“And if the moneylender’s people get in the way?”
“They get in the way. Our orders are to retrieve the money. No instructions about anything else.”
The corner of Paulie’s mouth curled up and Rico understood the situation. His shoulders sagged and he relaxed into the conversation.
“When do we hear about the meet?”
“It’s scheduled for Sunday some time. We need to be patient and to get there prompt.”
“Hire a car and lie by a pool?”
“Like the plan.”
“It has a simplicity even I can remember.”
“Works for me.”
“Throw the net into the sea and wait to catch a fish.”
Rico nodded and they lulled back into silence. Then he looked up.
“Not a fish: a shark.”
“Two sharks.”
“We’ll need a big net.”
They both smiled and continued to stare into their mugs. Neither had anything to say to the other by now.
“Let’s get going. The sooner we're in LA, the sooner we’re soaking in the rays.”
“You said it.”
Paulie threw a few notes down onto the table and the two besuited men left the diner and headed back to their vehicle.
“Need some smokes first.”
Rico nodded and leant against the car while Paulie sauntered down Main Street to get to the nearest convenience store. Before heading to the counter, he walked up and down the aisles in search of something he couldn't quite put a name to. He noticed the clothing at the back of the store and wondered whether the Lagottis had been here earlier. He tried to memorize the patterns for future use but doubted he had done a fantastic job.
At the counter, he took a carton so if they holed up somewhere, he’d be fine for cigarettes until this escapade was over. Nothing worse than being stuck without nicotine. Back at the car, Rico nodded at him and before he opened the door, he posed a simple question:
“Will the West Coast syndicates leave us alone?”
Paulie left the key in the lock and stared at his colleague and blinked once.
“No. No, we won’t. We'll need to be circumspect - they won't appreciate our trampling over their turf.”
“Is there anything your connections can do to ease our passage?”
“Let’s say there’s some bad blood between the two families.”
Rico stared back at Paulie and took in this new information.
“So we’re going into alien territory for the sake of some money two robbers stole?”
“That sounds about right.”
“With no backup?”
“None.”
“Are you not worried?”
“Concerned: yes. Worried: no.”
“And the difference is...?”
“All we have to do is get to the meet with the Shylock and shoot every dumb fucker who's breathing. After, we walk over, collect the money and leave town before any of Nicolo Licata’s men find out we’re there. By the time they’re checking for fingerprints, we’ll be back in Vegas shacked up at the Flamingo with pussy coming out of our wazoo.”
Rico’s expression glazed over as he imagined what he would do to the women covering his naked flesh with their tongues and other body parts. He smiled.
“I thought you’d see it my way. That’s why I'm not worried. We have to keep our wits about us and be handy with our firearms.”
“A pistol each and a few rounds?”
“Nah.”
Paulie pointed to the rear of the car and popped the trunk. At the back of the space, behind their overnight bags, was a wooden box with a metal latch. He hauled it nearer for he and Rico to see its contents. When Paulie opened the box, Rico let out a whistle.
“Semi-automatics: respect.”
“Received with thanks. I like to go on a job when I am fully prepared and not a second before.”
“That improves the odds in our favor. You kept that stash under your hat.”
“A carpenter doesn’t brag about his saw.”
“Those are serious fucking saws, man.”
Paulie closed the box and pushed it to its earlier resting place.
“Shall we go?”
“You bet. We have a date with destiny.”
“Close enough.”
PAULIE DROVE THEM the rest of the way to LA and they managed about twenty words across the hours in proximity to each other. Rico allowed himself to get lost in the radio station Paulie put on and time passed by.
Once they reached the outskirts of the city without a centre, Paulie decided where to head. The West Coast mob was a threat only in as far as it held nominal control of Los Angeles and the surrounding areas. There were only a few dozen men left in LA ever since Old Man Nick took over the family the year before. Even though Nick was under-exploiting his territory - much to the annoyance of Charlie Pentangelo - didn't mean he was without power in his home town. They’d need to fly below the radar for their time by the sea.
They headed to Huntington Beach south of Santa Ana. It was about as far away from the center of Californian life while still being in LA. Once arrived, they checked into a nondescript hotel overlooking the sandy front and waited.
Rico suggested trawling through local fences but Paulie pointed out this would only increase their profile with the West Coast syndicate and do nothing to help them track down the Lagottis. Much to Rico’s annoyance, Paulie was right. So to make up for their inability to do anything constructive, the pair headed to the rooftop of their hotel, sank some martinis and sat in the sun until the Lagottis appeared in LA.
34
WITH THEIR FACES all over the local news, there was no chance to stop anywhere within the forests of the East Mojave National Scenic Area. A silence descended in the car with Frank’s hand still resting on Mary Lou's thigh - the only comfort in the cabin apart from the slow warm breeze emitting from the air conditioning.
“Let's ditch the car, Frank.”
“But we need to be careful where we’re seen.”
“Sure thing.”
Beat.
“I'm scared Frank.”
“We’ll get through this.”
“They know what we look like and where we are.”
“We’ll dye our hair again and change our clothes. And they got a handle on where we were - not where we are heading.”
“Frankie knows it’s LA and so the mob will too.”
“But we have the advantage. We set the meet and pick the location. We control the situation. They'll have no choice: we will get through this.”
“I want to believe. I don’t want to die and I don't want to go to prison either.”
“You and me both.”
Husband and wife smiled together.
“How well do you know LA?”
“Never been there in my life.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“No. Why?”
“You said you met some people there so I...”
“I have connections but that doesn’t mean I've visited the place.”
“Oh. But your connections...”
“... are real. This guy was with me in the joint. We got on well - we looked after each other. Mark was from LA and returned there after his release.”
“Do you trust him?”
“With my life.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
Mary Lou watched as the car sped past the line of trees at the side of the highway. Nothing but foliage as far as she could see. A small window of light up ahead like a tunnel etched out of the trunks as they looked over them. Always five below the speed limit.
Fifteen miles later and Frank barked an order.
“Buckle up!”
Mary Lou didn't need to be told twice: not with that tone of voice. Frank removed his hand from her upper thigh and placed it on the wheel. He maintained their speed at a constant rate and she saw the blur of a state trooper vehicle as it scooted past. Chances were it was out to fil
l up on a daily quota of speeding tickets but they weren't sure.
Frank kept most of his attention on the rearview mirror for the next minute. Mary Lou tried to use the side mirror to check on progress - she didn't turn around as only the guilty look back like that.
Another sixty seconds and Frank’s hand returned to stroke her thigh. She felt like breathing once more and, despite the lightness of his touch, a small tingle spread from her crotch up her spine. Ten miles later and the trees thinned out until the openness of the country was visible from the highway. Twenty miles further and they entered Barstow.
On the outskirts was a picture house. Five hundred feet later, they passed a convenience store, restaurant, clothes store, a place to pick up a rifle - the usual contents of a hick town with nothing to offer but the dream of departure.
Frank pulled in around the corner from this main drag.
“Time for a change, babe.”
“I’ll go. You stay here.”
He looked at her and thought for a second.
“Sure. Safer than both of us on the street.”
“Clothes. Hair color. Something to eat.”
“And a coffee if you can find one.”
“Will do, hon’. If I'm not back in thirty, get the fuck out of Dodge.”
“I’ll wait for you for an eternity. Take as long as you need.”
Mary Lou kissed him on the lips like she would never see him again. She got out and walked over to the main parade. There was almost no-one about. She checked her watch: lunch time. Why was the place so empty? She felt her stomach tighten as her nerves kicked in and the adrenaline flowed around her bloodstream.
First she hit the convenience store, careful to put on her sunglasses to hide her face. She grabbed all she could find and paid, not saying a word to anyone. The storekeeper wanted to chat - not enough customers today - but Mary Lou was having none of it.
In the clothes store, their lumberjack look would make them stick out in LA so she sought some city things at the back of the store. Two miniskirts for herself, a pair of slacks and some pants for Frank. Black and white tee shirts for both of them, a pretty blouse and a plain shirt in Frank’s colors. And a jacket each to hide any hardware they’d need to carry.
Shoot. She’d forgotten hair dye and had to go back to the convenience store and the talkative owner. She took advantage of her return to buy two more pairs of sunglasses and two hats - a beret for herself and Fedora for Frank. He wouldn't be happy about it but it’d help to make his face harder to see.
A glance at her watch again: thirty five minutes since she left the car. Why had everything taken so long? She scurried back to where Frank had parked but he wasn’t there. She spun round but nothing. He had promised her an eternity and given her less than an hour. Her breathing kicked into overdrive and she leaned against the wall of a building.
In the periphery of her vision, despite the blurring in her eyes, Mary Lou noticed a vehicle had pulled up in front of her. She ignored it for a second and tried to regain her composure. Then she looked up.
“Frank!”
“Used the time to get us a fresh ride.”
Mary Lou threw her purchases onto the backseat and jumped in.
“I thought you’d gone.”
She squeezed his thigh and grabbed his crotch briefly as Frank drove away.
“Mary Lou, I’ll wait for you for an eternity - and I meant it.”
She smeared away the tear falling down her left cheek.
“Let’s wait a few miles so we can bury what we’re wearing.”
Their new dark brown saloon traveled at five miles an hour below the speed limit out of Barstow and headed toward Victorville on the way to LA.
ANTHONY PUT THE phone down and thought about Frank Senior’s instructions: head to LA, meet up with the Lagotti couple, secure the money and torture the pair of them. If they die, bury them in the sand. If they survive, bring them to Baltimore.
“The Lagottis’ time in Vegas is over, my friends. They are off to Los Angeles.”
Bobby nodded and Mickey stared at Anthony awaiting further information. Anthony looked straight back at Mickey, not understanding what the man was waiting for.
“And?”
“So we will follow them to Los Angeles.”
Each word was spat out so Mickey could understand the line of argument with no further repetition.
"Mickey. Let’s pack up.”
Bobby savored the moment because Anthony’s eyes were misting over into rage - and there was no need for any of them to get hot and bothered. Mickey would come into his own very soon. What he lacked in brains, he gained in muscle. The guy handled himself in a tight corner: with a gun, a knife or with his fists. On those occasions he was handy to have hanging around.
Ten minutes later and the three men walked out the lobby with a bag each. Into their car with Anthony behind the wheel and the other two in the back.
“To the City of Angels.”
Bobby issued the command after Anthony had pulled away and was on the highway. Anthony scowled at him in the rearview mirror but the corner of his mouth revealed he got the joke. The complacent smile on Mickey’s face showed he very much had missed the point.
“Do we wait for instructions from Frank Senior when we arrive?”
“Yep. As far as I know, Frank and Mary Lou are due to arrive in town soon and will arrange a meetup with Frank Senior for Sunday. We go there, we grab the cash and we are done.”
“And we can torture them if we want?”
“Once we have the money safe and secure, Mickey. Yes. Only once we have the money.”
“Got it, boss.”
Bobby’s expression showed Anthony he too was finding Mickey difficult - they had been cooped up with the fella for far too long. In the past, Anthony gave the guy a call and, two minutes later, Mickey had sufficient information to whack some dude.
These past few days had tested everyone’s patience. Anthony tried his best not to snap at Mickey but, as every day passed, this was getting harder. The guy meant well, but he had only a few brain cells to call his own. Anthony heard a story that Mickey used to be a boxer but had to quit because he got punch drunk. He found the tale difficult to believe: the man was slow on the uptake but possessed a clarity of thought and precision in the art of maiming and killing. He was no Jake la Motta.
The car sped out of Vegas and hit the highway to Barstow, Victorville and beyond. Mickey stared out the window at the wonders of the forestry that surrounded them for much of the first leg of their journey. Bobby tapped his hand on his knee in time to the music Anthony played on the radio.
Like everyone on the Vegas to LA run, Anthony pulled the car over at Barstow and they ate a burger and stretched their legs. The town existed only as a place for drivers to stop and get a breath of fresh air. Inhalations paid for every brick in town.
One diner, three men and two burgers and a steak then back to the road and an uneventful journey to LA. Once they arrived, Anthony took them to a hotel in Long Beach. It was a location he’d heard of before as he had no clue where the meetup with the Lagottis would take place. So Long Beach sounded as good a locale to wait as any other.
Compton Plaza was a small family-run establishment whose income relied on the kindness of strangers passing through town on their way to somewhere else. Anthony reckoned this meant the three men would be left well enough alone and, if anyone came sniffing by, the proprietor knew better than to provide any real information. Discretion in fleapits is quite common.
Anthony and Bobby nested in the hotel room and Mickey talked about planning a tourist trip the following day. Anthony explained how they should stick together and wait for Frank Senior’s call but Mickey was having none of it.
“If they ain’t showin’ until Sunday that means we got tomorrow off.”
His logic was sharp and, because he could handle himself so well, he didn’t consider the possibility he should lie low until he was needed. From Mickey’s perspective,
he was in LA for the first - and only - time in his life and he should make the most of the opportunity.
Pizza boxes mounted in the room and the wait for Frank and Mary Lou continued. Anthony would return to Baltimore with a heap of cash and two warm bodies, only slightly mutilated.
SATURDAY JUNE 28
35
FRANK DROVE TOWARD Burbank as it sounded as good a place to aim as any other in Los Angeles. They circled round several times passing three motels and one hotel. He pulled over on the other side of the road to the Clement Fitzrovia Hotel. He and Mary Lou watched the entrance for twenty minutes.
“Quiet place.”
“Yes, babe.”
“Big enough for us to get lost among the other guests.”
“That’s what I'm thinking too.”
Mary Lou continued to gaze at the hotel frontage with its stucco designs alluding to a 1920s heritage. The main entrance comprised a set of faded bronze swing doors set in an oak frame. A patio area separated the hotel from the main drag and lent the place an air of refined dignity. Closer inspection of the lobby revealed crumbling wallpaper, botched paint jobs and an overwhelming need for basic maintenance.
If they had been holidaymakers, Frank and Mary Lou would have turned around and found somewhere with more pleasant surroundings. But this was the venue they needed: some place where few people turned up and the staff cared little for the patrons who bothered to show.
“How long will you be staying?”
“At least two nights, but maybe a week.”
“Well, if you could be here for a week, let’s put you in a junior suite.”
“No need for special treatment.”
“Not at all. We like to give the rooms an airing.”
Frank liked the implication their room would be isolated from the rest of the clientele. The front desk clerk summoned a bellboy to help them with their bags but, despite his best efforts, Mary Lou refused to allow him to take the black bag out of her hand. To placate the teenager, Frank handed him the bag with their clothes: like every other bellboy before and since, he needed to make his tip.
The Lagotti Family Series Page 42
