Bad Apple

by Anthony Bruno

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “We gave him a choice. Either he could help us catch his friends, or he could face charges and probably end up serving some serious time. Freshy decided to save his own ass.”

  Stanley was glaring at Freshy. He looked like he was going to eat him.

  Freshy kept glancing in the rearview mirror as he drove. “That’s not exactly true, Stanley. You don’t understand. They forced me. Tell him, Gib. I didn’t have a choice.”

  Gibbons smiled like a crocodile. Frig him. Freshy could take care of his own problems.

  “C’mon, Gib. Tell him.”

  “Will you please shut up,” Lorraine yelled. “I can’t hear what they’re saying.”

  Stanley roared. “The both of youse shut up.”

  Gibbons just smiled.

  “I don’t want your goddamn coat. Take it back.”

  “No. Don’t be stupid. Wear it.”

  “Did she say ‘coat’?” Lorraine looked puzzled.

  “What’re they talking about?” Freshy took his foot off the accelerator, and the van slowed down.

  Stanley’s big jaw was tight. “I told you to go to the Belfry, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, but, Stanley, lemme explain something to you—”

  Stanley aimed the gun at Freshy’s head. “Go. Hurry up.”

  “I’m going, I’m going, I’m going.”

  Freshy stepped on it, and they started whizzing down the blocks. The rundown tenements gave way to factories and block-long warehouses. The streets were fairly deserted up here, and half the cars on the street were abandoned wrecks. Gibbons had to brace himself for the ride as Freshy gunned the engine and jolted through the intersections, speeding toward this place they called the Belfry. Gibbons lowered his head so he could see out the windshield, wanting to know exactly what street they were on. But as they came up to the next intersection, a long black Lincoln Continental suddenly backed out of the side street, spinning its tires.

  Freshy hit the brakes. Then the sound of someone else’s screeching tires came from behind. “What the—?” He was looking into the side mirror.

  Gibbons got off his seat and squinted into a peephole in the rear of the van. A smoke-gray Lincoln was blocking the way from behind, parked diagonally in the middle of the street. Three doors swung open almost simultaneously, and two double-knit bruisers jumped out, followed by a small man wearing a yellow cardigan sweater under a camel hair overcoat. The little guy was Buddha Stanzione. Gibbons expected steam to be coming out of his ears, but instead he just looked bored.

  “You got company,” Gibbons said.

  Stanley’s eyes were bulging. “Who?”

  “You’ll see.”

  More wiseguys poured out of the black Lincoln up ahead, and they all converged on the cab of the van.

  Buddha’s face appeared in the driver’s window. He was so short, the doorframe cut him off at the neck and made him look like a severed head.

  His eyes roamed around the inside of the van. “Where the fuck is Bells?”

  The speaker crackled. “Will you leave the friggin’ coat on, for chrissake?”

  The head’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s that?”

  SIXTEEN

  3:27 P.M.

  Gibbons crossed his arms and leaned his head back against the wall of the van. His tooth was beginning to throb again, but that didn’t matter. He was enjoying this.

  Buddha Stanzione had one eyebrow cocked as he peered into the van. “I said, where the fuck is Bells?” He looked like a bored little monkey who couldn’t care less, but that was what made him so scary. His four double-knit gorillas were staring in through the windshield, waiting for the nod from the bored little monkey to attack, and Buddha was the type who’d set them loose just for the hell of it.

  Freshy was shitting his pants behind the wheel. “H-how, did you know it was us, Mr. Stanzione?”

  Buddha glared at him for a moment, then nodded at the closest gorilla. “Big Dom spotted you barrel-assing down the street.”

  Big Dom put his big face up to the windshield, and Freshy leaned back.

  Gibbons glanced at Stanley, who was wearing that blank, washed-out expression that people put on when they’re trying to figure out how big a lie they can get away with. He was always amazed to see tough guys like Stanley bowing and scraping in front of scumbags like Stanzione. Of course, this was a very awkward situation for Stanley. According to Mafia protocol, he would never be talking directly to a capo. Associates only deal with the soldiers they answer to, and in Stanley’s case, that was Bells. But Buddha wanted Bells’s head on a platter, and now Stanley’s loyalties were divided. After the boss of the family, Stanley’s ultimate allegiance should be to the capo of the crew he worked for, Buddha, but Stanley must’ve been thinking about what that psycho Bells would do to him if he ever found out that he’d been betrayed by one of his own people. Gibbons couldn’t wait to hear how Stanley was gonna try to worm his way out of this one.

  Buddha cocked the other eyebrow and looked at Lorraine. “Whatta’ya doing over there?”

  “Me?” Lorraine pulled her hand back and put it in her lap. She’d been reaching over to turn down the volume on the speaker. “I’m not doing anything.”

  The monkey glared at her. Gibbons flared his nostrils and tucked his feet under, ready to spring. Go ’head, try something. Gorillas or no gorillas, if any of them so much as looked at Lorraine cross-eyed, he’d rip the guy’s spine out and beat him to death with it.

  Buddha seemed baffled by her presence. “Who are you? What’re you doing here?”

  But before Lorraine could answer, Stanley cut in. “She’s with him.” He pointed to Gibbons.

  “And who the hell is he?”

  “He’s, ah—”

  “Special Agent Gibbons, FBI.” Gibbons dared Stanley to deal with that revelation.

  Buddha just stared at Stanley. He was waiting for an explanation. The apes on the other side of the glass were waiting, too.

  Stanley wet his lips. “He’s helping us find Bells, Mr. Stanzione.”

  Then Freshy chimed in. “Yeah, he’s helping us, Mr. Stanzione.” Stupidity times two.

  Buddha looked at him as if he were a bug. The balding gorilla who was standing right behind the capo shook his head at Freshy. “You do not talk to Mr. Stanzione. You understand? You do not exist.”

  Freshy nodded. “You’re right, you’re right. I do not exist.”

  The speaker crackled to life again.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  “Will you leave the goddamn coat on, Gina? You’re gonna catch pneumonia.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  Lorraine was as pale as a clam.

  Buddha glared at Freshy. “Gina? Is that your sister Gina?”

  Freshy shrugged and wouldn’t look at the capo. He did not exist.

  Buddha nodded at the speaker. “Is that Bells with this guy’s sister?”

  Stanley answered. “No, Mr. Stanzione. That’s some other guy. But yes, yes, that is Freshy’s sister.”

  “So is that the other FBI guy with her?”

  Stanley looked like the deer caught in the headlights. “Excuse me, Mr. Stanzione?”

  “Cut the shit. It’s all over the news. Bells shot some undercover guy last night, then he shot another one in Macy’s this morning and took Gina DeFresco and a third FBI guy hostage. He’s really working overtime, this guy.”

  One of the gorillas started to chuckle, but the bored little monkey’s stare silenced him.

  “So what’s the story?”

  Stanley cleared his throat. “Well, you see, Mr. Stanzione, it’s like this. That other FBI guy? The one Bells kidnapped with Gina? He’s wearing this thing, this, ah—” He looked to Gibbons. “What’s it called?”

  “A transmitter.”

  “Yeah, a transmitter. It’s like a wire, but it doesn’t have a tape recorder. It’s more like a radio, you know? We’re listening to them from in here, trying to figure out where
they are.”

  “Did you check the Belfry?”

  Stanley glanced at Gibbons. “We just checked there, but they ain’t there.” He glanced at Gibbons again.

  Gibbons knew Stanley was shitting bricks, praying that nobody would contradict him and tell Buddha the truth. The gorillas were getting itchy to break some heads.

  Buddha cocked his eyebrow again. “So where were you going now?”

  “There’s this bar up on the Heights that Bells goes to sometimes, Mr. Stanzione. We were gonna go check over there.” Stanley glanced at Gibbons again, begging him to keep his mouth shut.

  “Did you look down in Bayonne? This Gina girl’s got him crazy. Maybe they went down to her place.”

  Freshy shifted in his seat, bristling at the suggestion that his sister and Bells were an item, but he didn’t say a word. He did not exist.

  “Yeah, Bayonne,” Stanley said. “We haven’t looked down there yet. That’s a good idea, though.” Stanley was being a stand-up guy, lying through his teeth to a capo to protect his man. Either that, or he was more scared of Bells than Buddha.

  “Whatta’ya looking for him for, Mr. Stanzione?”

  Buddha just stared at Stanley and let the stupidity of his question sink in. “Are you supposed to be funny or what?”

  “No, Mr. Stanzione. I only—I just thought if we found him and you wanted me to tell him something . . . you know. I could give him a message.”

  Buddha nodded slowly. “Okay. You tell him to make out his will. Fast. That’s the message. Okay?” He kept nodding.

  Stanley’s eyes were bugging out of his head again. “Seriously, Mr. Stanzione?”

  “You think I’m kidding? After all the shit he pulled today, tell me he doesn’t deserve a”—Buddha looked at Gibbons—“a serious accident. Tell me.”

  “Well, gee, I dunno, Mr. Stanzione.”

  “You dunno, huh? Well, if you don’t know, I’m gonna tell you.” The little monkey stuck out his thumb. “For one thing, the stupid fuck shot that FBI guy up on the Turnpike last night. You never kill a cop. Never. It makes things very messy.

  “Reason number two.” He stuck out his index finger. “He got on TV. We don’t need that kind of publicity. We get enough without even trying.

  “Number three.” The middle finger sprang up. “He kidnapped another FBI guy. That made things twice as messy as they already were.

  “And reason number four.” The ring finger joined the others. “He thinks he can screw me. But he can’t. You know why? ’Cause I’m not gonna let him.”

  Stanley furrowed his brows. He was the confused baboon in this ape house. “I don’t understand, Mr. Stanzione.”

  “Your friend Bells gave me thirty-two G’s this morning to pay off what this guy owed me.” Buddha nodded at Freshy, who kept his eyes straight ahead because he didn’t exist. “That money was counterfeit. All of it. Pretty funny, huh?”

  Gibbons was rubbing his jaw. The tooth was twitching, but he started to laugh anyway, quietly, to himself at first, but then he couldn’t control himself. His eyes were tearing, and his fingers were clamped on his temples, his shoulders bouncing up and down.

  Buddha was not amused. “What the fuck is so funny over there?”

  Gibbons wiped the corner of his eye with his finger. “That was our money, the Bureau’s. It was seized in another operation down in Virginia.”

  “What?”

  “The agent Bells shot last night? He was carrying counterfeit bills. Bells ripped him off, but what he got was funny money. Serves the bastard right.” Gibbons started laughing again. He knew he shouldn’t be laughing because for all he knew Gary Petersen could be near death, but this part was funny. Justice comes in strange ways sometimes, and this was precious. Who would’ve guessed that Bells would sign his own death warrant by paying off his capo with phony bills? Once in a while, life is fair.

  Buddha ignored Gibbons and turned his gaze to Freshy, who was keeping his eyes straight ahead, not existing. “This wasn’t your idea, was it?”

  Freshy shook his head, but he wouldn’t look at Buddha.

  “You sure?”

  “I swear to God, I didn’t know nothing about that money. I swear.”

  “He was paying off your loan.”

  “I didn’t know nothing about it. I swear.”

  “But it was your loan.”

  Freshy winced as if he expected to get smacked. “I’m telling you the truth. I am. I swear. Really.”

  “Then why do you think Bells would give me bullshit money?”

  “I dunno, Mr. Stanzione. I don’t.”

  “Take a guess.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Take a guess.”

  Freshy squirmed in his seat. He wished he didn’t exist. “I dunno. Really. I dunno, maybe . . . maybe he did it for my sister.”

  “Oh, yeah? Why would he screw me for your sister? I don’t get it.”

  “He likes my sister, everybody knows that. But she’s—well, you know how broads are. They just try to make you crazy. First it’s yes, then it’s no. You never know where you stand with Gina. And that’s how she is with Bells. I think.”

  The monkey frowned. “What the fuck has she got to do with my money?”

  “Well, see, Bells probably figured he could get on Gina’s good side by helping me out. We’re really close, her and me. Brother and sister, you know? She, like, worries about me. She knew I was into you for a big piece, and she wasn’t happy about that, so maybe Bells figured he’d be a good guy and pay it off for me. Not for nothing, I mean. I guess I’d have to pay him back. If the money was real, that is. But, you know, maybe Bells figured Gina would be so grateful, she’d straighten out and stop dicking him around, tell him what he wanted to hear. I dunno. They’re both nuts. Anything’s possible.” Freshy was still too frightened to look at Buddha.

  Buddha didn’t say a thing. He just stared at Freshy, making him uncomfortable. “Are you lying to me?”

  The speaker interrupted. “I told you, don’t touch me. I don’t want your goddamn coat.”

  “Fine. Then freeze. No use trying to be nice to you. You just end up getting your head bit off.”

  “Stop talking. You’re giving me a headache.”

  “Shhh. I think we’re stopping.”

  “Like I care.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Don’t tell me to shut up.”

  Tozzi didn’t answer her.

  A faint whining, clanking sound came out of the speaker. It sounded like a truck transmission going in reverse. Buddha stared at the speaker. One eyebrow went up as the other one went down. The monkey was taking this all in.

  Buddha eyed all the equipment, then looked at Gibbons. “So where are they?”

  Gibbons shrugged. Buddha could drop dead.

  Stanley jumped in, afraid to leave the capo’s question unanswered. “It’s not like radar, Mr. Stanzione. We can’t, like, pinpoint them. But they must be around here somewhere. And Bells must be with them, or else they wouldn’t still be together. Seeing how much these two like each other.” Stanley looked around for someone to back him up, but as far as Gibbons was concerned, he could go to hell. And Lorraine, like Freshy, was too scared to even move.

  The monkey wiggled his eyebrows and thought this over, then he gestured with his head toward Gibbons and Lorraine. “Get rid of them.”

  Stanley looked confused. “You mean whack ’em?”

  “No. Just get rid of them. Lose ’em.”

  Stanley waved his gun at Gibbons. “Get out. Both of youse.”

  Gibbons was reluctant to get out. Buddha’s primates weren’t that far up on the evolutionary chain. They might interpret Buddha’s order as including a beating. Gibbons wasn’t worried about himself. It was Lorraine. The friggin’ boneheads better not touch her.

  As he started to get off his seat, the side door of the van slid open. Two of the gorillas were waiting to escort them out. He stepped out and turned his back on them to help Lorraine out, ready
to throw an elbow into anyone who came too close. Lorraine looked scared, but Gibbons was going to protect her. A jackhammer was working on his tooth now, so a little more pain wouldn’t make much difference. Besides, he was feeling ornery enough to take on all five of them at once, plus the monkey.

  “Shut the door,” Buddha ordered as he walked around the front of the van. He walked up to Gibbons and was about eye level with Gibbons’s chin. He stayed away from Lorraine. She was a little taller than Gibbons, almost a full head taller than Buddha.

  “Tell your people over at the FBI that they don’t have to worry about Bells. We’ll take care of him.”

  “Not if we get him first.”

  “You won’t.” Buddha walked past Gibbons and got back into the smoke-gray Lincoln blocking the road behind the van. Two of his gorillas followed him. Two got into the black Lincoln, and the last ape took Freshy’s place behind the wheel of the van. Three engines started up, one right after the other, and the wiseguy caravan took off, the surveillance van sandwiched in between the two luxury cars. They turned left at the next corner and disappeared.

  “Fuck you, too,” Gibbons grumbled at their exhaust.

  Lorraine clutched his bicep. “They’re going to kill Michael, aren’t they?” She seemed more resigned than alarmed.

  “They won’t kill him now that they know he’s an agent. But Bells . . . I dunno.”

  She let out a shuddering sigh that was so sad, Gibbons forgot about his aching tooth.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She shook her head no, slow and sad. The loose hair around her face swayed like a hula dancer’s skirt.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked. “I didn’t even think to ask. That pill made me so dopey.”

  She tilted her head and gave him a weird look. It surprised him. It was the look she wore whenever he was in trouble. But what the hell did he do now? He’d had a feeling she had a bug up her ass about something ever since Macy’s, but he figured she was just scared and worried sick about her cousin. But now she had this real end-of-the-world look, like she was standing on the edge of a cliff looking out at a stinky black void, and it was all his fault. He decided not to make an issue out of it. Maybe her problem would just clear up on its own.