“Semper Fi,” Linc said.
1:37 A.M.
Germaine walked alongside of Vino down the narrow, long corridor inside the meat-packing plant. There were numerous solid-steel doors, all closed, and a series of fluorescent lights above that gave the corridor a harsh, yellow cast. Behind them the massive figure of Gumbo lumbered nimbly.
“He know what’s going on?” Vino asked.
“If he doesn’t by now,” Germaine said with a smile, “he must have a pretty damn good idea.”
Vino gave out a staccato-like laugh. He was carrying a black and navy-blue canvas gym bag in his right hand. It made a hollow sounding thump as it banged against the cinder block wall.
“Good. Let him stew a little bit,” Vino said. “I was at a party for my grandson. His tenth birthday.”
“An important event in any young man’s life,” Germaine said. They turned and went into the large open factory area. It was dark, except for a few firelights, and composed of various machines and steel tables. Several freezers sat along the back portion, and across from them were a series of walls that formed rooms without any fronts. Vino paused and flipped on some light switches that caused a flickering, delayed reaction along the ceiling of the immense room.
“Where’s he at?” Vino asked.
“Room five, just as you instructed,” Germaine said.
Vino smiled and started forward, then abruptly stopped.
“What about the tape?” he asked.
“There’s been a slight delay in procuring that. I had hoped to present it to you tonight, but we’ve run into some unforeseen circumstances.”
“Huh? What’s that mean?”
“We are certain that, with the proper assistance from your people, we can get it tomorrow,” Germaine said. He punctuated his sentence with his expansive smile.
Vino’s nostrils flared.
“Without the fucking tape, this whole thing could blow wide open,” he said. “What the fuck, I was told you was the best. The Regulator, they call you. Didn’t I explain to you how fucking important that tape is?”
“Try not to distress yourself, Mr. Costelli,” Germaine said calmly. “I made a slight miscalculation tonight and, unfortunately, could not attend to the matter myself. But, as I said, I’m quite confident that this situation will be rectified shortly.”
Vino stared at him for a moment. “It better be.”
“Well, that’s one of the reasons we’re holding Mr. Fox in abeyance,” Germaine said. “He’s our insurance to making sure we get the tape.”
“Who? Ab-what? Speak in English for Christ’s sake.”
“Mr. Fox. Mr. Osmand’s attorney.”
At the mention of the Mink, Vino smiled again. What the hell, I ain’t gonna let nothing spoil this moment, he thought, as he glanced into the depths of the factory and then looked back to Germaine.
“Okay, make sure you get it tomorrow,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He grinned malevolently.
“Certainly, sir,” said Germaine. “Ah. . . do you want this disposed of in a covert fashion?” He pointed toward the room.
“There you go again, using them big fucking words, Germaine. I told ya, speak in English.”
“Do you want us to stick around and help you get rid of. . . ?”
“Oh, nah, my boys can handle that,” Vino said. “I want this motherfucker found so it’ll send a message: Nobody snitches on me. Nobody.”
His lower lip pulled up tightly over his upper and he stared upward into Germaine’s eyes.
“We’ll leave you to your pleasures then,” the tall southerner said. He turned and walked back toward the corridor. Gumbo stared momentarily at the short man holding the gym bag before following Germaine. After they’d disappeared, Vino went slowly down to room five. It was one of the open-ended rooms across from the freezers. A series of parallel steel cables were suspended just below the ceiling, and hanging from one of them, his arms stretched above him, his feet barely resting on the floor, was Johnny “The Mink” Osmand. His blue sports shirt was caked with sweat, despite the cool temperature inside the factory. His hands had been manacled and looped over the wire, which bent considerably under his weight. Vino paused to watch him for a moment, then moved forward and grabbed a handful of his thick hair.
“Hello, Mink,” he said.
“Vino?” Osmand said, his voice sounding filled with equal parts of fear and desperation. “You the one that grabbed me? What’s going on?”
“You know goddamn well what’s going on, you motherfucker.” He released the hank of hair with a sudden push, then spit in the other man’s face. “After all I done for you, you’re ready to sell me out like some fucking piece of meat.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Osmand said. “I wasn’t gonna—”
“The fuck you weren’t. Don’t fucking lie to me,” Vino said, pointing his finger now, his voice a husky whisper.
“But I wasn’t. Honest.”
“You denying you met with the fucking Feds making a deal to sell me out?”
“Well, I,” Osmand swallowed hard before continuing. “I was meeting with ‘em, sure, for Christ’s sake. But I was stringing them along. Whaddya want? They had a case going against me.”
“And you couldn’t wait to spread the cheeks of your ass, could ya?” Vino moved forward, using his finger to punctuate his words. “You couldn’t take it like a man, could ya? Could ya?”
His last words elevated to a shout, and he slapped Osmand’s face.
The hanging man writhed in pain as the manacles cut into his wrists. He mumbled something unintelligible.
“What was that?” Vino demanded. “What were the words to come out of that fucking Judas mouth of yours?”
“It wasn’t me, Vino,” Osmand said, raising up on his tiptoes again to ease the pressure on his wrists. “Honest. It wasn’t me.”
“Bullshit. I told you, don’t fucking lie to me.” Vino went to the gym case, unzipped it, and withdrew the Louisville Slugger that had previously adorned his wall. “Remember this, Johnny?” he asked with a grin.
“Hey, Vino, please. . .”
“Save it.”
“No wait, look,” Osmand said, the desperation suffusing every word. “I got something on you. Something bad, and if anything happens to me, people got copies that’ll be sent straight to the cops.”
“Oh,” said Vino, adjusting his grip on the taped handle of the bat. “And what might that be?”
“It’s a tape,” Osmand said. He licked his lips. “Of you whacking Campo and Volpone.”
“Oh yeah?” Vino said calmly, taking a practice swing, knowing the whoosh would fill Osmand with incipient terror.
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to ask,” Vino took another swing, “how many copies you got? And who’s got ‘em?”
“I got a couple,” Osmand said quickly. “And all kinds of people got ‘em.”
Vino moved forward and delivered a low swing to Osmand’s left foot. The hanging figure’s whole body seemed to jerk upward with a shriek, then slump down. The wire made a rasping sound.
“Wrong answer, Johnny,” Vino said. “And for your information, I already know about the fucking tape. Have known about it for some time, and I’m already making plans to get it.”
Osmand seemed to consider this for a moment, then said softly, “Vino.”
“Yeah?” he answered, stepping closer.
Osmand mustered enough saliva to spit in the other man’s face as he leaned close. Vino immediately jumped back and pawed at his cheek with his palm.
“Fuck you then,” Osmand said.
That made Vino smile. He gripped the bat once more and stepped slowly around in back of the dangling figure.
“You think you can make me mad so I’ll do you quick, huh, Mink?” he said. He whirled suddenly and smacked the bat against Osmand’s lower right leg. When the screaming had subsided, Vino leaned in close, from the side this time, and gripped the Mink’s thick gr
ay mane again.
“This is only the first inning, motherfucker, and I ain’t even gonna start swinging for the fences till the bottom of the ninth.”
CHAPTER 14
Thursday, April 16, 1992
8:35 A.M.
“You guys look terrible,” Arlene said, placing a hand on Tony’s shoulder as he slumped forward at the desk, which was covered with hand and typewritten reports, open mug books, and various bulletins and Teletypes. Several Styrofoam coffee cups also sat in various stages of fullness over his desk and Ray’s.
“Isn’t it great to have our office open again?” Kent Faulkner said, coming into the room a few steps behind Arlene. She was wearing a dark blue skirt with matching jacket. The blouse under it was a pale tan silk. Faulkner put his hands on his hips, spreading open his gray, double-breasted suit. “What the hell, you guys come in early or something?”
“Or something,” Ray said.
“Tony, what’s going on?” Arlene asked. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Tony said, managing a weak smile. “Just not as young as I used to be. These things tire out an old man like me.”
“Old man, my ass,” Ray chimed in. “You been running me ragged all night.”
“You mean you’ve been at this all night?” Arlene asked.
“Yeah, we got involved in a triple homicide last night on the south side,” Ray said.
“Homicide?” Faulkner said. “I saw something about one on the news.”
“So you’ve been here all night?” Arlene asked.
“Not here,” Tony said. “It happened over on 114th and Hale.”
“That’s the one I saw on the news, all right,” Faulkner said.
Ignoring him, Tony continued. “We spent most of the time over at District Twenty-Two. We just came by here to follow up on something.”
“You said that was a triple, Ray?” Faulkner asked.
“Yeah, you shoulda seen Tony run up them stairs,” he said. “Two of ‘em were offed with a machine gun.”
“Oh my God,” Arlene said.
“A machine gun,” Faulkner said. “No kidding.”
“Tony, you should have been more careful,” Arlene said. “You could have been killed.”
“A machine gun,” Faulkner repeated. “That’s wild. I haven’t fired one of those since Quantico.”
“Come on, Mr. FBI,” said Ray, getting up suddenly. “I’ll let you buy me another cup of coffee and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Faulkner looked somewhat perplexed as Ray slapped him on the back affectionately and steered him out of the room. As he did so, Ray turned and winked several times at Tony, then cocked his head fractionally toward Arlene.
“I thought Ray didn’t like Kent,” she said, watching the uneven pair amble away.
“Ray’s just being Ray,” Tony said with a smile.
“So tell me what happened,” she said.
He recounted the events briefly, telling her about the call from Nate Wells, the controlled buy, and the information of an automatic weapon sale that led them to the Beverly neighborhood.
“We were staking the place out waiting for this Linc guy to come home so we could roust him,” Tony said. “When some kind of shoot-out started in the apartment.”
“So you really did run up the stairs like Ray said?”
“Well,” he said slowly, “The shooter was gone by the time we got up there.”
Arlene shook her head.
“I really wish you’d be more careful,” she said.
“Why, you afraid this old man’ll get hurt?”
“Yes, I’m afraid you’ll get hurt. And don’t go calling yourself an old man, either. You’re not that old, and you’re still very handsome.”
This raised Tony’s eyebrows. Could all of Ray’s teasing be right? Did Arlene really find him attractive? He cleared his throat.
“Well, Ray and I have handled a lot of hot situations in our time,” he said. “We were pretty careful covering each other.”
“Wouldn’t it have been more sensible to wait for backups?”
“Well, yeah,” he said slowly, “but we figured that if we did, the suspect would get away and some innocent person might be injured or killed.”
He noticed that Arlene was staring at him, her head canted to the left, an admiring look on her face.
“Anyway,” he continued, the excitement creeping back into his voice, “one of the guys who was killed was Tommy Del Bianco. He’s one of Vino Costelli’s boys. After we finished up the reports at Twenty-Two, we grabbed breakfast and shot down here to review the info we had on file concerning Del Bianco and Costelli. Then we tried to find the other two in the mug books, but boy, all these punks start to look alike after a while.”
“You’re so dedicated,” Arlene said. “So different from other cops I’ve known.”
“I don’t know about that,” Tony said, self-effacingly. “So what’s the latest on the Mink deal? Fox ever call you back?”
“No,” Arlene said. “I put a call into his secretary yesterday afternoon, but she said he was ill. Out with the flu. I’ll try again today.”
“Probably just sick over the thought that this great trial opportunity is about to go down the drain,” Tony said. “This trial could have made him, if he’d played his cards right.”
“You look so tired,” she said. “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep?”
“I’ll be okay. Ray and I are going to follow up on one more lead on this shooting suspect first.”
“I sure admire your dedication,” Arlene said.
“Just doing our jobs,” he replied. “The first twenty-four hours of a homicide investigation are crucial.”
“Isn’t Violent Crimes doing the follow-up?”
“Well, yeah, but we figured to give them a hand on this one,” he said. “I’d sure like to get something good on old Vino before I retire. Something that I’m sure is gonna stick.”
“If the Mink has that tape, like he says, we shouldn’t have much to worry about,” Arlene said. “Right?”
“There’s always something to worry about when you’re dealing with these types,” Tony said grimly.
Arlene was sitting in front of him, staring with her head cocked to the left again. “I’d like to ask you something,” she said.
“What?” Tony managed a grin.
“Do you have any plans for this Saturday?” she asked somewhat tentatively.
Tony was stunned.
“Ah, no,” he said.
“Then would you consider coming over to my place Saturday evening for dinner?” Arlene asked.
“I. . .” Not knowing what to say, he hesitated, then said, “I’d be delighted.”
“Great. How’s seven o’clock sound?”
“It sounds fine,” he said.
The phone rang and Tony reached forward and grabbed it.
“Cardoff,” he said.
“Yeah, Tony it’s Bob O’Neil from Violent Crimes. Got some more info on that triple from last night.”
“Great, Bob,” Tony said, searching through the mess on his desk for a pad and pencil. Arlene, who had apparently figured out what he was looking for, gave him one off of her desk.
“One of our uniforms, a Julia Edwards in Ten, was getting briefed in roll call this morning about the possible machine gun being out on the street and she remembered the address. It seems she responded to a shots fired call over on 113th and Wentworth and stopped this guy Lincoln Jackson. He claimed to be the boyfriend of one Diane Cassidy, who lives at the Roseland address. This was verified by the neighbors. Seems this guy Jackson walked in on a burglary in progress and the suspects took a couple shots at him. The ETs dug one of the slugs out of the garage.”
“She sure it’s the same Lincoln Jackson?” Tony asked.
“Yeah,” O’Neil said. “She ran his D.L. and questioned him as to why he was in Roseland when his license had a Beverly address. “
“She sounds like a sharp kid,” Tony said.
“Give me what you got on Jackson.”
O’Neil rattled off Linc’s full name, date of birth, and driver’s license number.
“No criminal history through us,” he said.
“I’ll check through my end up here,” Tony said. “Meanwhile, you gonna check with this Cassidy gal?”
“Shit, when I get a fucking chance,” O’Neil said. “We just had three more sunrise bodies.”
It was an old Chicago Police saying that when the sun came up, so did the dead bodies.
“Well, Ray and I can do that,” Tony said. “We’ll get back to you later.”
“Great. I’d appreciate it. I’m waiting on calls from the patrolman who took the report and from the ET,” O’Neil said. “Maybe they got something more in their notes.”
“Give me that Cassidy woman’s address,” Tony said.
There was a rustle of papers, then O’Neil read him the address.
“Okay, give me a holler if you get anything more,” Tony said. He gave O’Neil his car phone and beeper numbers.
Just as he was finishing, Ray and Faulkner came back. Tony briefed Ray as he was downing the last of his coffee. He finished with, “We got to find out how Vino Costelli ties into all this.”
“I guess we better hop on out to Roseland then,” Ray said.
Tony nodded, got up, and started slipping on his sport jacket and suddenly realized he’d been on the go since yesterday and needed a shower.
“You guys mind if I tag along?” Faulkner asked.
“Yes,” Ray said harshly. “This is Chicago P.D. business.”
“Kent,” Tony said, “Ray and I can handle that end of it. We’re familiar with that neighborhood anyway. What you can do for us is to use your FBI contacts to check out this Lincoln Jackson guy. He checks out negative through the city, but that just means we haven’t arrested him. He may have a record in another state or in the suburbs.”
Faulkner pursed his lips and nodded.
“Yeah, I can do that,” he said, giving Ray a sideways glance.
“Besides, if Fox calls back and wants a meet, we don’t want Arlene to have to go by herself, do we?” Tony added, smiling benignly.
The Heist Page 18
