“My name is Mary Lou Lagotti and you will never forget it. So. Long. As. You. Live.”
His eyes remained quizzical and fearful. Then a flicker of recognition and the same orbits widened in understanding and acknowledgement. She pushed the barrel between his teeth and into his mouth. Now he could only breathe through his nose. Small bubbles appeared at his nostrils and Mary Lou enjoyed hearing him pant his short gasps.
“You finished yet, Charlie?”
A muffled voice from the kitchen. Mary Lou assumed the woman had been a cook, but the familiarity of the question meant she must be his wife.
“Will she come in here?”
Mary Lou’s spittle landed on an eyelid, but Pentangelo’s expression showed he had no clue. He glanced at the door and back to Mary Lou.
“Don’t...”
“I don’t care about your wife. If she stays out of my business, I’ll stay out of hers.”
His widened eyes relaxed slightly and a tear departed his right eye. He gulped. They both heard the squeak of the doorknob as Mary Lou squeezed the trigger. With all the stress of getting into the apartment, she had forgotten about not having a silencer.
Charlie Pentangelo’s body flung itself onto the floor, blood splatter landed on the ground before the corpse arrived, and also hit the dining room table and the red wallpaper behind. There was no need for a second shot and Mary Lou knew this before the capo hit the deck. She moved her arm a quarter turn to face the kitchen.
A woman’s hand reached out the door and Charlie’s wife stood there, staring at his carcass. She pissed herself immediately and remained still, whimpering.
“Go back into that kitchen and stay there for ten minutes. If you come out before then, I’ll fucking kill you too. Capiche?”
The frightened mass nodded and slunk back, shutting the door behind her. Mary Lou heard the sobbing start as soon as the door shut. She hurried to the hallway and listened for the gorillas. Despite the retort of the revolver, they hadn’t moved from their positions. She peeked out the fish eye to make certain: nothing. For the first time since she entered the apartment, Mary Lou heard the radio loudly playing an opera. How had she not noticed? It didn’t matter. What counted was getting out here alive. She checked herself in the mirror and opened the front door.
39
WITH THE REVOLVER in her clutch bag, Mary Lou smiled at the two men, both of whom had their arms crossed and stared at her, eyes darting between her cleavage and thighs. She couldn’t help feeling as though they were comparing her skirt before and after, but she convinced herself this was paranoia on her part.
“Everything sorted, little lady?”
Mary Lou glanced downwards as if embarrassed by what had transpired in the apartment.
“Yes, thank you. I’ll be able to sleep easy tonight.”
“Pentangelo is a miracle worker.”
“He sure has set my mind at ease. The man knows how to make a girl smile inside.”
“Certainly does.”
The speaking gorilla winked at his silent partner, who replied with a dirty grin. Mary Lou stepped over to the elevator and pressed the down button. While she waited, she moved sideways so she could continue to hypnotize the man with her breasts. It worked and the longer she stood there, the more engrossed they became. When the doors eventually opened, the nearest gorilla popped his head inside and selected the lobby for her. Of course, he seized the opportunity to place a hand on her ass before removing himself from the elevator.
Using all her self-control, Mary Lou smiled at him as the doors shut and she felt the jolt of the descending mechanism. She stood in the lobby to check it wasn’t going straight back up to the gorillas. Then she popped round to the stairwell to listen for footsteps. Silence - apart from the tiny scuttling of cockroaches and other bugs.
Out the front door and a flick of her head backwards. On the street, Mary Lou strode four long blocks west until she reached Mercer and Grand. Then she hopped a cab to Fifth Avenue and scurried into the first women’s boutique she found. She grabbed a pair of black slacks and a cream blouse. Brown jacket. All paid with cash.
To not draw attention to herself, she walked north half a block and went into a different shop to try on any random garment. When she left the changing rooms, her old clothes were in the shopping bag. The purchased items were draped on her body. Mary Lou sauntered along one of New York’s most famous roads until she reached a trashcan. She threw in her skirt and kept on going. Each trashcan she came across ended up containing an additional object from her bags. After five blocks, the bags were empty and, at the next trashcan, Mary Lou dumped them too.
Another taxi ride took her to Wall Street and she disposed of some pieces of her gun. Two more blocks trudged and Mary Lou disposed of the rest of the revolver. Over Broadway and waited at the corner of Trinity and Rector for a cab to take her to LaGuardia.
She kept her eyes on the road in the hope of willing a taxi to appear, but this was New York and not Hicksville, Tennessee. Before long, the periphery of her vision filled with possible goons. Even though she had been extraordinarily careful, the fear of getting caught hung over her imagination.
“I hope Arnold is doing okay.”
A shiver ran down her spine as she imagined Sancho Mendoza still breathing. She twisted her head right, then left. A suit on the other side of the street was looking at her funny. Had he made her? Did she recognize him, even? Don’t think so and no - in that order. A woman brushed past her and crossed the road to meet him. Paranoia. Focus on getting a cab.
Half a block south, on her side of the street, a man sauntered toward her. Mary Lou thought something was hickey, but couldn’t be sure. As he approached, she noticed a bulge in his jacket breast pocket. Four hundred feet... three hundred feet. He raised his arm and shoved his hand into the bulge. Mary Lou couldn’t take the chance and turned around to walk away. Headed west and picked up the pace, ducking into the entrance of an apartment building. He was still behind her. Nearer now, so he’d increased speed too.
She’d been so careful. Where had this fella come from? No time for that. She ran west until she reached the end of the block. Why had she been so stupid to jettison her only gun? As she sprinted round the corner, he was a mere hundred feet behind. Man, that guy can cover the ground.
A taxi was kerb side and an elderly woman closed the door. It flipped its hire light on and Mary Lou leapt inside.
“Drive, goddamn it!”
The cabbie needed no further instructions: this was downtown Manhattan. As they sped away, she watched out of the rear window and saw the guy stop to catch his breath. She blinked and he was gone.
“LaGuardia. Pronto.”
The battered vehicle bumped up a gear, snapped into a pothole, and bounced its way to the airport. In the back of the cab, Mary Lou checked herself and applied some lipstick. This part of the journey should be simple, she had thought, but now they could get to her anywhere in the city. They’d acted so fast. Perhaps the wife had rushed out before her time was up.
As soon as she clutched the plane ticket in her hand, Mary Lou rushed to the bathroom and hid in a cubicle until the final minute before boarding. When the announcement for the last call came over the public address, she left the safety of her cubicle and joined the throng - careful to remain on the edge of the crowd. Always checking out every face, every person, who looked like they might be on her flight.
Her stress only abated when the pilot instructed the stewardesses to set the doors to automatic. Even then, she clung to the inflight magazine, but didn’t read a single word. Twenty minutes in and the only way to gain any peace of mind was to walk up and down the aisles and assess all the passengers. Everyone seemed clean, so she relaxed and tried to get some rest until Palm Springs.
TUESDAY APRIL 13, 1971
40
MARY LOU TURNED the key in the lock and stepped into the hallway. There was an eerie silence and she feared the worst. She glanced at her watch and saw it was nearly midni
ght. Up the stairs and a look-in to the twins: both asleep, Frank snored like a state trooper and Alice unconscious while her butt stuck up in the air.
A skip down the stairs and into the living room to find Bobby. No-one there. And where was the new housekeeper? Mary Lou couldn’t even remember her name. Did that make her a bad parent? Or a busy assassin? Both. The fine distinction was irrelevant, because the woman was nowhere to be found.
Into the conservatory and a view of the pool. Still nothing. She walked out onto the patio and saw Bobby asleep on a chair. She bent down, touched his shoulder and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead. He stirred and, before he got the chance to rearrange himself, Mary Lou blew in his ear and he woke up with a start.
“What the f...”
“All’s good. Only me. The kids are crashed out upstairs.”
“Jeez. How long you been back?”
“A minute. No more. Everything go okay here? No trouble?”
“Trouble? No, it’s been quiet. Like my conscience.”
“Did what’s-her-name workout?”
“Irma? Sure. I sent her up for the night once the kids were in bed.”
“And they were safe, right?”
“I told you I would look after them.”
“Sure, but they are my babies.”
Bobby laughed.
“Getting older now. Especially Alice. She’s middle-aged before her time.”
Now it was Mary Lou’s turn to smile.
“Yeah, but Frank Jr is still a little boy.”
“Little monkey.”
Mary Lou chuckled again.
“And he has your laugh.”
Beat.
“Was good to spend time with them though. How was your trip?”
“In, shot, out.”
“Trouble?”
“Thought I might have been followed to the airport, but all was fine. Well, I was followed, but I shook my tail.”
Bobby nodded in approval.
“Any word from Arnold?”
“Nothing from him, but Fabio called to say Mendoza was confirmed whacked a few hours ago.”
“Did he not have anything on Arnold?”
“Nope. So it doesn’t look good.”
Mary Lou and Bobby were silent, both contained within their own thoughts. Arnold was dead in all but name. She slumped on a chair of her own and let the unspoken truth settle in their stomachs. The ripples in the water picked up as a breeze increased.
Bobby might not have gone out and killed one of her enemies - like Arnold, but he’d done the single thing no other person had ever done: protected her children with the potential to lose his life. Mary Lou opened her eyes and gazed at the man, lying there in front of her. The creases either side of his eyelids and the folds of his pants near his crotch.
She stood up and took him by the hand and led him indoors.
Sancho Mendoza’s wife, Constanza waited at home for her husband’s return. This regular wait was normal as she never knew when, or if, he would show. He never told her the details of his business affairs, but she was smart enough to never ask. Constanza understood her role was to take care of their children and to prepare food for her beloved Sancho.
When one of his underlings came to the door to inform her that Sancho had been gunned down in a restaurant, the best thing for her to do was don black and find a long veil to cover her face.
While he might have been an average lover and rotten husband and father, Sancho had been a great provider and she was a scrupulous saver. There was a sadness welling up her insides, but her eyes flashed dollars. With the amount of green she’d stashed away over the years, her family be fine for the rest of her life - or so she hoped.
In contrast, Mrs. Pentangelo knew her husband was dead almost before he hit the floor. The noises from the living room were threatening and vicious. The sound of the gun shot still echoed round her skull. She wanted to remember the face of her husband’s killer but she had already repressed the shock of the experience out of her mind. An inevitable end given the life Charlie had chosen. By the time she cowered in the kitchen and tried to hang on ten minutes - as instructed by Mary Lou - tears of grief overwhelmed her. Two minutes into the wait, the front door closed and she knew it’d be safe to come out.
As soon as she saw Mary Lou leave the floor using the fish eye, she burst open the door to reveal the carnage inside. Then she sat in an easy chair whimpering while men rushed in and rushed out again. What happened for the rest of that afternoon didn’t matter to her. Everything was as clear as morning: she was the widow of a capo in a New York mob family and she would want for nothing from now until the day she died.
41
MARY LOU STOOD facing Bobby with her back to the bed. She had her family safe, enough money to live out the rest of her days, a man she was prepared to be naked with again. And power that came from the brown powder. She wrapped her hands around Bobby’s neck and head. And they kissed. His tongue tasted sweet, and she closed her eyes to capture the moment in her mind.
Then she separated her body from his, unbuttoned her blouse and pulled down her pants. Without a word, she let herself fall back onto the mattress with a coquettish giggle. Bobby smiled, took off his own pants and ripped off his shirt.
He lay on top of her and they kissed some more. Mary Lou’s cheeks were warm to the touch, and she thought she might have noticed a tingle at the base of her spine. She placed both hands on Bobby’s head and pushed, encouraged and cajoled him downward until his lips were inches below her belly button: right by her rose tattoo. The sensation of his fingers on the inside of her thighs made the tingles shoot up to the nape of her neck.
Images flashed though her mind. Her sweaty body entwined with Frank’s until dawn in Miami. Carter tied to her bed in their love nest in Baltimore. Frank lying, head on her lap, as his blood soaked into her skirt by the lockers in Burbank Airport.
Then she snapped open her eyes: Mary Lou told herself to stop living in the past. As that thought flickered in her mind, tingles flowed from her ass to her neck and she allowed herself the luxury of existing in the moment. Of forgetting the pain she’d caused Alice and Frank. Of ignoring the very real possibility the East Coast mob had a hit out on her while she lay on her Palm Springs bed. And pushed away the worries of being part of the West Coast mob’s heroin trade.
Mary Lou closed her eyes and savored the wet sensation of Bobby’s tongue as it followed the path of her rose stem and she gave into the anticipation of pleasure as a fingertip burrowed under her panties. She giggled again. Mary Lou Lagotti had found peace and her libido was screaming for some action. In a matter of seconds, those tingles of hers became intense. She sucked in a mouthful of air. Let the good times roll.
BOOK FOUR
MAMA'S GONE
FEBRUARY 1997
1
ZING. ALICE FIRST heard a whizzing noise and then felt a sharp movement of air - way before she saw anything. And then it was all too late. She turned to her Mama sat to her left as the woman’s head hurtled backward. The red circular mess where an eye once was. The blast of brain and skull that splattered the wall. Bobby threw himself toward Mary Lou to protect her from the assault, but there was no point.
He scurried over and lay on his dead wife as Alice hit the deck. Nikolay drew his revolver almost before the bullet flew through Mama, Alice thought. Lara Mikhailov dragged him down to the floor. Nobody in the room was above window height and there had been no fourth shot.
“Anyone else hurt?”
Three shots, one dead. A professional hit for sure. Worthy of the great Arnold Roach, may he rest in peace. Alice held her snub nose ready for action and Bobby cradled Mary Lou in his arms, rocking them side-to-side in the first moments of his grief.
Alice glanced at Bobby and looked at Nikolay. Had his gun been out before the zing? Couldn’t be certain of anything right now. Events unfolded around her and she felt completely estranged from them. Despite the body lying near her feet, Alice didn’t believe Ma
ma was dead. She saw it was true, but it meant nothing to her. Like the world stopped still and she carried on breathing - only she continued on the sidelines as everything flowed ever onwards.
Nikolay’s bodyguard, Mikhailov edged to a window and cautiously inched her head to spot the sniper. Nada. Nikolay Markov spoke to her but Alice couldn't discern a single word - still trapped in her time-slipped bubble. His mouth moved again but his expression became more aggressive. Angry.
“What just happened?”
“We know nothing of this. My mother’s been killed. You think I’d do that? To my Mama?”
Alice found a pistol lying in her hand, which she must have taken out of her handbag. An unconscious action. She glanced round and Bobby had let go of Mary Lou, holding a revolver. Someone would pay for killing her Mama.
2
FATHER CARMOODY BABBLED on and, even though all his words were extolling his Mama’s virtues, Frank wanted him to stop. To just shut his pie-hole. He had no right talking about his Mama because he didn’t know her. How could anyone take this man in a frock seriously?
“Mary Lou Lagotti, may she rest in peace, was a mother, a wife, a business woman. But above all she was a human being who died in tragic circumstances. She leaves behind two beautiful children - Frank Junior and Alice - as well as Bobby, her dutiful husband.”
Mutterings and nods from the congregation echoed the priest’s words.
“She joined our community nearly thirty years ago and she quickly became a fabulous contributor to our local charities. As her children grew older, and her business activities thrived, Mary Lou grew as a force for good in Palm Springs.”
The Lagotti Family Series Page 65
