Bonnatti. The master. Treating everyone like dirt.
“Suzita,” she said softly, “these last days you have put me through hell. I was outside the market on Wednesday night. I waited. You never came. I was assaulted… arrested… it was a nightmare. Please tell me what you want with me and let me get on with my life.”
“Yeah, sure, I know. We have nothin’ een common any more. You’re a lady—I’m a whore running a house for Bonnatti. Why wouldya wanna spend any time with me?”
“For God’s sake!” Carrie implored. “Tell me what you want.”
Suzita played with the rings on her fat fingers. “I wanna warn you, ees all.”
“Warn me?”
“Yeah. About the Bonnatti investigation.”
“What investigation?”
Suzita raised her large white sunglasses and peered at Carrie incredulously. Her eyes were raisins in dusky sourdough skin. “The investigation your son ees conducting.”
An electric jolt struck Carrie. The investigation your son is conducting. She had known Steven was working on something, but security had forbidden his mentioning any names. He had confided in no one. Not even Jerry knew.
“You didn’t know,” stated Suzita.
Blankly she shook her head.
“Sheet!” exclaimed Suzita. “Well, Bonnatti knows… an’ he ain’t worried.”
“What do you mean?”
“I ain’t the only one followed your life.”
She felt the vomit rise in her throat.
“Bonnatti knows who Stevie is. It’s kinda givin’ heem a charge. When he’s up there before the grand jury, he’s gonna tell ’em about you. Can you imagine what’ll happen to Stevie’s case? With you for a mother he’ll be laughed out of court. Bonnatti’s lookin’ forward to it. It’s like the openin’ of a show an’ he’s plannin’ eet real good. He has everythin’ on you—drugs, pictures, hospital records, everythin’. He even has those old snapshots of Stevie with all the girls when he was just four years old. Cute little boy in a white silk romper suit standin’ on a table….”
Carrie slumped back into the seat.
Lucky sat crosslegged in the middle of her bed, eyes closed, fingers pressed deeply against her temples. Enzio Bonnatti. Her godfather. Her mentor. The man she had confided in—loved. The man who had replaced Gino in her affections.
Enzio Bonnatti. Vile snake in the grass. Murderer. Killer. Marco’s assassin—if not by actual hand, by command. “Finish Marco,” he must have said. “He’s the only one knows what’s goin’ on. The girl and Costa are easy meat. They’ll back off. They ain’t got the brains to stay.”
How right he had been. How he must have gloated when she handed him everything on a plate. Him and the Kassari twins—sons of her own mother’s killer.
And she never suspected a thing. Dumb little Lucky Santangelo. Dumb pussy.
If it wasn’t for Boogie she still wouldn’t have been any the wiser. Boogie—who had picked up certain information eavesdropping on two Chicago hoods riding in the back of his limousine ten days previously. Boogie had just heard bits and pieces, a few names and dates, but enough to interest him—enough to get him wondering about Enzio Bonnatti and his loyalty to Lucky. Enough to spur him into doing a little investigating of his own.
He had found out plenty. Easily. He had a friend in the police department who checked out the files on Marco’s murder. Perpetrator unknown, the file was marked. And there was a long police report about certain suspects who were brought in. The Kassari brothers were questioned, but their alibi was watertight. A hired enforcer of theirs was questioned, arrested, released on bail, and killed by a hit-and-run driver before he appeared in court. Mortimer Sauris was a small-time gambler who hadn’t even been in town when Marco was gunned down. He had a history of welshing on bets. He wasn’t looking to do away with anyone, but a lot of people were looking to do away with him.
Marco was assassinated by the Kassari brothers on direct orders from Enzio Bonnatti. It was no big secret.
Lucky’s fingers pressed her temples harder. Why hadn’t she realized what was going on? Why hadn’t she suspected?
Christ! She jumped off the bed abruptly. She knew what she had to do.
Costa was sweating freely when they left Riccaddi’s. All his life he had liked things peaceful. Now that Gino was back, peaceful was a thing of the past.
“That dirty son-of-a-bitch,” Gino muttered, as soon as they were in the car. “That dirty filthy lying fuckhead.”
“What is wrong?” Costa asked uneasily. “He agreed with everything you said. He did not argue.”
“You gettin’ senile, Costa? I’m the one that’s bin away—and you’re the one don’t know from nothin’.”
“You think he plans to cheat us?”
“Wake up, old man. He plans more than a cheat. He plans a hit. I know. I can read it in his eyes.”
Costa was genuinely shocked. “You think that Enzio, your friend for so many years—”
“Be quiet, Costa. You blow sunshine out your ass don’t mean everyone’s the same. I must think. I must have peace. And I must double my security. He plans a hit. I know it.”
“But Gino—”
“What, Costa? What? You think these things don’t happen?”
“I only—”
“Did you arrange a time for Lucky and Dario to meet me?”
“I tried to reach them—”
“Don’t try, get them to the hotel. If Enzio plans to blow me away, maybe Lucky will be next. Who knows? I want them at the hotel as soon as possible. Personally bring them.”
Costa nodded, and his sweat flowed freely.
Enzio climbed into the back of his brown Pontiac with the bulletproof windows and sound system that cost more than the whole goddamn car. Viciously he shoved in a Tony Bennett tape, and to the strains of “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” he said to Big Victor, “It’s time. Arrange it. And I don’t want no fuckups.”
“I got an idea, boss,” said Victor, saliva bubbling in his mouth as he spoke.
“What?”
“Whyn’t we use the boy? This Dario. If he did the hit, there could be no fingers pokin’ at you. Santangelo got a lotta big friends wouldn’t be happy if you was involved. We use the boy, they can’t say nothin’.”
“You’re fuckin’-A right!” exclaimed Enzio. “The boy is at the house now, right?”
“Just like you told me, boss,” smirked Victor. He made a mental note to see that Ruthie was taken care of. She was an O.K. dame—she’d made the right move when it mattered. Called her old uncle and asked his advice. Big Victor had sensed an advantage in getting hold of Gino Santangelo’s son. “Stay away from home. I’ll have my boys take care of it,” he told her. “You done a good thing calling me.”
“What about Sal? They won’t hurt her?”
So what? Victor wanted to say. You’d be better off anyway without that shit-tough dike. “’Course not, sweetie,” he had assured her. “Go home tonight. It’ll all be taken care of.”
“When we get back to the house bring him to me,” Enzio decided. “You know somethin’, Vic? If the kid does the hit it’s the perfect answer.”
“That’s what I said, boss.”
“No. That’s what I said.”
Carrie left Suzita’s car on the corner of 109th Street and took a cab back to her apartment. She dismissed the maid and locked herself in Elliott’s study, where she sat and stared at the glass-fronted cabinet displaying his gun collection. What did she know about guns? Hardly anything. Just enough to take one of the smaller ones down, load it, and use it. Only Suzita wasn’t the victim she had in mind. Suzita had come to warn her—God knows why, when all those years ago Carrie had run out on her.
Enzio Bonnatti was the victim she had in mind. Enzio Bonnatti—who, according to Suzita, lived in a highly protected Long Island mansion from where he ran his network of crime and vice.
She stared at the guns, and her stare settled on a .38.
Very slowly she stood up, walked to the window, and tipped the key to the cabinet out of a vase.
The choice was simple. Steven’s career or Enzio’s life.
There was no choice.
Urgently Costa rang the bell outside Lucky’s apartment. He had tried to call her all morning with no success. Likewise his attempts to reach Dario. During lunch he had tried to call them both again. He had left messages all over, but neither had returned his calls.
Now he stood outside Lucky’s door and prayed for her to be home. The time had come for her to face up to reality. Gino was back. No mistake about it.
At last a shuffling noise, and the door was opened on a security chain. “Costa?” questioned a voice.
He was alarmed. Where was the maid? Who was in Lucky’s apartment?
“Yes,” he said shortly.
The door was thrown open and Boogie Patterson stood there.
“What are you doing here?” Costa asked sharply.
“He’s visiting. I’m allowed visitors, aren’t I?” Lucky strolled out from the bedroom in a short robe.
“I have been trying to reach you all day,” he said pompously.
“I was out—then I switched the phone off. What’s on your mind?”
“Have you seen the newspapers?”
“No. Why?”
He took a deep breath. “Your father is back,” he said, diving straight in, “and he wants to see you.”
Dario was confused. What the hell was happening in his life? He sat in the kitchen of Enzio’s house drinking cup after cup of hot strong coffee while two hoods lounged around watching him.
“I want to go home,” he stated peevishly. It was the fourth time he had said it.
“We’ll take y’home,” one of the hoods said—his name was Russo—“just as soon as you given your proper thank-yous to Mr. Bonnatti.”
“I don’t know what the hell’s going on,” Dario muttered. He had woken up in the back of a car with Russo beside him and the other man driving. His last memory was of Sal feeding him pills. Neither Russo nor the other man had felt free to give him any information. He didn’t dare ask what had happened to Sal or the boy he had stabbed.
When they arrived at the house, Russo had said, “This is Mr. Bonnatti’s residence. He helped y’out of a jam. When he says it’s O.K., we’ll take y’home.” That’s the only information he had received.
He scowled and took another mouthful of the steaming coffee. “Can I make a phone call?”
“I don’t—”
A third man burst into the kitchen then, a fat man in a sweaty suit with gravy stains on the lapels. “Dario!” he exclaimed, as though they were old friends. “Last time I saw you was in Vegas. Remember?”
He stared. Yes. The fat man had been with Enzio Bonnatti when he had summoned Warris and himself to his presence. “Get back to New York,” Enzio had commanded, and the fat man had personally put him on a plane.
“Listen, what the hell is going on around here?” he asked hotly.
“You had a few problems. Mr. Bonnatti heard—figured you was family—decided we should help y’out. Come. He’ll see you now.”
Enzio Bonnatti sat on an overstuffed damask-covered armchair picking at pistachio nuts from a glass bowl. “Sit,” he commanded, as though he was talking to a dog.
Dario sat. He knew when not to argue. Enzio Bonnatti might look like somebody’s grandfather, but his voice, his eyes, the way he cracked his knuckles when he made a command—they all told another story.
Silence filled the room while he looked Dario over. Finally he said, “I don’t like to waste time—never have. I’ll give you the story and tell you what I want.”
Dario nodded.
Enzio squeezed a pistachio nut from its tight shell and popped it in his mouth. “Somebody sent that fairy into your apartment to kill you. You got smart. You did away with him before he could do the same to you.”
Dario blinked quickly. It seemed he couldn’t make a move without fucking Bonnatti finding out.
“Y’know somethin’? I never had you figured for smart,” Enzio mused, “but you did the right thing.” He popped another nut and reached for a glass of mineral water. “So—you do away with the fairy, call Costa Zennocotti, and he gets Sal to clear up the mess. Only what happens then?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Dario mumbled.
“Sal kidnaps you!” Enzio announced dramatically. “The person that Costa sent to help you kidnaps you.”
Dario sat forward on his chair and eagerly strained to hear more.
“Why?” Enzio boomed. “Ask yourself, why?” He paused, stared meaningfully, then continued in hushed tones. “Because your family wants to get rid of you. You get my meaning? They want to dump you—push you out of the way—bury you ten foot under. Gino and Lucky, they want you dead, Dario—dead. You understand, boy? Dead.”
Dario took a deep breath. So it had been Lucky all along.
Costa felt a lot better when Lucky agreed to a meeting with her father. She seemed a little strange, but that was only to be expected.
“Come to the hotel with me now,” he pleaded. “Gino is waiting.”
“I can’t come now,” she replied coolly. “I have some calls to make. But I’ll be there later—I promise.”
Costa glanced quickly at his watch. It was almost two thirty. “Four o’clock at the Pierre then?” he asked anxiously.
“Fine. I’ll be there. Don’t worry, I will—honestly.” She pecked him quickly on the cheek. He looked so tired and worried and old. He would look even worse if he knew what she knew….
Costa hurried over to his office.
“Ah, Mr. Zennocotti,” said his secretary, “I have Dario Santangelo on the line. He’s called twice before.”
Costa snatched up the phone. “Dario? Where are you? I was trying to reach you. Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s cool. I’ve been hangin’ out with some friends. Hey, I read that Gino’s back. I want to see him.”
“And he wants to see you. Can you be at the Pierre by four?”
“Sure.” He hesitated for just a second. “Will Lucky be there?”
“She will be. It would be nice if now that your father is back the two of you could get along. I do think—”
“Later.” Dario hung up the phone.
Enzio, sitting in his overstuffed armchair watching, said, “Well?”
He took a deep breath. “Four o’clock, the Pierre, they’ll both be there.”
Enzio nodded. “Then you’ll do what you have to do,” he said softly, “won’t you, Dario?”
Gino paced the floor of his suite, his mind racing. He needed this aggravation like he needed bleeding piles. A show of strength was imperative. Bonnatti had to know—up front—that he wasn’t going to give an inch. Not one goddamn inch. The two hotels in Vegas were his—sure, Bonnatti had a piece of the Mirage, but that was all, only a piece of the cake.
Unfortunately, Bonnatti had an army—but a mob had never been Gino’s style. Big business was his style, dealing with the right people, having key connections who could do him a lot more good than an army of goons.
By the time Lucky arrived at the hotel he had made enough calls to ascertain that a big investigation was going on. Any day now Bonnatti was going to be indicted. Enzio had wriggled his way out of a lot of indictments, but this one looked like the real thing.
He smiled grimly. If Bonnatti was put away it would solve a lot of problems. Better get the money he owed him fast….
Costa preceded Lucky into the room and then vanished into the bedroom. Gino stared at his daughter. It was a shock because it was almost like looking in a mirror. As she had grown, so she had grown more like him. The eyes were exactly the same, black opal pools, and the jet hair, and the set of her jaw—the full sensuous mouth—the brilliant white teeth. Christ! But she wasn’t him. She was beautiful like a wild black orchid.
He could see at once that this was not the spoiled girl he had l
eft behind. This was a woman, self-assured, confident.
He smiled and held open his arms. “Lucky!”
She was taken aback. Did he honestly expect it to be that easy? One hug and an affectionate “Lucky”?
Her voice stilted, she ignored his open arms and said, “Hi, Gino. Welcome back.” Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Why had she said welcome back when she didn’t mean it?
He stared at her quizzically and tried to turn his arms into a gesture, a shrug. “Well, Well,” he said, “look at you. All grown up.”
She regarded him coldly. “I thought I was all grown up when you married me off at sixteen.”
He made a face. “So it didn’t work out. But it kept you out of trouble, right? You goin’ to hold a grudge forever, kid?”
She spotted a bottle of scotch on a table and walked toward it. “Can I fix you one too?” she asked stiffly.
“Not at this time of the day.”
She poured herself a hefty glass of the amber liquid and deliberately took a long drink.
Gino did not take his eyes off her. “I guess we’d better talk,” he said at last.
She was unnerved by his steady stare. “Yes,” she said defiantly, “a lot of things have changed while you’ve been away.”
“Yeh?” he said mildly.
“Yeh.” She tried to return his stare but couldn’t hold the look. She walked to the window and gazed out. “I’m involved now, I’m part of it.”
“So I heard.”
She turned to face him, her black eyes blazing. “I can tell you this—no way are you shoving me out. No way.”
Riding up in the elevator, Dario licked his lips. They were dry and cracked. He picked at a hangnail and tried to think rationally. Enzio Bonnatti was right. It was him or them. Why let the two of them go on making his life hell? Sending people into his own apartment to kill him. It was shocking. How could he go on living that way? Never knowing who had been sent to get him. Never knowing if a casual pickup would suddenly produce a knife. Never knowing his future.
Enzio Bonnatti was right.
Chances Page 69