“How’s that?” Frank asked.
“Let’s just wait until you talk to Danny.” He turned to Ronnie. “Are you busy this afternoon?”
She looked to Frank, who shook his head. “I guess not. Why?”
“Go over to the secretary of state’s office and look up the filings on Disanto & Associates, Inc. Al told me the other day that that’s what Freddy said his company is named. He mentioned it way back when he first started asking about buying up the pizza joint. I’d like to know who’s in bed with Freddy on this project. Get copies of all the paperwork. Maybe we can approach his partners.”
“And do what?” Frank asked.
“How the heck do I know?” The bounty hunter sounded a little irritated. “I just want to find out who we’re dealing with here. It seems like a lead-pipe cinch that there has to be some brains behind Disanto and Bosco.”
“You going to go lean on them and get all heavy, like you did with Disanto last week?” Frank frowned. “Hassling a stone-cold killer like that. Not a terrifically intelligent move there, Street.”
“Enough about that, okay? I may have done some good with the guy, and if we can get more names, maybe we can get to those people, too. Let his partners know that we know who they are. It could cause problems for Disanto and Bosco, and that’s about the best strategy I can come up with for right now.” Streeter paused. “There’s so much about this situation that doesn’t make any sense. Like who set up that robbery at Al’s card game last week?”
“That would be a sixty-four-thousand-dollar question,” Frank agreed.
“It sure is, along with finding out what Mitch Bosco has going with the police,” Streeter said.
Ronnie stood up. “Do you get this involved in all of your cases?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, let’s see. Working seven days a week on a case. Getting shot at. Talking about it until all hours.”
He shrugged and looked up at her. “Doesn’t everyone work like this?”
“No. But that’s okay. I didn’t mean it as a criticism.” Ronnie picked up a legal pad from the desk. “It means you care. I just wonder why you care so much about the Luccis. They’re not what you’d call pillars of the community.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I do have an emotional attachment to the case. There’s something about old Al. He’s sort of pathetic, but in a charming way. All of his posturing at first, and yet he’s about as hard as sponge cake. I know he’s not always aboveboard, but he’s really not a bad man. I get the same vibe from him as I did from my father. You know, the tough-guy front with nothing like that on the inside. I was too young to do my father any good. He died when I was a teenager, so I never knew him as an adult. Helping little Al makes me feel like I’m doing something I’d like to have done for my old man.”
“How’d he die?” Ronnie’s voice softened.
“He drank a lot. Smoked about a carton of cigarettes every day, and he never cared much about eating. He died of old age and he was only in his mid-fifties. His body just gave out.” Now he stood up. “Plus, there’s another very concrete reason I’m working this case so hard. Money. Al gave me another five grand yesterday. Let’s go earn it, Ronnie.”
TWENTY
The minute Mitch walked into the restaurant, Karen Maples could see that he was jumpy. Not a lot, but the guy was definitely rattled. The fringe of long hair around his bare white scalp looked rumpled, like he’d been running his hands through it. His eyes were a smudged red and they were hopping around the room, trying to take in too much. He worked his mouth silently, as if his teeth itched. Just great, she thought. Less than a week to go and this boob’s getting unhinged on me.
“Over here, cowboy.” She said it just a tad above her normal voice, but there was enough spine in it to grab his attention.
Bosco frowned in confusion. When he recognized the lawyer and her assistant—Todd something-or-other—he straightened his shoulders and moved toward them. They were sitting in a north, window-wall booth at the Rocky Mountain Diner, an upscale place near the federal courthouse downtown. Mitch had eaten there a couple of times and he loved the buffalo meatloaf. But food was not much on his mind this particular afternoon.
“Hey, Miss Maples,” he said when he got to the booth. His eyes were fixed on Karen’s, ignoring Todd. He winked at her awkwardly and held out his hand to be shaken. He’d read a hundred times about the importance of maintaining eye contact and sounding sincere. The presentation of confidence is everything.
“You can skip what I assume you’re trying to pass off as charm and just sit down.” Karen nodded to the seat across from her and Todd without shaking Mitch’s hand.
Bosco could see there was little point in trying to win her over, but he didn’t feel inclined to give in to her, either. “How are you today?”
“Outstanding. Okay, Mitch?” Karen stared hard at him as he eased into the booth. “I need to get a few things straight with you. Just do me a favor and don’t act like we’re old friends. After this weekend, we’re probably not ever going to talk to each other again. At least not outside of your plea and sentencing, and that’s strictly business.”
“This weekend?” Mitch asked as casually as he could. That was fine with him—never talking to this one again. Look at her over there, he thought. Chubby little dictator. Fairly plain face with too much makeup and wearing those expensive girl-suits with the padded shoulders.
Karen nodded. “Right. Things are in place for the Kostas sting and there’s no point in waiting.”
Just then the waitress appeared with a menu and ice water for Mitch. He waved away the menu. “Don’t need that,” he said. “Coffee and cream’ll do it.”
The waitress glanced at Todd and Karen. “More for you, too?”
Karen shook her head. “We’ll be leaving soon.”
Mitch leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his folded hands. “You sound a little rushed.”
She ignored the comment. “Listen to me, Mitch. Listen good. Todd here has the Jaguars lined up. Or, rather, he will by Friday. Both of them. You hook him up with Teddy Kostas before then. Todd will set up the sale for the next night. Saturday.” She paused. “Teddy’s still hot for this thing, isn’t he?”
Mitch nodded.
“Good. And he’s got his cash ready?”
“So he says. I told him we’d be asking fifteen apiece for them. That number’s big enough that it makes sense, but small enough that he can get the cash and turn the cars over for a good profit. I think he has them sold for about thirty-five thousand each. And he told me just now that he’s got the buyers ready anytime he gets the Jags. He’s creaming in his pants for the deal.” Mitch paused. “If you’ll pardon my language.”
“Outstanding, Mitch.” Karen ignored his last comment and took a sip from her coffee, keeping the cup up near face level after she finished. “We’re going to work fast and hard. You don’t have to know the details, but Todd’s going to try and snare the buyers while he’s at it.”
“Whatever works.” Mitch glanced at Todd. “When you want to meet him?”
Todd shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Thursday.”
Mitch studied the investigator for a moment. Then he returned his attention to the prosecutor. “And my deal is all wired for court on Monday? You’re going to recommend probation, right?”
“I want to talk to you about that.”
Mitch frowned deeply but said nothing.
“Here’s the thing, Bosco. I’ve put enough work into Kostas and we’re too close for me to let some idiot screw it up now.” She paused and sat back a bit. “I’ve been getting all sorts of shit from the guys in Narcotics lately. They say you’re doing a bit of business in the area of drugs and they don’t understand why they can’t pop you. Now, I’ve held them off so far, but I’m tired of it.” She took a deep breath and let that sink in.
“Tired enough that I’m getting the word to Narcotics this afternoo
n that it’s a green light to nail you if they get a chance. Starting now. Our deal with you is for the arrest on the gunrunning charge. If you get popped for drugs this week, believe me, Bosco, I’ll personally prosecute you. And I guarantee you that I’ll get a conviction and I’ll ask for the max. You combine that with me asking the max on the gun charges if you foul up this sting by getting arrested and, well, hell, cowboy, you’ll die in prison. Seeing to it that that happens will be my personal mission in life. I want Ted Kostas. I want him badly. But if you do anything to jeopardize that sting, I’ll forget all about him and go after you like I’ve never gone after anyone.” She shot her eyebrows up. “Are you getting all this?”
Mitch had leaned back a tad himself as she spoke, unconsciously wiping his open right hand down the front of his T-shirt. Finally, he spoke. “I hear you.”
Karen shook her head slowly a couple of times and then nodded. “Just so we understand each other. Actually, I don’t understand you at all, but that’s not important. Just so long as you know where I’m coming from.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Straight from hell, as far as you’re concerned. I mean it, Bosco. I’m done covering for you with Narcotics.”
By now Mitch was really depressed: Streeter following him all over the place and Maples threatening him like he was a schoolboy. Still, he managed a thin smile. “The wisdom to create a plan and keep to it is the key to any business success.”
“Put a lid on that kind of thing,” Karen said, shaking her head. “Just keep your nose clean. At least until Kostas is taken down. After you get Todd in place, your business is no longer my business.”
“I’m not sure what those Narcotics guys are feeding you, but you won’t have to worry about me moving anything ever again.” Mitch knew that was true. If he could get solid with Niles and the people in Arizona, he’d never go near a coke deal for the rest of his life.
“Whatever,” Karen said with little enthusiasm. Then she glanced at Todd and nodded.
“I’ll call you sometime Thursday, so stick around the phone until you hear from me,” Todd told Mitch evenly. There was no emotion in his voice; he seldom paid attention to Mitch. “In the meantime, let Kostas know you and me’ll be coming over to see him with one of the cars on Friday. I want him to view the merchandise and know who he’ll be dealing with. I have to have his trust.”
“I can do that,” Mitch said. “I let him know this morning that he’d be seeing one of the cars real soon.”
“Outstanding, Mitch,” Karen interjected. “But try and get some sleep before Friday, okay? You look like hell.”
TWENTY-ONE
It was a toss-up as to which tore Alphonse Lucci apart more: calling off his weekly poker game that night or taking Maria to the airport late that afternoon. Both had been such a big part of his life for so long. Still, he struggled to put on a brave front as he showed Streeter into the kitchen of his home shortly before six o’clock for a lasagna dinner and Chianti.
“Nothing like the old bachelor life, huh, Streeter?” He plastered on an open-mouthed grin, but the rest of his face didn’t go along with it. Alphonse hadn’t spent more than a week, total, away from Maria in the entire forty-seven years they’d been married, and he had no idea how’d he make it through the night without her around. Sure, they slept in separate rooms, but at least he knew she was there for him. Knew she was safe, too. In his green-and-yellow plaid shirt and brown corduroy pants, all about two sizes too large, he looked very alone and vulnerable.
“I should a thought a this years ago,” he said as he bent over the oven to check the lasagna. Then he straightened up and looked at his guest, the smile still in place. His head bobbed slightly as he spoke. “You care for a little vino?”
Streeter glanced at the large bottle of Chianti on the sink. The room had the subdued professional-garlic odor of a fine restaurant, and he knew this would be one killer of a meal.
“Sure, Al.” Streeter paused. “What time was Maria’s flight?”
The smile dropped from Alphonse’s face and his head lowered. “I don’t know. Three-something. Damned drive out to DIA takes forever.” His head moved down farther. “Seemed like the drive coming home takes about twice that.”
“She’ll be back in no time, Al,” Streeter said as he walked to the sink and picked up the wine bottle. “This thing can’t go on forever. Where do you keep the glasses?”
The old man nodded toward the shelves to the right of the sink, but he was obviously lost in thought. Streeter grabbed two juice glasses and set them next to the Chianti. “And the opener?”
Al didn’t seem to hear him at first but after a moment he responded. “It’s already been opened. Just pull the cork out.” He studied Streeter and then added, “How we doing with this Disanto thing, Streeter? You come up with anything new?”
The bounty hunter nodded. “Maybe. I’ve got to figure out a few details, but I’m working on a way that’ll hopefully get us to Ted Kostas.” He picked up the Chianti and the glasses. “Bosco went over to see him this morning and from there he went on to meet with a deputy DA for lunch. I don’t know what they talked about, but my hunch is Kostas figures in with whatever Mitch is doing with the cops.”
The old man considered that for a moment and then nodded to the wine in Streeter’s hand. “You gonna pour us a little, or you just want to stand there holding that thing all night?”
Streeter glanced at the bottle and then at the two glasses in his other hand. He shrugged and set the glasses on the counter, filled them with the Chianti, and handed one to Alphonse.
“Thanks, Streeter,” the Cheese Man said as he took his glass. “I made a few calls on the Greek today. Kostas. He’s an old ham-and-egger from way back. Mostly he fences stolen property, but he’ll dabble in darn near anything to turn a buck. Other than that, I can’t tell you much. Fairly harmless in the sense of hurting people, and no brains to speak of. That’s the word I got.” He studied his guest. “You say you don’t know his connection to Mitch? That might be nice to find out.”
“You got that right.” He held up his glass in a quick salute and then took a sip. “Like I said, I’m working on a way to do it. It’ll happen in the next day or so. I’m also going to be doing some digging into the people Disanto is working with on that West Side block development. The one with your pizza restaurant. I don’t know what we’ll find, but I want to put the pressure on anyone near Disanto.”
“Makes sense.” Alphonse paused. “It would also be nice to find out who set up that thing with the Ramirez Boys last week. I can’t believe it was Disanto. Him getting bopped on the head and robbed like that, and then going after one of them.”
“I figure, if we can get to everyone, sooner or later we’ll nail that one down, too.” Streeter glanced at the oven. “That smells great, Al.”
“What do you expect from this kitchen?” The old man opened the oven door and studied the pan of lasagna inside. Without a word, he grabbed two large pot holders from the counter and pulled the pan out. “We’ll let it cool down some and then it’s time to eat,” he told the bounty hunter. His voice seemed sad again, as it had when he’d talked about Maria.
“You okay, Al?” Streeter asked.
The Cheese Man’s head bobbed as he picked up his glass of wine. “I guess so.” Then he took a step toward his guest and looked long and hard into his eyes. “I gotta ask you, Streeter. You think I’m full a shit not selling to Disanto? I mean, that restaurant has a lot of sentimental value and all that, but is it worth people getting killed over? That guy in Wyoming. Maybe Nicky and his idiot friend the other night. Tell me the truth. Am I just being a stubborn old fart here or what?”
“You are being that,” Streeter said with a hint of a smile. “No doubt about it. And I’d sell if I was you. You’d still have the catering business here and in Vail and your other pizza joint. Not to mention the money from Freddy.” He paused and put a hand on Alphonse’s shoulder. “But it’s your restaurant and you shouldn’t have to sell
if you don’t want to. Plus, Disanto’s got his personal reasons to make life bad for you. This isn’t all about business.”
“You might be right there.” Al nodded slowly. “Just so I can keep the family safe.” He looked back up at Streeter. “I don’t care for myself so much. It’s Maria and the rest a them.” Alphonse glanced back at the lasagna. “Let’s eat.”
They were about halfway through dinner when the phone rang. At first, Alphonse just looked at it, on the wall over next to the refrigerator. Finally, he got up and answered it.
“Yeah?” he greeted the caller. “Sheri. Where are you?” He listened for a while, frowning at what was being said. Then: “I’ll be right over. Yeah, right now.” With that, he hung up and turned back to the table. He looked like he was about to cry.
“What’s wrong, Al?” Streeter stood up.
The little man looked over at him and his mouth opened but nothing came out. Then he tried again. “It’s Nicky. He’s in the hospital. Sounds like he’s dying. Can you do me a favor? Get me to Saint Anthony’s right now, okay?”
TWENTY-TWO
Actually, Nicholas Lucci was nowhere near dead by the time Alphonse and Streeter got to Saint Anthony’s. In fact, he’d been moved from Intensive Care and upgraded to serious but stable. Around four that afternoon, Nicholas had become conscious briefly and had been slipping in and out of it for the past few hours. It turned out that he’d been partying with a girl he knew, and they had both overdosed on all the fun. Jack Daniel’s and Demerol. Shortly before noon, Nicky and his friend were rushed to the hospital. Both had their stomachs pumped and both would pull through. Sheri had waited on calling Alphonse at least until the boy was out of trouble, but she’d still sounded extremely upset.
Of course, Alphonse didn’t know Nicholas was okay as they drove to the hospital. By the time they pulled up to the emergency-room entrance, the old man could barely breathe. He did his own feeble version of jumping out of the car, which almost cost him a broken ankle as he caught his foot on the door on the way out. Stumbling forward, arms flailing, he took all the way to the front door to steady himself. Then he ran inside, grabbed the first nurse he could find, and demanded to know where his grandson was. The two of them along with a clerk in admittance needed twenty minutes to figure out what happened. When he realized that Nicholas was all right, the old man didn’t know if he was more relieved or mad at his daughter and her son for throwing such a big scare into him.
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