by Susan Fleet
“Stroll around the block like before, I drive the Lexus to Louisiana Livery, come back in mine.”
“Okay, but after tonight we'll need two cars. Tomorrow I'll pick up a rental.”
“That'd be good. People get suspicious, they see the same car all the time.”
“Someone needs to watch the house at all times, so we'll work in shifts, eight hours on, eight hours off. I'll rent a cheap motel room so we can grab some shut-eye now and then.”
Festus frowned. “How long you think we'll be here?”
“I don't know, a couple days, maybe.” He took out the photo he'd shown Festus earlier. “This bitch murdered a friend of mine, one shot to the head. If she leaves the house, I want to know immediately.” He smiled tightly. “No need for you to know what happens then.”
Festus gazed at him for several seconds, then said, “Got it.”
_____
11:10 PM
Seated at the wheel of his Dodge Charger, Frank rotated his neck and flexed his shoulders to get the kinks out. The front windows were open, but the odor of food lingered in the car. Two hours ago, David had brought them take-out dinners, Chicken Marsala for him, Shrimp Scampi for Conti. The house where Natalie and the mobsters were staying was a half-block ahead.
Earlier when he drifted by it, he'd spotted security cameras under the eaves in front. Fearing the mobsters would spot them if he parked too close, he continued south past the next intersection and parked left wheels to the curb facing north so they could eyeball the mob house.
An hour ago the Christmas tree lights in the house beside him had gone out, then the lights in the rest of the house. The occupants were probably in bed. The Mafia brothers probably were too, jet-lagged after an overnight flight to JFK and another to New Orleans. He doubted they'd leave the house tonight. He'd been up since 5:00 AM. In an hour, he'd go home and hit the sack. Tomorrow would be another long day.
Beside him, Conti shifted in his seat. “Chilly, now that the sun has gone down.”
“Balmy compared to Boston where I grew up. You cold? I'll put up the windows.”
“No, that's okay.”
“Where'd you learn English? You don't have much of an accent.”
Conti smiled, clearly pleased. “Thank you. I grew up in Naples, but my parents sent me to a boarding school in London when I was ten.”
That must have cost some bucks. No surprise there. Conti had an air about him, the confidence that money and privilege conferred.
“I loved London, took my A-levels and got a degree in Political Science from the University of London.” Conti smiled. “Or, as you Yanks call it, Poly-sci. After I got the job with Europol, they sent me to a training facility in Maryland to improve my technical skills and learn American colloquialisms.”
Frank nodded, half-listening, preoccupied with tomorrow's chores. Earlier he'd stopped for gas. While Conti used the restroom, he called Vobitch, told him what happened at JFK and waited for the fireworks. His boss didn't disappoint. “Jesus-fucking-Christ, she's in New Orleans? Better grab her quick.” When Frank said that might be a problem, Vobitch had said, “Come to my house tomorrow morning, we need to talk.”
He wasn't looking forward to it.
He yawned and massaged his eyes. “What's your take on Natalie?” Stakeouts were boring. Why not stir the pot and get the lowdown on Conti's relationship with her?
“A formidable woman. She tried to kill me.”
“Join the club. She tried to kill me, too.” He wasn't certain she had, but it sounded good.
“She was angry at me for lying to her.”
I'll bet she was. “Women don't like it when you have sex with them and then arrest them.”
“Perhaps, but I had no choice.” Conti shrugged. “Just part of the job.”
Not to Natalie. “Where did she get the Laura Lam passport?”
“I don't know. She refused to tell me. We need someone to help us watch the house.”
“Not me. I'm working tomorrow.”
Conti stared at him, incredulous. “On a Saturday?”
“Homicide detectives don't get days off. Murders happen every day in New Orleans. Christmas is coming. Lots of crime around holidays, robberies, bank stickups, domestic homicides.”
“I understand there is an FBI office here. We can ask them to help.”
“No, John. You can ask them to help. But watch out. When the head honcho finds out you're watching the mobsters that pulled a big jewel heist in Venice, he'll take over the case.”
Conti frowned. “I don't want that.”
He stifled a smile. Of course not. Conti wanted to arrest the mobsters and grab the glory. “You could pay some off-duty NOPD cops to help watch the house. I'll give you Tony Caruso's number. Tell him I told you to call. He'll organize it for you.” He would also make sure Frank was the first to know if Natalie left the house.
“How much would this cost? I don't have unlimited funds.”
“If your boss wants the kingpin who runs the 'Netti brothers, he's gonna have to pay for it.”
Conti didn't reply. Frank shifted in his seat and studied the mob house. Tomorrow he'd check the city directory to see who lived there, call the Registry of Deeds first thing when it opened on Monday and find out who owned the property. Not that he planned to share any of this with Conti.
Conti's cellphone rang. Frank wondered who it was. Seven hours ahead in Venice: 6:20 AM. Maybe Conti had contacts in America that he didn't know about.
Conti answered, listened for a while, then said, “I am watching the house where she and the 'Netti brothers are staying. With Detective Renzi in his car.” After an extended pause, “I am sorry to hear that, Cesare. Thank you for telling me.”
Conti ended the call and said, “The jewelry store owner died an hour ago. According to the autopsy report, his wife was pregnant. Generale Valenti has taken this personally. He knew her.” Conti gave him a sly wink. “Valenti is a fine carabiniere officer, but rather softhearted when it comes to women. If you get my meaning.”
Frank said nothing. Conti was a fine one to talk. He'd slept with Natalie to entrap her. Now he was hinting that Valenti played around on his wife. Still, the news from Venice saddened him. Now Bianca was an orphan. Soon there might be another. Jacques's mother was dead and Kelly was out looking for his father, King Rock. Which was what he should be doing.
“I need to rent a car,” Conti said. “Can you drive me to a rental agency? The closest ones are probably at the airport.”
Irritated, he said, “John, we need to get something straight. I'm not your chauffeur. I flew to JFK on my own dime to make sure you brought Natalie to New York like you promised. Call a cab. They'll pick you up here and take you wherever you want to go.”
Conti clenched his jaw, glaring at him, then punched numbers into his cellphone. “What is this street and the number on the house beside us?”
After Frank told him, Conti repeated the address into his cellphone and said, “I need a taxi to pick me up. Please hurry, it is urgent.” He ended the call and said, “What is the name of this big shopping center we passed with all the Christmas decorations?”
“The Clearview Mall. It's on the corner of Clearview Parkway and Veterans Boulevard.”
“Is there a food court?”
“Yes. On the ground level.”
“I will text Natalie and tell her to meet us there at 2 PM tomorrow.”
“How will she get away from the mobsters?”
Conti smiled thinly. “As you pointed out, Natalie is a very resourceful woman. She will find a way.” That ended that conversation. They sat in silence until the taxi arrived. Conti got out, opened the door to the back seat and retrieved his luggage.
“See you in the Clearview Mall food court at two,” Frank said.
Conti slammed the door without answering and got in the taxi.
Frank stared at the mob house. Visible above the six-foot fence, the light in the corner room on the second floor winked out. Was it
Natalie's room? He couldn't wait to talk to her, but it wasn't going to happen tonight. He cranked the car and headed home.
_____
She stood beside Bianca's bed. The girl's eyes were closed, her breathing deep and even. At last she could call Pak Lam. He was probably frantic, waiting anxiously to hear from her. No more anxious than she was.
After Bianca ate her warmed-over ravioli and took a bath, they had curled up in the easy chairs to watch television. Surfing past shopping channels, cop dramas and reality shows, she found a program for kids. At nine o'clock, she put Bianca to bed and read her Mother Goose rhymes until Bianca nodded off. But when she shut off the lamp on the dresser, Bianca said, “No. Keep the light on. I'm scared of the dark.” So she had turned the light on again.
But surely the girl must be sound asleep now. She tiptoed across the room and shut off the light. Bianca didn't stir. Now the only light was an eerie blue glow from the TV screen. She took her iPhone out of her purse. Finally, after two endless plane flights and agonizing hours of tension, she could call Pak Lam and tell him where she was.
Bam! A sharp rap on the door. Loud and authoritative.
Her heart jolted.
Two more raps, louder, more insistent.
Padding barefoot over the carpet, she crept to the door. No peephole. No chain on the door.
She jammed the iPhone into the pocket of her robe and opened the door.
Orazio stood there, still wearing his suit though he'd removed his tie. “How is the girl?”
“Shhh. You'll wake her up.”
He strode into the room and looked around.
Just like Mr. Self-Important, Conti forcing his way into her apartment. But Orazio was far more dangerous than Conti. Orazio was a killer.
“Your room is comfortable?” he said in a quiet voice.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Good. My room is right next door. If you have a problem, knock on my door.”
When pigs fly.
Gazing at her with dark accusing eyes, he said, “The child ate no dinner. Just sweets.”
“She was overtired. Cranky after two long plane flights.”
“If she does not eat properly, she will get sick.”
“Orazio, I'm very tired. I want to go to sleep now.”
Anger flared in his eyes. “Do not use my name. Not ever. Understand?”
The murderous look in his eyes terrified her. “Yes.”
“Don't forget it. Forget that you even know my name, understand?”
“I won't use it again, I promise. I'm going to bed now.”
“As you wish. Good night.” He turned and left the room.
She stood there, frozen with fear, her heart pounding, her stomach churning.
What if he'd come in the room while she was talking to Pak Lam? Bile rose in her throat and her stomach heaved.
She ran in the bathroom, shut the door and vomited into the toilet, disgorging the food she'd eaten for dinner. Exhausted, she struggled to her feet, went to the sink, ran cold water over a washcloth and pressed it to her face. There was no lock on the bedroom door, no way to keep Orazio out of her bedroom. Or anyone else, for that matter.
The dangers kept multiplying. She had to out of here as soon as possible.
She opened the bathroom door and looked at Bianca. The girl was sound asleep. She shut the door and pressed the button in the doorknob to lock it. At least the bathroom had a lock. She took the iPhone out of her purse and punched in the number she knew so well.
After one ring, a voice said, “Natalie! I have been so worried about you. Are you okay?”
“For now, but not for long. Your contact met me at JFK. That went fine, but I am in New Orleans.”
“New Orleans? Why? I thought you would stay in New York City.”
“So did I, but after we passed through Customs, we got on another plane and flew here. These men killed people in Venice. I need to get away from them, and this despicable Europol agent.” And Frank Renzi.
“Do not worry. I will help you, but I must devise a new plan. When it is ready, I will text you. I know your situation is complicated and dangerous. Call me when you can.”
“I will. Thank you so much. What would I do without you?”
A soft chuckle. “Be calm, Natalie. Text me if you are in danger, or call if you must. Sleep well. I will work on the plan. All my love to you.”
“And mine to you.” Tears filled her eyes as she shut off the iPhone. Pak Lam, her adopted father and dearest friend, would help her.
When she left the bathroom, Bianca was sleeping like a lamb. If only she could do the same. Her mind seethed with problems. Conti wanted her to get information from the 'Netti brothers. Renzi wanted to arrest her.
She had no idea what Orazio wanted, but one thing was certain. He didn't trust her.
When she put the iPhone back in her purse, a red light was blinking on her Conti phone. He had sent her a text. Meet me tomorrow at the food court in the Clearview Mall. 2PM.
She knew where the mall was, but how could she get out of the house to meet him? A chill skittered down her spine.
Orazio was watching her like a hawk.
CHAPTER 19
SATURDAY – December 18 – 9:30 AM
Frank finished his strawberry Danish and drank some coffee. The morning sun gave the dining room a cheery glow, but his boss was giving off vibes darker than a thundercloud. Vobitch had told him to come here so they could discuss the Natalie situation. Now, seated across the table from him, Vobitch was giving him the silent treatment, a silence fraught with tension, not the usual camaraderie during a sit-down at his house.
Vobitch helped himself to another Danish from the plate on the table. Said nothing.
Irritated, Frank thought, Screw this. He hadn't come here for coffee and Danish. “Are you trying to piss me off or has the cat got your tongue?”
A flush mottled Vobitch's cheeks. “I let you go to New York yesterday to serve a warrant on Natalie, but the fucking mobsters pulled a fast one and flew to New Orleans. Now that she's here you got no interest in catching King Rock.”
“She shot me!”
“King Rock shot one of my detectives! Kenyon's lucky to be alive, you forget that? Get your priorities straight, Frank.”
“Since when is closing three old murder cases not a priority?”
His boss gave him a frosty stare. “Since King Rock murdered the mother of his child and shot one of my detectives!”
Frank knew he was a heartbeat away from blowing up, also knew this would be a bad idea. He was about to get up and leave, when Juliana entered the room. “Good to see you, Frank. Is my esteemed husband giving you a hard time?”
He couldn't help smiling. “Nothing new there, Juliana. Thanks for the coffee and Danish.”
A tall woman with ebony skin whom one New York City ballet critic had deemed strikingly beautiful, Juliana studied the plate on the table, pursed her lips and frowned at her husband.
“What?” Vobitch said. “You counting? I'm gonna take you to Vegas, let you count cards for me at the blackjack table.”
Juliana circled the table and kissed his cheek. “The day I catch you at a blackjack table, I'm canceling our subscription to the Louisiana Philharmonic.”
At first glance the stocky, self-described New York Jew and the statuesque former ballerina seemed like a mismatch, but they shared a passion for fine art, opera and classical music.
“How's Kelly?” Juliana asked.
Blank-faced, Frank looked at Vobitch and said nothing.
“My, my. That look had a certain portent. Pray tell, what is Kelly up to now?”
Gunning for King Rock, Frank thought but didn't say. “She's good. I haven't seen her since Wednesday, but I'll see her tonight.”
“Give her my best,” Juliana said. “I'll leave you two to talk about whatever it is that warrants a powwow on a Saturday morning. Want me to wrap up the last pastry for you, Frank?”
“No, thanks. I'm good.
” If he left it for Vobitch, maybe he'd stop being such a dickhead.
After Juliana left the room, Frank said, “The house in Metairie has gotta be mob-owned, there's a six-foot fence around it, security cameras. According to the city directory, Alma Esposito, age sixty-seven, is the sole occupant. Does that name mean anything to you?”
“Yeah. She's Italian. What I wanna know is why did they come here? Plenty of mobsters in New York. I should know. I had to deal with them for twenty years, working for NYPD.”
“I don't give a damn why they're here. I want to arrest Natalie.”
“Fine. Put together a SWAT team, do an early morning raid when the assholes least expect it, grab poor little Natalie and bring her in. Then maybe you can focus on King Rock.”
“That might not work. These 'Netti brothers are killers. If they've got Mafia connections here, they're probably armed. And don't forget Conti. He's watching the house.”
“Screw Conti. Him and his Europol pals are no better than the feds. What about the girl?”
“Conti got word from Venice last night that her father died.”
Vobitch frowned. “And she's here with the mobsters that shot her mother? They find out she's the last witness, they might kill her. Speaking of witnesses, we better keep an eye on Jacques. King Rock had no trouble offing the kid's mother. What's to say he won't kill his son?”
Frank puffed his cheeks. Man, if Kelly heard that theory, she'd go ballistic. “Maybe we can have Kelly guard him.” Then she wouldn't be out gunning for King Rock.
“Maybe, but I can't order it. I'm not her boss. Not only that, it's almost Christmas. You know what happens during the holidays. No shortage of robberies, murders and domestic homicides.”
“Carlos Marcello is the name that comes to mind when I think about the Mafia in New Orleans. And he's dead.”
“Everybody knows about Carlos and the JFK assassination,” Vobitch said. “Hell, I saw the movie. But if New Orleans is like New York, someone else took over after Carlos died.”
“Like Alma Esposito?”
“Yeah, pistol-packing Alma.” Vobitch frowned. “You know, there's a jewelry store on Royal Street not far from the D-8 station. Esposito Fine Jewelry. Go buy Kelly a diamond and check it out.” Vobitch smirked, then sobered. “Frank, I know you're hot to grab Natalie, but King Rock is your priority. The NOPD brass call me every day, got all kinds of citizen's groups leaning on them.”
