1 Take the Monkeys and Run

by Karen Cantwell

  “You done good,” he said to No Toes.

  Another man, not so nicely dressed, but equipped with his own AK, a bushy mustache and several coils of rope, stepped in as well, but all eyes were on the happy fat man. Maxine was gasping, both hands on her face like that kid in Home Alone. Viviana’s eyes were bulging out so far I felt for sure they were going to pop right out of her head.

  “Holy crap!” shouted Frankie. I seemed to be the only one in the room who didn’t know the colossal person standing before us. Curiosity was getting the better of me, plus I had to let Agent Smith know what was going on.

  “Who’s that?” I asked, turning my bug-infested chest back toward Frankie, ensuring the best reception.

  The grinning man in the archway rocked back on his heels and answered in Frankie’s stead. “I’m Tito Buttaro. Nice ta meet ya.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  TITO BUTTARO.

  “AREN’T YOU SUPPOSED to be dead?” I asked the mightily rotund fellow, while his “assistant” took a place just behind him. He was significantly shorter, maybe five foot ten to Tito’s six foot plus. His coils of rope looked like they were meant for hanging or tying. Or both. I gulped.

  Tito, in response to my statement, fanned his arms out as if putting himself on display. “As you can see,” he said with great fanfare, “da rumors of my death has been greatly exaggerated.”

  Lovely. A missing killer who liked to butcher Mark Twain. In my ear, I could hear a great amount of gasping and chattering, as if even the Feds were shocked by this interesting turn of events.

  Tito tipped his head to Frankie. “How you doin’, Frankie?”

  No Toes accidentally answered the salutation. “I’m fine, Boss. Thanks.”

  Tito grimaced and hit him in the chest with the back of his hand. “Not you, No Toes. That Frankie.”

  “I ain’t feelin’ so good,” Frankie moaned. A woozy wave was beginning to wash over me as well. The propane fumes were getting stronger. I had the feeling that a certain amount of asphyxiation mixed with a larger amount of dread was having its effect on both of us.

  No Toes tipped closer to Tito and tried to whisper. “Tried” being the operative word, because we heard him clearly. “Remember the new name, Boss?’

  “What?” Tito was frowning.

  “The new name. You know—Screech.”

  Not appearing as affected by the fumes, Maxine laughed. She had been as quiet as a church mouse. “That’s your new name? Screech? You’d rather be called Screech instead a No Toes? You ARE a fanook.”

  “I’m not a fanook!” he squeaked, moving the aim of his gun from Viviana to Maxine.

  Shaking his head, Tito dismissed the new name. “Nah,” he said. “I like No Toes. You’re No Toes.”

  Maxine laughed harder. Poor No Toes looked defeated.

  “Come on, Boss, let me make the hit now! Both of them. In the head. Bang!” Tito waved his hand casually at his skeletal henchman. “In time, Toes, in time. Did you cut the line like I said?”

  “Done, Boss. Can’t you smell?”

  Tito tilted his head back and sniffed the air with his bulbous nose. Another smile crossed his face. “Good job.” He lowered his chin, bringing his dark eyes even across the room with Viviana, who had turned as hard and white as the marble beneath his feet. “You ain’t greeted me wit a proper ‘Hello’ there, Viv. You okay?”

  Instead of answering Tito, Viviana focused a seriously deadly stare at Frankie, whose gun, I had realized, had slipped from its position in my back. Come on Frankie, I thought, don’t lose it now. Too much at stake.

  “You didn’t whack ‘im?” she hissed like an angry viper.

  Frankie stammered. “Viv, we . . . we tought . . .”

  Tito stopped him quickly, holding up his hand and interjecting his own two cents. “No need to explain tings to her, Frankie. What’s done is done, right? She don’t need to know da details now—she’s got no future where she needs to know these tings. Her time is, let’s say . . . limited.” Tito pulled open his very slick and dapper raincoat, pulling out a gun so long it looked like it could snake a toilet clog. He waved it in my direction and smiled. “In a minute here, I’m gonna ask you who dis cute little chickie is, but right now I want to know, where’s Elvis?”

  “He’s out,” lied Frankie quickly. Good, Frankie, attaboy. More than anything, I needed Frankie in charge of his wits right now.

  “You lyin’ to me, Frankie? That wouldn’t be da right way to resurrect our friendship.” Tito turned to his emaciated acolyte. “Toes. Take a look around.” The scrawny soldier skipped down the hall, evidently excited to be on his boss’s good side. In less than three shakes, he was back with Elvis, hands in the air. Thankfully, Peggy and Roz were not with him. I was hoping Colt had them safely hidden.

  “There ain’t no others in dis house, are there?” asked Tito, the air of pleasure wiped from his face.

  “No, Boss!”

  “You sure?”

  “I checked things out myself. We’re good.” He was bobbing his head frenetically, like a bobblehead on uppers.

  Tito sniffed the air again.

  “We’re runnin’ outa time here, boys. Start tyin’ these dopes up. No Toes, you do Elvis first. Joey, you get Viv then Maxine there. I’ll keep an eye here on Frankie and his little girlfriend.”

  I was at least comforted to know there were some goons out there with normal names. The silent man, evidently named Joey, tossed a coil of rope to No Toes, then strided across the room, his gun held ready. Tito strolled over, turning his own long revolver playfully in little circles. As the two men made their moves, Maxine must have decided to make a run for it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her make a quick movement, but, sadly for Maxine, Joey was quicker. One pop of his gun and she went down like a sack of Idaho potatoes. An involuntary scream shot out of my mouth, piercing the air. Things were deteriorating too fast.

  Tito swung around and pointed his finger at Viviana. “Don’t you try da same ting, Smokey, ’cuz your end won’t be so painless. Joey’s got orders to make sure you die a slow and painful death should you attempt any monkey business. Monkey business! Ha! That’s funny! Ain’t that funny, Joey?”

  Joey laughed, reaching Viviana with his rope. “Yeah, that’s VERY funny, Boss. I like that one.”

  Tito slowed his belly laugh to a self-amused chuckle, then turned back to me. “So, Frankie, tell me now—who’s dis little lady?”

  I held my breath, hoping Frankie would realize that the truth would expose our operation and ruin any possible chance of rescue. Frankie wasn’t answering. Beads of sweat were forming at my hairline. I still didn’t feel the gun in my back and my worries about Frankie maintaining his cool were growing. Thankfully, from years of practice with my mother and my own children, I spit out a lie in record time.

  “Listen,” I started, my voice shaking. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but my husband and I are with the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals and we came over here when a worker reported seeing monkeys caged in the basement of this house. We were just doing a routine investigation when this man you’re calling ‘Frankie’ jumped me with his gun. My husband got away. I’m sure he’s calling the police right now! This place could be surrounded any minute!”

  With that, Frankie threw up all over my back. That’s Karma for you.

  Tito, disgusted by the expulsion, growled to express his displeasure. “Ah, Frankie! That's really gross. Thank God you missed my shoes! These is my favorite Ferragamos—four hundred bucks a pair.”

  Toes was unfazed and excited to relay that my story probably had merit. “Yeah, Boss, I forgot to tell ya—I shot a man in da back of da house. Tought it was Elvis in da dark, ’til I got close. Must’a been the lady’s husband.”

  “You kill ’im?”

  “Yeah, Boss. He’s dead.”

  He’s dead. The words played over and over in my head. Was it true? I didn’t want to believe it. Howard had a bulletproof vest, and this go
on obviously hadn’t checked closely enough to notice that, so maybe Howard was still alive. I tried to stay positive, but tears flowed down my cheeks anyway. The nightmare just wasn’t ending.

  “Don’t you peace, love, and granola types got anything better to do wit your time? Now look what your good deeds got yous.” He was shaking his head. “Joey, get Viv over here, let’s bring everyone close so I can have my say easy like. Toes, get Elvis over here.”

  Obeying orders, No Toes shoved Elvis to the floor near my feet.

  “Good, now get to tyin’ these two together.” Tito was pointing at me and Frankie, who moaned. It wasn’t going very easily for him, poor guy. I knew how he felt. No Toes gave me a hard push, landing me hard on my rump, nearly on top of Frankie. He got to work coiling the cord around both of us, our backs together, our hands tight to our sides. I couldn’t help but worry that he’d do harm to the precious bug on my chest.

  This whole Tito-is-alive thing had really thrown me for a loop. I had ventured out—a woman without wimpiness—ready to save the day, and I’d only managed to get myself bound to a repentant crook with a weak stomach. And I couldn’t even wipe the tears from my face.

  Agent Smith must have heard my sniffles, prompting her to whisper reassurances in my ear that it was almost over and help would be along any minute. We’d all be fine, she said. She sounded certain, and her comments did make me feel better. In fact, she sounded so certain, I began to wonder if Tito hadn’t switched teams—maybe he was an FBI operative sent in to move this operation forward. That seemed very plausible. But then, things being what they were, anything seemed plausible.

  Joey forced Viviana, wrapped tight like a mummy with the duct tape, over to our bound assemblage on the floor and pushed on her shoulder until she dropped to her knees.

  Tito looked satisfied. “Good, Joey, now go find that dead guy. Make sure he’s really dead. Where is he, Toes?”

  “Behind the shed out back, Boss. Dead as a doornail,” squeaked No Toes. Joey nodded and shot off down the hall toward the back of the house.

  Tito bent down on one knee coming closer to Viviana’s face. His smile was so confident and controlled, it sent shivers down my spine.

  “Surprised to see me, Smokey?” he said, low and slow.

  Viviana didn’t seem in the mood for playing games. “Just spill da beans, Tito—why you here? Whaddya want?”

  Tito threw his head back and laughed a very hearty laugh. She had really tickled his funny bone. “I don’t WANT anyting, Smokey, ’cuz see, I already got exactly what I want.”

  “What exactly, would that be, now? Smarts was never your strong suit, Tito, so I can’t think you got a whole lot, unless maybe you found God.”

  “You know, you’s right ’bout one ting. Smarts was certainly not my ‘strong suit,’ as you say, but dat’s all changed. You know what I did while I was hidin’ out—when Frankie and Elvis here stupidly left me for dead—I got myself a college degree—they call that a ‘B.A.’ Then I got myself an MBA—that would be a ‘Masters in Business Administration.’”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah—you tink I’m lyin’?”

  “You don’t talk no smarter.”

  “Dis is what educated people call a regional dialect—it don’t mean I’m stupid.”

  “I still think you’re stupid.”

  “Well, how’s dis for stupid, then? Da name Robert Whittier mean anyting to you?”

  Viviana’s face blanched in a nanosecond. Her smile was gone. She didn’t answer.

  “Smokey?” he goaded her. “You know that name?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “Let me see if I can help you remember.” He put his gun right up against her forehead. I could see sweat trickle down her temple.

  “Fine. I know him, and you know I know him. You happy now? So what about it?”

  “Well, I had me a little talk wit Mr. Whittier—we had us some café lattes together—and he told me he wasn’t too happy wit da way you was runnin’ your business. Long story short—he was considerin’ lettin’ me take a crack at tings. He wanted to tink it over, though.” Tito stopped talking for a minute and just stared at Viv. He shook his head slowly, then resumed. “You tink that little mishap in Rustic Woods wit No Toes and those monkeys was an accident?”

  My eyes widened. I was starting to see what he was up to.

  “Toes has been workin’ for me from da get go. He was my double agent, so to speak.”

  Elvis and Frankie groaned, realizing they’d been duped. Viviana scowled at Tito, but still didn’t say a word. She had egg on her face, and I guessed she knew it. What was she going to do?

  With his gun still aimed at Viviana’s head, Tito kept talking. “Now here’s da ting,” he said. “I found Whittier on my own, but I’m a lazy businessman, as you know, and I’d rather you just gave me da names of da guys you’s workin’ with at Wister and at Heaton Dalmer.”

  Viviana was indignant. “Why would I do that? What’s it gonna get me?”

  Tito laughed again. He looked at me and said, “The lady wants to know what’s it gonna get her. What do you tink, Mrs. Savior of da animals? What you tink it’s gonna get her?”

  The question had a rhetorical feel to it, but I decided to answer just to be safe. “Her life?” I asked.

  “Aha! What you tink, Smokey?” Tito laughed. He was one jolly fellow.

  Viviana was wary. “You makin’ me a deal, Tito?”

  Tito ceased laughing and took on a more serious tone. “Da deal is dis: you give me da names, I take over da operation—it’s only logical, since I got da MBA—and you work for me. And, oh yeah, you get to keep breathin’. But you even try to screw wit me once, I kill ya.”

  Wow. I was amazed at the way things were unfolding, not to mention relieved that these two wiseguys seemed to be coughing up the goods the way we hoped. Of course, I was still tied up and could be whacked in a heartbeat, but I needed to validate my wins as they came.

  Viviana stared hard at Tito. I assumed she was weighing her options, although, if it were me, the options of dead or not dead seemed to make for a pretty easy decision. “Fine,” she said finally. “But we do away with those two,” she said, pointing her head in the direction of Elvis and Frankie. They didn’t look surprised.

  “Was there any question?”

  She didn’t respond, staying quiet for nearly a minute, which caused me to worry. We needed to get this show on the road. The last thing we needed was the Emphysema Queen of Fairfax slowing things down. Finally, she gave it up. “Dennis Mowry at Wister and Janice Corbett at Heaton Dalmer. And if you want my opinion—your friend at Parks and Rowe, Robert Whittier—he’s on his way out. We’ll need to watch him.”

  Agent Smith went live in my ear so loudly, I almost screamed out in pain. “We’ve got it! Move out! Let’s wrap this up and bring everyone in—no casualties!”

  Suddenly, the doorbell rang again. Odd, I thought, that the FBI wouldn’t just break down the door like in the movies. Or better yet, just open it, since it wasn’t locked. Panic raced through me.

  Please let it be the FBI, I thought, and not Jimmy Hoffa . . . with a PhD.

  Tito looked as surprised as anyone else, so I took that to mean it wasn’t one of his compadres. He looked around. He motioned to No Toes. “Toes—look down that hall—you see Joey?”

  Toes moved backwards toward the archway, peeked around the wall down the hall. “No, Boss. Nobody there.”

  At the same time, Joey appeared from the other hallway, drenched and out of breath.

  “Boss, I looked everywhere! There ain’t no guy nowhere! Dead or alive.”

  Tito shot No Toes a nasty look. Toes cowered.

  “Get over here, boat of you—keep your eyes on these guys. I’ll check dis out.” Tito slipped his gun back into his raincoat, then moved cautiously to the hallway and disappeared as he moved to the front door. I heard it open. A familiar male voice sounded.

  “Good evening, s
ir. I’m Officer LaMon with Fairfax County Police. Someone phoned in a report of gas fumes emanating from this general area.”

  “Why don’t you got a uniform?”

  “I’m plainclothes, sir. I responded because I was the closest. We take these reports seriously due to the potential danger involved. Sir, what is that I see at the end of that hallway?”

  Tito must have looked behind him or been taken off guard somehow, because the next thing I knew, he was on the floor, unconscious. Faster than I could say Operation Handsome Cop, Officer Brad made one swift step over Tito and called out, “Marr!” I thought he was talking to me, but then realized he was looking above my head. Simultaneously, he was tossing Tito’s massive gun across the room, and with amazing skill, Howard caught it mid-air, then instantly took aim at Joey, who was standing right next to Viviana. At the same time, Colt had his gun aimed right at No Nut’s brainless head. It all happened so fast, I never even saw him come in.

  At last! The thwump, thwump, thwump of helicopters sounded above the house. Search lights, which I assumed were coming from the helicopters, sailed across the floor as they shot in through various windows in the house. The air was as full of excitement as it was of propane fumes.

  “LaMon—radio!” yelled Howard. In a flash, Officer Brad was tossing a black radio through the air, which Howard caught brilliantly with his other hand. I had to admit, I was getting turned on. My husband was turning out to be quite the action stud. Who knew?

  Howard spoke into the radio. “This is Marr. The perps are contained, one is down. One civilian very sick, send in reinforcements and EMT on the double! We need to get these people out of here!”

  A helmeted man decked out entirely in black maneuvered expertly through the front door, gun at the ready. Another followed right behind him. Howard motioned to the first. “Over here! Take this man!” Howard was referring to Joey. “You,” he motioned to the second, “take the skinny one. Colt, go check on Roz and Peggy.”