“No!” Loretta, Jennifer, and Annette screamed in unison.
“I said, do him!” Taffy ordered, getting up on his elbows. “Now!”
“Okay, Taf,” Jerry said, sticking his gun on the other side of Marvelli’s face. He looked at his brother. “On three,” he said. “One, two, thr—”
Shots rang out, but not from Larry’s and Jerry’s guns. The twins hit the floor, followed by Springer and Loretta. Annette and Jennifer stayed on their feet, clutching each other and screaming, but they could barely be heard over the barrage of automatic gunfire. The metal door on the other side of the pilothouse was sprouting bumps. The gunfire stopped, and the door burst open, sprung on its hinges.
“Kiss the floor, you mothers!” Sammy was standing in a swirl of gunsmoke, an AK-47 assault rifle in his hands. When he realized that everyone was already on the floor, he seemed a little disappointed.
Taffy scowled at him. “What’re you? Rambo?”
Marvelli was furious. “What the hell’s wrong with you, Sammy? You could’ve killed someone.”
“Well … that’s what I do, right?” He noticed Larry and Jerry slowly squirming on the floor, positioning themselves to make a move. Sammy waved the muzzle of his rifle in their faces, giving them a good sniff of burnt powder to remind them who had the firepower here. “Throw your pieces in the corner, boys,” he ordered. But when they didn’t move fast enough, Sammy jabbed their scalps with the AK-47. Two automatics instantly clattered into the corner near Loretta, who was just getting to her feet.
Marvelli caught Loretta’s eye, and she gave him a tight nod. She knew what he was thinking: Grab the guns.
But as Loretta started to bend down, Springer suddenly got to her knees and pulled her gun, extending her arm so that it was just a few feet from Jennifer’s face. Her hand was shaking, but at point-blank range she didn’t have to be steady. Jennifer cringed, but she didn’t make a peep.
Springer’s glance shot around the room, finally settling on Sammy. “If you like your wife’s face, don’t do anything stupid. Taffy,” she said, “get up. We’re out of here.”
Taffy got off the floor. “Finally you have a good idea.”
Springer got up and moved behind Jennifer, putting the gun to the back of her head. “Move,” she ordered. “You’re coming with us.” Jennifer was too scared to object.
But as Taffy headed for the door, he suddenly stopped in front of Loretta. “This is for what could have been, honeybuns.” He grabbed the back of her head and ground a kiss into her lips. “Believe me, you would’ve liked it,” he breathed in her face. “Ciao, babies,” he said with a smart-ass grin, and followed Springer and Jennifer out the door.
Marvelli stared at Taffy’s departing back, his eyes bulging. His head was ready to explode.
33
“Loretta!” Marvelli yelled.
She didn’t have to be told; she was already reaching for the twin’s automatics, tossing one to Marvelli and keeping the other.
He jumped to his feet. “Keep these two right here,” he said to Sammy, pointing down at Larry and Jerry.
Sammy already had the two prone brothers at bay, but he looked like he was going to cry. “But what about Jennifer?” he wailed.
“Don’t worry about her. I’ll handle it,” Marvelli said, then he turned to his mother-in-law. “Annette, go find a phone and call nine-one-one.”
Annette threw up her hands in exasperation. “And what should I tell them?”
“Just tell them what happened and tell them to send some men. A lot of men.”
“Okay. If that’s what you want,” she said, but she sounded dubious.
Marvelli went up to Loretta. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “Come on, let’s go.” She seemed annoyed that he’d bothered to ask, but he was worried about her. He wanted to know if Taffy had done anything to her, but he knew better than to ask. Loretta’s bark was as bad as her bite.
They went to the doorway together, Marvelli putting his back to the doorframe as Loretta cautiously peeked outside, leading with her gun. She always went first because she was the better shot.
“It’s clear,” Loretta said. She burst through the doorway with Marvelli right behind her.
They rushed off the tugboat and started running down the dock.
“Crap!” Loretta snarled.
“What?”
“You try running in heels.”
“I used to all the time.”
“What?”
“You remember when platforms were popular for men? John Travolta? Disco?”
Loretta gave him a look. “You weren’t a PO back then. What were you running after?”
“I was running away. From cops mostly. I was a pretty bad kid.”
“Gimme a break, Marvelli.”
The dock led them to a parking lot where they scanned the cars for signs of Taffy and Agent Springer. In the middle of the lot, a lone figure waved to them frantically. It was Rispoli standing next to the open driver’s door of Marvelli’s green Taurus. Rispoli got in, started the engine, and burned rubber, racing around the lot to meet them.
“Where ya been?” he yelled as Marvelli opened the passenger door and got it. Loretta jumped into the backseat. “They’re gonna get away, for cryin’ out loud.”
Loretta leaned in between the front seats. “You saw them? Taffy and Springer?”
“Of course I saw them,” Rispoli said. “They just left. Black Mercury Marquis. She was driving.”
“Fed-mobile,” Marvelli and Loretta said simultaneously.
“Maybe we can still catch ’em,” Rispoli said.
He floored the accelerator, and the car shot off like a rocket, shutting Marvelli’s door for him. The Taurus screeched around the parking lot and headed for the street. Marvelli caught a glimpse of the speedometer as they bounced over the curb. Rispoli was doing sixty, and they weren’t even out on the street yet.
Loretta was ricocheting around in the backseat like an atomic particle. “Take it easy, will you?” she complained.
“Take it easy later,” Rispoli grumbled. “I got a man to whack.”
Loretta and Marvelli exchanged knowing glances. Rispoli was out to get Taffy, but they couldn’t let that happen. As much as Taffy deserved it, murder was still murder, and they were officers of the law. But Rispoli was the expert in tracking people down, so they weren’t about to put a fly in his ointment now. Marvelli knew very well that you don’t tell a Sicilian what he doesn’t want to hear, then expect him to help you out anyway. It just wasn’t in the genes.
“Look out!” Loretta screamed as Rispoli ran a red light.
The hit man didn’t hear her; he was on automatic pilot. He fishtailed around a corner and made a beeline for the entrance ramp to Alaskan Way. The engine was straining to keep up with the driver’s demands. At the top of the ramp, Rispoli shot out into traffic without even looking. Marvelli clutched the sides of his seat and watched Rispoli’s feet. He kept the pedal to the metal and ignored the brake completely.
They were whizzing past cars in a kaleidoscopic blur of headlights and taillights. Marvelli checked the speedometer again. They were doing over a hundred.
Marvelli’s head was pressed against the headrest. He could feel G-forces. “Gus, don’t you think we ought to slow down a little before we—”
“Thar she friggin’ blows!” Rispoli shouted. He was pointing up ahead, smiling with mean glee, which made Marvelli very nervous. Rispoli smiled like the Grinch.
A shiny black Mercury was weaving in and out of traffic at breakneck speed.
Rispoli shook his head in disappointment. “Where the hell’s the cops? They never see this stuff when it happens.”
“Feds go to school to learn how to drive like that,” Loretta pointed out.
“That ain’t how you do it,” Rispoli snarled. “That’s dangerous. This is how you do it.”
He slipped into the fast lane and floored it, coming up fast behind a white Porsche.
�
�Look out!” Marvelli shouted.
But Rispoli was unaffected. The front bumper of the Taurus kissed the Porsche’s rear bumper with a not-too-gentle clunk. Instantly the Porsche jumped out of the lane, and Rispoli zipped past him.
“See? That’s how you cover ground. You take over one lane. Make it yours.” Rispoli was satisfied with himself, but Marvelli was starting to get hungry. He always got hungry when he was nervous.
Rispoli soon pulled up neck and neck with the Mercury. Springer was driving, her face scrunched and intense. Taffy was in the passenger seat, holding on to the dashboard. When he looked past Springer to see who was driving as crazy as they were, Rispoli gave him the finger. “Die, you dirty mother—”
“Watch the road,” Marvelli yelled.
Suddenly Springer braked hard and veered into the slow lane, letting Rispoli pass. She cut her speed in half and pulled up behind a trailer truck.
“She’s gonna get off,” Loretta shouted. “She’s gonna take the next exit.”
“I know that,” Rispoli muttered as he hit the brake and swerved into the middle lane, trying to wedge his way into the slow lane. Horns blared and tires screeched. He bullied his way in with less than fifty feet to spare before the exit. There were four cars between them and the Mercury. He took the exit, speeding up instead of slowing down, driving in the breakdown lane and passing cars on the right.
Springer accelerated, too, passing cars on the ramp. By the time they got to the bottom, there were still three cars between the Taurus and the Mercury.
The Mercury took a right at the bottom of the ramp, then the first left, beating the oncoming traffic by jumping ahead just as the traffic light turned green. Rispoli was determined to keep up, so he flashed the headlights and blew the horn, aggressively playing chicken with the cars coming toward him. He made his way through, but several other cars had gotten between him and the Mercury.
“I can’t even see them,” Loretta said. “Where’d they go?”
“You lost ’em,” Marvelli said, looking at Rispoli. But when Rispoli’s thin lips turned into a devilish grimace, Marvelli knew he had said the wrong thing.
“I never lose anyone unless I wanna lose ’em,” Rispoli hissed. He turned the wheel sharply to the left and pulled into a driveway that led to a warehouse. But instead of pulling all the way in, he cut the wheel right and drove up on the sidewalk.
“Get outta my way,” he yelled out the open window at the pedestrians as he sailed along. A grungy gang of teenagers yelled back, intent on holding their ground, but when they saw that the green Taurus wasn’t going to stop, they were forced to dive onto the hoods of parked cars as if they were diving into a mosh pit.
Deep hoarse belly laughs erupted from Rispoli. Marvelli thought about all the reports he was going to have to file when this was all over. Unless he got killed in an accident first, which was a definite possibility. He glanced over the seat back at Loretta. “Why don’t you put on your seat belt?” he said.
She gave him a funny look. “It’s a little late now.”
“No, you listen to him,” Rispoli said as he picked up speed and started passing the cars in the street who were stuck in traffic. “Put on the belt. Just in case.”
“Just in case of what?” she asked.
He gunned the engine and the car surged forward.
Marvelli’s eyes widened. Rispoli was going to jump the curb at the corner, even though it was a narrow squeeze between the traffic-light post and a newsstand. “Gus! You’re won’t fit!” he yelled, bracing himself against the dashboard.
“You never know,” Rispoli rasped. “I may get lucky.” He gave it more gas, leaning on the horn to warn the pedestrians.
“Stop!” Loretta screamed from the backseat.
But it was too late. The corner was coming up fast. Marvelli was certain the space was too narrow for them to fit.
Suddenly he was hurled forward only to be caught by his seat belt. He could hear the sound of crunching metal, but the air bags had inflated and he couldn’t see anything for a moment. The car jerked to a halt. On the passenger side the light post had shaved off the front fender. Newspapers and magazines were scattered all over the driver’s side. A very angry Pakistani man wearing a USA Today apron was pounding on the windshield with his fists. Marvelli looked over the seat back, worried about Loretta. She was lying on the floor.
“Loretta!”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she growled, picking herself up. Rispoli pointed through the windshield. “They’re getting away.”
The accident had gridlocked the entire intersection, but Springer and Taffy had abandoned their car and were hightailing it up a side street on foot.
“Go get ’em,” Rispoli urged. “Hurry up. Go.”
Loretta immediately shouldered her door open and got out, but Marvelli hung back. “Aren’t you coming, Gus?”
Rispoli shook his head. “Too tempting.”
“What do you mean, ‘too tempting’?”
“With Taffy it’s personal now. A hit should never be personal. That’s how you screw up. I wanna keep my record intact.” A funny little smile lifted the corners of the hit man’s mouth.
Marvelli understood. “And you wouldn’t want to screw up your deal with the government by doing another hit after you supposedly turned over a new leaf, right?”
“Yeah, that might have something to do with it, too.”
“Marvelli!” Loretta was on the other side of his window. “Come on. Let’s go.”
The Pakistani man was pounding on the roof with both fists. Rispoli rolled down his window three inches. “Enough!” he barked at the man, then he turned to Marvelli. “Get going. Hurry up.”
Marvelli kicked the mangled door until it finally opened.
Rispoli laid a hand on Marvelli’s elbow. “Just one thing before you go. Shoot for the body first—the chest is best. Knock him down, then follow up with a second shot to the head. And be quick. That’s how you do it.”
Marvelli was puzzled. “I’m gonna arrest them, Gus. What do you think I’m gonna do?”
Rispoli put a vise grip on Marvelli’s forearm. “No, you listen to me,” he yelled. “First the knockdown, then the kill shot to the head. That’s how you do it. That’s how Taffy’U do it to you.” Rispoli’s eyes were glistening. He was dead serious.
34
“They’re splitting up,” Loretta called back to Marvelli as they dodged around honking cars stalled in traffic. Taffy and Springer were up ahead on opposite sides of the street, making tracks. “You take Taffy,” Loretta said. “I’ll take Springer.”
“Sounds good to me,” Marvelli said as he leaped the curb and sprinted down the sidewalk after Taffy.
Loretta headed for Springer, but she was worried about her partner. He had a gun in his hand, but he was more likely to shoot himself than Taffy. Marvelli couldn’t shoot for beans.
Springer was rounding the corner at the end of the block, and Loretta knew she’d better get moving or she’d lose the little witch. Fortunately, even though Springer was small, she wasn’t very fast. It had probably been a while since she’d had to pass the FBI endurance test at Quantico.
Loretta was running in the street alongside the jammed traffic, heading for the corner, when suddenly a hand grabbed her forearm and stopped her in her tracks.
A bearded, middle-aged man driving an old beat-up white Cadillac leered up at her through his open window. He was looking her up and down, assessing the goods. “Hey, sugar, you wanna party?”
Loretta pointed her gun in his face. “You want a hemorrhage?”
The man let go immediately, and though she wanted to smack him for assuming she was a hooker just because she was dressed that way, she ran off after Springer, not wanting to waste time.
She ran on her toes because of the high heels, but when she reached the corner, she decided to kick them off and run barefoot. Springer was already at the end of the block about to cross the street, so Loretta poured on the steam, pushing her
moussed and sprayed tresses out of her face, praying she didn’t step on any broken glass.
“Stop!” she shouted at Springer. “You’re under arrest!” But Springer was too far away to hear, and anyway a pill-popping feebie with a major-league attitude problem who was about to face multiple felony counts wasn’t going to come along quietly, not to a lowly parole officer from New Jersey.
Loretta came up to the corner and watched for a break in the traffic so that she could run across. She stepped off the curb and forced a red Jeep Cherokee to slow down. The driver cursed at her and blew his horn. She paid him no mind and kept her eye on Springer’s neat cap of blond hair. The block ahead was a short one, and Loretta could see Springer turning left at the next intersection. Loretta was getting winded, but she willed herself on. She wished she hadn’t had so much champagne and that she’d had a little more espresso. Her caffeine buzz was wearing off.
When Loretta turned the corner at the end of the block, she noticed the street sign. She was on Pike Street. She looked ahead and saw crowds of people strolling the sidewalks, wandering in and out of an array of different buildings. A mishmash collage of colorful signs—some classy, some outlandish—hung from the facades of the buildings. There were signs for food stalls, fruit and vegetable stands, meat markets, fishmongers, flower retailers. She’d never been here, but she’d heard about this place. It was the Pike Place Market.
A little blond head ducked into one of the first buildings in the market. Loretta wasn’t even sure if it was Springer, but she ran anyway. She wasn’t about to let her get away because it would give Springer time to set up an alibi for herself. Springer was dirty, through and through, and Loretta was determined to expose her.
Loretta muscled through the crush of tourists at the entrance to the building. She pushed through the glass doors and was immediately stunned by what she saw. It was like a carnival inside, a tornado of sights, sounds, smells, and faces. And blondes. There were blond women everywhere. How was she ever going to find Springer?
Suddenly she heard a scream echo across the high ceilings. “Look out!” a man at the edge of the crowd yelled. “She has a gun!”
Double Espresso (A Loretta Kovacs thriller) Page 21
