Counting to Infinity

by J. L. Abramo

  “Follow me,” LoBianco said.

  He led his visitor into a large room walled with bookcases. Anna Lansdale sat in one of three overstuffed chairs placed around a high oak table.

  “Please sit, Mr. Vongoli,” she said. “Can I offer you coffee?”

  “No, thank you, Mrs. Lansdale.”

  “Please explain this to me,” Anna Lansdale said, holding up the note.

  Vongoli looked from the woman to LoBianco and back again.

  “Jack is my late sister’s eldest,” the woman said. “He is like a son to me, and he handles my affairs. He will be joining us. Will that be a problem?”

  “Not at all.”

  Jack LoBianco sat in the third chair.

  After a moment, Vongoli began. “Mrs. Lansdale, my father was Louis Vongoli. He grew up in Cicero. Years ago he had a run-in with your family. It forced him to relocate his family and change his name.”

  “Mr. Vongoli, I want to know about this note. The accusations you make are very serious and very dangerous,” Anna Lansdale said. “I do not take this lightly; you have made a commitment that you will be held to. If there is any truth to what you suggest, I must know. To ignore it is out of the question.”

  “I anticipated that would be the case,” said Vongoli.

  “Then you must also expect that if these allegations are unfounded, Mr. Vongoli, you have put yourself in very serious jeopardy.”

  “Yes, I realize that also.”

  “So you are either convinced or suicidal,” LoBianco said, speaking out for the first time.

  “I’m convinced, Mrs. Lansdale,” Vongoli said.

  “You have taken a great risk coming here with this,” the woman said, clutching the note.

  “Will you hear me out?”

  “First, I would like to know why you are taking such a risk,” said Anna Lansdale. “I want to know what you expect to gain from this.”

  “I want my father’s name back,” said Vongoli.

  An hour later, Jack LoBianco escorted Joseph Vongoli to the front door.

  “You’ve upset her. I won’t forget it,” said LoBianco.

  “It was unavoidable, and I’m sorry,” said Vongoli. “I believe that your aunt had the right to know, and I needed her help. If I had gone another way, she would have heard it eventually and would have had no control over the consequences. I’ll call you tomorrow with the final details.”

  “I think you are out of your fucking mind,” LoBianco said. “My aunt may be an old woman, but she is still very powerful. You know our family. You know there is no place you’ll be able to hide if this blows up in your face.”

  “May I ask you something?” Vongoli said.

  “What?”

  “Is it fear of your aunt that has discouraged you from expressing your own suspicions about your cousin Max?”

  “If I thought I could convince her, there would be nothing to fear,” said LoBianco.

  “I’m gambling that I can convince her.”

  “I hope for her sake and for your sake that you know what you’re doing,” said LoBianco at the door.

  “Keep hoping,” said Vongoli as he turned and walked down the driveway.

  Max Lansdale returned to his office suite at two with twenty thousand dollars in cash for his appointment at the Ghost Bar at three.

  He walked past Darlene without a word and disappeared into his private office.

  According to what Joey Russo had learned from Battle, the man who called himself Tucker varied the drop points for payments, always choosing public places, restaurants or taverns. Lansdale would arrive at the designated drop carrying a gift-wrapped box, sit at the bar, place the box on the bar, and wait to be contacted. A bartender or waitperson would deliver a note with instructions on where to leave the box. Lansdale had never seen the assassin. He only knew the man by the name Tucker.

  Lansdale took a box and wrapping paper from his office closet.

  He put the cash into the box and wrapped it.

  He set the box on his desk and waited.

  Down in the garage, a light tapping at the car window momentarily startled Eddie Hand. Eddie looked up to see a man standing beside the passenger door, smiling. He rolled down the window.

  “Sorry to sneak up on you like that, Eddie,” the man said. “I’m Joey Russo.”

  Joey offered his hand; Eddie reached out of the window and accepted it warmly.

  “Good to meet you,” Eddie said. “Hop in.”

  Joey walked around to the passenger side and climbed into the car.

  “There’s a shopping bag on the backseat,” said Eddie. “It belonged to Tucker; Lieutenant Boyle thought you could use it.”

  “Nice touch, and just like Ray,” said Joey. “How is Darlene doing?”

  “Aside from being extremely bored, she’s doing fine. Here’s the phone number of the booth in the bagel shop,” Eddie said, handing Russo a slip of paper.

  “After I meet Lansdale at the bar, I’ll go back to my hotel,” Russo said. “I’m at the Allegro on State. Room 618. I’ll call the phone booth from the hotel room. I would like you and Darlene to meet me there at my room when she is through at Lansdale’s office for the day.”

  “We’ll be there,” said Eddie. “It should be shortly after five.”

  “Good,” said Joey. “I’d better get over to the bar to wait for Lansdale.”

  Thursday afternoon. San Francisco.

  Jake Diamond was trying to decide what to pack for his trip to Chicago.

  The telephone rang.

  “Yes?”

  “Jake, it’s Sonny.”

  “How was New York City?”

  “Mostly business, but it all seemed to go well,” said Sonny. “I was able to get in a little shopping and go out to dinner with Connie’s brother, Louie.”

  “Now there’s a good old-fashioned name,” said Jake.

  “It was Joey’s father’s name,” said Sonny. “As I’m sure you know, it’s customary to name the first son after his grandfather.”

  “I know the custom very well,” said Jake. “I thank my brother every time I speak to him for being born first and saving me from being called Abraham.”

  “Joey called,” said Sonny. “He said you need to phone Lansdale at his office at three thirty, Chicago time.”

  Jake looked at his wristwatch and did the math. “Good, I have some time to rehearse,” Diamond said. “Any changes from the original script?”

  “None.”

  “Okay. Three thirty Chicago time.”

  “Joey asked me to take you out to the airport,” Sonny said. “Darlene will pick you up on the other end.”

  “Great. How about four?”

  “I’ll be there,” said Sonny.

  Twenty-Six

  Joey Russo stood on Randolph Street, a few doors down from the Ghost Bar. He looked like a character in an early-seventies Scorsese film, thirty years older. Three-quarter-length leather jacket, dark long-sleeved turtleneck, black polyester dress slacks, wingtip shoes, and a porkpie hat. He wore dark glasses and held a rope-handled shopping bag.

  Russo watched Lansdale go into the tavern, waited a few minutes, and followed. He spotted Lansdale on a stool, a gift-wrapped box and a drink sitting on the bar in front of him. Joey sat at the adjacent bar stool and placed the bag on the floor between them.

  “Put the box into the bag, Lansdale,” Joey said, “and don’t look at me.”

  “What about the documents, Tucker?” Lansdale asked as he slipped the box into the shopping bag.

  “Be at the phone booth at four,” Russo said.

  He stood, took the bag, and walked out to the street. Lansdale watched him leave, studying every characteristic.

  Max Lansdale swore under his breath, took a minute to drain his scotch, and went back to his office. He entered the suite, passed Darlene without a word, went back to his desk, and paced, trying to come up with a solution to the fix he was in.

  He had no intention of handing Jake Diamond a ni
ckel. His plans for Diamond were crystal clear. It was the two hundred thousand dollars owed to Ventura that had him in a cold sweat. Given more time, he could surely work it out. He might be able to come up with half of the cash for Vito by the next day, but for Ventura and his New York partners half would not cut it. He thought about asking Ventura for more time, of laying the blame completely on Carl Hamilton and the Chicago end, but he feared he would lose Ventura’s confidence nevertheless. He thought about calling Hamilton for an advance, but Carl Hamilton was a businessman and would not consider it good business.

  There was one last way out, one option that Lansdale wished to avoid if at all possible. As the thought crept into his mind, Darlene rang his desk.

  “Telephone call, Mr. Lansdale,” Darlene said. “A Mr. Jake Diamond, calling from California.”

  “Put it through,” said Lansdale.

  Darlene transferred the call. She resisted the strong temptation to eavesdrop. She would wait and listen to the tape being recorded in Eddie’s car down in the garage.

  “Jake, good to hear from you,” said Lansdale.

  “I’m sure it is, Max,” said Jake. “I’m going to make this short. I’ll be in Chicago tomorrow. I will call you for a meeting.”

  “Will you have the documents?”

  “I’ll want to see the money first, Max. One hundred thousand dollars,” said Diamond. “When I see the cash, I will take you to the documents.”

  “That’s a lot of cash for a few pieces of paper.”

  “I have to share the money with Dr. Kearney’s son,” Jake said, “and these few pieces of paper could put you away for a very long time, Max. I’ll call back tomorrow. If I even get a whiff of Ralph Battle anywhere near, all bets are off.”

  The line went dead.

  Lansdale looked at his wristwatch. Fifteen minutes until four. He rushed down to the bagel shop to catch the phone call from Tucker.

  At four, Joey Russo dialed the phone booth from his hotel room. Lansdale picked up on the first ring.

  “What happened to the documents?”

  “The little shit was all set to ambush you, Lansdale. Kearney was planning to take the money and leave you either knocked senseless or dead. He never had any papers.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “When I got the drop on him, I pressed the barrel of my gun against his forehead and asked him for the papers. He swore that he had given them to someone named Diamond. Under the circumstances, I don’t think he was holding out. He insisted up until the moment I pulled the trigger.”

  “Fuck.”

  “I didn’t charge you, Lansdale. And after all, I did have to waste time talking to the little worm.”

  “I need you again,” said Lansdale.

  “Who, where, when.”

  “This guy Diamond, sometime tomorrow. I’ll have to get back to you.”

  “Call the machine; I’ll call the booth an hour later.”

  “What if we don’t have an hour? Could I leave the details on the answering machine?”

  “You’re asking a lot, Lansdale. It’ll cost you more. If I need to rush off somewhere, make sure that you have twenty-five grand in cash handy.”

  “No problem,” said Lansdale.

  “Okay, I’ll wait to hear from you.”

  The caller disconnected.

  Lansdale slammed down the receiver in the phone booth and went back across to his office.

  As Lansdale rode the elevator, he calculated what he would need. Three hundred thousand. Two hundred thousand for Ventura and a hundred to at least show to Jake Diamond. He could pay Tucker from Diamond’s cash once Diamond was out of the way. He could raise one hundred on his own; he would have to borrow the rest. He could liquidate assets and have all of the money needed to pay back the loan by early the next week. As unhappy as he was about the prospect, he had no choice but to call his cousin, Jack.

  He walked past Darlene and back to his desk. He rang his cousin’s office. The receptionist put the call through to Jack LoBianco.

  “Max?”

  “Jack, I need a favor.”

  “What kind of favor, Max?”

  “A loan. Just until early next week.”

  “How much?”

  “Two hundred thousand.”

  “Did you say two hundred thousand?”

  “Yes.”

  “What the fuck for?”

  “I need to get it to Vito Ventura in New York.”

  “What the hell are you doing, getting involved with Ventura? The guy is bad news, Max.”

  Lansdale was not about to tell his cousin about the business he had been doing with Vito Ventura since Simon Lansdale died eight years earlier.

  “He’s very bad news, Jack, and I’m into him for two hundred grand. Gambling debts that Vito is suddenly not willing to wait for. Ventura made it very clear that he wouldn’t give me the few days that I’ll need to raise the cash; he said he would send someone to visit me. I don’t have to tell you what kind of visit he has in mind.”

  “How the fuck did you get into him that deep?”

  “Obviously I have a gambling problem, Jack. Are you going to help me out or lecture me?”

  “When do you need the money?”

  “Early tomorrow,” said Lansdale.

  “I don’t know, Max.”

  “Jesus, Jack, we’re family. Who am I supposed to turn to? Please, let me give you the information on how to wire the money to Ventura. Do I have to beg you, Jack?”

  “Give me the information, Max.”

  Lansdale did.

  “And you’ll send the money?” said Lansdale.

  “Only this one time.”

  “Thanks, Jack. I’ll make it good.”

  “You disappoint me, Max.”

  “Please, don’t say anything about this to my mother. It will cause her unnecessary grief, Jack,” said Lansdale. “I promise you it won’t happen again, I’ll get help for my problem. Could you keep this between the two of us? For her sake, if not mine?”

  “You disappoint me, Max,” Jack LoBianco said again, and hung up.

  Max Lansdale expelled a deep sigh of relief. He had bought time.

  Once he was done with Jake Diamond, Max would put all of his energies into hunting down Badalamenti, getting his money back and getting answers. Since speaking to Ventura, the question had been eating away at Lansdale. If Sonny did not work for Vito, how had Badalamenti known that Max would be carrying all that cash? Lansdale figured it had to be Paul Sacco from the casino in Connecticut who brought Badalamenti in and marked Lansdale. And when Max tracked down Badalamenti and had proof, he would be able to square it with Ventura and have Paul Sacco thrown to the dogs in New York.

  Down in his car in the garage, Eddie Hand called Joey Russo at the hotel.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Eddie. I don’t know if it’s important, Joey, but Lansdale just called Jack LoBianco for a loan. Two hundred thousand dollars to be wired to Vito Ventura in New York.”

  “That should surprise Ventura,” said Russo. “We’ve got Lansdale scrambling to save his hide. Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Sure,” said Eddie. “We’ll see you over there when Darlene leaves the office.”

  “Good,” said Joey.

  Jack LoBianco called Vito Ventura in New York.

  “Jack, I was just about to leave for dinner,” Ventura said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I understand that my cousin owes you money, Vito; he asked me if I would take care of it. I would prefer not to get involved; I’m calling to ask you to give him a few days to take care of it himself.”

  “No problem, Jack,” Ventura said. “Tell Max to take his time.”

  “Thank you, Vito.”

  “Glad to help, Jack,” said Ventura.

  Ventura placed the receiver down.

  What the hell was that all about? Ventura wondered.

  Ventura decided that he didn’t really care, since he already had his cash back and Lansdale was
history.

  Jack LoBianco started to reach for his phone to call Max Lansdale with the news. But then he thought about his aunt and the visitor to Lansdale’s mother’s house earlier that day.

  LoBianco decided not to make the call.

  Twenty minutes later, LoBianco received a phone call from Joseph Vongoli, who told LoBianco when and where to bring Mrs. Lansdale the following day.

  “I hope that you’re sure about this,” said LoBianco. “There’s no backing out now.”

  “There’s a story of a paratrooper who was preparing to jump from a plane with four of his comrades,” said Vongoli. “He turned to one of the others and asked: ‘What happens if my chute doesn’t open?’”

  “And?”

  “As they jumped, the other man said: ‘Then you’ll be the first to reach the ground.”

  “I did a little brushing up on local history. Your father was well thought of by the old-timers in Cicero,” said LoBianco. “There was high praise for Louie Clams.”

  “I don’t recall much about Illinois,” said Vongoli. “I was very young when he moved the family to California.”

  “They remembered you also, always there hanging on to your father’s coattails. They called you Joe Clams.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “I was told you were the only child,” said LoBianco.

  “I had a sister, she was much younger,” said Vongoli. “Carla was born some years after we left Cicero.”

  “I know about your sister,” said LoBianco. “I heard the story from my aunt. She never believed that Randolph was involved in your sister’s death, and it won’t be easy to convince her that Max had anything to do with it.”

  “I understand,” said Vongoli. “What mother would easily believe such things about her child?”

  “On the other hand, my aunt still believes that it was Harrison Chandler who murdered her son Randolph, and that you were there that day.”

  “It’s been the going theory for some time.”

  “I’ll escort my aunt to your meeting place tomorrow, and then it will be out of my hands,” said Jack LoBianco. “The ultimate course of action will be entirely up to her.”