He was comatose in a hospital and his wife was dead. But the kid wasn't.
He'd better figure out a way to get rid of her, too.
_____
6:30 PM
Bianca perched on her bed and looked around the room. She liked her own bedroom better. It was bigger and so was her bed. This one was narrow and shoved against the wall. Laura's bed was beside hers with a table between them. Opposite their beds, a television set with a blank screen sat on a low chest of drawers against the wall. Two big chairs in front of a low table faced the TV.
Laura was in the bathroom beside her bed. She could hear the water running. A huge yawn made her eyes water. She hadn't slept much on the plane. When they got off the plane, but Catarina hurried her down a long hall with a million people and they got on another airplane. As it took off down the runway, she watched the signs and buildings whiz by, but then she could only see clouds, and when the plane landed, her ears hurt. Laura said to swallow and her ears would pop. So she'd swallowed three times and then they felt better.
Then they got in a big black car and drove here, another long ride strapped into a seat. Catwoman kept complaining to Tommy. If Owl was in the car, he would have told her to shut up, but he was in another car. On the way they passed a mall with Christmas decorations.
Thinking about Christmas and Mamma made her sad. She wondered where Papà was.
The bathroom door opened. Laura came out wearing a white bathrobe and smiled at her. Speaking Italian with her strange foreign accent, she said, “Time for your bath.”
“I don't want to take a bath. I'm hungry.”
“There was plenty of food downstairs, but you wouldn't eat any.”
“Yucky food!”
Laura sat down beside her on the bed. “I know you feel sad about your mother, but—”
“I hate this place! I hate airplanes! I want my Papà!”
“Shh. Don't make a fuss. If Orazio hears you, he'll come in and make you be quiet.”
Her heart thudded against her chest. “Owl?”
“Is that what you call him?”
“Yes. I'm afraid of him.” She almost told Laura that Owl shot Mamma, but she didn't.
“He's a very bad man.”
“Why are you friends with him then?”
Laura frowned. “Why do you say that? He's not my friend.”
She didn't answer. Laura was probably lying.
Should she ask her why she was at the museum that night? No. Laura might get mad, might even tell Owl.
“What would you like to eat?” Laura said.
“Mamma makes me ravioli. Or minestrone soup.”
“Wait here,” Laura whispered. “I'll go downstairs and get you some. But yo
u have to be very quiet. Owl is in the room next door.”
That scared her.
“I'll be quiet,” she whispered. “I promise.”
CHAPTER 18
FRIDAY 10:35 PM
Clint returned from his recon mission and slipped into the shotgun seat of the Lexus. No overhead light. Festus had seen to that, a precaution even though they were parked a half-block north of the target beyond the next intersection. He'd revised his opinion of Festus. The guy was no hillbilly. He'd been a private dick for ten years until he got in trouble with the cops and lost his PI license. A middle-aged white guy with a craggy weather-beaten face, who wasn't afraid to break rules. Just what he needed. The mafiosos wouldn't give him a second glance.
“The residence behind the mob house looks deserted,” he said. “No Christmas lights, dark inside. Maybe they're away for the holidays. No dog, either.”
“That's a plus,” Festus said. “Dog starts barking, pretty soon the whole neighborhood's awake.”
“Exactly. No fence in front, but there's a six-foot fence around the rest of the mob house, security cameras on every corner. Nobody gets near the place without them knowing.” Which fucked up his plans. He ground his teeth. “I might need you longer than twelve hours.”
Festus regarded him silently, his eyes pale as smoke, one green, the other blue, the weirdest thing he'd ever seen. “Gotta tell my boss if you do. How long you need me for?”
“Hard to say. Your boss doesn't need to know.”
“He does if you need the car.”
“You got a car of your own, we could use yours.”
After a moment, Festus said, “How much you paying?”
“How much you asking?” Let the sucker make the first move.
“Two-fifty a day for me and my car. Plus what you already owe for the twelve hours.”
“I can swing that. But how do I watch the house while you return this one?”
