by Susan Fleet
Frank said nothing. That could take weeks. He hated desk duty.
“Which will free you up to grab Natalie.” Vobitch took a Glock 9mm out of his desk drawer, put it on the desk and gave him a stern look. “This is between you and me. If you need a weapon to arrest Natalie, use mine. Make us all happy for Christmas.”
_____
9:45 AM
Natalie stood beside the coffee table, watching Bianca use bright-colored crayons to color a big Christmas wreath with ornaments and bows. But Christmas was the last thing on her mind. This morning Orazio had left the house before breakfast. When she heard the garage door open, she'd stood by the window and watched him drive away. Alone. Earlier she had received a text from Conti: We need to set up another meet. Hoping to stall him, she'd texted back: Can't get out. Guard posted at the door. Conti's reply: Text you later.
The bastard didn't care if Orazio killed her. He wanted information. Information she couldn't provide. Orazio never talked to Tommy when she was around. Worse, he kept watching her, stone-faced, his eyes hard and implacable. Yesterday after they got back from the steamboat ride, he and Tommy had driven off in the black SUV and had returned two hours later. She had no idea what they were doing.
There were too many things she didn't know.
At breakfast Catarina had complained to Tommy, “We better be home before Christmas.” Tommy had given her a dirty look and said, “Don't worry. We'll be home for Christmas.”
Her stomach cramped. She was surrounded by enemies. Orazio. Conti. Renzi. But her biggest enemy was time. Most people began their celebrations on Christmas Eve, which was five days away. That meant the 'Netti brothers would fly back to Venice by Thursday at the latest, three days from now, two if they left on Wednesday.
She had to get away from them. Soon.
“Can I wear my pretty new dress for dinner tonight?” Bianca asked, gazing at her with imploring eyes.
“Not tonight. In a couple of days maybe. Want to go down to the kitchen and visit Annmarie?”
Bianca set aside her crayons and beamed her a big smile. “Yes!”
Natalie grabbed her purse and they went downstairs. Nicky glared at her as they passed him, but said nothing. When they entered the kitchen, Bianca said, “Hello Annmarie!”
“Hello Laura, hello Bianca,”Annmarie said, smiling at them.
“You have a new friend for life,” Natalie said.
Annmarie laughed. “Want a Popsicle, Bianca?”
“Yes, please. I love Popsicles!”
Annmarie took a Popsicle out of the freezer, unwrapped it and set it on a paper plate on the counter. Then she hoisted Bianca onto a wooden stool, gave her some paper napkins and said, “Let the drips fall on the plate, not on your pretty pink shirt.”
“You're very good with kids,” Natalie said.
“I had to be. I took care of my younger brothers and sisters. Two of each. My mother was a devout Catholic, no birth control.” Annmarie shook her head. “Not me. I'm stopping after two.”
“My mother stopped after one,” Natalie said. She didn't explain why.
“An only child? I can't imagine it.” Annmarie cocked her head, smiling at her. “You remind me of the Vietnamese girl I see at the hairdresser's every week. A lot of Vietnamese families live in New Orleans. She's gorgeous and she has beautiful shiny-black hair like yours.”
Taken aback, Natalie said nothing. She had told Orazio she was Chinese-American, to match the name on her passport. If Annmarie thought she looked Vietnamese, maybe Orazio did, too.
She forced a smile. “No, I am Chinese-American.” To distract her, she pointed to a door on the wall opposite the garage. “What's in there?”
Annmarie rolled her eyes. “That's where The Boss takes his ...” She glanced at Bianca, who was gazing at them, sucking on her Popsicle. Annmarie mouthed girlfriend. “He keeps the door locked when he's not here with her watching porn flicks. I've only been in there once. I had to sub for the girl who cleans up after them. There's a bar with all kinds of liquor and two plush sofas facing a huge screen.” Annmarie grinned. “Larger than life action. And the bathroom has a Jacuzzi. I can't imagine what they do in there.”
“No door to get out?” Natalie said. “In case of a fire?”
“No. Not even a window.”
“And no security cameras, I bet,” she said, smiling to make it seem like she was joking, watching Annmarie to see how she would react.
“If there are, The Boss is the only one who sees what's on them.”
“What about the security cameras on the outside of the house?”
“You spotted them, huh? They only turn them on when The Boss is here. He's paranoid about security, brings his goons with him when he comes here to get away from his wife.”
“What's his name?” If she got a name, maybe she could get Conti off her back.
Annmarie frowned, her large dark eyes suddenly wary. “Everyone who works here has to sign a confidentiality agreement saying they won't talk about anything. I don't think they're talking lawsuits, you know? More like broken legs. Or worse.” She ran her fingers through her short dark hair, looking anxious. “I shouldn't be telling you this.”
“Don't worry,” she said. “I won't tell anyone.”
“What is a goon?” Bianca asked in Italian, gazing at them, her Popsicle forgotten.
She glanced at Annmarie, who met her gaze with troubled eyes.
Natalie smiled at Bianca and said, “Like a goomba. Another name for a friend, but not as nice. How do you like your Popsicle?”
“Good,” Bianca said, smiling happily. “Waffles are good, too.”
Natalie heard footsteps in the hall. A chill skittered down her neck. “We better go back upstairs or Nicky will get mad.”
Somber-eyed, Annmarie said, “If you're thinking about sneaking out some night to meet your boyfriend, be careful.”
No flies on Annmarie. Why else would she ask about the locked room and the security cameras? Forcing a smile to hide her nervousness, she said, “I'm not going to sneak out of the house. My boyfriend lives in Boston.” And realized Bianca was staring at her. No happy smile now.
Damn, she had to be careful. Bianca knew what boyfriend meant, had used it to refer to Conti and Renzi. Ridiculous, of course.
They weren't her boyfriends. Far from it. But she was definitely going to sneak out of the house tonight.
If Bianca figured out what “sneak out of the house” meant, that might complicate matters.
CHAPTER 28
9:35 AM
Frank put Vobitch's Glock in the bottom drawer of his desk, happy to have it, but in no hurry to use it. David and Orville were out working other cases. He was stuck in the office. But forget King Rock and his asshole lawyer and the IAD investigation. As Vobitch had correctly pointed out, now he could focus on Natalie. Few days went by when she wasn't in his thoughts. Yesterday he'd been too stressed out to think about her. Now he could work on a plan to get her out of the mob house and arrest her.
He went to the stack of directories on the file cabinet in the corner and took the directory for Metairie back to his desk. He'd used it to find out who lived in the mob house, Alma Esposito, allegedly. Now he'd use it to make a list of residents who lived near the mobsters.
Conti was paying off-duty cops to watch the house, thinking they were only reporting to him. But Frank had given Natalie's photograph to Tony Coppola so he could post it in the surveillance van with a note to call Frank's cellphone immediately if she left the house.
She had, but he didn't find out about it until this morning. Yesterday at noon, Natalie, Bianca, Catarina and the 'Netti brothers had driven off in a black SUV and hadn't returned until four-thirty. The cop who left the message said he didn't know where they went. He got paid to watch the house, not to follow the mobsters.
Where did they go? Frank wondered Maybe they went sightseeing to break the monotony. Tour the French Quarter in a mule-drawn carriage instead of stealing diamonds and killing
people.
His cellphone rang. He checked the ID. John Conti. Had he watched the Sunday night massacre on TV last night? Had he heard King Rock's lawyer dump sleazy accusations on Detective Frank Renzi? He was in no mood to deal with Conti, but why postpone the inevitable? If he didn't answer, Conti would keep calling.
He punched on and said, “Renzi.”
“Frank, did you find us a surveillance house?”
He didn't answer immediately. Maybe Conti hadn't seen the Renzi trial-by-media last night. Local news didn't interest him. Conti and his boss were after the American Mafia kingpin who ran the Antonetti Family in Venice, but they didn't know his name or where he lived. Rather than arrest the thugs who'd murdered Bianca's parents, Conti had forced Natalie to spy on the 'Netti brothers. They expected her to find out who the Mafia kingpin was.
“Not yet. I was working all day yesterday. Why?”
“My supervisor is concerned about the cost of watching the mob house. This morning I texted Natalie to set up another meet. She texted back saying she can't leave the house. The 'Netti brothers posted a guard to watch the door. We need to find a surveillance house soon so Natalie can make up an excuse to meet us there.”
“I said I'd try to find one, but I've been busy working a murder case.” Busy getting shot at by a lowlife killer.
“We must find one as soon as possible. The 'Netti brothers won't stay here long. They will probably fly back to Venice for Christmas. That only gives us three or four days.”
Frank thought about it. Conti was right, and if the mobsters had a guard posted at the door, it meant they didn't trust Natalie. Then again, she might be lying. It wouldn't be the first time.
“Give me her cellphone number.”
“Why?”
“I want to text her and ask her about the guards.”
“That will not be necessary.”
A jolt of anger flamed his gut. Conti didn't want to give him Natalie's number. He wanted her all to himself.
“Well, I guess I'll just have to go there and ring the bell and see for myself.”
“Let me tell you something, Renzi. I am running this operation and you better not fuck it up. If I hadn't called you, you wouldn't even know where Natalie was.”
“Let me tell you something, Conti. I was the one who got you on the plane to New Orleans, because you made the mistake of assuming the 'Netti brothers would stay in New York. Then I called my colleague and had him follow them after they landed. If I hadn't, you wouldn't know where they are. What's her cellphone number?”
Dead silence on the other end. After a moment, Conti spit out the number and Frank wrote it down.
“Call me when you get the surveillance house,” Conti said, and ended the call.
In your dreams, asshole. He added Natalie's number to the contact list in his cell and leaned back in his chair. He wasn't going to text her now. He had no interest in the guards. That was just an excuse to get her number. But Conti was right about one thing.
The clock was ticking. Finding someone who'd let them use their house for a few days wouldn't be easy, but it was the safest way to get Natalie and Bianca away from the mobsters. A helluva lot better than bursting into the house, guns blazing.
Why not think positive? Lots of people went away for the holidays. He'd find someone who lived near the mobsters, text Natalie and have her bring Bianca to the surveillance house. Arrest Natalie and protect Bianca so the 'Netti brothers couldn't kill her.
Envisioning himself celebrating Christmas with his father, he opened the city directory and started flipping pages.
_____
Orazio waited impatiently at a traffic light. Twenty past noon and traffic was already heavy in the French Quarter. He had completed one task but others lay ahead. The whoop of distant sirens drifted through the open window, another concern. Dead men tell no tales, but diners at the Saigon Canteen might. He didn't believe anyone had gotten a good look at him last night, but if they'd seen Silvano's SUV and described it to the cops, it could be a problem.
Unfortunately, he had intended to use the money he got for the jewelry to finance part of his real estate purchase. A half hour ago, he had finalized the deal. The property was no mansion, but a fine house nonetheless, four bedrooms, four bathrooms, an elegant library, and a kitchen with stainless steel appliances. The price was $970,000, which required a ten percent deposit. He'd given Silvano's real estate agent $97,000 in cash. An early closing date had cost him a thousand more.
At 8:30 AM on Thursday, he would sign the papers at the real estate agent's office, leaving just enough time to speed to the airport. Tommy and Catarina would meet him there. Then he would fly to Venice and keep his date with his favorite whore. She asked no questions and did whatever he asked, a pleasant companion to celebrate the successful completion of his business in New Orleans.
Now he had to talk to Tick-Tock's nephew. The fagosa. The idea of a man sucking another man's cock filled him with disgust. Angelo and his pretty-boy lover spent their vacations on the Costa del Sol in Spain, frolicking on the beach with other fagosas. But like it or not, he had to deal with him. He would make Angelo understand the urgency. Complete his work on the uncut diamonds by Wednesday afternoon or else.
The light changed and he accelerated. He assumed Tommy and Catarina were at the house, but he didn't trust the nanny. He punched a number into his cellphone and waited, steering with one hand as he drove down Conti Street.
“Hello.” Nicky's clipped voice.
“This is Mr. Antonetti. Are Tomasso and his wife still there?”
“Yes, sir. Tomasso is in the living room watching TV. His wife is upstairs in their room.”
“And the child?”
“She's upstairs in her room with the woman that cares for her.”
“Good. See that they don't leave the house.” He ended the call. After he finished talking to Angelo, he would devise a plan to get rid of the kid and the insolent nanny. Tomorrow perhaps. Wednesday at the latest.
He stopped at a stop sign at the intersection of Bourbon Street. The stench of beer and vomit wafted through the window. Tourists came here at night to gawk at strippers, listen to music and drink themselves into a stupor. Some called New Orleans The Big Easy. Easy to get drunk, easy to get laid and easy to get killed if they weren't careful.
He drove across Royal Street and pulled into a garage for a nearby hotel. A young man in a blue uniform shirt hurried to the SUV.
Orazio gave him a twenty. “Don't put my car upstairs. I will be back in fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, sir.” The kid took the twenty and said, “I'll park it here, beside the booth.”
He left the keys in the SUV, took his briefcase and set out for Esposito Fine Jewelry. Royal Street was alive with people, young couples with children, women pushing strollers, older couples walking hand in hand. Many were foreigners. Some were Japanese; others were Slavic with angular faces, jutting jaws and shaggy haircuts. Each store had an enticing window display: antique furniture, rare coins, silver bowls.
Some exhibited fine art, but none could compare to the paintings in European museums. He had studied such paintings in case an opportunity arose to steal one. But after learning that they were easy to steal but difficult to sell, he had abandoned the idea.
A painting in one window caught his eye, a blue dog with beady yellow eyes sitting on a piano bench. Edward Rodrigue was the artist. Another painting featured two dogs, one blue, the other orange. The prices were ridiculous. A child could paint them and make a fortune.
A mule towing a white carriage clip-clopped by and stopped to take a dump, the driver talking to the tourists in the carriage. Careful to avoid the mule droppings, Orazio crossed the street to Esposito Fine Jewelry and studied the window display. A three-tiered diamond necklace draped over black velvet. A sparkling diamond brooch with red rubies. Several diamond earrings.
A security guard in a blue uniform stood inside the door. To keep out the riffraff one had to press a butt
on to enter, but the guard recognized him, opened the door and said, “Good morning, Mr. Antonetti. Angelo is expecting you. He'll be right out.”
There were no customers in the store. Soft music issued from a speaker in the corner, an operatic tenor with a rich voice singing a Verdi aria, elegant music to entice tourists to buy expensive jewelry. Orazio stood beside a glass case with diamond jewelry. Tick-Tock had taken four large uncut diamonds as his tribute. Would he have Angelo make him another ring to adorn his fat fingers? Or cut them and sell them to augment his fortune.
Angelo bustled out of an office at the rear of the store and said, “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Undeniably handsome—large dark eyes and thick sensuous lips—the fagosa wore blue velvet trousers and a matching jacket over a frilly white shirt open at the throat to display gold chains. Orazio could smell his flowery perfume. Disgusting.
“You need to work quickly,” he said. “I must have my diamonds by Wednesday.”
Angelo frowned. “That may not be possible, I have—”
“Do not tell me what is not possible. I will be back on Wednesday at three o'clock.” He opened his jacket to show the weapon in his shoulder holster. “If they are not ready, you will suffer the consequences.”
Angelo's face paled. “Of course. I will put my other projects aside and do yours first.”
“See you Wednesday,” Orazio said. Angelo would probably call his uncle to complain, but he followed Father's dictum: Maintain control or lose the respect of others. Including Tick-Tock.
He hurried back to the SUV, tipped the valet and drove off, already focused on his next task. Last night on TV he had watched a program about a neighborhood north of the French Quarter where many African-Americans lived. New Orleans had one of the highest murder rates in America, many of them in black neighborhoods. At the next intersection, he turned left and drove north. He took the Smith & Wesson out of the holster inside his jacket and put it in his lap.
