by Susan Fleet
She gave the phone to Kelly and started to cry. First Mama died. Then the bad men put her on an airplane and took her far away. She didn't know where Papà was. When she asked Catwoman, Catwoman talked about something else or fed her ice cream.
Laura wouldn't tell her either. She just looked sad and said, “I don't know.”
Laura had promised not to leave her. Something terrible must have happened.
Tears ran down her cheeks. What if Laura was dead?
Then she would be all alone.
_____
Frank put the cellphone in his pocket, processing what Bianca had said. Three mobsters in the house with assault weapons in a standoff with a SWAT team, and mobster reinforcements parked down the street. Worse, now that word of “police action” was on the tube, reporters and TV crews would descend on the neighborhood any minute.
But his biggest worry was Natalie, lying on a blanket with a bullet in her back, bleeding.
“Bianca said to tell you she misses you.”
“She's afraid of Orazio. She saw him kill her mother. She's afraid he'll kill her too. But now she's safe.”
“You will be too as soon as the ambulance gets here.”
She closed her eyes. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she struggled to breathe. She coughed and a string of bloody sputum dribbled from her lips. He wiped it away with the towel and tucked the blanket around her. Her face was pale and sweaty, and she was shivering. Damn! It looked like she was about to go into shock. He got on his cellphone and called Dispatch.
“This is Renzi up on Mobster Lane. Where the hell is the ambulance?”
“They took fire from armed men at the end of block,” said the dispatcher. “They can't go in. It's too dangerous. I sent two NOPD squads up there. Not our territory, but you need backup, right?”
“Right. Patch me through to the EMT.” He waited, heard the dispatcher tell the EMT that Frank Renzi needed to talk to them.
“Go ahead,” the dispatcher said.
He turned away from Natalie and said in a low voice, “What do I do for a GSW in the back?”
“Is it through and through?”
“I don't think so.”
“The slug could be anywhere. Is she breathing okay?”
“Difficult. Bloody sputum.”
“Best thing would be to get her to the hospital. We'd take her if we could, but our orders are to stay out of harms way. We're over on the next block.”
“Okay, thanks,” Frank said and ended the call.
“Mobster Lane,” Natalie said. “I like your sense of humor.”
“Don't talk. Just rest.”
“No. If I don't keep talking, I'll fall asleep.”
But he knew she wasn't worried about falling asleep. She was afraid she was going to die. And she might, if he didn't get her to a hospital. He felt utterly helpless. To keep her talking he said, “Where did you go after I called you in Chicago last year?”
“Got on a plane and flew to Italy.”
“How? Every TSA agent in the country had your passport number and description.”
“I used Liang Lam's passport. He is the brother of Ling Lam, the passport I'm using now.” Her hand fluttered to her hair. “I had to cut off most of my hair. But it grew back.”
“Where'd you get the passports?”
“From the Mountain Man.” She looked at him, dreamy-eyed. “When I was a teenager I thought mountains and birds would protect me. But I was wrong.” A spasm of pain made her grimace. Then she muttered, “Willem loved me, I think.” She gripped his hand. “Please don't leave me.”
He squeezed her hand and his throat thickened. Two days ago his only goal was to arrest Natalie and put her in jail. Now he was afraid she was going to die, desperate to get her to a hospital so the doctors could save her. Fighting the lump in his throat, he said, “I won't leave you. Hell, the Budweiser Clydesdales couldn't drag me away.”
Natalie smiled faintly. “You watch too many commercials.”
A sharp voice behind him said, “She's bleeding! She needs to go to the hospital.”
When he turned, Vivian stood over them, pointing at the blanket and frowning.
“I know she does, but the ambulance can't get here, complications down the street.”
“More Mafia hoodlums probably. My florist's van is in the garage,” Vivian said in a firm voice. “We'll use it to take her to the hospital.”
Not the best solution, but what choice did he have? “Okay. Go get it ready.”
He got on his cellphone and called Tony Coppola, who answered right away. “This is a helluva mess, Frank. Four assholes with assault weapons drove by and shot at the van.”
“Where are you? Are you okay?”
“Yup. I got out of there pronto. I'm parked on the next street over. Why?”
“I need to get Natalie to hospital. The woman who lives next door to the mobsters will let us use her van. Can you sneak through her back yard? We're outside, in front of the lavender house.”
“Be there in a jiffy,” Tony said, and ended the call.
Natalie opened her eyes and squeezed his hand. “She must be a redhead. Only a redhead could boss you around like that.”
Amused, he grinned, but quickly sobered. Mob thugs were blocking the street beside the Hogan house.
The big question: Were more of them parked at the other end of the block?
CHAPTER 43
In the shadowy darkness of his bedroom Orazio stood two paces back from the front window. The gritty stink of gunpowder irritated his nostrils, and his ears hurt, a painful buzzing. He mopped sweat off his forehead and pinched his nose. Would this ordeal never end?
For ten minutes, he had fired short bursts at the FBI agents. Now that he'd hit one they weren't stupid enough to attack the front door, but every so often a helmeted man in a flak jacket and full body armor jumped out of the Hummer and fired a withering salvo at the house.
His shoes crunched on broken glass as he cautiously drew closer to the window. The glass had been shot out by his enemies, the wood frame pock-marked and splintered. He raised the Uzi, sighted on the back of the Hummer and waited. Moments later two men jumped from the back of the Hummer and raised their weapons. Orazio raked them with a burst from his Uzi and pulled back from the window.
More gunfire from downstairs, Rocco shooting from the dining room.
Orazio checked the magazine, his last one and less than half full. A shiver ran down his spine. Faced with a well-armed enemy, nothing was worse than hearing the click of a firing pin strike an empty chamber.
He ran down the hall to Tommy's room. His brother turned from the window and flashed a self-important smile. “No one tries to get over the fence now. Not since I took out three of them.”
Always the braggart. “Fine, but I need more ammo. Go get the rest of the magazines from the room downstairs. I'll hold your Uzi.”
A burst of gunfire came from the street. Tommy flinched. “How many men you figure they got out there?”
“Too many,” Orazio said. “Go get the ammunition. Hurry.”
Tommy gave him the Uzi and ran out of the room. Orazio followed him down the hall and stopped at the utility room beside the staircase. Catarina turned from the monitors and looked at him, her face pale and drawn. She wasn't thinking about shopping now.
“Come with me,” he said. “I need you in Tommy's room.”
“Why?” she said, frowning. “Where's Tommy?”
“Shut up and come with me.” He dragged her out of the chair, hustled her down the hall to Tommy's room and stood her at the open window. “I need you to defend the back fence.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I can't shoot—”
He slapped her, first one cheek, then the other. “You want to die?”
Tears filled her eyes and her shoulders sagged in defeat. He placed her hands in the proper position on Tommy's Uzi and released the safety.
“Look at me! If anyone tries to climb over the fence, shoot
them. Understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes wide with fear.
He heard footsteps pounding up the stairs and hurried to his room.
“I gave four to Rocco. That's all the rest,” Tommy said, gesturing at the eight magazines on the bed.
“Take four for yourself and get the other Uzi in the weapon closet. Catarina is using yours to guard the back fence from your room. You and Rocco defend the front door from the dining room. I will shoot from here. This window gives me a fine view of the Hummer.”
“Whose car is that in the driveway? It's blocking the garage.”
Unable to suppress the fury that rose inside him, he said, “A fucking police car. Polizia!”
Tommy stared at him. “Polizia? Why?”
He glared at his brother. “Use your brain. Remember when the girl and the nanny went in that house down the street? I told you that woman was a cop.”
Agitated, Tommy waved his hands in the air. “FBI agents and polizia? How can we hold out against so many men? I thought Silvano was sending his soldiers to help us.”
So did I, but maybe he won't. “Go get the other Uzi and help Rocco.”
Frowning, Tommy held his gaze for a moment, then turned and grudgingly left the room.
Tommy was unwilling to challenge him now, but there might come a time when he would. Orazio slid his right hand inside his jacket and touched the Smith & Wesson in the pocket below his left armpit. If Tommy did not follow orders, he would not hesitate to use it. Nor would he turn his back on his brother. Tommy knew he had the diamonds, but he didn't know where they were.
Orazio knelt beside the dresser and extended his arm underneath it. His figures touched the drawstring bags with the diamonds and the stolen jewelry he had taped underneath the dresser.
Reassured, he slammed a fresh magazine into his Uzi.
_____
“Vobitch is ripshit,” David said.
“About what?” Frank said, crouched by the fence with his cellphone.
“After the mobsters shot at Tony, he got on his radio and asked me how things were on my end of the block. I told him four men with assault rifles shot at us, but Orville took evasive action and backed the cruiser around the corner. Then Vobitch got on the radio and put out a call to you. Twice. The second time he sounded really pissed.”
Frank clenched his jaw. What could he say? In his haste to rescue Natalie and Bianca, he'd left his radio in Mary Hogan's kitchen? Bullshit. He hadn't forgotten it. If he didn't talk on the radio, nobody could tell him what to do. Or not to do.
“Bianca's with Kelly in the Hogan house, but Orazio shot Natalie. I need to get her to the hospital. Placate Vobitch, okay? Gotta go.”
He ended the call just as Tony charged around the corner of Vivian's garage and loped across the lawn. Dark with sweat, a gray T-shirt clung to his barrel chest. A Gulf War veteran, Tony had joined NOPD twenty years ago after leaving the Army. His most prominent feature was his large crooked nose, a testament to his youthful boxing days when it had been broken twice. Tony had recently turned fifty but he was still in shape, brawny shoulders and thick powerful legs. He nodded at Natalie, lying on the blanket with her eyes shut. “How's she doing?”
Frank shook his head and held a finger to his lips. “We need something to lift her into the van.”
“I know how to do it,” Tony said and headed for the house.
Natalie opened her eyes. Agitated, she grabbed Frank's hand. “Pak Lam. You have to call him. His number is in my iPhone.”
He stroked her hand. “I'll call him. Don't talk now, close your eyes and rest. We're taking you to the hospital.”
She met his gaze for a moment, then closed her eyes.
Tony came out of the house with a yellow bedspread, folded it in half lengthwise and put it on the ground beside Natalie. “Vivian says to bring her in the garage. Piece of cake if you know what you're doing. I did it plenty of times during the war. Grab your side of Natalie's blanket.”
Tony gripped the other side. They hoisted the blanket and gently lowered Natalie onto the bedspread.
She didn't stir, her eyes closed, her face ashen.
“Okay, “Tony said, “now we use the bedspread to carry her.” With Natalie swaying between them, they lugged her into the garage.
Vivian stood at the rear of a small white van, the rear doors spread open like butterfly wings. “I put three blankets down to pad the floor,” she said. “Nobody will see her. Hurry!”
Spurred by the urgency of her words, they hoisted Natalie into the van and lowered her to the floor. Not a peep from Natalie, whose eyes remained closed. They inched her forward until her head was behind the front seats and climbed out of the van.
Frank studied the lettering on the side of the van: ALPERT'S FINE FLOWERS. That explained the sweet flowery aroma in the van.
Vivian stood by the driver's door, clearly impatient, jingling the set of keys in her hand. She wasn't going to like what he was about to tell her.
“The mobsters shot at my colleagues at the north end of the block. They're okay but the mobsters are in a car blocking the intersection. Which means Tony's driving the van.”
Vivian frowned and shook her head. “No. It's better if I drive.”
“No. They may shoot at us. You're a civilian. We get paid to do things like this. Never put a civilian in harm's way. NOPD protocol.”
“Bullshit! It's my van and I'm driving. Besides, these mobsters are idiots when it comes to women. They're less apt to shoot at me. I'll tell them I've got a delivery to make.”
“She's right,” Tony said. “A woman might be able to charm the goombas. Otherwise, we gotta drive past them guns blazing. And they got more powerful weapons than we do.”
Clearly pleased, Vivian nodded her head emphatically.
“Maybe,” Frank said, “but Vobitch will have our heads on a platter.”
“We're wasting time,” Vivian said. “Frank, ride in back with the woman. Big Guy can ride in front with me.” She thrust a small floral arrangement with white lilies and pink peonies at Tony. “Put this in your lap and hide your gun in it.”
“I don't know,” Tony said dubiously. “I got allergies. Does it have pollen?”
“Of course it does! That's what flowers do. Pollinate. You'll be fine.” She plucked out a white lily and gave it to Frank. “Give this to the woman. Lilies bring good luck.”
Frank didn't like the way this was going, but Vivian was right. Why waste time arguing? Natalie had been shot twenty minutes ago. He took the lily, climbed in back and pulled the door shut.
He crawled forward, knelt on the blankets beside Natalie and gave her the lily. “Vivian says lilies bring good luck.”
Natalie held the lily to her nose, inhaled the fragrance and laid the flower across her chest. “That's what we need. Good luck.”
True, Frank thought, but he wasn't going to rely on luck. He took out his Glock and set it on the blanket beside him. Up front in the shotgun seat, Tony turned and winked at him. Everybody acting upbeat, but a lot of things could go wrong.
The thugs might shoot first, ask questions later. The windows in the cab of Vivian's van were tall and wide. If the thugs stopped them and looked inside the van, they would see him behind the front seats.
Then he remembered the SWAT team in the Hummer. But there was no time to call Agent Wyner. Would the FBI agents shoot at a civilian vehicle? Maybe not, if an NOPD cop was in it.
“Tony, when we approach the Hummer, flash your badge at them.”
Vivian backed out of the garage, wheeled the van into the street, jerked to a stop and accelerated. The Hummer was parked thirty yards away in front of the mob house. All quiet at the moment, no gunfire from the house, none from the Hummer.
“Slow down,” Tony said to Vivian as they neared the Hummer. He lowered his window, flashed his NOPD badge and said, “I got orders to escort this woman out of the neighborhood.”
Frank smiled. Trust Tony to come up with a legit-sounding e
xcuse.
“Okay, but be careful,” a grim-faced FBI agent said. “We can't be held responsible if you get shot at.” The agent waved them along.
So far so good, but getting past the thugs wouldn't be so easy. Frank bent closer to Natalie and whispered, “Quiet. No talking.”
The van slowed and came to a stop beside the mob car. Vivian lowered her window and called, “Could you folks move your car please? I have to deliver some flowers to a wedding.”
“A little late for a wedding, ain't it?” a surly voice called. “Almost nine o'clock.”
Frank waited tensely, sweating it out, gripping the Glock in both hands. Tony had his Glock in his hands too, hiding it behind the flower arrangement in his lap.
“Not really,” Vivian said. “It's a candlelight service.”
“What kinda people get married on a Tuesday? They ain't Catholic, that's for sure.”
“No, but they're important clients and they're paying us a boatload of money. Could you please move the car? We're already late!”
Frank held his breath. The woman had balls, he'd give her that.
Seconds passed. Not a peep out of Vivian gripping the wheel, or Tony gripping his Glock.
In the distance Frank heard sirens approaching. NOPD squad cars or Jefferson Parish deputies. If they got here before Vivian drove past the mobsters, all hell might break loose.
“What's in the back?” said the thug.
“Flowers,” Vivian said. She plucked a lily from the arrangement on Tony's lap and held it out the window. “Take this with my compliments. Lilies bring good luck.” Without waiting for a reply, she drove forward, slowly at first, second by agonizing second.
No gunfire from the mobsters, who pulled their car forward.
Vivian inched the van around it, turned the corner and accelerated.
“Hah … hah ...” Tony shuddered and let out a violent sneeze. “Hah-chooooo!” After a moment, he said, “Sorry about that. I held it as long as I could. Good going, Viv! You got nerves of steel. The NOPD could use a woman like you.”
CHAPTER 44
Natalie closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, fighting the pain. The woman had given her a white lily for good luck, but it wasn't helping. It was harder to breathe now, and the pain was worse than before. Her back was on fire, and the fire was spreading.
