Walk on the Wild Side

by Bob Mayer

  That brought Wile-E to an abrupt halt, jerking the leash and Lucky gave an irritated yap. “What! They didn’t dig them up?”

  “And do what with them?” Kane asked. “Not much left after a couple hundred years. Just some bones.”

  “That’s fucked,” Wile-E said. “Sometimes, when . . .” He fell silent.

  “What?” Kane prompted.

  “Sometimes when Coyote and I was moving through the jungle, ahead of the unit, all by ourself, I could feel it in the ground. Maybe Coyote was sensing it and sending to me.” Wile-E was referring to his scout dog in the 101st Airborne in Vietnam who’d been killed in an ambush.

  “Feel what?” Kane asked, although he had a good idea.

  “The dead. From all the wars. The Vietnamese, the Japanese, the French, the Americans. I guess whoever else invaded Vietnam over the years. In the dirt.” He shook his head. “Then Coyote joined them.” He knelt, ducking his head in embarrassment. Lucky turned and went to him, pushing her head against his and whining.

  Kane fidgeted, uncertain what to do. “Maybe you should stay here and—”

  Wile-E got up, wiping his face. “Sorry, Cap’n. My head isn’t clear yet. Gonna take a while.”

  “I know,” Kane said.

  Wile-E shot him a look. “You said something like that before.”

  “I’ve done a lot of things,” Kane said vaguely.

  They reached the center of the park and turned south. A walk littered with garbage cut through the trees. As they left the fountain behind, Lucky suddenly stopped and turned to the left, tail high, hackles raised, but without barking.

  Kane wheeled, drawing the forty-five. Someone dressed in red sweats was running away through the trees, bushes smacking him.

  “Who was that?” Wile-E asked as Riley holstered.

  “No idea,” Kane said. “But I think he’s been following us since we left the diner.”

  “You saw him?”

  “A couple of glimpses,” Kane said. “I think Lucky knew all along, but he was coming for us just now. Lucky scared him off.”

  “She was acting a bit bothered the whole way,” Wile-E said. “I shoulda been more tuned in. Good girl,” he said to Lucky.

  They exited the park and walked past the NYU School of Law. The Triangle Social Club was on the west side of the next street. Kane noticed but didn’t ponder the irony of the proximity of the two establishments.

  Kane stopped on the corner. “Wait here for me.”

  “How long?” Wile-E asked. He clarified his comment. “You know, before I come in to help?”

  “If I don’t come out, you don’t come in,” Kane said. “Just go home.”

  Wile-E didn’t like the answer but Kane didn’t give him a chance to argue. He walked down the street. Glancing to the left he figured the FBI probably had surveillance in one of the buildings, keeping tabs on who came and went. The fact the club was the headquarters of the Genovese Family was widely known. The front of the ‘club’ was narrow, barely twenty feet across, with inclined metal doors leading to a lower level on either side of the door, where goods could be unloaded into the basement, a common site on Manhattan streets. The windows above them were blacked out. An air conditioner poked out above the wood door and a large individual in black pants and t-shirt guarded the entrance. He had his arms folded, pushing his biceps to appear larger than they were.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m here to see Mister Salerno,” Kane said.

  “Who. Are. You?”

  “Name’s Kane.”

  A flicker of recognition and Kane briefly wondered whether he knew about the contract and was contemplating fulfilling it right here and now, although that wouldn’t be smart given the FBI surveillance. Then again, smart wasn’t a necessary job requirement for guys like this.

  Kane pushed. “Mister Salerno is expecting me. Ms. Cappucci told me to be here at one.”

  The guy laughed. “’Ms. Cappucci’? Who was married to that faggot?”

  “I’ll let her know your thoughts,” Kane said. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “’Cause I didn’t throw it.” He pointed to the wall to the right of the door. “You know the drill. Hands on it, feet spread.”

  Kane did as ordered. The guy patted him down, relieving him of the .45 and the Fairbairn. He also slid his hands underneath Kane’s shirt, checking for a wire. He stepped back and looked at the gun and knife. “Not bad.” The guard indicated he could enter.

  Kane opened the door. The interior was foggy with cigar smoke and, despite the air conditioner struggling above his head, warm. Two pinball machines to the right. A bar with a coffee pot on it to the left. Two tables, one long rectangle that could seat eight to the right front, a smaller round one to the left, near a door marked toilet.

  Two men were seated at the round table.

  “You Kane?” the larger of the two, obviously Fat Tony Salerno, asked. Kane recognized the other as Vincent ‘the Chin’ Gigante.

  “Yeah.”

  “A friend said you wanted to talk to me. So talk.”

  “There seems to be some confusion,” Kane said. “Certain individuals are blaming me for the disappearance of Thomas Marcelle. I had nothing to do with that. Nor did I kidnap Judge Clark.”

  “I could give a fuck?” Salerno asked. “What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Those certain individuals made a request that I be—” Kane searched for the right word, trying to channel his inner mob Sofia Cappucci and striking out, settling on literary Morticia—“made to depart this mortal coil for those transgressions, which were not of my making.”

  “You hear this fucker?” Salerno said to Gigante. “’Depart this mortal coil’. I like that. You must be educated or something.”

  The door opened behind Kane and he forced himself not to spin about. He heard the guard who’d disarmed him laughing as a slender guy in his twenties wearing a red track suit stepped inside, blinked at Kane’s presence and abruptly turned to leave.

  “Hold on!” Salerno yelled. “Get in here, Johnnie.”

  Johnnie complied, walking forward but keeping a distance from Kane.

  “Why’s he standing here?” Salerno asked Johnnie, indicating Kane.

  “He had someone with him. And there was a dog.”

  “A three-legged dog,” Kane clarified.

  Gigante laughed. “A three-legged dog?”

  “To be fair,” Kane said, “it’s a military trained dog. Wounded in ‘Nam.” He pointed at his head. “So was I. Some people say it makes me a bit unstable.”

  “You were scared of a dog?” Salerno shook his head at Johnnie.

  Kane stayed on subject. “About the contract?”

  “What are you saying, exactly?” Salerno asked Kane. “You want us to call off the mortal coil departing?”

  “I talked to one of the individuals who made the request,” Kane said, “and he was inclined to allow me to take care of those who perpetrated both events. I’ve already sent two of them on their way.”

  “Two of them?” Salerno said. “How many are there?”

  “Five more. Maybe four,” Kane amended, uncertain about Yazzie’s conversion.

  Salerno folded his arms above his ample gut and glanced at Gigante, who shrugged as if to say, your call.

  “Let me see if I got this straight,” Salerno said. “You want to get paid instead of Johnnie here?”

  “No pay required,” Kane said. “I have my own reasons.” He decided it was time for some lying couched inside truths. “Thomas Marcelle was the father of my best friend. We spent four years together at the Academy. He died in my arms in Vietnam. I owe him to avenge his father. And Marcelle’s daughter, is a very dear friend. I owe her too.”

  “Toni Marcelle?” Salerno said. “She’s a fine piece. I seen her around.”

  Johnnie snickered.

  Kane high turn-kicked Johnnie, who wasn’t expecting it, the point of his boot hitting him on the jaw and sending him sprawling. As K
ane brought the leg back, he pulled the small knife from the sheath along the inside of the boot. He threw it while Gigante was pushing his chair to the rear and Salerno was reaching for the gun tucked inside his belt.

  The knife struck the table in front of Salerno on an angle with a solid thud, the hilt quivering.

  “As I was saying,” Kane said, “Toni Marcelle is a dear friend. It bothers me to hear her spoken of in such a manner. That could as easily have been in your throat, Mister Salerno.”

  Fat Tony had a small revolver in his large hand, pointed generally in Kane’s direction. “Sofia said you were someone not to be trifled with.” He put the gun away. “You made your point. But next time, it better be in my throat or you ain’t walking away alive.”

  Kane glanced over his shoulder. Johnnie was out cold. Kane walked forward and extracted the knife from the table and replaced it in the boot.

  “You don’t want to get paid,” Salerno said, “and if these certain individuals don’t care, why the fuck should I care? I already got the money. Get outta here.”

  Kane turned, stepped over Johnnie, and walked to the door. He paused and looked over his shoulder. “How much was I worth?”

  “You don’t wanna know,” Salerno said. “Send in the big idiot outside as you leave.”

  Kane opened the door. He held out his hands and the guard returned his forty-five and knife.

  “They’d like to talk to you,” Kane informed him.

  As he walked away, just before the door shut, he could hear Salerno shouting in Italian. Then Kane was in the constant throb of the city: horns, cars and trucks inching along, a siren echoing off buildings.

  “How’d it go?” Wile-E asked as Kane joined him. “I saw that guy in red go in. Was he the one from the park?”

  “He was.”

  “No shit?” Wile-E shook his head. “He was gonna try and whack you right there in the park? In daylight?”

  “It’s a tough city,” Kane said. “There’s like six or seven homicides a day. Washington Square Park? Lots of fights over drugs. I think that was his plan, if he had one.”

  “I guess,” Wile-E said. “He seemed young.”

  “He was,” Kane said. “Probably trying to make his bones with his first killing. Lucky for us he wasn’t very bright.”

  “Sometimes I miss Vietnam,” Wile-E said.

  “Really?”

  “Nah. I miss Coyote.” He knelt and nuzzled Lucky. “But I got you.” He straightened. “What now, Cap’n?”

  Kane checked his watch. It was too late in the day to make the trip to West Point to get the ledger.

  “I’m going to the Twin Towers. I think I’ll be all right on my own since the contract has been canceled. I appreciate the company. Oh yeah, Morticia wants you to collect Mac’s clothes. She’s gonna wash them for him.”

  Wile-E shook his head. “I had a hell of a time getting him to go the Soldiers and Sailors Home. He don’t take well to people trying to help him.”

  “You tell Morticia that.”

  “I’ll get the clothes,” Wile-E promised.

  TOWER ONE, WORLD TRADE CENTER

  MANHATTAN

  The door was locked even though it was only four o’clock. Peering through the glass, Kane saw that the lights were out in the office and Mrs. Ruiz wasn’t manning the desk. Kane stood outside the door for a while, uncertain of his next move. He took the elevator to the Skylobby and then switched and descended to the ground lobby. He searched out a pay phone. Checked his notebook and dialed Toni’s home phone.

  It rang. And rang. After ten, he hung up. Then he dialed the area code for West Point. This call was answered on the second ring.

  “Archives, Plaikos.”

  “Sir, it’s William Kane. I’m going to need to make a withdrawal.”

  “What do you need?”

  “That ledger.”

  “Do you want me to look something up for you and save you the trip?”

  “No, sir. I might need to give it to someone.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Roger that. Tell you what? How about I bring it to you and save you a trip? I have some business to attend to in the city tomorrow.”

  “That would be helpful, sir.”

  “I’ll be by the diner early in the afternoon.”

  “Yes, sir. Uh, sir—” Kane waited.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you know how I could get hold of Trent? He said he was the CIA’s rep here in the city, but they don’t hang out a sign or advertise in the phone book.”

  “I’ll call and leave a message with Thao.” The phone clicked off before Kane could tell him he had a phone in his apartment, but it didn’t matter because he wasn’t going to be in his apartment and he didn’t have an answering machine.

  Kane hung up and looked around the vast lobby of the Tower. Sunlight glinted through the high arched windows. Tourists were queued up for the express elevator to the Observation Deck. He realized that before Toni moved her office here, he’d never been inside either of the towers. He’d done the Empire State Building, of course, years ago when relatives from out of town visited and his mother had dragged the kids along as she showed them the ‘sights’. It occurred to him that his father had never accompanied any of those trips; he’d always be working.

  Kane checked his watch. It was still early; his father wouldn’t be home yet. Kane turned back to the phone and dialed one of the few numbers he knew.

  “Hello?” the woman’s voice had a slight edge of uncertainty bordering on fear. Kane knew the phone rarely rang in the home and an outgoing call was an occasion and a long distance call required paternal approval.

  “Hey, mom. It’s William.”

  Life surged into the voice, but still with that edge. “William! Are you all right? Everything okay?”

  “I’m fine, mom. Everything’s all right.”

  “Thank goodness. It’s so nice to hear your voice. When are you going to come by? I can make you some food. Some lasagna?”

  “I’ll work on it, mom. Just wanted to see how you’re doing?”

  “Oh. I’m fine. Your father’s at work if you wanted to talk to him.”

  “No, mom. I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Oh.” There was the sound of her hacking and coughing for a moment, then she was back. “I’m sorry. Got something in my throat. Nathan says you have little Dave, Liam’s boy, working in your diner?”

  “Yeah. He’s doing good. He’s not so little any more. He’s going into the Army in the fall.”

  “The Army? Nathan didn’t say nothing about that.”

  “Have you talked to Liam?” Kane asked, knowing he was treading into family dynamics that functioned like a rusted locomotive with no steam.

  “Well, Liam, you know . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Liam had committed a mortal sin by marrying outside of the ethnic gene pool. Cradling the handset to his head with his shoulder, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his money clip. Retrieved the acetate covered photo of Taryn, dark-skinned, long black hair, and Joseph, also dark. “What about Liam, mom?”

  There was a hesitation. “Well, he doesn’t talk to us much.”

  “Sort of like me?”

  “Oh, William. I’m so glad you called. Your dad asks about you all the time.”

  “Does he?” Kane took a deep breath, moved the mouth piece away to let it out and not have her hear. “How’s Sis?”

  “Mary’s fine. She’s at the store getting groceries. I’ll let her know you called.”

  “And my other sister? Pattie-Ann?”

  “We haven’t heard from her in a while.”

  “And our Marine?”

  Her voice firmed up. “He got promoted. Staff Sergeant.”

  “Dad must be thrilled.”

  “He is!” She started hacking again and Kane waited it out. “Your brother said he might be able to come home for Christmas. It would be so nice if both y
ou boys were here for that.”

  “I’ll see, mom.” He watched another batch of tourists be ushered into one of the large elevators that went directly to the indoor observation deck.

  “You’re in the city. It’s not much of a trip.”

  That was as much of an admonishment as his mother had ever given him, up there with the time he lost the $5 bill she’d given him to go to the local deli and get the milk that she’d forgotten to pick up on her trip to the A&P.

  “All right, mom. Let me know about Jimmy and if he’s gonna make Christmas, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “I got to go. You take care of yourself, mom.”

  “You too, William.”

  Kane hung up.

  GREENWICH VILLAGE, MANHATTAN

  Pope was sitting on the steps leading to the main floor of his brownstone on Jane Street, a stack of newspapers next to him. His reading glasses were perched on his nose and his straw hat was canted against the slanted rays of the setting sun. “They got him.”

  “I heard,” Kane said.

  Pope showed him the New York Post. The headline was direct and to the point:

  CAUGHT!

  Most of the rest of the front page was an image of a guy who Kane assumed was Berkowitz, a rather drab person with curly hair and the hint of a smile which screamed ‘crazy’ to Kane given he’d just been arrested.

  Underneath it read:

  SON OF SAM WAS ON WAY

  To kill again

  ‘I wanted to go out

  In a blaze of glory’

  “I didn’t hear anything about him being on his way out to kill,” Kane said. “But he was armed and had weapons in his car. I was told he gave up pretty easy. No blaze of glory.”

  Pope tossed the Post to the side. “Sensationalism to grab readers. Keep people afraid on some level. Fear sells. Murdoch understands that, even though it’s wrong on so many levels.”

  “Why is that?” Kane asked, sitting next to Pope while scanning the street in both directions.

  “You have to keep upping the fear,” Pope said. “People get used to it, so then you have to figure out new things to scare them.”