“North or south - take your pick.”
“Canada or Mexico. You know any Spanish?”
“Enough to order a burrito.”
“More than me then.”
“That makes Canada our number one destination of choice.”
“Perhaps. What would we do there? You got any connections?”
“None that'd give us a line on a wholesale money laundering operation.”
“Say that louder, not all the waitresses heard you.”
Mary Lou blushed and her eyes darted every which way as her entire body tensed.
“Relax, I was teasing.”
She slapped his hand, playfully without spite.
“Don’t. That wasn't nice.”
“Sorry but this is quite an intense conversation, wouldn’t you say?”
If Mary Lou had worn glasses, she’d have looked at Frank over the rims - with disdain. They sat in silence again, ruminating on the possibilities before them.
“Canada might be a good place to hide.”
“But not a great location for us to launder the take.”
“No. Sounds like we’re off to the West Coast, anyway.”
“Do you have any connections in Seattle instead?”
“No. None. You?”
“Nope.”
“Done. We’ll stick to the original plan and head to California. Once we’ve cleaned the cash, we decide at that point whether we’re Canada bound.”
“We are though, right?”
“With what we have now, yes. But we worry about it later. Our only real hope is the mob doesn’t know our car so we can move around the city without too getting spotted.”
Mary Lou sipped her coffee and thought for a spell.
“How much ammo you sitting on?”
“Enough to get us out of trouble but not enough for an all-out gun battle in the streets of Las Vegas. What you got planning?”
“Nothing. Just wondered if we were heading into a death trap.”
“The Feds will want to capture us alive. It’s their job. If we don’t produce any heat, they’ll keep their end of the bargain.”
“Sure, Frank.”
“The mob is only interested in the money. They’ll only take a pop if we stand between them and the cash.”
“Makes sense. What about good old Uncle Frankie?”
“He’ll want the money first and foremost.”
Mary Lou smiled.
“And then he’ll want us dead.”
He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back.
“We'll deal with that cocksucker before all this is over.”
“Sure will, babe. But right now we gotta focus on getting into Vegas and grabbing our earnings.”
They paid up, returned to the car and gunned the vehicle toward the entertainment capital of the world.
FRANK DROVE IN utter silence. Neither he nor Mary Lou wanted to say a word, both wrapped in their thoughts: these might be the last few minutes of their lives.
Along the Salt Lake Highway and into Vegas, the car passed by the Silver Nugget and reached the fork that split North Main from Las Vegas Boulevard. Frank turned left onto the Boulevard and then right on Fremont. The railroad station loomed straight at them and Mary Lou peered into the distance hoping to catch sight of the mob, the Feds and who knows what.
“Drop into the parking lot, hon’.”
Frank pulled into a space pointing at the exit in case they needed a fast getaway.
“Ready?”
“Let’s do it.”
They both left the car at the same time and closed their doors in tandem. They took the long route to the building, around the edge of the lot, so they stayed in the shadows as much as possible.
A steady trickle of people came and went: it was still early enough for rush hour. When they reached the main entrance, men and women jostled them as they stood staring into the large open space that made up the station foyer. To the left, ticket counters and to the right, lockers. Straight ahead were the gates leading to the platforms.
Frank and Mary Lou headed off to wait in line for a ticket. He stared at the lockers and she kept her eye on the passengers as they scurried around the concourse.
“See anything?”
“Dunno. Maybe.”
“Where?”
“By the entrance to platform one.”
Mary Lou followed the platform signs counting down: three, two, one. Ten feet from the gate stood a guy who spent his entire time staring at the lockers. He remained stationary, leaning against the wall with his full concentration on the left luggage area.
“Three piece suit in Summer?”
“A mob man...”
“... or a Fed.”
“Not with those shoes.”
Frank was right. No Hoover man would wear brown brogues: not regulation footwear. Either he was an honest Joe citizen or he was the mob. Mary Lou wasn't certain but she doubted he was one of Frankie’s boys. Over the years, she’d seen almost all of them.
“Let’s not waste any money on a train ticket.”
They left the line and sauntered, arm in arm, off to a newsstand fifteen feet further away from the main entrance. Frank bought a paper and Mary Lou grabbed some gum. The couple stood next to each other, pretending to read the front page together while staring at Paulie, the guy in the three-piece. He never moved.
“What we gonna do?”
“Have to assume he’s not kosher.”
“If someone looks like a rat and smells like a rat...”
“... chances are he is a rat.”
“Looks like he’s gnawing on a piece of cheese right now.”
Mary Lou giggled and dug an elbow into Frank’s side.
“That’s a mouse, silly. Rats eat anything. They don’t care.”
“If he’s got a description of us, we’re toast.”
“Where are the bags?”
“Second column at the far end by the window.”
“So there’s no way to sneak around the lockers, grab the bags and leave without him spotting us?”
“No chance whatsoever. He’s perched there for a reason. He’s no fool.”
The two carried on looking, desperate to find some leverage.
“We could always plain shoot him.”
“Not from this range, babe. Besides, do you not think people might notice? We need time to reach the lockers and get the hell out of Dodge.”
“Okay, shooting him isn't the way but as far as I can tell, we've got to convince him to leave his post. Killing him is one method.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I suck him off in the bathroom and we kill him there.”
“Sure, but mobsters tend not to let themselves get lured off the job even by a siren such as beautiful you.”
“Charmer.”
Beat.
“You’re right. If he was an average Joe it’d work, but this suit is a professional.”
“So we must figure out how to whack him if we can’t fuck him off his perch.”
“Yep, hon’.”
“And shooting him is out of the question.”
“I’ve no silencer. A single shot will ring out in this building and bring a ton of shit raining down on us.”
“We don’t need that, for sure.”
Beat.
“You got a knife?”
“Um, no. You seen me with a knife these past few days?”
“No but I thought it might be worth asking.”
“Let’s focus on what we can do rather than making up kit we don’t have.”
He turned the page to continue the charade of news reading. Meanwhile, they both looked, pondered and looked again.
“Stay here for a minute.”
Mary Lou walked off to the other side of the main entrance, leaving Frank to wonder what was going on. When she returned, he noticed the sparkle in her eyes and the upturned corners of her mouth.
“I've got it.”
“Spill.”
“Go on.”
“One of us goes onto the platform, through the service room and sneaks up behind him while the other walks across to the lockers. He'll be staring at the one heading to the bags and the other can break the fucker’s neck.”
Frank nodded.
“Like it. Who'll snap the guy’s spine and who will risk being shot by the dude as we open a locker?”
28
FRANK BOUGHT A ticket to New York from the kiosk as that was the next train to leave platform one. Mary Lou stood some way off so they wouldn't appear to be a couple. He showed his rectangular piece of card to the station guard, who let him proceed.
That was Mary Lou's cue to head towards the lockers - not too fast but with enough speed so Joe would recognize her and stay glued to his spot. As she walked across the railroad foyer, a man approached her. Mary Lou gripped the strap of her handbag: he didn't alter his trajectory.
“Excuse me, miss.”
She looked at him and carried on walking.
“Sorry, miss. Can I have one second please?”
He wore a blue suit with a white shirt and no tie and no hat. Mary Lou remained silent and tried to ignore him.
“Just a moment of your time.”
The john wasn’t going away soon. If she didn't stop, there’d be a commotion and she couldn’t afford that to happen right now. Not at this precise minute.
“What?”
“Did you drop these gloves?”
She glanced down at his hand, which proffered a pair of white silk gloves.
“No. Sorry. Not mine.”
Mary Lou started walking again having disposed of the guy nice and easy.
“Well, can I help you with wherever you’re going?”
“No thanks. I'm good.”
“I'm sure you are but can I help you?”
“Now why do you want to do that?”
“You are an incredibly attractive woman. I can’t think of another way to spend a single second more in your company.”
“Get out of here, bud, before I call the cops. I'm a married woman and don’t need your sort soiling my day.”
“Only saying...”
The guy wandered off to find another woman to schmooze. Mary Lou turned her head to the left to discover whether Frank had got through the service corridor yet but no sign of him. She was almost at the lockers and she must already be within Joe’s field of vision by now.
Mary Lou walked down the first line of metal boxes, pretending to check on their numbers. Her key was still hidden and she had no intention of taking it out until they were ready.
Having arrived at the end, she worked her way back via the second row passing their own lockers. Then she did the same with the third and final aisle. When she got to the end, she sauntered nearer the platforms and spotted Joe continuing to lean against the wall. Bad news: he should be dead by now.
FRANK SHOWED HIS ticket to the guard who clipped it and let him through. On the left-hand side was the New York train and on the right was a wall. A hundred feet along Frank made out a door marked for staff only.
He marched for about seventy feet then stopped and leaned against the wall and pretended to read the contents of his paper. Once he was sure the guard was busy with another passenger, Frank moved down the platform and tried the door handle. Locked, Goddamn it.
Two deep breaths and Frank went for the door knob again. This time he twisted it in the other direction and the wood pinged open. A quick dart inside and Frank left the platform and entered a darkened room. He’d been so fast at closing the door, he had no light to find the switch. He felt along the wall either side of the door until a large enough square appeared under his fingertips. In the middle was a flipper which he pulled upwards.
A solitary bulb sprang into life in the center of the ceiling and an array of filing cabinets and a desk appeared before him. On the far side of the room was another door. This is the one he assumed would lead him to Joe. Frank padded over and tried its door knob. This time it was locked shut.
A trip to the desk revealed nothing but the acid taste of disappointment and none of the cabinets contained anything but papers, files and more papers. Frank bent down to examine the lock and breathed a sigh of relief. He pulled a hair pin from his wallet - kept for just such occasions - and twiddled it around the the lock while he listened to the sounds inside. He heard a clunk and he knew he'd picked the mechanism.
Aware of the noise he’d generated on the other side, Frank opened it a crack to check what was happening and scanned the reception foyer and Joe leaning against the wall not twenty feet away. The only reason Joe hadn’t noticed the door open was because of the hubbub in the station and that his attention was taken up by some activity at the lockers.
29
RICO WAS BORED rigid. He had been waiting at the station for a lifetime and had achieved nothing apart from a stiff back and aching legs. But that didn't stop him: he was certain he was in the right place if only the thieves would show up and prove him correct. Each time someone walked close to the lockers, Rico watched their every move but there had only been two people so far who’d even gone near that part of the station.
Now a woman had surfaced who kinda looked like the description in his pocket - only she had black hair, not blond. That could have come out of a bottle. The behavior which piqued Rico’s interest was that she walked up and down each line of lockers but did nothing more than that. Strange. People know which locker they need to return to. When she got to the end of the last row, the dame hurried back to his side of the lockers and stared straight at him. He was sure of that.
Rico stood upright, no longer leaning against the wall. He put his hand in his pants pocket to remind himself he was packing heat. Then he took a step forward - and halted. The dame was acting weird, although that didn't mean she had a million in bank notes in her panties. Yes she looked cute and had caught his attention, but did that make her one of the robbers? He hung there and waited to see what she did next.
Without warning, a hand covered his mouth and an arm engulfed his throat. He choked, but no sound came out because of the vice-like grip of the palm over his lips. Tried to scream but nothing. Four seconds later, Rico ceased to feel anything as Frank twisted his head and snapped his neck.
Rico slumped to the ground and Frank dragged him back into the staff room. All they had to do now was get the money and leave the station.
AS SOON AS Frank returned to the foyer, Mary Lou slipped to the end of the lockers and fumbled inside her skirt and panties to grab the key.
“You okay?”
“Sure thing, babe. Key?”
He took the warm metal proffered to him and headed straight to a locker and pulled out one of the black bags. Then he bent down to tie his shoe and flashed the other key in the palm of his hand. Twenty seconds later, he was carrying a bag too and they both walked, fingers entwined, out the main entrance and into the parking lot.
At that point, they heard an enormous bellow ring out around the foyer. Joe had been found and the word ‘murder’ was carrying in the air. A whistle blew and they had only a few seconds before the cops cordoned off the station and swarmed round the place.
He picked up the pace until they reached the car and threw both bags into the back.
“You drive.”
“Are you sure, hon’?”
“Not a discussion. Let’s do it.”
Mary Lou left the parking space and headed out the lot. A Vegas cop was already standing at the entrance looking in on every vehicle. When Mary Lou’s turn came to pass him, Officer Sanchez stopped them in their tracks.
“Steady, babe.”
She wound down her window and opened her mouth to speak.
“Hello, ma’am.”
“Hi, officer. Anything the matter?”
“There’s been an incident inside the
station and we’re just checking everyone at the moment.”
“Oh, how unpleasant.”
“Yes, ma’am. Who’s in the car with you?”
“My husband.”
“Morning, sir.”
“Morning, officer.”
“Not driving, sir?”
“A long journey to get here and I’m tired. Thought I’d let the little lady take the strain.”
“Where you traveled from?”
“Seattle. Been stuck in a tin can for a lifetime.”
“I bet. There’s no direct route from Seattle to Vegas, is there?”
“Nope. Had to change in Chicago.”
“Okay, move along now then.”
Sanchez waved them forwards and stopped the car behind them instead.
“Nice and steady, babe.”
“Five miles under the speed limit, hon’.”
“Let’s take a trip to the Convention Center.”
Mary Lou did as instructed and drove down the strip, turned left and left again. The convention parking lot was huge.
“Time for a new ride.”
They drove round a while, like they were in a store choosing a dress. Every so often, she would slow down for Frank to take a better look at a vehicle but either it was too new or too old, too clean or too dirty.
“How about that pickup?”
“Bit big for our needs isn’t it?”
“Maybe but it’d be the kind of car to get stolen in this lot wouldn't you say?”
“Good point, but it doesn’t feel right somehow.”
“We must steal something soon or we’ll run out of gas, Frank.”
“I know, but I don't want to mess this up.”
More slow-mo driving until Mary Lou reckoned they’d covered every aisle in the lot - and still no decision made. She was getting impatient. Each minute they remained in Vegas was another opportunity for the Feds, the mob, Frankie’s boys or the local cops to catch them. She ground her molars.
“Let me find one, hon’ ‘cause we gotta get outta here.”
Frank nodded and squeezed her knee. He was paralyzed by indecision but didn't want to admit it to himself or Mary Lou.
The Lagotti Family Series Page 39
