Linc heard Diane’s voice on the line saying “What are you doing?” Then suddenly her tone shifted to a high shriek of pain that lasted for a full five seconds, her voice going up the scale so high that it became no more than a husky shell of a scream.
“All right, all right, stop it!” Linc shouted.
The screaming abruptly trickled to a low moaning sound.
Germaine came back on the line. “Linc, that was just a sample, a sample of the pain this poor girl is going to have to endure unless I receive assurance of your full cooperation. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yeah,” Linc said haltingly. “Just don’t hurt her again.” His voice was quieter now. Devoid of the false bravado, and imbued instead with an overwhelming helplessness.
“That’s good,” Germaine said. “Now, do you have the tape?”
“Not with me,” Linc said. “I got it hid.”
“Do I have to provide you with another little demonstration to end your annoying coyness?” He heard Diane’s moan become more audible again, rising to another high-pitched scream.
“Okay, okay, it’s at my apartment,” Linc said rapidly, trying to buy himself some time. The scream stopped again.
“All right. Linc. This is what I want you to do. Go get the tape and wait at your apartment. I’ll call you there at,” he paused, “ten o’clock.”
Linc said, “Okay, but let me talk to—” The phone went dead. He stared over at Rick, then hung up the receiver. Rick walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. There was something in the guy on the phone’s voice. An eerie calmness, even when Diane was screaming. He was like ice water. Like her pain didn’t mean nothing to him. Linc knew they had to get the rest of those weapons fast, and they had to get a plan to deal with this situation. But most of all, he knew that he was going to have to kill that motherfucker on the other end of the phone.
Germaine hung up and glanced at Diane, who was now shivering in the corner, holding the bloody welt on her arm where the pliers had pinched her flesh, and sobbing softly. He looked at her momentarily, then said to Gumbo, “See, another amateur.”
“He didn’t move like no amateur,” Gumbo said, rubbing his fingers over the cuts on the side of his face. “I’m gonna enjoy taking him out.”
Germaine inhaled loudly and held up his index finger.
“Regrettably, I don’t think that’s wise. I can’t waste you on taking out some small fry like him,” he said. “Remember, we’re on a very delicate time table here. I’m gonna need you with me tonight when we proceed with phase two. Del Bianco can get a couple of his local boys and take out this Linc. Tommy saw him at the house, right?”
Gumbo nodded, his eyes impassive.
“Good,” Germaine said. “Let them do that, and we’ll concentrate on the more complicated matter.” He motioned at Diane. “Secure her and bring me Mr. Fox, so he can make his phone call.”
8:15 P.M.
Johnny Osmand ruminated over the events of the last few days as he drove his Lincoln Continental north on the Tri-State Tollway. Every few minutes he glanced in his rear-view mirror to check the traffic behind him. If a car even looked like it was following he would slow down or pull off onto the shoulder. No sense relaxing until this thing was over, but then, why would the feds be tailing him now, since it was all but certain that he was going to play ball? But what about Vino? If word had gotten back to him. . . But hell, there’s no way that could happen this soon. Christ, not with all the precautions he’d taken.
That’s why Fox’s call had taken him a little bit by surprise. The lawyer sounded nervous, telling him that they had to have an emergency meeting. Something else had come up that needed to be discussed in person. And in private. The Mink had gone through enough court trails to know that nothing was ever simple to these damn lawyers. Probably some minor clause in the deal that Fox wanted to check on. The guy was thorough, he had to give him that. Probably more than a little upset that he was going to be losing out on the big bucks and notoriety that a federal trial would generate, but that was just too goddamned bad. Hell, it wasn’t his ass on the line.
He checked the mirror again, then speeded up, zig-zagging through some of the slower traffic. No other cars did likewise. Maybe right before the deal was sealed he’d go back to the safety deposit box and put some more money in it as a bonus for Fox. But not much more. He grinned, thinking about how he’d gone back there last Friday afternoon and taken most of the large bills out of the “Orlando Box,” as he called it. After showing it to Fox last week, and seeing the venal gleam in his eye when he asked, “How much you got in there?” the Mink knew he had to adjust things. With the lawyer on the list as co-renter, nothing would stop him from going into the box and removing the cash himself, if he wanted to make a score. So Johnny went back there after court and cleaned it out, leaving only about seven grand in the box, even though it looked like a lot more.
He glanced at the sign that said the Hinsdale Oasis was a mile away. Not a bad place for a meet, he thought. It was a little bit farther for Fox to come, since he lived north in Skokie, but it was essentially a mid-way point. With Fox parking on the southbound side, and Johnny parking on the northbound, they could meet in the middle restaurant part without drawing any undue attention to themselves. Maybe he’d get something to eat, too. He was starting to get hungry. Johnny slowed down and suddenly veered right to make the exit abruptly. At the top of the entrance ramp he stopped and swung around to check which cars came up after him. When a minute passed and no other cars entered the oasis, he felt safe. He parked the Lincoln and walked slowly toward the brightness of the restaurant area, lighting a cigar as he went.
Inside the doors there were circular stands of pay phones, a small gift shop area, and several video games. Beyond that were the Wendy’s restaurant and a smaller snack stand. The eating area was no more than a quarter full, but there were several people standing in the ordering line. The Mink decided to see if Fox was there first, before getting in line. He puffed copiously on his cigar as he went through this middle section and onto the area beyond it, which was a mirror image of the other entrance, with the small shop, video games, and phones. He did see a couple of guys on the phones, but they looked pretty innocuous, except for that big black mother.
Christ, Johnny thought, as he passed by the huge man. That guy’s big enough to be King Kong’s grandson. He smirked to himself at his joke and pushed through the doors. Standing just under the overhang, he surveyed the parking lot and saw it. Fox’s silver-gray sports car was sitting about fifty yards away, looking sleek and shiny under the lights. He squinted and noticed the movement in it. Fox was talking on one of those cellular phones, the dumb son-of-a-bitch. Didn’t he know that those things could be intercepted and recorded? Johnny stormed over to the Jaguar and tapped on the lightly tinted window. It lowered electronically and the Mink saw that this wasn’t Fox after all, but some white-haired guy.
“Oh, sorry,” Johnny grunted, “I thought you was somebody else.”
“That’s perfectly all right,” the guy in the car said.
Johnny turned to go back and saw the big black guy standing almost immediately behind him. A van pulled up blocking the view of the restaurant, and King Kong’s Grandson reached out and stuck something against Johnny’s side. He heard a zapping sound, and his teeth snapped shut. All his breath seemed to go out of him. He couldn’t move. Like his whole body had gone to sleep. The side door of the van slid open and Johnny felt himself being hoisted inside as if he weighed no more than a rag doll.
Oh, fuck, he thought, as the door slammed shut and the van took off. That son-of-a-bitch Fox set me up.
CHAPTER 12
Wednesday, April 15, 1992
9:45 P.M.
Tony and Ray sat in their dark green, unmarked Chevy across the street in the Metro lot, four houses south of the apartment building on 114th and Hale. It was one of those three-story, block-like structures of brown brick that extended up to the crenulated roof. The
names by the doorbells had listed Weaver/Jackson next to apartment Two-A. By what he termed “shrewd police work,” ringing the doorbell of apartment One-A and listening for the sound, Ray had deduced that Two-A was on the north side of the building. After receiving no response at any bell, they went around the back and checked the rear door. As city apartments went, this one was pretty nice. Well maintained, clean, and functional, locked security doors.
After deciding to wait it out and see if Linc returned, they made a quick trip to the McDonald’s at 119th and Western. Tony bought a salad and coffee. Ray got the works, which included a Big Mac, fries, and a coke. Once they were ensconced down the block they settled in to wait as darkness crept over the area. Soon, the lights in the other apartments in the building came on, but Two-A remained dark. Tony picked at his salad, then glanced at Ray as he took a bite of his hamburger.
“You know what I been thinking, Tony?” Ray asked, his cheek bulging from the food as he chewed.
“What?”
“How much I enjoyed doing what we did today,” Ray said. “You and me driving around the South Side, working on a case.”
Tony nodded, eating a bit more of his salad.
“I mean,” Ray continued, “it sure beats the hell out of sitting around the goddamn Federal Building waiting for Faulkner and Arlene to criticize our every proposal, don’t it?” He shook his head. “Lawyers and feds.”
“They’re just doing their job,” Tony said. “You know as well as I do, all the investigation in the world doesn’t mean squat if the case isn’t winnable in court.”
“That’s exactly my point. They’re lawyers, we’re street cops.” He shoved a handful of fries into his mouth, chewed briefly, then said, “You know, I just might transfer out of this unit once you retire. Maybe I’ll get back into Gang Crimes, or something.”
“Better hold off on that,” Tony said. “The way Rodriguez is talking, they might be transferring a lot of the guys from Gang Crimes into the Organized Crime Division.”
“Oh yeah? What do you think?”
“You want to know what I think?” Tony asked with a grin. Ray nodded, his mouth full again. “I think you keep eating shit like that, you’re never gonna get down to 165 pounds.”
Ray smirked, then said, “I been thinking about entering in the light heavy division anyway.”
“You’re too short for light heavy,” Tony quipped.
“Too short, huh?” Ray said defensively. “You apparently didn’t see how bad I was punishing that tall guy yesterday at the gym. Or did you forget? I forgot you’re getting on in years.”
“I’m serious,” Tony said. “You ought to start taking better care of yourself. Getting more roughage in your diet.”
“What’s that got to do with me supposedly being too short to be a light heavy?”
“They’re two distinct facts, both related because, as a boxer, you need to be in top physical shape, and secondly, a good big man will almost always beat a good little man.”
“What did you put in that coffee, anyway?” Ray said. “Those two statements aren’t even slightly related. And as for that bullshit about a good little man, what about Rocky Marciano?”
“What about him?”
“He wasn’t that much bigger than me, and he won the heavyweight championship.”
“Apples and oranges,” Tony said. “Marciano was short, but built like a brick-shithouse. But he did have trouble with bigger guys. And he didn’t fight anybody the size of today’s heavyweights.”
“Sure wish I coulda seen him in action,” Ray said.
“I did,” Tony said. “When he fought Charles in ‘54.”
“No shit? He knocked him out, didn’t he?”
“That was their second fight,” Tony said. “Same year, different month.”
“Remember that Calumet City copper who was fightin’ a few years back? What’d he call himself?”
“The Choirboy. He wasn’t bad, either.”
“Yeah, I know,” Ray said. He washed down the last of his hamburger with some Coke. “How come you never turned pro, Tony? All those boxing trophies from when you was in the Navy.”
Tony blew out a slow breath before he answered.
“I guess all I ever wanted to be was a cop,” he said.
9:50 P.M.
When the phone rang Vino left his grandson’s party and took it in his private study. The few remaining guests, including the youngest Costelli daughter, her husband, and their ten-year-old son, Salvatore, were getting ready to leave. Vino stepped into the darkened room, went to the huge oak desk, and picked up the receiver.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Go ahead.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Costelli,” the voice on the other end on the line said. “Just wanted to let you know that we got that special order in that you requested.”
The voice had a southern twang to it and Vino knew who it was.
“Good, good,” Vino said, smiling. The door creaked open and his daughter stuck her head in.
“Daddy?” she said tentatively.
“Yeah, sweetie,” he said, covering the mouthpiece.
“I just wanted to tell you we’re leaving.” A small boy rushed through between his mother’s side and the doorframe. He ran to Vino, arms outstretched, and gave the older man a hug.
“Grandpa, why you sitting in the dark?” the boy asked.
“I’m just on the phone,” Vino said. “Now gimme a kiss before you leave.”
The boy dutifully planted a kiss on his grandfather’s cheek.
“Now be sure to thank Mommy for letting you stay up so late on a school night,” Vino said, his hand still over the mouthpiece.
“We don’t got no school tomorrow, Grandpa. It’s Easter vacation.”
“Well, you be good or the Easter bunny won’t bring you no candy,” Vino said. Then to his daughter, “What kinda way is that for a kid to talk? ‘Don’t got no school’. What kinda place they running over there?”
His daughter smiled as she moved toward him, grabbed her son’s hand, and gave her father a peck on the cheek.
“He’s only ten, Daddy,” she said as they moved back toward the door.
“Yeah, well, just the same,” Vino said after them. He spoke into the phone again. “Just put it on ice and I’ll be by to take a look at it later.”
“Roger, wilco, sir,” the voice said.
9:54 P.M.
Rick drove his Eagle Talon slowly down the block. Linc was crouched down in the passenger seat, his knees on the floor. He looked up at Rick and asked if he saw anything.
“Yeah, just passing two guys in a dark Chevy,” he said.
“One of them a big, black motherfucker?” Linc asked.
“Huh-uh. Both white.”
“Go around by the alley,” Linc said. “Drop me off then pull around to the front and go in that way. Once you’re inside, I’ll come up the back and help you sweep the building.”
“Let me do that alone,” Rick said. “They won’t be expecting a white guy.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Linc said, then added grimly, “We don’t know what Diane’s told them about us.”
“All right,” said Rick, “but hang back for a minute or so. If I spot trouble, I’ll try to get out. If not, you be my back-up.”
“Got you,” Linc said, wishing they didn’t even have to go in. But they had to be there by ten to receive the call from Diane’s abductors. He felt the car turn right, slow down, then turn right again. Straightening up, he adjusted the plastic garbage bag with the M-16 inside. They’d chosen the 16 over the H & K due to both his and Rick’s familiarity with the weapon. He pulled back the charging handle and got out a few garages down from the rear of their apartment building as Rick slowed down to a stop.
“Catch you inside,” he whispered as the Eagle sped away. Now, he thought, comes the tricky part.
Rick pulled around and went down the block. He saw an open spot in front of an adjacent building and took it. As he got out he glance
d at the dark Chevy. The two guys were still sitting in it, but seemed to pay him little attention. His gaze transferred to the buildings on either side of his, then to the shrubbery, which consisted of several large evergreen bushes near the entrance way. Everything looked normal. The lights in their apartment were still off, and would stay that way. They intended on using their mini-mags for light until they got the call, then they would retreat to a hotel and plan out their next move.
Rick took out his key and opened the front door, resisting the temptation to check their mailbox. Probably just full of junk mail anyway, he thought as he moved toward the stairway, wondering if Linc was at the back door yet.
Linc used his flashlight to sweep the area by the dumpsters and in between and under the cars that were parked in the rear of the building. There was no way he was going to walk blindly into an ambush. There had to be a reason that the asshole on the phone wanted him to be in his apartment at ten o’clock. Chances were that they were planning something. But they had no choice, under the circumstances, as long as the motherfuckers had Diane.
He moved up to the rear door and stuck the butt of the rifle, still concealed in the garbage bag, up under his arm. Transferring his keys to his left hand, so he could keep his right free, he softly sorted through them and selected the door key. Then he placed an ear to the solid-wood door. Everything sounded quiet inside. Squatting, he looked under the door for telltale shadows of people standing on the other side. Nothing. He began to feel better as he rose, using the beam of his flashlight to guide the insertion of the key into the lock. Then he saw it: a fresh scratch in the wood near the jamb. A closer inspection revealed two tapering pry-marks, as if someone had inserted something between the door and the frame. Sticking the key inside, he twisted it, feeling the lock release. The door opened silently and Linc stripped the garbage bag off of the M-16 and swiveled the switch from safe to auto.
The Heist Page 16
