by Brian Drake
He was smoking a cigar by the porch when Melody Chapman came down the steps. Almost midnight. Time to go to work. She still kept her head down. Wolf said, “Good evening.”
Melody Chapman stopped, looked at him.
“Are you okay?”
She stared.
“Are you?” he said.
“Why did you hit him?”
“He was hurting you. Didn’t you want him to stop?”
“He’ll never stop.”
“So why do you stay?”
“Sometimes it’s not bad. It’s only because he’s frustrated. Gulino should have given him his old job back.”
“That’s no way to live, Melody.”
“I have to go.” She started toward her car.
“I may not be around next time,” he said.
She stopped and turned. “You’re the only one who cares. Tell me why.”
“See this?” Wolf pulled up the silver chain from his shirt. A locket dangled at the end of the chain. “This belonged to somebody I used to know who was just like you. There was a time when I was just like your husband. I made her a promise that I would change that.”
“Where is she?”
Wolf dropped the chain back down his shirt. “She’s gone.”
“You don’t know how hard it is.”
“Yes, I do.”
She stared at him some more. “I’m going to be late,” she said, and turned for the car again. Wolf smoked and watched her drive away.
Callaway huffed and puffed as he stepped onto the roof. Wolf was already there, hands in pockets, grinning.
“One of these days, Wolf,” Callaway said. He took a deep breath. “Tell me about the boat.”
Wolf gave him the rundown.
Callaway said, “They must be hushing it up. We’ve had no word.”
Wolf added, “Don’t forget that Masters’ main office is downtown. Go talk to his second-in-command.”
“Harry something, right?”
“Harry Rudd.”
“What are your plans?”
“I need to find out what’s going on with Sanchez. I’m meeting his daughter in twenty minutes.”
Callaway’s phone rang. He answered, spoke a few words, hung up. He stared into space a moment.
“What’s wrong?” Wolf said.
“Your four shooters just hit their first target.”
Wolf’s expression froze. “Uh-huh.”
“Couple of Gulino’s guys. Two of them. In a car. They got the guys in the car and a couple of bystanders.”
“Uh-huh.”
“One dead, two wounded. Gulino’s guys are dead, too. The killers used full-auto weapons.”
“We need to work faster.”
“You’re telling me?”
Wolf patted Callaway on the shoulder and headed for the fire escape. Callaway remained.
The door opened. Petra Sanchez, daughter of missing capo Pedro, looked out at him. She looked stressed.
“OhmyGod, Wolf,” she said, throwing her arms around him. She was about his height, slim with wide hips and long black hair. He squeezed back but as usual she felt very fragile and was afraid if he squeezed too hard, he’d break one of her ribs. She stepped away.
“Come in, we gotta talk.”
She grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge and they sat in the living room. The TV was on. The talking heads were outraged at the continuing bursts of violence throughout the city and they wanted it stopped. She turned off the TV.
“Is your father alive?” he said.
“I don’t know!” she said. “I can’t reach him! Nobody can. And it’s almost been three days.”
“What does that mean?”
“Daddy always said that if he’s ever out of touch for three days or more it means something’s wrong.”
“Have you been by the house?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been afraid to go.”
“We’ll go now.” He set his beer down and stood up.
“Should I bring a gun?” she said.
“Bring a tank.”
He brought her up to date as they drove. When he finished, Petra sank in the seat a little. Wolf stopped talking. He steered the car up into the interior valley, up a winding road to the top of a hill. He parked off the road. Trees more than covered the car. Grabbing a tote bag from the back seat, Wolf and Petra started walking through the woods. They hiked up a rise and Wolf dropped onto the ground. Petra hesitated a moment and stretched out beside him.
The rise overlooked her father’s estate. It sat on top of another hill, surrounded by a fence. A turret-like structure topped the mansion, extending the height of the place. Wolf took a pair of binoculars from the tote bag. The butt of a double-barrel shotgun also stuck out of the bag, along with a box of shells.
Wolf looked through the binoculars. The spread of the estate consisted mostly of well-manicured grass. A pool. Sanchez wasn’t much for gardening or fancy landscaping. Wolf scanned the troopers roaming the grounds. Each carried an automatic rifle. Wolf lowered the binoculars.
He said, “Your father picked this spot for the isolation, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Are those guards normal?”
“Let me look.”
He gave her the binoculars and she scanned the mansion.
“Too many,” she said. “And the guys are usually in the house. There’s always one man at the main gate but these roaming patrols aren’t part of the routine.”
“He could be beefing things up because of the situation in town,” he said.
“And not talking to Gulino? Or answering the goddamn phone?”
Wolf did not respond.
“Do you think he’s still alive?” she said.
“If he wasn’t, they wouldn’t have guards there.”
“Who’s they?”
“Good question.”
Wolf stood and brushed dirt off his clothes. He took the shotgun from the tote bag and Petra followed him back to the car.
“Are we just going to blast our way in?” she said.
“Not we. Me. You stay with the car. If your father’s in there, I’ll bring him out.”
“And if you don’t?”
“Then you get to Inspector Callaway as fast as you can.”
He started the motor and pulled back onto the road, following the winding asphalt back into the valley and up the hill leading to the Sanchez mansion. He parked again, got out with the shotgun, and took off into the forest. He did not say good-bye. Petra watched until she could see him no more, then scooted behind the wheel and tapped nervous fingers on her lap.
Wolf stomped through the forest, dodging trees and fallen logs and branches. When he figured he was 100 yards from the fence, he dropped behind one of the fallen logs to listen and wait. As his breathing returned to normal, he heard other footsteps. His ran his thumb over the safety catch on the shotgun. It was off, but he only wanted to fire if he had to.
Birds chirped and other animals moved about in the trees above; Wolf ignored them. The animals with two legs and guns were on his mind. They entered his field of vision off to the left. Both held their guns low. They weren’t expecting trouble. Wolf moved from the log, started moving parallel to the patrol but in the opposite direction. He hooked a right turn, dropped onto the trail the pair followed, and worked his way up behind them. One turned and shouted an alarm. In the time it took for him to get his rifle up, Wolf bashed him with the butt stock of the shotgun. He dropped flat. Wolf pivoted, swinging the stock again, and conked the second trooper on the side of the face. Both hit the ground, unconscious.
Wolf started running again, following the trail, which eventually led to the main gate. Wolf left that area and went back the way he’d come. The main gate wasn’t the spot he wanted. He followed the fence a little more, finally found a spot to climb. He faced the rear of the property where the patrols had passed through already. He vaulted over the fence and landed on the grass. Shotgun in hand, he started for the ho
use.
It was a long walk. At least it felt that way. Wolf scanned left and right and behind him as he moved. When a figure appeared in a window on the second floor of the house, saw him, and shouted an alarm, Wolf knew the time for stealth had ended. Time now to blast away. He lined up both barrels on the gunner in the window and fired. The window shattered; the man fell back. Wolf snapped open the barrel. Both spent shells ejected. He loaded two more as guards rounded the corner. He fired once, running for a back door. He fired again to keep the troopers back as he crashed through the door, rolling onto the floor. He reloaded again. The troops came through the door firing, stitching the walls with slugs. There was nothing else in the room except lawn care items. Wolf fired both barrels again, blasting the pair back through the door they’d entered.
Wolf slapped fresh rounds into the shotgun and moved through another door behind him. Down a short hallway to a living room. Off to the left, the entryway of the house and a staircase. He ran for the staircase. The front doors slammed open. Troops came in. Wolf fired at them as he reached the steps. He ran. Rounds punched the walls behind him, split the banister. Wolf drew the .45 and emptied the clip, spraying rounds, driving the troops to cover. He reached the second floor and stopped against a wall. A fresh clip went into the .45 and two new rounds into the shotgun. Both weapons in hand, he advanced down the hall, kicking open doors and checking each room. He’d looked in three of the bedrooms, each one empty, by the time the troops regrouped and came up the steps. Wolf, in a doorway, met them with the shotgun, two blasts followed by potshots from the .45. Some of the men fell, others retreated. Wolf moved on. He found a door in the hallway with a set of steps leading up. He followed the steps as they spiraled to the next level, keeping the shotgun ahead of him. The stairs led to the turret on the roof. He didn’t know if Sanchez would be there, but it was a good guess. It’s where the man kept his office. He reached the landing, kicked open the door, and moved in. A trooper raised a pistol; Wolf cut him down with one blast from the shotgun. He swung left to face another threat but held his fire. It wasn’t a threat at all, but Pedro Sanchez tied up on his own couch, gagged. Wolf went over and yanked the gag from his mouth.
Sanchez sucked in a load of air. He said, “I knew you’d get here eventually.”
“Sorry I’m late. What the hell is going on?”
“Some turkey named Lazzo has been holding me here. He’s gone now. Just the troops. Cut me loose.”
Wolf set the shotgun down and used a knife to cut the ropes holding Sanchez’s wrists and ankles together. While Sanchez sat up and rubbed his wrists, Wolf went to the windows and examined the battleground.
“They have orders not to kill me,” Sanchez said. “They won’t attack us in here.”
“But they can seal us off.”
“Was it such a good idea to come blasting in here?”
“I have Petra with me.”
“Here?”
“She’s with the car. I told her to get help from Callaway if I take too long.”
“What’s happening on the street?”
Wolf told him and gave him the progress of his own investigation so far, adding that Gulino had Vince Manning on the job as well but Wolf had no idea what Manning had done since the previous night on the Princess Z.
Sanchez said, “I hope Carlo isn’t going off half-cocked.”
“He’s restrained himself. He knows there’s something more to it. And if this Lazzo guy is connected to Sean Masters, we might have something.”
“All I know is that he’s from New York.”
Wolf kept looking out each window. The guards had not moved to cover the yard; they were probably all clustered inside, waiting for Wolf to come down with Sanchez. He looked around. The office had the basic equipment. Desk, bookcases, a wall safe, small bar, couches and chairs.
“What are you looking for?” Sanchez said.
Wolf held up a hand and went to the door. Footsteps in the stairwell. Wolf fired the shotgun, peppering the wall in the stairway with holes. Whoever was down there scrambled away.
“They may have reconsidered their orders not to hurt you,” Wolf said. “Got any rope?”
“In here? Why would I? This is my office. There’s nothing useful in here.”
Wolf laughed. He took out the spent shell and put in a new one. “Good news, I found you,” he said. “Bad news, we’re stuck up here.”
“Until Petra brings the cops.”
“When is Lazzo due back?”
“No idea.”
More movement in the stairwell. Wolf fired the shotgun once, heard yelling; he saw part of a man’s body come around the corner and fired again. The man screamed, tumbled down the steps. Wolf broke open the shotgun and patted his pockets for shells. None. “No more howitzer,” he said, dropping the shotgun on the carpet. He took out the .45. “We need an escape route fast.”
Wolf ran around the windows of the turret once again and saw the pool below. “Well this isn’t a good idea, but we can jump to the pool from here and get to the garage, right?”
“I’m not exactly dressed for swimming.”
“You’re not the one carrying all the guns.” Wolf smashed out the window. He stepped out onto the roof and Sanchez followed. Both inched along the rooftop to the edge, looking down at the blue pool below.
“Which side is the deep end?” Wolf said.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
Wolf leaped. The air rushed around him and his stomach lurched into his throat. The pool grew larger very quickly and then the splash. He dropped through the water, his descent slowing, crashing into the bottom. He kicked with his legs and reached the top, rolled up onto the patio.
Sanchez still stood on the roof. As Wolf shook water out of the Colt, he scanned the back doors, gesturing for the other man to follow. Sanchez hesitated.
“Come on!” Wolf shouted as armed troops headed for the patio doors. He fired twice.
Sanchez jumped. The splash of water hit Wolf and spread along the patio. Sanchez quickly climbed out, Wolf covering him with another pair of shots. The troops hadn’t left the house yet, but he could still see them gathering near the patio doors.
Sanchez ran for the garage attached to the house. Wolf followed. By the time he entered through the side door, Sanchez had the motor of his Mercedes going. Wolf climbed in. Sanchez didn’t bother with the garage door. He pressed the gas pedal and the car crashed through the garage door and out onto the driveway. The driveway wound toward the main gate. Troopers fired at the car, bullets thunking into the body work. Wolf fired back. As they neared the main gate, the guard from the shack fired a pistol, popping holes in the windshield. Wolf leaned out the window and gave him the last shots in the Colt. He missed, but the guard had no choice but to dive for cover as the Mercedes crashed through the gate.
Sanchez started driving along the access road. Wolf told him where to find Petra.
Inspector Callaway entered the interrogation room and shut the door. He held a cup of coffee in his left land.
“Is that for me?” the man at the table said. His hands were free. He was stocky with thick black hair and a jowly face. Harry Rudd, Sean Masters’ second-in-command.
“No, it’s mine,” Callaway said. He sat at the table with the coffee in front of him. “You only get coffee if you talk.”
“I don’t know what happened to Sean. Other than he was shot on the boat.”
“That’s not what I’m concerned about,” Callaway said. “Somebody is trying to start a gang war in this town. We have information that Masters has something to do with it. The killings have to stop. Innocent people have already been hurt.”
“You’re making me cry.”
“Rudd. Come on. You’re a businessman. This isn’t good business.”
Rudd sighed. “It wasn’t my idea.”
“I didn’t say it was. Tell me your side of the story.”
“Masters has always wanted more than his share. He wasn’t happy with j
ust the boat and the protection. A couple of months ago, two guys came to him and had an idea to force Gulino and Sanchez into a fight to get them out of the way.”
“Who?”
“There are two. Andy Lazzo is one of them. I never met the other guy. He’s been more of a silent partner.”
“Who’s Andy Lazzo?”
“Big shot on the East Coast but he’s on the outs with his gang because of some stuff I never quite understood. He’s been roaming around looking for opportunities. His cell mate offered him one.”
“Where does Andy Lazzo hide?”
“He’s been at Sanchez’s place, keeping him tied up and out of contact. He wanted Gulino to think Sanchez was the one doing the killing. He hangs around the Cherry Hill bars.”
Callaway pushed the coffee across the table. “It’s still hot.” The inspector left the room and returned to his desk to make a phone call.
He reached Wolf on the first try. “Where are you?”
“On the road. I have Sanchez and his daughter with me.” Wolf gave him the update.
“That’s a load off my mind,” Callaway said, and described his interview with Harry Rudd. “All we need to do now is find Lazzo and the silent partner. I’m going to dig into his prison record and find out who his cell mate might have been.”
“Okay,” Wolf said. The line went dead in Callaway’s ear. The inspector hung up the phone.
Wolf dropped Sanchez and his daughter at her place.
“I’m going to call Gulino right away,” Sanchez said, “and get our sides organized. If we all work together, we can find Lazzo and whoever he’s working with.”
Wolf returned home to change clothes and eat. He was sitting at the kitchen table, staring out the window, when his cell rang.
“Yes?”
“It’s me,” Manning said. “I hear we’re looking for a guy named Andy Lazzo.”
“Sure. Found him?”
“I know where his gunmen are staying.”
“I like this tune.”
Manning rattled off an address. “Midnight.” He hung up.