The pastry chef eyed Linuzzi uneasily as he passed by. “Hey, Vito, save me a cannoli,” he said. “Chocolate.”
Vito saluted him with a wire whisk and then averted his gaze.
A few paces further and he arrived at his office. He twisted the knob and opened the door. Linuzzi’s mouth dropped when he saw his boss, Anthony Silvestri, sitting behind the desk.
“Whoa. Look who’s here,” Silvestri boomed.
“Anthony, I didn’t expect you.”
Silvestri’s rotund body was stuffed into Linuzzi’s office swivel chair. His wide frame filled every last inch of seating space and then some. “Surprise. Tell me what’s happening, Tommy. This guy Soto means nothing to me, but why do you want to take him out? I mean now? We’ve got these gun shipments all set to go.”
Linuzzi pinched his fingertips. “He’s got a big stupid mouth, Anthony. The feds talked to him, and he went to pieces.”
Silvestri appeared pensive. He looked up at Linuzzi after a moment. “They questioned him about the girl?”
Yes, you fat fuck. What do you think I’m talking about? Do you have to stick your dick in everything that moves? Linuzzi nodded. “I’m afraid so, Anthony. It’s a big problem. You heard that story about the Israeli plane that went down in the bay near JFK?”
“Yeah?”
I read in the paper that the guy who landed the plane was on his way here to investigate the girl’s murder. It’s a fucking shit storm.”
“What did Soto tell them?” he asked impatiently.
“He kept us out of it. He told them that he took the girl to dinner because they worked late.”
“And he didn’t mention me, you, or Maltisse?”
“No, but they know that I was there.”
“How?” Silvestri yelled.
“They brought one of the office girls in for an interview. My best guess is that they asked her to look at mug shots, and she picked me out. She told me she didn’t, but I don’t believe her. I know what’s what.”
“And how do you know that she didn’t identify me?” Silvestri asked, whipping himself into a frenzy.
“Anthony, I-I—”
“Tommy, you what? You looked in a crystal ball? You spoke to a fucking gypsy? Jesus, Tommy, are you looking out for anyone’s ass but your own?”
“Anthony, that’s why I want to take out Soto. Once he’s gone—”
Silvestri looked up at Linuzzi, seething with anger. “Then why is he still alive, you fucking moron? Why is anyone still alive?”
“You mean the girl too?”
Silvestri snarled, his lips spread so wide that his teeth were almost out of his head. His gums were peeled back like a shark’s during a feeding frenzy. “Are you fucking stupid? Why don’t you give the feds a little more time to sort things out? These people should have been dead days ago.” He slammed his fists on the desk. “That’s the way I would have done it. Bing, bang, bing.”
Linuzzi cast his eyes on the floor, no longer able to meet Silvestri’s gaze head on. “Sorry, I’ll—”
“You’ll stay out all fucking night if you have to. You go from one to the next. By morning I want them dead and gone. No talking. No conversation. Gone. Finished!”
“You have my word.”
“Word? What good is your word? I trusted you with a simple job, and now look what’s happened.” Silvestri stood and began to walk around the desk with his head tucked into his neck. He slammed into Linuzzi as he paced blindly around the small office. “Jesus, Tommy, how did you get so sloppy? We’ve got a real mess here.” He spat the words at him with insolence.
Linuzzi’s eyes were closed. He was trying to retreat from the world. “I’ll make it right. I swear.”
Silvestri stopped his pacing and came face to face with Linuzzi. “You’d better! This is all on you, Tommy. Jesus Christ, some hobo fisherman found her body in the bay? That’s the way you do things? Why didn’t you just drop her carcass off at the medical examiner’s office?”
“Anthony, I scattered pieces of her all over the place. Who ever thought they’d be able to identify a headless torso?”
“That’s right, who ever thought? Not you. That’s for sure. Get the fuck out of my sight, and do what has to be done.”
Linuzzi left without ever lifting his eyes. He traced a path along the floor and disappeared out the door.
Silvestri plunked down in Linuzzi’s chair and blew out a troubled sigh. He remained motionless for perhaps five seconds before hitting a number on his cell phone.
Michael Orzani, one of Silvestri’s enforcers, answered. “Anthony, how can I help you?”
“Mike, I’m at Ricardo’s. I want you to come over right away,” Silvestri said. “I’ve got an important job for you.”
Chapter 30
Linuzzi studied the confines of the supply room at Transglobal. The eight by ten storage room was filled with boxes of paper and office supplies. He killed a few minutes looking at the multicolored note pads and sundry office items. His cell phone rang. “Yes?”
Silvestri’s question was brief. “When?”
“Within the hour, Anthony.” The phone went dead in his hand. Linuzzi checked the time while he waited for Soto to arrive. He listened carefully but heard nothing in the outside office. He cracked the door of the supply room slightly and peered out to survey the empty dimly lit outer office. He checked his watch. Where the hell is that SOB?
He checked his gun and chambered the first round. He’d left Ricardo’s in haste after his confrontation with Silvestri and had skipped dinner. He was hungry and impatient. Soto was nothing more to him than an impediment standing between him and a hot meal. He’d kill him without thinking twice.
Within a moment, he heard footsteps in the outer office. About damn time. The footsteps stopped. Linuzzi took a deep breath before exiting the supply room with his weapon drawn, ready to end Soto’s life.
An object clunked on the floor in front of him. “Shit! A—”
A flash grenade exploded, blinding him instantly. He winced and covered his eyes just as the butt end of a gun cracked open the back of his skull. His head began to whirl, and then everything went black.
The first sensation Tommy Linuzzi became aware of as he regained consciousness was the awful ache emanating from the back of his head. It felt as if it had been broken open with a baseball bat. He could feel warm blood trickle down the back of his neck. He was in a kneeling position and could feel telephone wire cutting into his wrists and ankles. He tested the strength of his bonds. Rock solid, he fretted. He had tied many victims in exactly the same way and instinctively understood that he was bound in a position to be executed.
“Open your eyes,” a man’s voice ordered.
Linuzzi slowly opened his eyes. The overhead lighting blazed into his narrow slits, causing his eyes to water. “Who’s doing this?”
“Me.”
“Fucking Silvestri,” he grumbled.
“Who?”
“No fucking games. I know why you’re here. Fucking Anthony doesn’t waste any time.”
“Who’s Anthony Silvestri?”
“Very fucking funny. That’s why he just called, right, to make sure that I was here? Who are you, anyway? I’ve never seen you before.”
“No one,” Linuzzi’s captor said impatiently. He took a smart phone out of his pocket and hit the Memo icon. “I’m going to record your confession.”
“Sorry, asshole, I’m not dealing. The only thing waiting for me is the cold ground and a shovel full of dirt in my face. Where’s your leverage?”
“I have an interest in the girl’s death. Tell me what I want to know, and I might let you live. Who killed her?”
“You’re not a cop. Who are you working for?”
“Me.”
“Me? Who the hell is me? “I’ve got nothing for you.”
“I saw you, you know. I saw you threaten the girl in the coffee shop. I was there when you got out of the car. I’m aware of every movement you’ve made in t
he last twenty-four hours. I know everyone you’ve seen or spoken with. I know what you ate and the last time you took a shit.” He paused for a moment. “So, you like to rough up girls, do you? I don’t have a lot of respect for men like you.” Linuzzi’s gun and sheathed dagger were on a nearby table. He picked up the dagger and examined it. “This is a deadly weapon. Of course the only problem with a knife like this is that someone might take it away from you.” He pointed the dagger at Linuzzi. “Kind of turns the tables, don’t you think?”
“Why don’t you untie me? I’ll turn your fucking table.”
“Thomas, threats? Really, I’m disappointed. Threats only work on people who fear the consequences. Take you and me, for example. We have been trained not to respond to threats. If I told you that I was going to cut your balls off, you’d probably laugh at me. However …” He stood over Linuzzi, looking directly into his eyes. He studied the serrated blade one last time before plunging it into Linuzzi’s groin.
Linuzzi screamed like a tortured beast. His eyes squeezed shut, and his head dropped. It looked as if he was on the verge of passing out when he was hit with a flat open palm. It took a moment, but he felt himself slowly coming around. He noticed that his jeans were damp with his own blood.
“There now, I’ve made good on my threat. Have I gotten your attention yet?”
Linuzzi looked up at his captor. “Fuck you.”
“If a surgeon can attend to that mess in the next ninety minutes, they can probably repair it. Any longer than that and I’m afraid you won’t be fucking me or anyone else ever again,” he said with contempt. “So it’s up to you. We can take as long as you like. All I can say is that in three minutes you are going to require an ocular surgeon as well.”
“Fuck you, and fuck Silvestri where he breathes.”
“The name you mentioned before?”
Linuzzi nodded and looked down at the blood dripping on the floor between his legs. “Silvestri killed the girl.”
“Details, Mr. Linuzzi, I need details. Screw Silvestri. Trade his life for your own.” He reached down and pulled the dagger out of Linuzzi’s groin, causing him to wail in pain once again.
Linuzzi saw his blood on the serrated knife mere inches in front of his face. His throat was so dry he could barely speak. “Silvestri saw the girl at Transglobal. She was his type, dark … exotic. So he ordered Soto to bring her along to dinner. She was a real smart-ass broad—sassy. She knew a lot about the world. I could see she gave Silvestri a hard-on.” Linuzzi was once again growing faint. “Shit, I’m so dry.”
Linuzzi’s captor stared at him angrily, his eyes wide with loathing. His hand came down across Linuzzi’s face again. “Keep talking.”
“Water.”
He continued to stare at Linuzzi in silence.
“After dinner, Silvestri insisted on driving her home. She didn’t want a ride, so he tried to impress her with his big Benz, but it didn’t work.” Linuzzi forced himself to swallow. “He made it clear that she was getting in the car, one way or another. I recognized the look in his eyes because I’ve seen it before. We drove her down by the water. There was no one around.” He looked up at his captor and saw that the man was seething with anger. “He tried to charm her for a few minutes, but she didn’t show any interest. After a few minutes he made his move anyway. Some girls respond, and some are too stupid or proud to do right by Silvestri. Meantime I was in the front seat cooking up a spike.”
“Why?”
“It’s Silvestri’s standard operating procedure.”
Linuzzi was hanging on by a thread. His vision was fading, and he could no longer see the look of utter contempt on his captor’s face.
“The girl was a real tough one. The more she resisted, the more Silvestri liked it. By the time I had the syringe ready, Silvestri had her up against the car, ripping off her clothes. He yelled at me, ‘Spike her!’ He had that wild-eyed look, like an animal. I found a vein and slammed it in.” He looked up beseechingly. “Water. Please.”
“No. Finish!”
“Silvestri threw her back against the car. She was off her feet with that fat fuck behind her. I must have given her too much dope because I saw her eyes roll back in her head. I don’t think Silvestri noticed, or maybe he was too far gone to give a shit. In a way it was good she OD’d. I think she was dead before Silvestri busted his nut.”
Linuzzi’s captor gritted his teeth and took a deep agonizing breath. “And you disposed of the body?”
Linuzzi nodded. He no longer had the strength to speak. His external vision went black, but he could see the entire episode in his mind: the struggling girl and Silvestri humping her against the fender of his black Mercedes Benz. She was still attempting to fight off Silvestri when the spike was plunged into her arm. A blinding light flashed and washed the picture away. It was as if an old celluloid film reel had jammed and was melting under the heat of the projector bulb. He had no sensation of the dagger cutting his throat as his life drained away through the carotid artery.
Chapter 31
Tasker was asleep at the desk in his hotel room when his cell phone rang. He had nodded off with his glasses still, on after having read a report. The display on his cell phone read Caller Unknown. He answered and heard the opening passage of Mussorgsky’s, “Pictures At An Exhibition.” He waited for it to finish and then punched in his authorization code.
A voice came on the line. “Have you found him?”
“No,” Tasker replied. “Gul is still at large.”
“Then I’m to stay hidden?”
“Yes, until we know more. We’re carrying out an initiative to locate him. The Americans are helping.”
“It’s taking too long.”
Tasker paused before answering. “That’s all I have for now. I hope that you’re staying out of trouble.”
“Me? Why would I be in any trouble?”
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” Tasker said. “I’ll be in touch.”
~~~
He hung up on Tasker and went back to cleaning the dagger. There was still dried blood at the joint where the blade met the handle. He spent another ten minutes meticulously cleaning and polishing the serrated blade until it looked brand new. He had no way of knowing how many lives it had claimed while in Linuzzi’s possession, but while in his possession, it would take at least one more.
Chapter 32
The Summer Winds Motel was conveniently located close enough to the airport to keep the establishment fully occupied at all times, but far enough away that the whine of jet engines was never overbearing. It offered free cable and coffee in the room, but its biggest draw was its inconspicuous location nestled in a valley and surrounded by mature palm trees.
The sound of a tractor-trailer shifting gears grew loud in the distance and then faded as the Summer Winds returned to its usual demeanor of silence and isolation.
A Cadillac Escalade entered the gravel parking lot and slowly rolled up to the bungalow, with its lights out. The crunch of gravel beneath the tires was the only innocuous sound audible outside the pink bungalow. Rain began to fall just as the driver got out of the car. The heavy cloud cover minimized most of the ambient light. A light tap from the barrel of a handgun broke the delicate glass bulb in the outside wall sconce alongside the bungalow door. A bit of light reflected off the gunman’s wet vinyl slicker. Save for this and the barely audible clink of the breaking bulb, the assailant was completely imperceptible.
The drone of yet another passing jetliner was starting up again in the distance. The couple in bed was not interrupted by the noise of the jetliner. It was the shattering of the doorframe as it splintered beneath the weight of the gunman’s muscular shoulder that caused their hearts to jump.
Carolyn Abate jumped off her lover and wrapped herself in the sheet.
Maltisse was in bed. He was lethargic from marijuana and slow to react. He had barely begun to reach for his weapon when the gunman’s silenced bullet hit him squarely in the chest. His head ploppe
d onto his pillow, making a poof noise as air escaped through the seams.
Carolyn screamed at the top of her lungs.
The gunman quickly shut the door behind him, effectively containing the noise. “Shhh,” he said sharply. “Do you want everyone in the goddamn motel to know that you were banging this dead greaseball?”
She jumped out of bed, yanking the sheet out from under her deceased lover in the process. “Who? Who the fuck are you?” she spat.
The assassin was now next to his victim, checking for signs of life as the last trail of smoke lofted from the fresh bullet wound. “Damn. Carlo died nice,” he said. “Some guys lose their sphincters right away, piss and shit all over the place. Atta boy, Carlo, less for me to clean up.”
“I want to know who you are. Do you know who my husband is? When I tell him—”
“Ms. Abate … Gaetano already knows. Your husband and my employer are one and the same.” The gunman walked around the bed, confronting her. “They call me Joker. I’m sorry that I had to pop Carlo in mid-hump, but the boss wanted it done that way. I guess he has a flair for the dramatic.” Joker grinned. He taunted her by holding up his cell phone and saying, “Please stay on the line for a quick customer service survey,” he said, mimicking a canned telephone survey script. “We want to make sure that you were completely satisfied with Assassinations by Joker, an equal opportunity contract hit man service. Press one for English and two for Spanish.”
She began to feel faint and sat down on the corner of the bed. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead as reality breached her thought process and she realized that Abate had known all along. He had somehow noticed every subtle gesture and the sudden shopping trips she took when Maltisse was in town. Every double entendre and every fleeting glance had been seen, understood, and catalogued in Abate’s vault-like memory.
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