“What kind of health problem?”
“A heart attack in his shower at home. He was lucky, though. Nino was with him when it happened. He got him to the hospital real quick.”
“You got to be kidding. Where’s this list?”
“In my room.” He unlatched the gate. “Just down here.”
He led the way down the steps to the boy’s basement flat, reached into his left pocket, pulled out the new key and unlocked the door. As he did, his fingers curled around the stocking in his right. Santiago walked past him and into the room. Rocco followed and switched on the light. This illuminated the envelope on the bedcover. Santiago saw his name, assumed it was the list and reached over to get it. As he leaned over, Rocco slammed him down, placed his right knee firmly in the small of his back and slipped the stocking around his neck. With both hands he pulled it just tight enough to cut off the air supply but not enough to cause bruising or internal damage.
Santiago was completely immobilized in the soft bedding so he couldn’t struggle. With his windpipe cut off he couldn’t cry out. His body became tense, then rigid. For a moment it spasmed. One by one, his muscles jerked and then relaxed. Rocco waited a full three minutes and then slowly eased off the pressure.
All life in Santiago was gone.
Rocco switched off the light, turned on the flashlight and propped it on the floor. He pulled out the bag from under the bed, set it carefully on the coverlet and picked out the screwdriver and old cylinder. In less than two minutes he had the original lock back in place. With the door closed he turned on the overhead light.
Opening the closet door, he scooped up all the clothes from the floor and threw them against the back wall. He lifted a white metal chair from the bathroom into the closet. With the cutters he fixed loops of wire to each of the front legs and another at the top of the backrest.
For the next five minutes he undid all the buttons and zippers on Santiago’s suit and shirt and eased them off, carefully folding each piece of clothing and laying it neatly at the foot of the bed. Santiago’s Jockey shorts were soiled with body fluids. Rocco used them to wipe Santiago as clean as he could and then stuffed them into the bag.
With some difficulty he slid the garter belt under the waist and connected the two hooks and eyes. He then grabbed an ankle and lifted up one of Santiago’s legs. Rolling up the other stocking, he attached it to the suspenders. A little pink bow on the panties showed him which way round they went on.
Pulling the body up into a sitting position, he bent down and let the inert mass fall over his shoulder. Using a fireman’s lift, he carried Santiago to the closet and set him down on the chair. One of the prepared wire loops went around his neck and the others were soon fastened to his ankles.
Santiago’s head lolled back. Rocco fetched the lipstick and mascara from the bed and painted the man’s mouth, being careful not to touch the drool that trickled down Santiago’s chin. He applied mascara to both the upper and lower lashes and pressed a finger and thumb of the dead man’s hands onto the tubes of makeup before taking them into the bathroom and placing them by the washbasin.
As Rocco turned to leave he noticed a crumpled and wet Kleenex in the wastebasket. He retrieved it, carried it to the closet and swiped it over the dead man’s inner thighs. Then he replaced it where he had found it.
The lock parts, screwdriver, cutters and wire went back into the bag. To make it appear as if there had been strenuous coupling, he crumpled up the bedding.
Taking a satisfied look at the grotesque figure on the metal chair, he shut the closet door.
He was just about to go out the front door when he remembered the envelope. A quick search revealed it lodged under the pillow. Rocco put it in the bag and left the flat.
Running up the steps from the basement two at a time he felt that he had created the perfect setup. He was sorry that he couldn’t wait to see the expression on the young man’s face when he came back home from his uneventful and no doubt frustrating Dorchester trip and opened the closet door.
It was a pleasant evening and perfect for a walk across town to his Paddington hotel. There was no hurry now. Max was on his way out of the country and Enzo never liked being called unless it was a dire emergency. The call could wait.
As he crossed a small bridge over the Camden canal he leaned over and dropped the screwdriver and cutters into the murky water beneath. These were followed by the lock parts and wire wrapped in Santiago’s shorts. Rocco watched as they sank out of sight.
A bum lay sleeping outside Madame Tussauds. Rocco left the leather gloves at the old man’s side.
The fresh air made him suddenly feel very hungry. In a pizza café on Edgware Road he chose a slice with sausage and onion. The cooks behind the counter wore plastic gloves and periodically discarded them in a metal bin at the end of the counter. As he waited, Rocco took off his surgical gloves and flipped them among the others.
15
Max drove into the city early the next morning and took a moment to gaze up at the chipped and uneven redbrick facade of Mazaras. The old building had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember. He would be sad if it ever left the family. His father Aldo had bought the original building when Max was ten years old. For a long time it was just a spaghetti joint where friends and occasional enemies met, but after Aldo died, Max had redesigned the dining room and changed the menu to encourage a more affluent crowd.
Later on he turned the two middle floors into a select social club for his close associates. A nice place for them to play a little poker with their friends and relieve any tension with his personally selected girls. The top floor was set aside for him to use as an office and a place to crash whenever he was in town.
At first the patrons of the restaurant and the men visiting the girls had shared the same entrance. Then Max bought the garage complex that backed up against his building and knocked a hole through the second-floor wall. This provided Mazaras with a discreet rear entrance and more than enough parking for the restaurant.
He opened the street door with his key and locked it behind him. The place was silent but for the hum of the iceboxes back in the kitchen. None of the staff had yet arrived but the white cloths on the tables were fresh and neatly laid. No matter how late they closed, Max made it a rule that everything be set up for the following evening.
He went up the stairs. As he reached the top landing he stopped. A strange man and a woman were talking inside his office. He moved noiselessly across the hall and leaned his back against the wall. Then he recognized the voices, relaxed and opened the door.
In the far corner of the room a woman lay full length on the big leather sofa. Her black sleeveless gown had fallen open to reveal long silken legs. Two sling-backs lay on the floor. She was lit by the flickering television screen where the complaining Lucy and her voluble Cuban husband were nose to nose in black and white. Max crossed to the window, drew back the heavy curtains and flooded the room with light.
Max had met the sleeping figure on a working trip to Las Vegas when he had ordered up dinner and a hooker. She had spent the next two days on his arm, the nights in his bed. It was at a time when Max sought someone to look after the girls at Mazaras. He offered her the job on the condition she change her name. He couldn’t deal with “Penelope Wainwright.” Over the ensuing years Cora Hunt had become his loyal friend and trusted advisor.
“Hey,” said Max close to her ear. “Wake up!”
Cora gave a slight start. Her head rose stiffly off the cushion and she brushed back a tangle of dark red hair. The bright daylight made her blink. “Jesus, Max. It’s you.” Her voice was husky. “You frightened me! What time is it?” She looked around and asked blearily, “What are you doing here early?”
“I was about to ask you the same question.”
“I asked first.”
“I had a meeting with the boys yesterday at the Dragon and we made some decisions,” he answered.
Cora was confused. “What a
re you talking about?”
Max walked over and turned off the television. “What are you doing here?”
“Darlene wanted to meet this morning and talk before she went to her day job. I thought it best we do it here. I lay down after she left. God! I’m tired.” She swung her legs to the floor. “This is cruel and unusual punishment.”
“You can catch up with your sleep later. Pack me a bag. Just a shirt and some underwear.”
He bent down and flipped over the corner of the rug.
“What did Darlene want?”
He removed a square black metal plate and spun the dials of a small floor safe.
“To get married.”
Cora put on her shoes and crossed the room to the bedroom.
“She says she’s met the perfect guy. He’s taken her three times to the Bronx Zoo. Can you imagine? Seems on the last visit he proposed to her in the monkey house. ‘Very romantic,’ she says. We talked for hours. I still wasn’t able to change her mind. I’m sorry, Max. I know how much you like her.”
Cora returned with a carry-on. “How was the other night?” she asked unzipping it on the table.
“The other night?” There was a click. Max opened the round door.
“Carmen. Remember?”
“Who the hell is Carmen?” Reaching in, he pulled out two manila envelopes.
“The girl you took home with you.”
“Oh, her. Fine.” He crossed to the table and emptied the envelopes out bedside the case. “Her name was Carmen?”
She gave him an exasperated look and headed back into the bedroom muttering, “You men!”
She pulled open the chest of drawers. “Where is it this time? Hot or cold?”
“Colombia,” replied Max, sorting through a bunch of passports. “If anyone calls I need you to cover for me.” He found the one in the name of Perez and picked up a wad of money.
“Why the deception?”
“Things go better in New York when everyone thinks I’m around.” He selected a small packet of papers and envelopes held together with a rubber band.
“What should I tell them?”
“Nothing. You know nothing.”
Cora got a brown leather toilet bag from the bathroom and finished packing. Max picked up the phone and told Nino to take the rest of the day off.
In the bathroom, a brief shower washed his mind and body clean. He was now Fernando Alejandro Perez on his way to South America to see his cousin Raul. Not only did Max speak excellent Spanish but he would also be carrying papers that confirmed his identity. None of the passports the Bruschettis used were fakes. A great deal of cash had passed through a great many hands to procure the genuine articles and more to keep them up to date. Any one of them would take him across borders, without question, anywhere in the world.
Cora stood in the bathroom door and watched Max as he dried himself. “So what about Carmen? You want me to hire her?”
“No. Not right now.” He dropped the towel and went past her into the bedroom. “When will you be seeing Darlene?” he asked as he took out a pair of pants and a jacket from the closet.
“Tonight. She’ll be here tonight.” Cora opened a drawer and selected a pair of socks and briefs and held them out. “Why?”
Max pulled on the underpants and sat on the bed to put on the socks. “You can tell her she can leave. It’ll be okay.”
“I see,” said Cora, nodding her head. “No Carmen and Darlene can go. I don’t get it.”
“You will.” He stood up and put on the shirt and pants.
“Max, what the hell’s going on?”
“Later.”
Cora took out a belt and laced it through the loops. “I thought we agreed not to keep things secret from each other.”
“Secret? This isn’t a secret.” Max reached for a hairbrush. “I just can’t tell you right now.”
“You can’t tell me? This is Cora, remember?” She pulled the belt tight.
Max sighed. “There’s gonna be some changes.”
“What sort of changes?” She fetched the jacket and held it out.
“Look,” said Max as he put his arms into the sleeves. “A lot depends on what happens in the next couple of days.”
She spun him round and held him by the lapels. “When people start talking about changes it usually means for the worse.”
“This time it’s for the better.”
“You’re taking that doctor’s advice, aren’t you? That’s why you’re doing this, isn’t it?”
“Not now, babe,” he replied.
“Have you told Sal and Enzo about your little trip to the Emergency Room?”
“Not yet,” he replied. “Nino may have told them.”
“Don’t you think they deserve to know?”
“No. It would show them I was worried.” He went towards the other room. “I don’t need that right now.”
“Rocco knows, doesn’t he?”
“Shut the fuck up!” Max growled, and stuffed the wad of cash into his coat pocket. The passport and papers were tucked into the case and it was zipped shut.
“You’re right,” he said. “My little dance with death is the main reason I’m making these changes. But remember what the man said: I have to reduce the stress in my life. Fat fucking chance!”
At the doorway he turned.
“So I get up this morning. I have everything worked out. No pressure. I’ve come up with a real neat solution. But then every fucker I meet gives me shit. Little bit here, little bit there. Even Sal. But that’s okay. I say to myself I’m a big boy, I can work it out. So enough already. When I get back you’ll be the first to know.”
He walked back over and kissed her on the forehead. “That is, assuming I make it back.”
16
Carter had started the morning in a good mood. Fiona’s father had invited him to play a round of golf at his club on the North Shore of Long Island. They had teed off with two friends at noon in bright sunshine and with a cool breeze. The course was in immaculate condition and Carter’s swing had been loose and easy for the first nine holes. Then he had begun to think over what Max had told him the day before and specifically about all the things that could go wrong. That opened up a Pandora’s Box of possibilities. His body tensed and the ball flew wildly to all the wrong places.
When it was over he didn’t stay for the usual farewell drink at the bar but jumped in his car and headed to the city. On the journey back he tried to concentrate on the positive aspects of the proposed changes. As he went up in the elevator his mood had improved.
Soon after Fiona and Carter were married her parents had given them the apartment as a wedding present. Her mother took great pleasure in overseeing the interior design. The result was classic Upper East Side: carpets by Stark, curtains by Belfair, a hidden sound system and a paint job that cost what the average citizen pays for a house.
The living and dining rooms were at the front overlooking Park Avenue. The kitchen, laundry and maid’s room were sensibly arranged in the center with the four bedrooms off a rear corridor. The smallest of these was fitted out as a gym.
Since the birth of their second child, Fiona had made it a rule to work out for an hour every evening. All forms of sweeteners were scrupulously avoided and at social occasions she only drank lemon-flavored Perrier. The result was a young body and a sharp mind. Carter headed to where his wife would be pounding away on the cross-trainer in her red leotard and black tights. He stretched up and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
“Hi, sexy. How much longer?” he asked.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Couple more minutes. Did you hear about Valerie?”
“No. Who’s Valerie?”
“Geoffrey Johnson’s wife. You sat next to her at the Special Surgery benefit.”
“Oh, her. Thin, blonde and on continuous transmit.”
“That’s the one.”
“What about her?”
“She’s been arrested. Isabel told me.”
“Well,” said Fiona, wiping her face. “It seems that for about a year she has had her own secret little brokerage account that Geoffrey didn’t know about. She keeps it on her laptop.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Yes, but Isabel said that she’s been taking notes when Geoffrey is on the phone, or when he’s having clients over for dinner. Apparently she went online and used what she had overheard to update her portfolio. About a month ago she made a real big killing and the flags started to fly at the Securities and Exchange Commission. They started to monitor her trades. Wasn’t long before they figured she was using inside information. At eleven this morning the Feds came and arrested her.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Isabel said Geoffrey got a call at the office in the middle of a meeting and had to leave to post bail. He’s hopping mad. Isabel says even if she gets off it’s going to cost them a fortune in legal fees. And there’s the publicity. It’s going to be all over the papers tomorrow. They might even have to resign from the clubs. I feel so sorry for the kids.”
Fiona switched off the machine and headed into her bathroom. She stripped off her clothes, stepped into the shower and closed the curtain.
Minutes later Carter stood in his own shower letting the water cascade down his face. His wife had just put into words everything that he feared. She had just described what would happen to the Allinsons if Max and his brothers fucked up.
Valerie’s husband, Geoffrey, was not one to ever give in easily. His aggressive personality would never let him suffer the consequences of his wife’s idiotic transgressions. He would engage the best lawyers and put the whole matter to rest swiftly. No one in the Johnson family would be dragged into court and the limelight. No one would do jail time or even submit to one of those stupid ankle bracelets under house arrest. Geoffrey would skillfully handle the press and his marriage would remain intact.
As Carter and Fiona dressed for the evening he learned the details of his daughter’s upcoming trip to Europe. Also, James had called to let them know he had done better than expected on his science exam and could he please have money for a new lacrosse stick? For the moment at least, everything at home was normal.
Once a Crooked Man Page 5
