by Ted Wood
So I stopped, like a good little citizen, and got out of the car. That’s a tip, by the way. Always get out of the car. In a law-abiding place like Canada, anyway. It shows the cop that you respect his authority. It’s a gesture of surrender, the way a weaker dog will cower instead of fighting. Usually it will get you off with a warning instead of a ticket.
I was expecting cops. So I’d left Sam in the front seat and shut the door. I was alone and helpless when I saw the front-seat passenger get out. He was a civilian and he opened the rear door of the car and let a man out. This one was short and in the light from my headlights I could see he was middle-aged and Italian-looking. I backed off a step toward my own car and the aid Sam could give me. But he held his hand up. “Mr. Bennett, please.”
He didn’t sound threatening and nobody else came with him. The other guy had gotten back into his car. There were just the two of us and I figured I could roll out of the line of fire before he could shoot me.
So I stood. A car came up behind me and I waited for it to stop and complete the ambush but it went right by.
The man came within two paces of me. He was around five-two but had more authority than a million taller men in high positions.
“Mr. Bennett,” he said. His voice sounded pleasant and musical. “My name is Antonio Mucci.”
“Have we met, Mr. Mucci?”
“Not until now,” he said. His hands were at his sides. He was wearing gloves. His men were in his car. He was trying to put me at my ease.
I didn’t speak and he waved one hand, the Italian prelude to words. “You’re wondering why now. Am I right?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“I was in Syracuse,” he said. “And this morning I got some news about a man who works for me. Angelo Manatelli.” He waited for an answer but when I stayed quiet he went on. “I find that this man has been cheating me. I find he has killed another man who works for me.”
“He did. A man called Ciulla.”
“Right. Right.” He didn’t want conversation, I could tell. Politeness aside, this was intended to be a monologue.
“So I ask who found out about Angelo. And I hear that you did. You and some small-town cops.” He laughed now. “These small-town guys, they didn’t do it alone. They brought in an expert from Canada, I hear. Without you, nobody finds out about Angelo cheating me.”
“They’d have found out sometime.”
“Maybe. But by then it’s too late. My money has gone. Angelo’s gone and Curly Ciulla is just as dead.”
I could see where he was going now but was wondering why. Why here? Why me?
“So it seems I owe you a debt, Mr. Bennett. I’m a man who pays his debts.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Mr. Mucci. A friend of mine was in trouble. Now he’s cleared. That’s all that matters.”
“To you, maybe,” he said. “Me, I see things differently.”
It could still get sticky, I realized. He might be planning to pay me off with a bullet in the head. He had been exposed as blind to what Manatelli was doing. I was one of the few people who knew.
“So. I’m close to this highway. I have friends who watch for your car. They tell me where you are. I come to talk to you.”
It was time to show some strength, I realized. No more deferring to him as “Mr. Mucci.” “I appreciate your courtesy. But there’s no debt involved.”
“You’re sure?” He sounded amused. “Like you’ll excuse my saying so, that car you’re driving is getting old.” He gestured to my car but I didn’t turn around. I’m too old for tricks as easy as that.
“It’s two years old, good for another five, easy.”
He started tugging at his right glove. While he was doing it I glanced behind me. Nobody visible. But it was dark outside the cone of my headlights. I was wishing I’d turned them off when I got out. But he only took off his glove and extended his hand. He did it the way a cardinal might so you could kiss his ring. “I heard tell you were straight,” he said. “I’d like to shake the hand of an honest man.”
If he was going to double-cross me, this was his moment but I had no choice. “Thanks for the compliment, Mr. Mucci. A pleasure to meet you.”
I shook his hand. It was soft, but empty. He didn’t have a C-note or two clasped in it.
“So. We’ve met.” He released my hand. “A pleasure likewise, Mr. Bennett.”
“Then I’ll say goodnight. I’ve got a long drive ahead of me still.”
“Drive safely,” he said and stood there as I got back into my car. He stood where he was as I passed him and I pushed my lights off and then back on. He raised his hand and walked back to his car.
I was scared for the next eight miles, to Watertown. They had taken the red light off their roof but they stayed with me, thirty yards back, all the way to the exit. Then they pulled off and I pressed the gas a little harder, all the way to the border.
It was a relief to be under the bright lights and in the bustle of the crossing point. I picked up a liter of Black Velvet and a bottle of Chloe at the duty-free and drove over both bridges to the Canadian side. Here I had to tell white lies to the woman in the immigration booth. I’d been in the United States for a vacation. I hadn’t acquired anything.
On the 401 across southern Ontario, the facilities are right on the highway itself. They’re all soulless franchises with standard food and full-service gas stations. The fillup cost me twice what it would have done in Watertown and the hamburger was blah but I was ravenous. The hunger of fear. The same fear made me ring home, tingling with concern while I waited for the phone to be picked up.
Fred answered, sounding cheerful and normal.
“Hi, love. Just wanted to let you know I’m just east of Kingston, right on schedule.”
“Well, good. But listen. Who the Sam Hill is A.M.? Is it some rich widow from the ski slops of old Vermont?” Her voice was teasing but she wanted to know, badly.
“No, it’s a Mafia heavy called Antonio Mucci. I just had a most interesting talk to him on Highway 81 in New York State.”
“Well, he must have broken the bank,” she said. “You’ll never believe the roses he’s sent.”
“To you?”
“To all of us. ‘Mr. and Mrs. Reid Bennett and family. With thanks. A.M.’ There’s four dozen of them. They came from Parry Sound. The woman said the order cleaned out the store.”
I was standing with my forehead pressed against the side of the phone partition. A woman passing by with food on a cardboard tray looked at me oddly and I straightened up.
“That’s good news,” I said. “It means he’s out of my debt which is the way it should be. He’s heavy.”
Her voice had puzzlement all through it. “I don’t understand.”
“You will. I’ll explain it all when I get home.”
She laughed. “First things first.”
We said goodbye and I hung up and headed back to my car, carrying a raw burger for Sam. In my mind it was some kind of sacrificial offering. He took it carefully from my fingers and swallowed it in two gulps. His reaction cheered me up. “Looks like everything’s back to normal,” I told him and drove off west up the 401.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1993 by Ted Wood
ISBN 978-1-4804-9503-6
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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