Hoerner grunted with pain as he collided with the steering wheel of his car. The gun under his arm gouged into his armpit. “Shit!” he said, whirling out of the driver’s seat onto the street to see who had hit him. Then he recognized Ruby’s big blond head as it came back up over the dashboard. He didn’t recognize the driver, but he knew the stabbing motion of his right hand toward the inside of his suit jacket.
Gino cleared his revolver first, but it struck the top of the half-open door he was leaning on and jarred out of his hand. Before the pistol could settle again into Gino’s palm, Hoerner put two shots through the glass of the window into his pale mauve shirt front. Two red blotches appeared instantly, and Gino fell to a kneeling position in the street behind the door and stuck there, his hanging head leaning against the red-leather door panel. His gun clattered to the pavement and spun into the middle of the street.
Hoerner came swiftly around the door, saw that Gino would be no more trouble, and stuck his gun into the car, covering Ruby and Injun.
“Up!” he commanded. “Up. Grab a piece of the headliner.”
Ruby and Injun silently did as they were told, keeping a wary eye on Hoerner’s gun. The shots hadn’t been loud, no more than two sharp cracks, but Hoerner knew he had to get moving before a crowd gathered. “Who’s he?” He snapped his head toward Gino’s body.
Neither spoke, so Hoerner arced his pistol across the back of the front seat to the point of Ruby’s jaw. It connected with a sharp sound. Tears of pain appeared in Ruby’s eyes, and he started to bring his hands down.
“Up,” Hoerner ordered. He turned his eyes to Injun in the back seat.
“Gino Speranza,” said Injun flatly, looking Hoerner in the eye.
On the street, a few faces had begun to appear at windows.
“Okay, crybaby,” Hoerner said, turning to Ruby, “get over in the back with your buddy.”
Ruby started to bring a hand down to open the door, but Hoerner stopped him.
“No,” he said. “Over the top. You get in the far corner,” he told Injun.
Hoerner watched as the big man struggled onto his knees on the front seat. Awkwardly, Ruby shifted his weight, threw a knee over the back of the seat and began to climb over.
At the same moment, Hoerner pushed the automatic gear lever of the still-running car down to reverse and jumped back. Slowly, the automobile lurched to a start and began moving backward. The open door pushed Gino’s body to the street, and a front tire ran over his out-thrown hand. With the first motion of the car, Ruby lost his balance and fell heavily, trapping Injun with his broad shoulders.
Before Ruby stopped falling, Hoerner was halfway to his car. He jumped in and started the engine. At the same time, in the rearview mirror, he watched Gino’s Thunderbird scrape along the side of a pick-up truck and keep going. As Hoerner wheeled around the corner, he heard the car hit a lamp standard with a crash and a shower of glass.
This new sound of impact brought Harry and Sandra to the window along with half of the housewives on the block. But few were looking at the automobile and the small, dark man struggling to get behind the steering wheel. Most eyes were on Gino’s body where it lay face down a car and a half’s width from the curb. They were momentarily distracted when Injun finally got into the front seat, shifted the Thunderbird into low and roared past Gino’s body without a pause or a look.
“Who is that?” Sandra asked, looking at Gino’s body. She stood unconcernedly naked at the window beside Harry. “Is he hurt?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said, struggling with the sleeve of his robe, “but I wish you’d put a little something on.”
“I’ll use some of yours,” Sandra said, untangling the arm of the robe and slipping inside with Harry. Her naked hip, so warm in bed a few minutes before, was cool, and he felt her bare foot lightly on his.
“That’s a little better,” he said. “Now all I have to do is explain to the neighbors what I was doing sharing my bathrobe with a beautiful, naked young girl.”
“It will do wonders for your reputation,” she said. “Business at the Lamplighter will probably double.”
“If there is a Lamplighter.”
A black gardener from across the street walked out into the street and knelt beside Gino’s body. Gingerly the gardener turned him over on his back. His whole chest was stained a bright red, but Gino’s dark-jowled face was untouched. Even the tinted glasses were still in place.
Sandra clutched Harry’s wrist. “I know him,” she said, shrinking back from the window. “It’s Gino Speranza. I met him at a dance last year. His father is supposed to be head of the Mafia around here.”
“And I know where else I’ve heard that name,” Harry said. “Hoerner said that Gino Speranza was working for Rizzo.”
“Do you think so?”
“What else would he have been doing on this block with a gun? Not paying a social call. Anyway, I’m not going to stick around to find out. I’m getting out of here.” Harry drew her away from the window.
“Where will you go?” Sandra asked.
Where will I go, Harry thought. Where do you run when you don’t know what you’re running from? “The city, I guess,” he said. He thought of his brother Mickey.
“I’ll go with you.”
“No,” Harry said. “I’ll take you home. It could be dangerous with me. Besides, your mother may need you more than you think.”
“I’ll go with you,” Sandra said.
Seven minutes later, the neighbors who crept out to the sidewalk to stare at Gino’s corpse were surprised to see Harry Caster come out of his house with a young girl and drive away rapidly. This added considerable piquancy to the most exciting day Elgin Street had ever seen.
* * *
Hoerner drove automatically, his only goal to put distance between himself and Elgin Street. He thought no more about Gino Speranza. Then he realized that he was retracing his path back to the river, going back to Joy’s place. Hoerner shrugged. It was someplace to go.
He parked the car across the rutted tarmac road from the little house and strode to the front door. As he knocked, Hoerner smiled at the contrast between his arrival early that morning and this one. There was no answer. Hoerner knocked a bit louder. “Joy,” he called. “Joy, it’s me—Alec.”
“You’re wasting your time, son,” said a voice not far from Hoerner’s elbow. “Nobody’s home.”
Hoerner looked into the next yard and saw no one.
“Down here,” said the voice, and he saw that it belonged to an old woman, not much higher than the leaning green fence. Gray puffs of hair stood out from her head like explosions of rusty steel wool. She wore an ancient gingham dress tied around with a patch-pocket apron into which her hands were jammed.
“Where is she?” Hoerner asked.
“Couldn’t say,” the old woman said, squinting up at him. “She left about twenty minutes ago with that rabbity, dark-haired fella who’s always hanging around. She was carrying an old suitcase, and it looked heavy.”
“You don’t miss much, do you, Granny?” Hoerner asked.
“Nope,” she said. “There’s not much else to do on this block but spy on the neighbors. Not that they’re that interesting. Best show we’ve had in months was when you got here last night.”
“Glad you were amused,” Hoerner said. “I’d have thought you’d be mad because I woke you up.”
“I can sleep any time,” said the neighbor. “Is he really her father?”
“Stepfather.”
She looked a little disappointed. “If you want to get in,” the old woman said, “my key fits. They’re all just skeleton keys.”
“I don’t want to get in,” Hoerner said as he turned and kicked his way through the hanging gate and onto the ruined sidewalk.
“Son—” Hoerner turned and looked back. The little woman was on her porch now, a twin to Joy’s. “Take an old woman’s advice, boy,” she said. “Don’t—”
“Stuff your advice, Grand
ma,” said Hoerner, and he walked back to his car. The old woman was smiling as she turned to go back into her house.
Once in his car, Hoerner didn’t know where to go next. With Gino Speranza cold and dead in front of Caster’s house, everything had changed. No longer was it a case of preventing a war. Now the important thing was to win.
The thought of cutting and running, of leaving Harry Caster to sort out his nasty little problems himself, crossed Hoerner’s mind. But he couldn’t do that. He needed the rest of the money Mickey Caster had promised, and he knew Caster wouldn’t pay for a half- finished job. No, the last thing Rizzo would expect would be another attack so soon, but that was what he was going to get. Only this time Hoerner was going to hit him so hard that Rizzo would be glad to call it off. How he was going to do this, Hoerner had no idea. But he knew where he had to be: at Rizzo’s. And as soon as it grew dark, that was where he was going to be.
Then he felt hungry, and Hoerner knew he had some time to kill before this evening. He turned the car around, decimating a row of bedraggled lilies, and headed away from the river.
25
Carlo Rizzo was sitting alone in his living room angrily reliving the night before with his family. His brother would pull through, the doctor said, but Rizzo’s family had been on him fiercely, blaming him for Steve’s injury. His sisters had been worst of all, the worthless bitches. And their two-bit husbands hadn’t been much better. They hadn’t been too proud to take the crumbs he’d thrown them when things were going better. Finally, he had stomped out at three in the morning after telling them all to go to hell. He could still see his mother’s face—cried out, stark, pleading.
Now Rizzo heard loud voices out on the front lawn, and he carefully peeked out of the side window and saw Pete standing off Injun and Ruby, who were trying to explain something. Then Rizzo heard the words, “They shot him,” and he hurried to the front door.
As soon as they were in the house, Rizzo turned on them. “Who’s been shot? What the hell is going on?”
Ruby and Injun exchanged glances, and Ruby said: “It’s Gino. Somebody burned him on Caster’s street. Just a few minutes ago. We came right over.” Ruby quickly told Rizzo all that had happened.
“Who was this guy?” Rizzo asked. “Did you recognize him?”
“No,” Ruby said, “but he was a pro, that’s for sure. Gino only bumped his car a little, and he came out shooting. He must have been guarding Caster’s house.”
“Yeah,” said Rizzo, “I’ll bet he was.” He turned to Injun. “Where’s Caster now?”
“When we got out of there, he was home,” Injun said. “At least I think he was. But I doubt if he stuck around for long.”
“You’re really clever,” Rizzo said, “to figure that out all by yourself.” He thought hard for a moment while the two youths eyed him uneasily.
“You’re working for me now,” Rizzo told them.
Ruby and Injun looked at each other again and then both nodded okay. There didn’t seem to be anything else to do.
“I’ve got a job for you,” Rizzo said. “First we’ve got to get rid of Gino’s car. Pete will give you his car, Injun, and I want you and Ruby to take the Thunderbird and lose it somewhere. Then you both come back here, and I’ll have work for you. Don’t be too long getting back.”
Pete reluctantly handed over his car keys to Injun. With Ruby following in the Thunderbird, the driver’s window rolled down so that the bullet holes didn’t show, they rolled off toward the river to find a place where the big car wouldn’t be found for a while.
All went well until they got to Guilford Avenue. Injun squeezed through on a red-orange signal, but Ruby, under the eye of a traffic cop, chickened out and stopped. He tried to look innocent and hoped that a report wasn’t out yet on Gino’s car. Injun drove on slowly, expecting Ruby to catch up with him in a couple of blocks.
But while he was sitting nervously at the signal trying to keep an eye on Pete’s car through the traffic-filled crossing, Ruby saw Harry and Sandra drive across the intersecting street heading south out of Parker’s Landing. For once in his life, Ruby reacted without hesitation. To the annoyance of a woman driving a Volkswagen bus, he edged into the curbside lane as the light was changing green and turned right to follow Harry’s car.
* * *
Chief Beddell arrived on Elgin Street where Gino’s body still lay in the street. He looked down at the form beneath the olive-drab tarpaulin with no other feeling than weariness. He hadn’t meant to be so right in his prediction of Gino’s fate. After a word with his sergeant confirming that Harry Caster was not in his house, Beddell got back into his unmarked car and drove away.
The old man was having his afternoon nap when Beddell arrived at the Speranza house. He said he’d wait, and Carmen, the daughter, still attractive at thirty-five but going middle-aged around the eyes and mouth, led him into the living room and got him a cup of coffee.
Beddell sat back on the leather sofa and looked around at the expensive furnishings, the big color television set, the well-framed oil paintings on the walls. I should have taken that job he offered years ago, he thought. Maybe I did, he added ruefully to himself, or I wouldn’t be sitting here now.
Carmen sat down on the other end of the sofa and looked at him.
“You’ve never been here before,” she said.
“No,” said Beddell. “This is the first time.” There’d been plenty of invitations at first, but after he’d refused them all without making excuses, the invitations had stopped coming.
“What do you want here?” she asked directly.
“I think I’d better wait for your father.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Carmen said. She started to say something else when Baptiste Speranza appeared in the doorway wearing the clouded face of the newly awakened. His gardening clothes had been replaced by a pair of baggy, soft-gray trousers and a checked woolen shirt.
Beddell stood up automatically as the old man entered the room, and Speranza came toward him with his hand extended. His mouth was smiling, but Beddell knew from his eyes that Speranza sensed that this was no social call.
“Roy,” he said, “it’s good to see you again.”
Beddell took the old hand and shook it. “Hello, Baptiste,” he said. The grip was gentle, but beneath the soft padding Beddell could feel a ghostly reminder of the vise that hand had once been.
“Sit down, sit down,” Speranza urged, still gripping Beddell’s hand. “Carmen,” he said in the same soft voice, but it was definitely a command.
“But, Papa—”
“Carmen,” Speranza repeated, no louder than before. Carmen sighed, and with a glance at Beddell she left the room.
“Carmen’s the only one I can push around these days,” Speranza said after the door closed. He didn’t smile. “Even the little one tells me what to do, and I do it.” Then he smiled. “But, Roy,” the old man said, “I’m glad to see you after all this time. A telephone call this morning and now a visit. “Is it”— Speranza’s face darkened—“still that business about the boy?”
“It’s about Gino, Baptiste,” Beddell started, and he tried to summon up one of those useful phrases employed to avoid handling the naked blade of truth. But he couldn’t this time. “Gino’s dead, Baptiste,” he said. “Somebody shot him to death a little while ago over in Parkland.”
Speranza took the news, absorbed it as rich earth absorbs rain. His eyes lost their contented dullness, becoming not sharp but keen. His face seemed to shed the flaccidness that had crept into it in recent years. Speranza looked slightly ludicrous in the clothes of an old man, like an actor backstage.
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
“We don’t know yet,” Beddell replied. Now he was all policeman. “Gino came in this morning after I talked to you and bailed his two punks out.”
“You let him have them?”
“I didn’t have any choice. Ortiz set bail, and Gino had the money. So he took them with him. A lit
tle while later we got a call that there’d been a shooting on Elgin Street where that Caster fellow lives. It was Gino. He didn’t suffer, Baptiste; there was no pain.” Speranza did not rise to this easy bait. Beddell went on. “We don’t know exactly what he went there for. But there was some sort of collision. Gino went for his gun—he died with it in his hand—but the other fellow got his shots in first.”
“This Caster you were telling me about—the bar owner,” Speranza said. “Did he shoot Gino?”
“No,” Beddell said. “Witnesses say definitely not.”
“You’ve talked to him?”
“Not yet. The shooting scared him off, and we haven’t been able to locate him yet. But we will.”
“He hired a gun?”
“I don’t know,” Beddell said. “He’s a pretty frightened man.”
“And Rizzo,” Speranza said, “he knows that Gino is dead?”
“He probably does by now.” The situation had changed. Beddell had turned from bearer of bad news to an informant. “The two men with Gino beat it right after the shooting in Gino’s T-bird. Probably it was Bonino and Carelli heading straight for Rizzo’s.”
“Have you seen Rizzo?”
“I came right here.”
“I am grateful, Roy,” the old man said. He laid a heavy hand on Beddell’s arm. “I know you won’t let me do anything for you, but—”
“There’s something you can do for me, Don Baptiste,” Beddell said. He hadn’t often used the tide of respect, and Speranza’s face registered suspicion. “You can do me a big favor by staying out of this. Please, you can’t do anybody any good by getting involved. Leave it to me. It’s my job.”
Speranza smiled gently. “So you’re telling me what to do, too, Roy. You and the little one,” he added without meaning to insult. Speranza stood and offered his hand. Beddell stood, too, and he knew he’d been wasting his time. “You’ve been a good friend, Roy,” Speranza said, taking his hand, “a good friend. And I’m very grateful.”
The Triple Shot Box (Goodey's Last Stand, Not Sleeping Just Dead & Fighting Back): Three Gritty Crime Novels Page 55
