by Nick Carter
"Who sent the car?" I asked.
His hand went over the mouthpiece. When he came back on his voice had jumped about ten points in respect. "The car comes from Mr. Rozano Nicoli, signor.
"I'll be down in fifteen minutes."
"Grazie." He hung up.
I looked up at Tanya. "This is it, Sandee, baby."
She crossed her fingers at me, then stooped to pick up her blouse and skirt. She skipped into her own room.
I mashed out the cigarette and rolled off the bed. As I dressed I checked my small, personal arsenal. I was going to wear an open-collared sport shirt with slacks and a light jacket. Before putting on my shorts, I checked Pierre and placed the tiny gas bomb between my legs. Then I put on my pants and shoes, picked up Hugo's sheath and connecting straps, and fastened the thin stiletto to my left arm. Next, I put on my shirt and buttoned it. The shirt was ivy, button-down collar, gray in color and long-sleeved. When it was on, I pushed my arm through the shoulder holster housing Wilhelmina. The stripped-down Luger would rest just under my left armpit. Shrugging into the lightweight sport coat, I was ready.
Tanya met me in the hall. We walked in silence to the open-cage elevator. Tanya's lovely face was impassive as we rode down. I was searching the lobby looking for the man who had been sent to collect us.
We had reached the lobby. I pulled up the lever and slid the iron-barred doors of the elevator apart. Tanya moved two steps into the lobby. I was one step behind her and had just come up to her back when I saw him.
A boyhood of gangster films leads you to get a certain image of what a hood is supposed to look like. Most of the time that image is wrong. Today's hood looks like today's success. They remind you of attorneys, doctors, or bankers. But a thug is a thug is a thug. Time and methods change, but the organization never outgrew its need for torpedos or, as they were sometimes called, button-and-muscle men. They did the odd jobs. They were the ones who wired concrete blocks to ankles, the faces at the end of a submachine gun sticking out of a passing car, the ones who told you Mike or Tony or Al wanted to see you. The errand boys.
Rozano Nicoli had sent a torpedo to pick us up.
He lumbered toward us as we stepped from the elevator, huge shoulders as wide as a doorway. He wore a white tropical suit that tightened around his muscles. His arms swung almost to his knees, knuckles bruised and misshapen from hitting too many people, face welted and blotched and angled wrong from taking too many of the same kind of punches.
He had been a ring specialist a long time ago. You could tell by the curled meat that used to be his ears and the crooked z-shape of his nose. His eyes were almost hidden behind the two golf-ball puffs of flesh. And the scars were many. Fat scars above both eyebrows, a nasty one where the cheekbone had cut through the skin; the face looked without form, mushy and lumpy.
And there was another lump I noticed. A bulge under the left armpit of the tropical suit.
"Mr. Acasano?" he said in a low nasal hiss.
I nodded.
His stupid eyes swept from me to Tanya. "Who's da broad?"
"My woman."
"Uh… oh." He blinked a lot, and had a faraway look as if he were daydreaming. "You're suppose ta come with me."
I took Tanya's elbow and followed the moving house across the gingerbread lobby. When we got to the front door, he stopped and turned to us.
"I'm Quick Willie," he said. "I know you're Thomas Acasano, but I don't know da broad's name."
"Do you have to know?" I asked.
He blinked on that for a few seconds. "Yeah. On accounta I gotta introduce her."
"To who?"
"Da guy in da car." He turned his back and stepped out onto the sidewalk. We followed.
A 300-series black Mercedes was waiting at the curb. As we walked up to it I saw an Oriental sitting in the front passenger seat. He watched us come with no expression on his face.
Quick Willie stopped us with a hand on my arm. "I gotta search you," he said.
I lifted my arms and let him pat my chest. He reached inside the light sport coat and pulled out Wilhelmina. Then he patted my sides and legs. Very few searchers ever discovered Pierre or Hugo.
Then he turned toward Tanya, and for the first time since we met him, his small dull eyes brightened. "I gotta search her too."
"I don't think so," I said softly.
Quick Willie's small eyes bored a hole right through my head. Even the Oriental leaned over enough to watch. There was silence.
A blood-red Fiat came roaring by with no muffler. Another followed. Then three Lambrettas passed, their engines making the constant ring-a-ding-ding sound of the two-stroke. Narrow streets snaked off in every direction. The bright sun sent wispy heatripples up from the streets and sidewalks. Three blocks behind us was the harbor, but even here the smells of the sea came drifting by.
"I gotta search her," Quick Willie said. "I got orders."
The Oriental was watching me closely. He was immaculately dressed in a tailored sharkskin suit, light tan in color. The shirt was white, the tie striped brown and yellow. There was a curious kind of amused look on his face. His eyes were slanted, of course, and there were high cheekbones and a smoothness to the face. He gave off an air of assurance, as though there were few problems he could not handle, and handle well. He looked like the type of man who took charge, and earned a kind of fearful respect from others. There was that too, a ruthless-ness. Sitting there with that amused look, he reminded me of a rattlesnake sunning himself. I had no doubt who the man was.
"You can't search her, Willie," I said.
Maybe I was blowing the whole thing. By refusing to allow Tanya to be searched maybe I was creating unnecessary trouble. I guess Nicoli had a right to let his torpedo clear all weapons before we got to the villa. But it was Tanya who got me off the hook.
She touched my arm lightly. "It will be all right, darling," she said. "I don't mind."
"I don't want that creep's hands on you."
"They won't be on me for long." She took two steps forward until she was almost bumping Willie. Raising her arms slightly she looked up into Willie's mangled face. "O.K., big boy, frisk me," she said out of the corner of her mouth.
He did. He patted everywhere, and although the search was quick, and revealed nothing, Quick Willie obviously relished it.
"Okay," he said at last. He opened the back door of the Mercedes for us. "You still didn't tell me da broad's name."
I smiled at him. "That's right, Willie. I sure didn't."
We got in the back seat, and flinched when Willie slammed the door. When he got behind the wheel, the Oriental turned around in his seat to face us. His arm rested on the back of the seat. He was wearing a gold watch and a very large ruby ring on his little finger. He gave us a grin that revealed perfect teeth, sparkling white.
Then he extended his right hand back toward me. "Mr. Acasano, my name is Tai Sheng. I've heard a great deal about you."
I took the hand. The grip was strong. "And I you, Mr. Sheng. This is Sandee Catron."
"Yes, I gathered that. A pleasure, Miss Catron."
We were all very good friends now. Quick Willie got the Mercedes purring, and we moved smoothly into the Fiat and Lambretta traffic.
Sheng had nodded toward Sandee, a gesture she returned, and as we rolled, he smiled broadly at me.
"May I call you Thomas?" he asked presently.
"Of course, please do."
The smile broadened. "You brought the list, of course."
"Of course."
He held out his hand. "Rozano sent me to pick it up.
I smiled back at him, then leaned forward with my elbows on my knees. "Mr. Sheng, I am no fool," I said, keeping my voice even but firm. "I don't know what your relationship is with Rozano but he and I go back more than ten years. We know each other well. His instructions were explicit; I was to deliver the list to him personally. You offend me by asking for the list. In doing so, you are calling me stupid and, Mr. Sheng, I am not stupid."
In a
voice as smooth as pouring olive oil, he said, "I assure you, sir, I did not intend to imply that you were… stupid. I was merely…"
"I am well aware of your intentions, Mr. Sheng. You wish to make yourself look large in Rozano's eyes so you will receive special favors. Well, let me tell you, Rozano and I go way back. We are very close. You and I may be competing for his right hand, but sir, when it comes to his friendship you are out in the cold."
He thought that over for a few seconds. "I was hoping, somehow, that we could be friends."
I could feel the anger boiling inside me. I knew what this man was, and what he wanted. "For a long time, Sheng, you have been trying to discredit me in Rozano's eyes. And now you insult my intelligence by asking for the list. You and I cannot be friends. We are competing with each other, and only one of us will win."
He arched his eyebrows. "Just what are we competing for?"
"Territory. The organization in the States is in chaos. We need a leader, and that leader will be Rozano. We are competing for a seat by his side, for a large slice of the pie."
His voice lowered to become intimate. "I am not competing with you, Thomas. I have other plans…"
"I don't believe you." With that I leaned back against the seat. "Rut all this is academic," I said. "Rozano is going to be upset with you because you subjected my woman and me to a search."
"We were ordered to."
"We'll see. I am turning the list over to Rozano, and no one else."
He pursed his lips and stared at me. I think at that moment, if the circumstances had been right, he would have gladly killed me. Then he turned around with his back to us and stared through the windshield.
Quick Willie had driven the Mercedes away from the buildings of Palermo. Now we passed sun-bleached shacks with dark children playing in dirt yards. Some of the shacks had faded wooden picket fences around them. The children were dressed in ragged clothes as dirty as themselves. Now and then I saw a woman old before her years, sweeping the earthen floor of a shack, pausing to swipe a forearm across a sweat-beaded forehead.
I felt a whoosh of cool air as Quick Willie turned on the air conditioner in the Mercedes.
And everywhere there were the vineyards. The land was flat and the neat rows of vines seemed to stretch over every hill.
Tanya's hand slid across the seat, groping for mine. I took it and found her palm warm and wet. We had crossed over. Up until this moment we could have boarded a plane and flown back to the States. If something had come up unexpectedly, Hawk could have contacted us and either postponed or canceled the assignment. It would have been over for us. But now we had passed the point of no return. Roth AXE and Hawk were out of it. Whether we survived or not depended entirely on our own ability.
The road climbed in lazy S-curves which stiffened to become switchbacks. Quick Willie drove slowly and expertly. I wondered how many times he had carted button men to their hits. Our ears started popping as we went up toward a cloudless sky.
Toward the top of the high hill we came to the first armed guard. He stood beside an iron-barred gate. Going off in both directions was a high concrete fence.
Besides a sidearm, the man had a sub-machine gun slung over his shoulder. When the Mercedes came around the last corner and cruised slowly toward the gate, he bent enough to see all of us and at the same time brought the sub-machine gun at the ready.
Quick Willie honked the horn and started to slow down. The guard hustled and pushed the gate open. He smiled and waved as we drove into the villa. I noticed he was wearing a brown jumpsuit.
Once through the gate we were flanked by rich green lawns with olive trees dotted here and there, and beyond were more vineyards. The mansion was straight ahead.
From what I could see, it looked like the top of a hill had been shaved flat. The villa sprawled over almost a quarter of a mile square. As we drove around in a large semicircle on the butter-smooth asphalt driveway we passed a landing field with an executive Lear jet tied down. There were many buildings surrounding the mansion. As we circled behind the mansion we passed three tennis courts, a nine-hole golf-course and a huge swimming pool which was dotted with six lovelies in skimpy bikinis. And then we went around the main mansion to the front.
Every window was covered with wire mesh. Each entrance had bars above it, probably ready to seal all openings at the touch of a button. There were seven white pillars in front of a long brick porch. The driveway circled around and passed in front of the mansion. Quick Willie braked to a halt in front of one pillar. There were four brick steps leading from the driveway to the porch.
The mansion itself was no less impressive. It stood three stories high, built of red brick with a tile roof. The windows were gabled and shuttered, and each one somehow caught sight of the deep blue Mediterranean.
Willie was quick getting out and hustling around the front of the Mercedes. He opened Tai Sheng's door first, then ours.
Sheng started up the steps extending his arm toward the massive front door. "This way, please, Mr. Acasano." There was no warmth in the oily smoothness of his voice, the words were sharp and cut off at the ends.
I took Tanya's elbow and followed him. The mansion looked familiar somehow, as though I had seen it op one like it somewhere before. No, that wasn't it; I had seen others like it just out of New Orleans. Old plantation mansions of the Deep South. It must have cost Nicoli a fortune to have all those bricks and pillars hauled over here.
Sheng rang the chimed doorbell and almost immediately it was opened by a huge Negro.
"Michaels," Sheng said. "Is Mr. Nicoli available?"
The Negro wore a yellow turtleneck and gray slacks. His head was shaved bald. "He is in conference with his wife, sir."
We entered on marble floors, polished to a luster more brilliant than my shoes. A large chandelier hung about twelve feet above us. This seemed to be some kind of foyer. Through an arched doorway I could see the marble floor lead into what looked like a study. Opposite was a flight of carpeted stairs.
"I'll show you to your room," Sheng said. He started for the stairs. Tanya and I followed, while Quick Willie brought up the rear.
"I would like to see Rozano as soon as possible," I said as we climbed.
"But of course," Sheng answered. There was no feeling in his words.
When we reached the landing, he led the way to the right. There was a carpeted hallway with doors staggered on each side. What I couldn't get over was the overwhelming massiveness of the place. The ceilings all seemed to be at least twelve feet high, and the doors looked as thick as safes. There was an endless number of rooms.
We continued to walk. Then, for no apparent reason, Sheng stopped in front of one door. He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and clicked the door open.
"Your room, Mr. Acasano," he said flatly.
"What about my woman?"
He stood looking sleepy-eyed at my chest. I hadn't realized how really small he was. The top of his head came to about two inches below my chin.
"We have another room for her."
"I don't like that," I said angrily. "I don't like it one damned bit."
Only then did his slanted eyes raise to my face. "Mr. Acasano," he said in a weary voice. "I am merely carrying out Rozano's wishes. You will please wait inside."
His arm was motioning toward the room. I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. "An order like that I would have to hear from Rozano personally."
He smiled, showing me those perfect teeth. "An order?" he said, with raised eyebrows. "It is not an order, Thomas. Rozano only wishes for you to rest from your trip, and to think of your reunion with him. There is a time for the women, is there not? And a time for quiet contemplation."
"I'll tell you what you can do with your contemplation."
"Please." He held up his hand. "She will be in a room similar to yours. She will be quite comfortable."
Tanya put her hand on my arm. "It will be all right, darling." Then she gave Sheng a sidelong glance. "I
'm sure Mr. Sheng is a man of his word. If he says I'll be comfortable, then that's what I'll be right?"
I sighed. "O.K. Come here and give me a kiss, baby." She did and we made it good for the gallery, then I patted her on the rear. "Behave yourself."
"Always, darling."
Everyone was smiling. I stepped into the room. The door was slammed shut behind me. And it was locked.
Eight
It was useless to pound against the door. It would be like beating against the brick walls. I turned my back on it and looked around the room. There was a comfortable-looking bed, a dresser, one table with two chairs, and landscape paintings of the Grand Canyon on the wall. The two windows looked out directly over the Mediterranean.
I could see the bleached city of Palermo far down the hill, and sailboats moving silently back and forth beyond the harbor. Closer were the vineyards and the olive trees and the high wall. But closer to me than anything else was the wire mesh over the window.
Besides the massive main door, there was a smaller one leading to a bathroom.
I paced back and forth. They had Wilhelmina, but I still had my little gas bomb and stiletto. I would wait, if that's what they wanted, but I wouldn't wait long. I couldn't believe that Bozano Nicoli would actually leave instructions for his old friend Acasano to be locked up. It sounded more like Sheng's idea.
There was no way I could get out except through that door. So, until they opened it, all I could do was wait. I went over to the bed and stretched out.
Many thoughts ran through my mind. There had been a security leak. Somehow Nicoli had found out my real identity. Maybe the real Acasano had somehow, in death, told of his own passing. Maybe he had left behind an envelope with instructions: Open only if I don't have my usual cup of coffee at a certain place every morning. Then the open letter will explain that he was dead, and an AXE agent had been the last one following him.
Or maybe it had something to do with that Oriental snapping my picture in the hotel lobby. The image was clear. Nicoli suspects that his old friend, Acasano, has been done away with by agents of the Government. For some reason the agents want to penetrate his organization. They send one of their operatives over in an Acasano disguise. But Nicoli isn't sure. Maybe Acasano isn't really dead. There is one way to make certain. Have one of the kitchen staff snap a picture of Acasano as he comes into the hotel lobby. Compare the picture with old ones of the real Acasano, and see if there is any great difference.
