Deadly Deception

by Gilbert, Morris

  Once or twice he had kissed her, but though she had responded to a degree that both surprised and disturbed her, she was determined to keep their relationship on a business plane. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he knew this and was amused by what must have seemed another instance of role playing—which he insisted she did constantly.

  As she took a bite of her burger, the beeper on Sixkiller’s belt sounded. He got up at once, walked away, then stood planted like a rock as he took the message. Dani saw his black eyes widen, and she exclaimed, “Look at Luke! Something made him show a little feeling for once.”

  Ben turned to watch as the husky policeman stepped back to the table. “Let’s go,” he directed almost harshly. “Got to catch a squeal.”

  He threw some money on the table and led the other two out. Dani had to run to keep up with him, and when they were inside the Marquis, Sixkiller said, “I got no time to find a car. Head for Lanza’s place—and don’t worry about getting a speeding ticket.”

  “What’s going on, Lieutenant?” Ben asked.

  Sixkiller didn’t answer for a long moment. He had a way of thinking over his answers before responding. Finally he explained, “Been a killing.”

  “Well, we have two or three of those every day,” Ben reminded him.

  “Not at Dom Lanza’s place, we don’t!”

  Dani turned to stare at him. “Dominic Lanza? He was killed?”

  “I don’t think so. That old pirate’s too mean to die.” Sixkiller swayed as Ben went around a corner, his heavy body crushing against Dani. “It wasn’t the old man. But somebody got it.”

  Without taking his eyes off the road, Ben recalled, “Talk is that pressure’s been building up since Sal Martino got taken out.” Martino was the leader of a powerful syndicate that controlled a large hunk of the illegal—and highly profitable—activities of New Orleans. What he did not control, Dominic Lanza did. There had been a war between the two factions five years earlier, with many casualties but no clear-cut victor. A truce of sorts had been patched together, so that a fragile agreement between the two warlords had prevailed.

  Dani mentioned this, adding, “Could it be a gang-style killing, do you think?”

  “I hope not.” Sixkiller shook his head. “If that ever starts, lots of innocent people are going to get hurt.” He watched the houses fly by as Ben steered the car through the light traffic, then added, “You’re probably right, though. Thing that I can’t figure, how did a hit man ever get close enough to blast anyone? That place is like a fort!”

  He said no more, but Dani could see his mind working on the thing. He gave a few brief commands to Savage, finally declaring, “There it is. Pull up to the gate.”

  “It is like a fort!” Dani agreed as Savage nosed the sedan forward. She looked at the tall brick wall that stretched out for at least a quarter of a mile before sweeping backward in a curve, and noted that the gate before them was the only entrance. “And I guess these are the palace guards,” she murmured as four men came to stand inside the gate, staring out at them.

  Sixkiller got out of the car and walked to the gate. “Open up,” Dani heard him demand impatiently.

  “How about we see a little ID?” one of the men returned, and Dani stared at him, her eyes opening wide. “Ben! Look!”

  Savage nodded. “Vince Canelli.”

  “I thought he was in Detroit!”

  “So did I. But looks like he’s one of Lanza’s goons.” He stared at the figure of Canelli, then said, “You never got Vince to hit the glory road, did you, Boss?”

  “No. I never did.” They both remembered a bad time when they had been confined in a barren silo by a madman named Maxwell Stone, kidnapped along with a group of people he felt he had a grudge against. Vince had been one of them. Several of their number had died, and Canelli had nearly perished. But no matter how hard Dani tried, she had never been able to break through the gangster’s tough exterior.

  “He’ll be surprised to see us,” Ben claimed as Sixkiller came back to the car accompanied by Canelli. The officer got in the front, and Canelli slipped into the backseat.

  As the gates swung back, Canelli directed, “There’s only one road, Lieutenant. Just follow it.”

  “Let’s go, Ben,” Sixkiller ordered, and as Ben followed the curving road through a forest of oak and pine, the policeman asked, “What’s the story, Canelli? Who bought it?”

  Canelli spoke tersely. “It was Phil.” His voice hard with anger, he added bitterly, “He never had a chance—and they got Lorraine, his wife, too!”

  “Didn’t think anyone could get close enough for a killing,” Sixkiller commented. His eyes moved back and forth ceaselessly. “What about your security?”

  “Somebody will have to answer for that,” Canelli said softly. “Never should have happened.” Then he pointed out, “There’s the house.”

  Another wall—of red brick—surrounded a large, white plantation-style house that rose up in the moonlight. “Let me get the gate,” Canelli offered. He got out and spoke to someone on the other side of the heavy cast-iron gate. It swung back, and Ben pulled inside. Canelli came to stand beside the car, announcing as Sixkiller got out, “It’s up there on the second floor.”

  Sixkiller glanced up at the facade, which caught the silver gleams of the moon, then allowed, “I guess you two can come along.”

  Dani got out and said, “Hello, Vince.”

  “What—?” Vince responded quickly, then peered at her. “Hey—it’s you!” He stared at her, then looked over at Ben with wide eyes. “Savage, you here, too?”

  “Let’s go,” Sixkiller broke in impatiently. “You people can have your high-school reunion later.”

  Canelli shook his head doubtfully. “You’re working for the cops now?”

  “No, Vince.” Dani explained, “I’m still private. We were just on hand to give the lieutenant a ride.”

  “Well—come on then.” The three of them followed Canelli up to the broad porch that spanned the width of the house. A very tall man with a shotgun met them, but Canelli ordered, “Okay, Legs,” and he faded away. “Up the stairs.”

  The staircases were like those in Tara, Scarlett’s home in Gone With the Wind, two curving, graceful rises leading to the second floor. Canelli led them down a long, wide hallway, then put his hand on the knob. He paused and turned to say, “Dani, it’s—well, maybe you better wait out here.”

  “It’s all right, Vince,” she reassured him.

  He shrugged, opened the door, then stepped back. Dani went last, after Sixkiller and Savage, but one look was enough for her. The two bodies lay in front of an open window that had been riddled with bullets. Both wore dressing gowns, and the first thing Dani saw was that the short blond hair of the woman was matted with clots of scarlet blood. Lorraine’s eyes were open, and one hand was placed over her breast as she lay on her back. The other hand was flung up over her head in a strangely pathetic gesture. The front of her blue dressing gown was a mass of blood that was no longer scarlet but was dulled and heavy.

  Dani took one look at the body of the man, who was facedown. A pool of blood had spread from under him, and both hands lay under his body, as if he had tried to stem the flow.

  Dani looked away quickly, turning her back on the two. She studied the room, noting the immense antique furniture, the expensive pictures, and the thick carpet. Sixkiller had gone at once to kneel beside the man, and he fired a series of rapid questions at Canelli.

  Finally Sixkiller decided, “Let’s leave this for the lab boys. They ought to be here any time.” He walked out of the room, and the others followed. “Dani, you and Savage can go on back.” He shrugged, adding, “Keep shut about this. And thanks.”

  Vince promised, “I’ll be talking to you, Dani.”

  “Sure, Vince.”

  Dani and Ben made their way back to the car, got in, and Ben turned the vehicle around. They noticed several men with guns among the trees, and when they had cleared the main gate, Ben e
xclaimed softly, “A rough deal!”

  Dani had been thinking of the two mangled bodies. “That was Dominic’s son?”

  “Yeah. The old man’s sick, so they say. Phil’s been running the show for the last year or so. From what I hear, he was even meaner and tougher than old Dom.”

  “I feel sorry for him.”

  “Well, he was a pretty rough one,” Ben slowly justified his opinion. “I guess Phil pulled a few stunts like this himself. He wasn’t a man who was afraid to pull a trigger.”

  Dani shook her head. “I guess so—but he’s beyond all that now. And his wife—she looked so small!”

  Ben said no more, but drove silently until he pulled up in front of Dani’s apartment. He got out, and before she went in, he put out a hand and held her. He meant to say something, she saw, but seemed not to find the words. “Well, Boss, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Then he shook his head, and his eyes were sad. “She was a little thing, wasn’t she?” He turned abruptly and got into the car.

  Dani watched him drive away, shook her head, and went inside. She showered, put on a nightgown, then almost fell into bed. But exhausted as she was, for a long time she lay awake, the image of the bloodstained bodies rising in her mind. Finally as she drifted off to sleep, her last thought was of Savage saying, “She was a little thing, wasn’t she?”

  2

  Family Honor

  * * *

  The powerful hindquarters of the rust-colored quarter horse exploded as he came out of a turn around the barrel. Dani had leaned into the turn, throwing her weight to the left, and as Biscuit shot away toward another barrel, she bent forward, moving her body in perfect time to the rhythm of his stride. She had learned long ago that poor coordination by a barrel-rider can slow her horse down by seconds, and championships were often decided by fractions of a second.

  She made no attempt to guide Biscuit as he approached the barrel; the sturdy animal knew the game as well as she. The constant challenge of the sport was a matter of inches and seconds. Getting around the barrel quickly meant making as tight a circle as possible, the ideal turn being one in which the barrel was actually touched by the rider or the horse—but not knocked down. Turn too tightly, and the barrel went down—which meant no win. Stay too distant, and the seconds rolled away.

  Once again Dani leaned far over Biscuit’s heaving sides, and this time her foot touched the lightweight plastic barrel. She felt the slight contact, cried, “Blast!” under her breath, but did not even look. After the turn, she pulled the horse up, glanced back, and saw the barrel rolling slowly along the dry grass. “Oh, rats!” she snapped in disgust. The horse tossed his head, and she leaned forward and patted his neck. “My fault, Biscuit,” she admitted affectionately. “I know you’re disgusted with me, but I’m out of practice.”

  She had always talked aloud to the quarter horse, ever since her father had bought him for her, six years earlier. The horse had become sensitive to her moods and could tell when she was not herself. Now as she walked him slowly across the open field, toward the pasture fence, he gave a slight buck that almost unseated her, and she laughed in delight. “You son of a gun! Almost got me that time, didn’t you?”

  The late afternoon air was sharp and a little chilly, and as she slipped from the saddle and walked Biscuit to the stable, she thought suddenly how nice it would be not to have to go back to her problems. Being a CPA came in handy, but it also meant that she was at all times aware of the financial status of the agency. Even as she stripped off the saddle and threw it over the low wall inside the stable, the assets and liabilities seemed to run through her mind as clearly as if she were seeing them on a computer screen. She pulled the saddle blanket off, tossed it over the saddle, then picked up a worn currycomb and began combing the horse. He stood still, enjoying this part of their workout.

  “I wish I didn’t have any more problems than you, Biscuit,” she muttered. A voice came from close behind, startling her, “I wish the same thing.”

  Dani turned with a rueful smile, and her father, who had come into the stable, added, “But maybe Biscuit’s got problems we don’t know about.”

  “Oh, pooh!” Dani sniffed. “All he does is eat and sleep and run around a few barrels.” She felt embarrassed that her father had caught her off guard, and to cover that up, she tossed the comb on a shelf, poured a generous helping of oats into Biscuit’s trough, then took her father’s arm. “I want some iced tea,” she told him and walked with him out of the dim light of the stable, into the sunshine.

  He spoke little as they walked along, and Dani knew he was worried about the agency. He had been one of the most active men she had ever known before a heart attack had slowed him down, and she knew it grated on him to have to sit on the sidelines. He had been forced to ask her to leave seminary and take over the agency, but after nearly a year, he still could do no more than go to the office a few times a week.

  Dani and her father were very close. Now as they approached the house, he murmured, “You’re worried about money.”

  “Well—a little, I guess,” she conceded. “But if we nail down the Consolidated account, we’ll be in good shape.” She glanced up at him, noting his compressed lips. “Now don’t you start worrying about it,” she scolded, pressing his arm. “That’s what you pay me for.”

  “I wish I could do more,” her father confessed quietly. From him, that brief statement was the equivalent of a scream of grief from most men, for he was not one to cry about his problems. He shook his shoulders and grinned ruefully. “You’ve done a great job, Daughter.”

  She shrugged off the compliment, saying only, “It’s been hard, Dad, but you’re much better. Just a little more rest and you’ll be roaring back again. And you know it’s been good for Allison and Robert to have you home.”

  “I suppose. But it’s a shame a man has to get laid flat on his back before he gives his kids the attention they deserve. I can’t believe Allison is sixteen and Rob is seventeen. It’s a rough world for youngsters, Dani. I don’t seem to know what they’re thinking.”

  “You don’t know what I’m thinking, either.” Dani smiled. “Maybe I’m having fantasies of an orgy on a desert island with a handsome movie star.”

  He laughed at the idea, then gave her a quick hug. “No, that would be too silly for you, Dani. You’ve always been the sensible one.” Then he added, “You’ve got a visitor.”

  “Here? Who is it?”

  “Vince Canelli. You told me about him. He’s a pretty hard one, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, he is. I wonder what he wants?”

  “Maybe he’s come courting.”

  Dani smiled at him, but shook her head. “Not Vince, Dad. He’d run like a rabbit if a woman mentioned marriage to him. Vince is of the old school. To him a woman is sort of like—a car. A man needs one, so he goes out and finds one that looks good and performs well. Then he buys it and shows it off to his friends.”

  “And trades her off for a new model when he gets bored?”

  “Something like that.”

  They reached the house, and Dani confided, “I think it’s got something to do with the murder of Phil Lanza, Dad.”

  “Really? Well, Vince is in the den. I’ll be in the study.”

  Dani walked down the hall, turned into the large, book-lined den, and found Vince waiting. He turned as she entered, coming at once to greet her with a quick kiss on the cheek. “Always wanted to do that!” He grinned. “Never kissed a preacher before.”

  “Hello, Vince.” Dani smiled. “I must smell horsy. I’ve been riding.”

  He shook his heavy head. “You smell good to me.” A thought struck him, and his white teeth flashed in a smile. “You smell better than you did in that crummy silo!”

  “I suppose so,” Dani admitted. Then she asked curiously, “Do you think about that time much, Vince?”

  “Yeah, I do.” He nodded. He was a thick, muscular man with a great deal of animal magnetism beneath his flashy good looks. “I nearly bought i
t that time. Guy can’t always walk away from a thing like that.” He hesitated, then said with a trace of embarrassment, “I might as well tell you, Dani—I’m going to see a shrink. Got to having real bad dreams about that time.”

  “Is he helping you any?”

  “Well—I don’t know about that, but he’s making a bundle!” Vince said sourly. “I guess he’s okay.” He shook his heavy shoulders and changed the subject quickly. “You’re looking real good, Doll.” Dani was wearing an old pair of snugly fitting gray jodphurs and a pair of worn black riding boots. Her only jewelry was a fine amethyst ring on her right hand. The ride had put color into her face, and her oddly colored eyes—greenish-gray—were beautiful.

  “You didn’t come to tell me how good I look in my grubs.” Dani laughed. Then she sobered, asking, “Is it about the killings?”

  Vince hesitated, then nodded. “Never could fool you, could I?”

  “Who did it, Vince?”

  “The cops are working on it—but they know as well as we do it was a Martino job. Not Joe Martino. Probably Johnny Ring. He’d be nervy enough for it. The old man, Sal, he was smart enough to see that nobody wins in a shoot-out like him and Dom had a few years ago. But now Joe and Ring want it all.” Anger smoldered in Canelli’s dark eyes, and he bit his words off, “He’ll go down for this little trick!”

  Dani considered Vince carefully. “Why did you come, Vince?”

  “Well—Mr. Lanza wants to talk to you.”

  “Me? What about?”

  “Have to let him tell you himself, Doll.”

  “When, Vince? And where? At my office?”

  “Like to take you to see him now,” Vince interjected. “I can bring you back after you talk to him.”

  Dani stood there, wondering what Dominic Lanza would possibly want with her. She imagined him as a legendary Mafia type with a bloody past. Yet curiosity moved her to say, “All right, Vince. Can’t hurt to hear what he has to say. Let me get cleaned up.”