The Lagotti Family Series

by Leopold Borstinski

  Four storefronts further on Hester, Mary Lou stopped, opened her bag and pulled out a compact mirror and lipstick. For no obvious reason, she stared at her forehead, eyes, cheeks, lips and chin in the circular reflection. Then she put the objects back in her bag and removed a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches. After six, no seven, attempts, she kept the flame alight long enough to ignite the end of her smoke. A deep inhalation and she continued down Hester.

  Anyone who knew her in Manhattan would have known what she was really up to. Mary Lou was pretty certain Pentangelo was based within one or two buildings from the corner of Hester and Mulberry - unless Arnold was misinformed. As she’d gone so far west, she reckoned Pentangelo must have been behind her. The mirror proved her right. Like all great capos, he was flanked by two well-dressed goons and sported a gray flannel suit with the jacket nuzzling defiantly around his shoulders.

  By messing about with her cigarette, she gave him enough time to overtake her. Then they played cat-and-mouse along the sidewalk as he crossed there and back, grabbing an orange off one stall and talking with a storekeeper a little further on. All the while, his two gorillas stood only three feet away from him.

  As she and Arnold thought: there was no way to plug him and flee the scene without getting a slug from one or both of those heavies. When they walked past, she noticed the bulge in their jacket pockets, reflecting the exact position of their revolvers. They’d be high caliber - massive power to be unleashed with a thunderous clap.

  They continued along Hester until Pentangelo headed south onto Baxter. Mary Lou kept walking in case the goons were getting twitchy. When she reached the far side, she turned south remaining on the opposite sidewalk for two hundred feet. The three men stopped and Pentangelo spoke in hushed tones. His mouth was inches from their ears: no-one would hear his instructions other than the intended recipient.

  They nodded and one walked back north. The other stayed with Pentangelo as he disappeared into a doorway. Mary Lou wanted to follow straight inside, but she knew she had to deal with the pinstripe gorilla first. There was no point entering the lion’s den if an army was about to be brought in behind her.

  Instead, she leaned against a building window as if she was feeling faint, but this was New York so nobody came to help. She watched Pinstripe retrace his steps back to the corner and then he stopped, planted his feet into the paving slabs and waited.

  He made everybody walk round him - he plain didn’t care. And he was sufficiently well known by most locals that they shifted away from him before they needed to. The man’s reputation preceded him.

  What was he doing? Who was he waiting for? Two minutes later and the mystery was resolved: a woman appeared holding a bunch of flowers - white, purple and an unusual shade of brown. The goon put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a roll of green. Far too big an amount to be carrying on the New York streets but that didn’t seem to be bother him. Cash handed over, he took ownership of the flowers and headed into Pentangelo’s building.

  Mary Lou waited a short while before making any move. The last thing she needed was to go through the front door only to be met by Pentangelo and his gorillas coming straight out. So doing nothing was the best option, but this wasn’t one of Mary Lou’s strengths. Her desire to get the job done gnawed at her stomach, but she held firm and made sure her feet remained glued to the sidewalk.

  She tried counting slowly to ten, but that took only a few seconds. Another cigarette and she let it burn through without one inhalation. That was five minutes clear and she could wait no longer. A uniform cop walked his beat past her and she waited some more for him to make his way down the street. When he was four hundred feet away, she jaywalked over to Pentangelo’s entrance.

  Now the first decision of significance for the assassination of Charlie Pentangelo. To go in the front or take a different route inside? Every instinct told her to follow the plan and walk straight in, but part of her wanted sneak round the back and get in some other way.

  Arnold’s words echoed in her head: they won’t suspect a pretty broad with a sob story. Anyone else will be met with a hail of bullets. That sealed Mary Lou’s fate as she strode to the front door and pushed it aside, entering the lobby in one swift motion. No matter what happened next, there was no turning back.

  Mary Lou squinted in the half-light, trying to get a feel for the first floor interior. To her right, immediately next to the entrance, were a row of mailboxes. The lobby was unassuming and small: no more than twenty feet by twenty. An elevator door, paired brown to match the walls, stood facing her and to the right was a sign indicating the stairs.

  The elevator system was modeled on an art déco design with a dial containing numbers from one to six and an arrow pointing at the appropriate digit representing each floor. As Mary Lou examined the dial, she witnessed the arrow leave number four and start its return to one. She braced herself and sprinted for the stairs. No sooner was she hidden behind the stairwell door than the elevator opened to reveal... no-one.

  The cockroach by her feet heard Mary Lou exhale and she returned to the lobby. The insect scurried back into a dark hole in the skirting. She stood in front of the open bronze door, sighed and stepped inside. One finger pressed ‘four’ and the doors slid shut. Several deep gulps of air and she clutched the strap of her bag. The next minute would dictate the shape of the rest of her life.

  A whir and a clunk as the machinery weaved its magic spell and hauled Mary Lou up to the fourth floor as she undid another button on her blouse. The box juddered to a halt and screamed open to reveal an ordinary corridor with small apartments scattered behind the row of doors before her. The two gorillas stood either side of a particular doorway and Mary Lou knew she’d found her quarry.

  She shimmied over to the nearest gorilla and looked up at him. As she approached, his eyes bore down on her breasts and upper legs and - against her will - a warmth spread across her cheeks. While she was annoyed with herself for reacting that way, she understood how it played well for her conversation with him.

  “Excuse me, but I need to speak with Mr. Pentangelo.”

  “Do you, missy?”

  “Yessir. It’s on a mighty delicate matter.”

  Mary Lou sent her eyes downwards and she placed her free hand on her belly, immediately over her rose tattoo. She stroked it twice and left it on her stomach, implying there was something beneath her palm she needed to keep safe.

  Now it was the gorilla’s turn to turn a shade of red and he looked at his colleague, who’d been stood on the other side of the doorway and had observed everything, but without moving one iota of his body.

  “Is he expecting you?”

  Mary Lou sashayed over to the other guy and made sure she straightened her back when she halted within two feet of him to afford him the maximum opportunity to eye up her cleavage. The strategy worked because the next four seconds he said nothing and just stared. During this enormous gulf of time, the first gorilla ogled from the side. His gaze burned the sides of her breasts and the point on her thigh where her miniskirt ended. All part of the plan, but it still made her feel dirty and used. And that made her angry - very much not part of the plan. To succeed, she must play the game cool. Cool as an ice cube.

  She shifted weight from one foot to the other and that gave both gorillas another opportunity to enjoy the view some more. Mary Lou picked off some imaginary fluff from the gorilla’s jacket and smiled at him, feigning nerves.

  “Do you think I can see him?”

  “You haven’t answered our question.”

  “Huh? What’s a girl to do? I’m so confused.”

  “An appointment. Do you have one?”

  Mary Lou detected an edge to his voice, like suspicions were growing inside his pea-sized brain. Stay calm. Stay cold.

  “I’m afraid not. You see, I’ve just received some shocking news and I came straight round to seek help. And justice.”

  As she uttered the last two words, she put her hand back on he
r stomach and implied a connection between the baby in her belly and some wrongdoing. Had she drawn enough dots for this lunk to see the implicit picture she painted?

  Perhaps her nervousness was conspiring against her, but at that precise moment, Mary Lou noticed a shifting of the steel touching her groin. If that snub nose moved any more then it would land on the floor and she’d be dead in less than three seconds.

  Good news was that her genuine anxiety played right into her hand. The two goons huddled and whispered to each other for half a minute.

  “Wait here.”

  The one she’d first spoken to took her shoulder and pushed her back to the other side of the corridor. A firm but gentle move. No aggression or anger: she wasn’t a perceived threat. The pistol shifted again and some piece of metal cut into her flesh. Mary Lou gritted her teeth and hoped this would all end soon. Like real fast.

  The other goon opened the apartment door and slithered inside. She leaned against the wall and pushed one knee in front of the other to appear coquettish and to change position and shift the revolver to a more comfortable location. Mary Lou made sure she didn’t make eye contact with the goon. A woman in her state would be too embarrassed to look this guy directly at him.

  A painful minute stretched to eternity as they waited in silence for a decision from the high priest inside. Finally, the door opened and the goon slithered back out.

  “You’re in luck. He’ll listen to what you have to say.”

  “Oh thank you.”

  “I done nothing, lady. It’s the big man eating his lunch, you should thank.”

  “Now we gotta search you. It’s the rules, see?”

  A lascivious grin took over the first gorilla’s expression as he stepped one pace toward her. Mary Lou knew this moment would come and braced herself for its passing.

  Plump fingers fumbled over her sides and lingered on her breasts far too long, but she said and did nothing. Much worse had happened to her in the past and if she survived being frisked then she’d get to Pentangelo. Those sweaty hands stopped mauling her chest and continued on their journey to her stomach and then made their way to her back. This meant he stepped inches from her face so he could reach and she inhaled his stale breath.

  Last, he kneeled down with his head by her groin and patted down her legs. Right one first, working from her foot up past the hem of her skirt. Her muscles tensed slightly and his grin appeared to tighten on his face some more. Five inches further and she knew he’d touch the steel of her piece.

  Then the fingers swapped legs and he stroked the inside of her thighs before heading to her left foot. All the while, she said nothing and let him find what little pleasure he could in what Mary Lou hoped would be the final minutes of his life.

  “She’s clean.”

  “Not that clean or she wouldn’t be seeking a meet with Charlie.”

  Both men laughed and, for a second, acted as though she wasn’t there. Then one opened the door for her and Mary Lou entered the lion’s den.

  36

  ARNOLD STRAPPED HIMSELF into that sweatbox of a car for four more hours. He convinced himself that taking too many breaks would just delay the arrival time, but halfway through and the sweltering heat became too much to bear and he forced the vehicle to park outside a nondescript diner.

  There was little to speak of inside either, but Arnold selected a booth underneath a ceiling fan and ordered a glass of water with a glass of ice - and a bite to eat. When the steak and fries arrived, he asked for a coffee too. No matter how hot he felt on the outside, he knew the brew would refresh him on the inside. There was nothing like a steaming hot cup of java.

  He hit the head and went back to his car, wiped the sweat off the driver’s seat and stepped inside. Within seconds he was as drenched as before he entered Dexy’s Diner.

  “Fucking Californian highways.”

  Arnold’s foot hit the gas and he carried on towards his least favorite city in America. Why LA? To Arnold, it had no heart - there was nowhere you could be in the middle. Just an endless series of ghettos interspersed by nothing. And if that wasn’t bad enough: there was Hollywood. The immense wealth surrounded by an ocean of poverty. He was no Communist, but Arnold didn’t think people should earn that much money without breaking into a sweat - like he did.

  Twenty years before, he’d have been a member of Murder Inc, the mob family that resolved all family conflict. They were paid a good wage, but nothing too crazy. As a gun for hire, Arnold commanded an A-list fee for his services - and earned every penny. The reason his clientele kept coming back for more was that he knew how to handle himself in times of trouble and he was a ruthless murderer.

  The outskirts of LA came into view and Arnold stopped at a diner. Straight to the washroom to freshen up and a change of shirt from the trunk of the car. Next he headed off to the Watts district in the south and into the center of Mendoza’s territory.

  He parked the car in the first lot he came to - the advantage of using a false name on a car rental. If he never saw the damn thing would be a day too soon. Arnold vowed to himself an empty promise: to not be so cheap the next time he drove cross country.

  A walk around the nearby blocks revealed the hopelessness of the local youth. They had few options: leave to find their American dream away from their friends or join a gang. Most chose the latter and any who took the first route were long gone.

  Inside a dive bar, Arnold hugged a beer and waited. He knew he’d promised Mary Lou to get the job done today, but his vast experience told him it might take several days to find Mendoza. He kept his ears open and his mouth shut, allowing everyone to ignore this stranger in town. The trick was to take a table near the bar but not to sit on a highchair, because you were bound to steal the silently reserved seat of a local barfly.

  Arnold sat, sipped and waited. His patience was rewarded in less than two hours when two dudes grabbed a brew each and talked. As the height of the beer reduced in their glasses, conversation moved onto the day’s affairs - instead of pissing and moaning about their women.

  “Sancho’s got a bee up his ass.”

  “Any reason?”

  “Trouble in Palm Springs.”

  “What went down?”

  “Murder and mayhem from what I’ve heard. Sancho’s on the warpath. He’s demanding heads on plates.”

  While most would think this chance encounter was way too unlikely to happen within Arnold’s earshot, he hadn’t picked the venue at random. Roach was well aware the Crew Inn was the Mendoza gang’s bar of choice for a late lunchtime drink: he’d dropped a dime when he first hit town. The only thing left to do was to figure out the man’s location. Arnold sipped and waited for the golden nugget.

  Sure enough, less than one beer later, the men had spilled Mendoza’s hole in the ground. Although he was planning to hit the mattresses as soon as he could, he’d done the rounds of his main labs before sending out his goons to reek merry revenge on Mary Lou and Milton.

  Arnold remained in his seat even though he needed no more from the men. He’d learned not to make himself visible when doing nothing could help him vanish into the ether. If no-one saw him leave then chances were that he was never drinking at the Crew Inn at all. Roach spent his life ensuring he had no witnesses to report on his whereabouts to the cops or to the mob. This helped him stay alive despite his vocation.

  Fifteen minutes after the two men left, Arnold stood up and exited the bar. It was time to pay Mendoza a little visit.

  Arnold checked the address twice and stared at the house in front of him. The right place for sure. He continued past the corner plot to see how many men were protecting the joint. Two on each side and an unknown number in the backyard. Plus an even bigger quantity inside - they were processing heroin and Mendoza was not a one-man band.

  He carried on walking up a block until he figured the goons stopped looking at him. Then he leant against a tree and took stock of the situation. The chances of Mendoza being inside were very high. The pr
obability of Roach getting in the building, killing Mendoza and exiting safely was exceedingly low. So he needed to not think about how to get in, but should concentrate on what to do until Mendoza came out.

  From his vantage point, Arnold had a good view of the exit routes from the house, so he could react quickly whenever Mendoza appeared. The issue he had now was that an ordinary Joe doesn’t hang near a tree for hours in the Watts district of South LA. No civilian would dream of doing something that stupid. He’d need some camouflage if he didn’t want to be spotted.

  Squatting in a bush was not Arnold’s style and he looked round the vicinity for inspiration. While the street was residential, not every house was occupied if the boarded-up windows were anything to go by. Arnold counted buildings and walked away from his tree and went to the back of the houses on the other side of the road to Mendoza’s.

  A property diagonally opposite the target had windows made of either broken glass or wooden beams. The chances of any legitimate occupiers was low, but he was still careful as he jimmied open the back door using a piece of metal lying in the backyard.

  Inside was dark due to the boarded-up windows and Arnold wasn’t stupid enough to flip a switch. The art of surveillance was to see but not be seen. To watch and not be noticed. Ideally, you should be able to take a clean shot at a target and get away, but Arnold was less sure this was the right location for the hit itself. He might be well hidden, but there were a lot of fellas on the other side of the street. All way too close for comfort.

  He stumbled his way to the front of the house and struggled to view the staircase well enough to know the upstairs floorboards were safe. Not wishing to take any unnecessary risks, Arnold found his way to a front room with two rectangular windows. One was filled with wood and nails and the other was a gaping hole where glass once lived.