Even though the front hallway was deserted, Rick felt it would be prudent to check out the laundry room on the first floor before going up. He walked down the hallway, making no sound on the carpeting. The door of the room was usually closed this time of night unless there was somebody in there doing laundry. He paused at the door and removed the Glock from his belt. Holding it down by his leg, he turned as he opened the door. The room was dark, and Rick switched on the light while still outside in the hall. The machines sat in peaceful tranquility. Checking behind the door by looking through the crack before entering, Rick stepped inside and moved quickly to the back wall, the big auto-pistol leveled in front of him.
After realizing that the room was clear, he reinserted the pistol in his belt and covered it with his jacket again, then he moved back to the stairwell and began to go up. The rear entrance was located on the east side of the building, and it was impossible to get to the back hallway from the front, unless you cut through one of the apartments. If he cleared all the front landings, and Linc did the back, the only other place they had to worry about would be the inside of the apartment itself. And if they saw no signs of forced entry, they would feel pretty secure. They only had to wait for the call, then they would be out of there. And the bad guys wouldn’t have a clue where they’d gone.
Rick moved quickly, but cautiously up to the second landing, his hand inside his jacket gripping the Glock. The hallway looked clear. He stood momentarily on the second level taking in the sounds of the building. The noise of a television filtered out from one of the rooms on the third floor, but theirs was silent. Rick proceeded up to the third landing and paused there also. More sounds: a woman talking, a phone ringing. Nothing out of the ordinary. He went back down to his apartment, wondering about Linc. As he got to the door, he heard the phone start to ring. Hurriedly, he stuck the key in the lock, realizing a second later that he’d let his guard down a little too soon.
From inside the darkened apartment a muffled voice growled, “Step in and close the door, motherfucker, or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”
Linc was certain that the pricks were in the building, but he didn’t know where. He’d cautiously advanced up to the second floor and was heading up the stairwell toward the third when he heard the voice. It had come from inside their apartment. Going back down he strained his ears to try and hear more. There was definite movement inside now, and he heard Rick’s voice loudly say, “Who the hell are you?”
The space under the door showed that it was still dark inside the apartment. Linc swiftly put his key in the doorknob-lock and twisted. The door didn’t swing open, and he realized that the deadbolt must be fastened also. Hoping no one inside had heard him, he withdrew the key and re-inserted it in the deadbolt slot. He knew it would make a noticeable scraping sound when he turned it so he adjusted his footing so that he could bring up the rifle barrel as he swung the door open. The only thing he’d have to worry about was not catching Rick in his field of fire, if things got hot.
Rick reached over and flipped on the wall switch as soon as he stepped into the room, figuring that the light would temporarily blind them as well as let him immediately know who and how many he was dealing with. As he did this, his right hand was pulling the Glock out of his waistband. He saw three men inside, the closest being a slender-looking white guy with dark, slicked-back hair. That one was holding a .45.
Diving forward toward the center of the living room, Rick rolled as he went. The round exploded past him as he hit the floor and he brought the Glock up and squeezed the trigger. The .45 exploded again, followed by the Glock. Rick heard a window shatter behind him, and the skinny dark-haired guy slumped forward. Another hood leveled a gun at him, but suddenly this guy was falling forward, the blood spurting out of his mouth. The third guy did a jerky two-step, clutching his chest, as the pop-pop-pop of the M-16 reverberated through the apartment like rolling thunder, shattering the front picture windows. Through it all the phone continued to ring.
Ray was crumpling up his bag of McDonalds papers into a little ball when he saw the lights go on in the apartment. He nudged Tony.
“Looks like our pigeon’s come home to roost,” he said.
“Yeah,” Tony said. “He must’ve come in the back. Too bad we didn’t see him carrying something that could be construed as a weapon.”
“We didn’t?” Ray said, grinning.
Tony grinned back, but shook his head.
“You been hanging around Arlene and that fucker, Faulkner, too long,” Ray said. “Well, you want to go roust him anyway?” Suddenly the unmistakable sound of gunshots erupted, followed by the rat-tat-tat of a fully automatic weapon and the tinkling of exploding glass. They looked quickly at each other.
“Christ, that sounded like a machine gun,” Tony said.
“Yeah, we better call for a back-up,” Ray said, unsnapping his holster and taking out his .38 snub-nose.
Tony took out his gun too, then picked up the mike and reported the incident and their location to the base. He finished with, “Ten-one, officer needs assistance. Shots fired, possible automatic weapons.” Then he was out of the car and running to catch up with Ray who was already moving across the street in a crouch. Getting up to the front of the building they could see that the front picture windows for the second floor apartment were spider-webbed with bullet holes. Ray tried the front door. Locked. He buzzed one of the doorbells and yelled police several times into the speaker. The front door buzzed open. He went inside, aiming his .38 snubnose upward as he approached the staircase. Tony was at his side.
“Let’s be smart and wait for the back-ups,” he said.
“But then whoever’s up there might get away,” Ray protested.
“Fat lot of good these will do against a fucking machine gun,” Tony said, nodding his head at his revolver. Then he said, “Oh, what the hell. Cover me.”
Tony crept up the stairs, his gun outstretched, to the mid-floor landing. Pausing and crouching behind the banister, he directed his aim toward the second floor apartment. Ray quickly went up, going all the way to the wall, then he assumed the ready position and proceeded up to the next landing. Tony followed, pausing at the top of the stairs. Ray crept over to apartment Two-A and listened. All was quiet, except for the sound of a continuously ringing phone. He tried the knob. Locked, he mouthed to Tony, who nodded and moved up beside Ray.
Ray stepped in front of the door, lifted his foot, and sent a powerful kick just below the doorknob. The solid wood, buckled slightly. Ray kicked it again, but it still held. He gave it another kick and this time the door swung inward with such suddenness that it smacked against the wall and came flying back at them.
Ray’s shoulder took the impact of the swinging door, as he crouched low against the shattered doorframe, his gun outstretched as his eyes swept the apartment. Furniture seemed to be in place, except for an overturned chair in the living room. Besides the front picture window being shattered, the wall next to it was pockmarked with several bullet holes. The lights were still on. Moving past him, Tony entered, and saw the feet of the first body.
It was lying face down between the living room and the kitchen. Blue dress pants and fancy black shoes. He went to the hallway, which was dark and took a cover position. Ray followed, carefully moving over the dead man’s legs so as not to step in any blood. Tony flipped on a light switch in the hall and Ray went down to the first doorway. It was a bathroom. After it was cleared, Tony went to the next room, a bedroom. Empty too. And so they went, methodically clearing the rest of the apartment, the ringing phone punctuating their every move. There were three dead bodies all situated between the kitchen area and the living room. A single set of bloody footprints went through the kitchen and out the back door, which was standing open. They followed the fading red imprints down the stairs until they disappeared.
Sirens sounded and Ray went to the front door and took out his badge. He met the uniformed coppers as they were ascending the stairs.
&
nbsp; “Looks like a triple homicide,” he said. “Better call it in, then seal off the back.”
The young uniform cop nodded and went back down the stairs. His partner followed Ray upstairs.
“We already cleared the place,” Ray told him. “Guard the crime scene here.” He pointed to the open front door, then went inside. “Put out a city-wide that we’re looking for a male black, possibly armed with an automatic weapon,” he said.
“Pretty vague,” the patrolman muttered.
“Yeah, well that’s all we got right now,” Ray said angrily. Tony was leaning over one of the bodies.
“Look at this guy, Ray. Don’t he look familiar?”
Ray cocked his head and stared at the face, which Tony was gripping by the hair. A trickle of blood seeped from the lifeless lips. It was a white male in his early thirties, a bit on the slender side. The black hair had been combed back unctuously.
“Yeah, he does, sort of,” Ray said. “Looks real dead, too.”
The phone still kept ringing.
“I do know this guy,” Tony said. “Gimme a minute and it’ll come to me.”
“Fine,” said Ray. “In the meantime. I’m gonna answer that fucking phone.”
He went toward the nearest extension, despite Tony’s protestations, and picked it up carefully by the cord and the other end.
“Yeah,” he said into the receiver, trying to imitate a black voice.
“Linc?” the voice on the other end asked. It was a calm, almost southern-sounding voice.
“Yeah,” Ray said. “Who’s this?”
“No, this isn’t Linc,” the voice said slowly. “Is Tommy there?”
“Tommy’s indisposed,” Ray said, still mimicking the black inflection. “Who this?” Ray paused, then added, “What can I do for you?”
There was silence at the other end, then the line went dead.
Ray hung up too, carefully placing the phone down and wiping it where he’d touched it.
“That was smart,” Tony said. “Now what if the murderer used that phone and you just destroyed his prints?”
“Relax, Dick Tracy,” Ray said. “The guy on the other end asked for our buddy Linc by name.”
“Who else did he ask for?”
“Somebody named Tommy.”
Tony bit his lower lip, then snapped his fingers.
“Tommy Del Bianco,” he said, pointing down at he corpse. “He’s one of Vino Costelli’s boys.”
“Vino,” Ray said quizzically. “What the hell’s he doing mixed up in this?”
Tony shook his head.
“Of course you know that you probably wouldn’t have put the face with the name if I hadn’t answered that phone like I did.”
Tony looked at him, rolled his eyes, and shook his head again.
Germaine terminated the call on the cellular phone, set it down on the table, and leaned back in his chair. The room was small and barren, except for the card table, the three chairs, and the phone. He appeared pensive for a moment, then turned to Gumbo and said, “Looks like Tommy and company failed to accomplish their end of it.”
“Shit,” Gumbo said, his massive bulk hovering over the tabletop. “That no-good, honkey motherfucker.” He used a sharp gesticulation to punctuate every other syllable. “The only thing he was good at was walking around pretending he was bad.”
Germaine sighed heavily and rested his chin on his hands.
“I knew that Linc would be tough,” Gumbo continued, “something about the way the motherfucker moved.” He paused, as if recalling the earlier confrontation. “I wish I woulda handled that one myself.”
“Relax,” Germaine said. “We still have his lady friend. And she’s our leverage. All we have to do now is figure out a new way to contact him. Put him where we want him.”
“That ain’t gonna be easy now. He gonna be real suspicious.”
“This regulation is proving interesting. And what would life be without a few challenges? Come on.” Germaine got up from the table. “Let’s go get things set up so old Vino can have his fun.”
CHAPTER 13
Thursday, April 16, 1992
1:10 A.M.
Linc set the Exacto knife down and massaged the bridge of his nose with his fingers, as he tried to sort out their next move. The smell of Hoppe’s Solution was pungent, and he looked at Rick who was reassembling the M-16 after cleaning it. He was wiping each part with a rag before insertion. They’d managed to get away quickly after escaping down the back stairs. Linc had gone down the alley, hiding in one of the recesses of a nearby garage until Rick, who’d gone calmly around to the front of their apartment and got the car, had driven down the alley to pick Linc up.
All the way to the motel Linc had stayed crouched on the floor, figuring the police would be more than likely looking for a black man than a lone, white driver. Once they were safely inside the room, they turned on the television and waited for the re-broadcast of the ten o’clock news. Most of the telecast was still devoted to the flood, day three, but they did cut to an on-scene reporter covering a “breaking story on the south side.” The mini-cam showed a quick shot of their apartment building, lighted by the camera crew’s flood lights, and the reporter did a voice-over talking about police investigating a shooting on the second floor, but giving no details, other than to say that it was possibly “gang related.”
“Well, that’s good news, ain’t it?” asked Linc. “They don’t know shit.”
Rick only grunted and continued wiping down each part of the rifle.
“You do the Glock that way too?” Linc asked.
“Yeah,” Rick said.
“So you got any ideas?”
Rick just sighed and shook his head.
“You’re not gonna like them,” he said. He slipped the cotter pin into the carrier assembly, securing the firing pin, then tapped it on his palm checking the fit.
“Try me,” Linc said, picking up the Exacto knife and the cardboard video cassette box again. He was sitting on one of the twin beds, hunching over so that his elbows rested steadily on his knees.
“I think we’re in over our heads,” Rick said. “This thing tonight showed that.”
“What you talking about, we kicked their asses,” Linc said.
“Yeah, and now we got the cops on ours.”
“Man, you heard the newscast. They think it’s gangbangers.”
“Linc, use your head,” Rick said. “It happened in our apartment.” He paused, giving his words more effect. “It’s only a matter of time before they put two and two together.”
“So what you saying?”
“I’m saying that maybe if we go to them—”
“No way, man,” Linc said. “No way.”
“Why?”
“What we gonna tell ‘em? That the fucking mafia’s after us ’cause we broke into a bank vault and stole a motherfucking tape?” He held up the empty box. Rick said nothing. “And what about Diane? You just gonna leave her, too?”
“She’s one of the reasons I think we should go to the authorities,” Rick said. “We’re gonna need back-up to take these guys on. Plus, we’re running low on ammo. Tonight we were lucky, and we don’t even know if they’ll contact us again, after what happened.”
“Oh, they’ll be a callin’,” Linc grinned. He held up the empty box and wiggled it. “As long as we have what they looking for, they gonna find a way to get a hold of us.”
Rick shook his head again.
Linc grabbed a precisely cut slice of the heavy-grade sandpaper and fitted it into the cassette box again, so that it rested snugly in the rectangular end. He stuck another similarly cut piece of sandpaper in the other end, then slipped the plastic VHS cassette back into the box.
“You think the fucking cops are gonna give two shits about Diane, Rick? You think they gonna be extra careful so she don’t get popped?” He snorted derisively and slid the cassette tape out of the box.
“Look, all I’m saying is, maybe we better think about wha
t we’re up against.”
“Uncle Henry said he’d back us up.”
“Christ, Linc. He’s no kinda back-up.”
“The fuck he’s not,” Linc said. “You ever hear of the Blackstone Rangers? The P-Stone Nation? Uncle Henry grew up with those guys. They were the baddest dudes around, even before they became the El Rukins. And he spent his time in the service, too.”
“Yeah, building roads in the Army Corps of Engineers,” Rick said. “He wasn’t even in the infantry, for Christ’s sake. And we’ve practically used up all of the money buying these weapons.”
“That the bottom line for you?” Linc asked. “The money?”
“Of course not,” Rick said. “But we’re running short of resources all the way around.”
Linc was securing two sets of old fashioned, wooden kitchen matches to the bottom of the VHS cassette with electrical tape. He slit the ends of the box, inserted the cassette, and then re-secured the ends with more tape. Rick watched as he quickly pulled the cassette out of the box and the matches suddenly burst into bright flame. Linc blew them out.
“Once this baby is filled with black flash powder,” he said, watching the smoke curl up from the extinguished match-heads, “we’ll have another nice little surprise for them.”
“Smoke and mirrors ain’t gonna help us get Diane back,” Rick said.
“If that’s the way you feel, man, then don’t help. Don’t go with me. It’s your choice. All I know is, these motherfuckers got my lady, and they been trying to get us. We go to the cops, we dead meat. We don’t meet these fuckers and get them first, we dead then, too.” He tossed the still smoldering cassette down on the bed and stood up. “What’s it gonna be, Rick? I gotta know right now. You with me all the way, or what?”
“There’s no way I can convince you to go to the cops, huh?”
Linc shook his head.
Rick stared silently for a moment. “Then I guess I’m in,” he said finally.
Linc grinned and held out his hand. Rick reached across and they shook.
The Heist Page 17
