“That’s right. And when Novak’s men close in, they’ll think they’ve got a lead pipe cinch, but they won’t because you’ll be there, Jake, and every man we got. When Novak’s men move in to make the arrest, you blast ’em. Everybody will think it’s Morino because that’s who they’re gonna nail. With Novak and his crew out of the way,” he grinned, “we can easily take care of Morino before the feds have a chance to train and send in fresh recruits. Set it up, Jake. If we do this right, we’re home free. We’ll hurt Big Tony, and we’ll take the feds out at the same time. Don’t spare the ammunition.”
“Right, boss, I’ll take care of it.”
The trap set by Leo Marx took place exactly a week after Prado’s conversation with Marx. Prado had arranged for an informant to leak the information to Lee Novak that the biggest shipment of illegal alcohol ever moved in the city would be coming in. Then Prado had hired enough gunmen to wipe out both Morino’s men and Lee Novak’s crew of special agents.
****
Lee Novak was elated. Phil had never seen him so excited. “Are you sure this information’s right, Lee? It sounds too easy.”
Lee had contacted Phil to alert him as to what was going down shortly. He wanted the DA’s office to be prepared to handle all the indictments that would be pouring in after his special agents captured the city’s biggest warlords.
“We’ve got it straight, and we’ve checked on it. It’s coming in all right. Five big trucks. We’ll pin them down, and that’ll be the end of that. This’ll put Morino out of business for good.”
Phil was naturally cautious and concerned for the safety of Lee and his men. He shook his head. “I don’t know, Lee. I hope it works.”
“It’ll work all right,” Lee said confidently. “I have the utmost trust in my men.”
****
Dom Costello was accustomed to organizing the shipments of bootleg alcohol, but this was the biggest haul yet. He had worked hard on it to be sure nothing went wrong, and now he felt fairly comfortable. He was just getting ready to leave to receive the shipment when he got a call from a friend of his, a saloonkeeper. “Hey, Dom, this is Chick.”
“What do you want, Chick? I’m busy.”
“You’d better look into this. You know your boss’s daughter, Rosa? She’s down here, and she’s drunk, and there’s a guy here that means her no good.”
“She’s at your place?”
“Yeah. I tried to get her to go home, Dom, but she wouldn’t do it. I’d feel better if you came for her.”
“Okay, I’ll pick her up.” Dom slammed the receiver down and shook his head angrily. He was upset with Rosa. But he still cared for the girl a great deal and knew he had to do something.
Dom ran outside, got into his car, and drove as fast he dared to Chick’s place. It took him fifteen minutes, and when he got inside he saw Rosa seated at a table. Across from her was a smooth-looking middle-aged man whose hand was on her knee. Dom walked over, reached down and grabbed the man by the neck, then jerked him to his feet. “Beat it,” he said, “or I’ll kill you.”
Rosa’s admirer did not argue. He turned pale, swallowed hard, and made an almost magical exit.
“Come on, Rosa. You need to go home.”
“I’m having a good time,” Rosa said drunkenly.
Dom wasn’t about to argue. Reaching down, he grabbed her arm and lifted her up. “You’re going home,” he said harshly. “Deal with it!”
Rosa resisted him, but it was useless. Dom’s strength was proverbial, and when he put her in the car, she slumped down.
Getting back into the driver’s seat, Dom threaded his way through the traffic. It was late now, almost midnight. He thought about taking Rosa home but decided there wasn’t time. The shipment was due at an old warehouse any minute, and he needed to be there. He parked the car a block away and said to Rosa, “You wait here. And don’t you dare think about getting out of this car!”
“Where you going?”
“A little business. You stay put.”
Dom walked quickly down the street. He saw that the trucks were already pulling into the warehouse. He hurried forward, and just as he reached the entrance, he heard light footsteps behind him. Turning quickly, Dom saw that Rosa had followed him. She was unsteady on her feet, and he furiously shook his head. “Rosa—” he started, but then there was a sudden shout and a shot rang out.
Instantly Dom ran toward Rosa and pulled her toward the shelter of the doorway.
From everywhere, it seemed then, shots were ringing out. Dom gasped, “We’ve been set up!” He jumped behind the doorframe for protection and set Rosa down behind him. Then he pulled his gun, knowing full well it was Leo Marx’s men. He shot at a shadowy figure and drew fire in return. The ferocity of the gun battle was terrible, worse than anything he had ever experienced.
Rosa, terrified, jumped up and began running away.
“Rosa, get back here! Get down!”
But Rosa never heard Dom’s voice in the chaos that filled her ears.
****
Phil had insisted on going along with Lee on this raid. Though it was not standard protocol for someone from the DA’s office to attend a raid, in this case he couldn’t stay away. Lee Novak was a close friend as well as a collaborator in the law’s pursuit of New York’s worst thugs. The two men had different jobs in the process now—Lee on the streets making arrests and Phil prosecuting the criminals in court—but their jobs were two sides of the same coin. They shared the common goal of cleaning up the city to make it safe for its law-abiding citizens. This one raid could be the turning point they’d all been waiting for.
Lee had not wanted Phil to come, but since he was there anyway, he ordered him to stay out of sight at a safe distance and keep down. So Phil hunkered down behind a car across the street, watching as Novak and his men closed in. So far it had gone according to plan, but now as they moved toward the building, attempting to surround it, rifle fire erupted.
“Behind us!” Lee shouted at his men. “Over there on the roof!”
Phil turned to see the blinking fire of rifles, and then he yelled, “Lee, take cover!”
Lee shouted orders to his agents. “Get everybody out of here! Pull the men back!” He hobbled across the street with blood streaming from his legs. He was within a few feet of the car where Phil was hiding when he was driven to his knees.
“Lee, are you hurt bad?”
Novak ignored Phil and continued shouting orders to his agents. Phil kept his head down as Lee dragged himself behind the car and fired at every target he saw.
Phil heard the dying groans of men fallen in the street in the midst of the gun battle, and he kept his head down. But at a slight lull in the shooting, he could not resist the urge to peek over the top of the car. His eyes met a gruesome sight—bodies strewn in the street in dark pools of blood. He thought he saw Dom Costello’s big body slumped in the doorway of the warehouse, but he couldn’t be sure. Then in an instant a shock ran through him. Rosa was standing in the middle of the street in the direct line of fire!
“Rosa!” he cried, leaping to his feet without thought and running toward her. Even as Phil rushed forward, a bullet struck Rosa full in the chest. She made a slight cry and was driven backward.
“Rosa!”
Oblivious to the bullets that filled the air, he reached down and scooped her up. The front of her dress was stained with blood, and as Phil’s heart wrenched at the sight, he knew that this war had claimed a casualty he could not spare.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Casualties
The darkness was cold and silent . . . frightening. More than simply a lack of sound, the silence was tangible. Her first conscious thought was, I’m dead.
She heard a tiny sound, unrecognizable. Yet a sense of relief washed through her at the knowledge that something existed other than the silence. She seemed to be at the bottom of a deep pit—lifeless, airless—cut off from everything alive and warm. She tried to cry out for help but had no v
oice.
The sound she had heard intensified. Then pain like a white-hot knife plunged into her chest. It stunned her. She could do no more than remain still until the intensity of it passed, dulled to a throbbing ache instead of the terrifying agony she feared must be her death.
The darkness thinned, and a milky whiteness filled her vision. A wonderful relief swept through her as the light grew brighter and the sound she was hearing grew louder. It was ticking, she realized, like the ticking of a clock.
Consciousness came to her; the confusion, darkness, and silence passed away. Opening her eyes to slits, letting in a gray wash of antiseptic light, she realized she was lying in a bed. The touch of cool, soft sheets against her body became a reality. The ticking was to her left, and turning her head slightly, which brought a hot twinge to her chest, she saw a clock sitting on a dark table. She stared at it until the hands came into focus—eight minutes after four. She had no idea whether it was morning or afternoon, but a sense of gratitude rushed through her that she was no longer in that pit of stygian darkness.
“Rosa?”
The voice startled her and she stiffened. She turned in the direction of the voice and saw a face. At first she could not make out the features, for the light was behind whoever stood there. She tried to speak, but her lips were dry, her throat constricted.
“Rosa, can you hear me?”
Then Rosa knew that voice—it was Phil! As he leaned closer the light struck against his face, outlining his features. She saw lines of strain around his eyes, and his lips were drawn tightly together. He laid his hand on her forehead. His light touch felt cool, and she was grateful. She tried to speak again but could only whisper huskily, “Phil . . .” and could only choke, “water . . . please . . .”
Phil’s face disappeared, and she heard the tinkling of water as it passed from one container to another. She felt his hand on the back of her head. “See if you can sip through this straw, Rosa.”
The straw touched Rosa’s lips. She opened them and began to pull at it frantically. The water touched her parched tissues, and she drank until she heard Phil say, “I think you’d better take a break. Just take a mouthful and hold it until it soaks up.”
Rosa obeyed and lay still, savoring the moisture that brought life to her lips and the dry tissues of her mouth. She watched Phil standing over her with the glass in his hand. “How do you feel?” he asked.
Rosa tried to respond, then tried to move, but the pain prevented her from doing either.
“Take it easy. Don’t stir.”
“What . . . happened?”
Phil reached out and brushed a lock of hair from Rosa’s face. After a moment he said quietly, “You were injured, Rosa. There was some shooting, and you got hit.”
Rosa’s fear returned. She searched his face, saw the grief, and whispered, “Am I going to die, Phil?”
“No—no, nothing like that!” Phil assured her. “You took a bullet up high in the chest, but it missed the lung and it missed the bone. I know it’s painful now, but you’ll be all right. Here, take another sip.”
He held her head again, and Rosa obediently sipped at the water, relief washing through her. He let her have several mouthfuls, then withdrew the straw and gently replaced her head on the pillow.
“How long . . . have I been here?”
“Just since yesterday. You had me worried, Rosa—all of us, as a matter of fact. But you’re going to be all right. The Lord took care of you.”
His words were like a balm to the wounded young woman, and she closed her eyes and lay quietly. Other anxious thoughts troubled her mind, and she opened her eyes. Memory slowly returned. She thought back to the scene, but she had been drinking, and it was all like a kaleidoscope of flashing memories, with no clear order or meaning. She did remember hearing the gunfire, and she remembered running. She also remembered Dom dragging her to safety . . . then running again and Phil’s voice . . .
“Where’s Dom, Phil?” she asked, looking up at him.
Phil’s expression disturbed her. He did not answer for a moment, but his lips tightened, and she demanded, “Is he all right?”
“He’s pretty badly hurt, Rosa.”
Rosa felt a stab of fear. Dom Costello was a rough man, but he’d watched over her and kept her safe since she was a child, and now the harsh reality of his condition touched her with dread. She tried to see some hope in Phil’s face, but he said no more.
For several minutes Rosa lay quietly, then demanded, “What happened? What was the shooting about?”
“You don’t want to talk about that now, Rosa.”
“Yes I do. What was it?”
Phil shifted uneasily and ran his hand across his hair. He thought he should go get the doctor and let Rosa’s family know she was awake. They had been at the hospital all night and had finally gone home to get a little rest. It was almost time for them to return, and Phil wished they would.
Rosa saw Phil’s hesitation, and then the truth came to her. “It was a gang war, wasn’t it?”
“It was connected with that. There was a raid, and a number of men were killed.”
“Who?”
“Two of them were special agents from the justice department—from Lee Novak’s team. That’s who I used to work for before I became a lawyer. Lee himself was hit twice.”
“Did he . . . did he die?”
“No, he’s all right, thank God! Just badly hurt, but he’ll make it. But two of his men didn’t.”
Rosa turned her face away and lifted her hand to cover the side of her face as if to cut off his gaze. Phil was startled. “What’s the matter, Rosa?”
Rosa did not answer. She shook her head and felt hot tears coming down her cheeks. She then felt Phil’s hand touching hers. He leaned over and looked directly into her face. “Are you in pain?”
“It’s not that.”
“What is it, then?”
She would not answer, and Phil remained silent too. He stood beside her, gently brushing back her silky black hair. “You’re going to be all right. Don’t worry.”
“No, I’m not.” Rosa removed her hand, and when she turned her face to his, he saw the tortured light in her eyes. “It’s never going to be all right!”
Baffled by her words and thinking her disturbance stemmed from the drugs they had given her to ease the pain, Phil shook his head and smiled. “It’ll be all right,” he said. “You’ll see.”
“My father’s a gangster. All our money comes from crime. Everybody knows it, Phil. I’m so ashamed, and it’ll never change.”
Phil tried to protest, but Rosa put her hand back over her face. He leaned forward and tried to whisper something to console her, but he heard her say faintly, “My family . . . my family . . . who would ever want me?”
Phil was stunned by the words. He knew that Rosa, Jamie, and Mrs. Morino all hated the life they led, but he had not known before how deeply these feelings touched Rosa’s heart.
****
Rosa said nothing more and Phil waited patiently by her side. Ten minutes later Tony and his wife came in. Phil was shocked at Morino’s condition. His hands were trembling, and he was pale as paste. When he spoke his voice was unsteady. “How is she?”
“She’s doing fine. She woke up about twenty minutes ago. I’m glad you’ve come.” Actually Phil was apprehensive. If Rosa were to tell her father what was on her heart, he knew that would destroy Tony Morino. Somehow, sometime, that was going to come, but he hoped that such a confrontation would not happen until Rosa was completely out of danger. “I’ve got to go down and see Lee,” Phil said.
Morino had been looking at Rosa, but he turned and licked his lips nervously. “I hope he’s okay.”
“Do you, Tony?”
“Why . . . sure I do.”
“Two of Lee’s men won’t be okay.” Phil could not help saying this. He knew it was neither the time nor place, and he was aware that Mrs. Morino had turned her face away to avoid looking at him. Quickly Phil said, “
I’m glad Rosa’s all right. I’ll tell the doctor she’s awake.”
Phil left the room and went down to the nurses’ station. A bright-eyed young woman with flaming red hair turned to him as he said, “Miss Morino is awake.”
“Oh, that’s good! She’s going to be all right, then. Now don’t you worry.”
Phil smiled at her optimism. “Thanks. Her parents are with her now, but maybe you’d want to note it down for the doctor that she woke up about twenty minutes ago.”
“Thank you, Mr. Winslow.” She leaned forward over the desk and said, “You were lucky you didn’t get shot.”
“Not luck. The Lord took care of me.”
The nurse blinked with surprise. “Well, yes, of course, that’s true.”
“Has the doctor been in to see Mr. Novak yet?”
“Not since you were here last.”
“I’d like to go sit with him awhile.”
“Oh, that’ll be fine. His wife has left to go get some rest. She’s worn out, poor thing.”
“Thanks, Nurse.”
Phil turned and walked down the corridor thinking of the casualties that had resulted from the shoot-out. Rosa would be all right and so would Lee, but Dom Costello was not likely to live. The doctor had offered little hope, and the two special agents who had died had been good men. Phil had known both of them, and a slow, cold anger burned in him as he thought of the loss to their families and the grief they now suffered. Two of Morino’s men had died instantly, and two more were badly wounded but would probably live. Of course, Morino himself could not be held, for as usual, his men refused to implicate him. It infuriated Phil that such things could happen, but he knew it was the story of the war against crime all over America. He turned into Lee Novak’s room and found his friend lying with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. “How are you, Lee?”
“It hurts.”
“I would think so. Can I get you anything?”
“No, just sit down a minute. I want to talk.”
“Sure, but let me stand up. You can’t see me if I sit down.”
“All right. I wish I could stand up myself.” He tried to move, but pain washed across his face, and he gritted his teeth.
The Heavenly Fugitive Page 25
