The Boss of Hampton Beach
Page 34
Chapter 34
Buzz and Skinny missing their chance to grab Dan Marlowe at the fireworks show had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The next day Buzz had been informed by one of his associates on the Drug Task Force that the state police had Marlowe under surveillance. The cop had told Buzz that the state police knew Marlowe didn't have the cocaine but might lead them to it. So Buzz had decided he'd be better off keeping a close tail on Carpucci and his crew. Carpucci would track down his coke, and when he did Buzz would be right there to steal it again.
This time they'd followed Carpucci right into the parking lot at Singing Beach in Manchester-by-the-Sea and now he and Skinny were sitting around, twiddling their thumbs, waiting. Again.
Buzz shoved the car door open. "Come on, we've waited long enough. This has to be it."
"You mean we're gonna take 'em here?" Skinny's tongue whipped around his lips. "There's people around." He tipped his head at the other cars scattered around the lot.
"If this is where we have to do it, then that's all there is to it." Buzz was out of the car now, leaning down and looking through the driver's side window at Skinny. "You saw that gym bag. They aren't doing calisthenics down there. Something's up. Now get your goddamn skinny little ass out of there."
"Sure, Buzz, sure." Skinny leapt out of the car, slamming the door behind him.
"Got your piece ready?"
Skinny reached into the pocket of his imitation brown leather jacket. "Sure. I got it."
"Let's go."
Buzz headed toward the beach. He didn't waste any time, crossing the parking lot in long strides that forced Skinny to do a weird little skip every so often to keep up.
They went around the far side of the bathhouse, staying out of sight of the driver still sitting in the Lincoln. A few steps later, Buzz and Skinny were standing on the sand. Buzz stopped for a minute and looked both ways to get his bearings. There was a sprinkling of people on the beach, some walking alone, some in couples, others with dogs. Most everyone was dressed in sweats and windbreakers, a fashion statement neither he nor Skinny lived up to.
"There's one of them." Skinny pointed down the beach to their left.
Buzz shoved Skinny's hand down. "I can see him, moron, you don't have to point." It wasn't like he could miss the guy. How many big spics wearing expensive clothes you got walking on a beach like this anyway? And this one was way down at the end of the beach, heading back this way. By himself.
Where the hell was Carpucci?
"Where's Carpucci?" Skinny asked, furrowing his eyebrow. "And where's the bag?"
"How do I know? Come on. Let's go get a look-see." He gave Skinny a little shove and the two of them, looking like some kind of Mutt-and-Jeff team, started trudging across the sand.
"Hey," Skinny said, hitting a real high note. "Ain't that cute?"
"Ain't . . . I mean . . . isn't what cute?" Buzz said, trying to keep his mind on what was at hand. Not an easy task what with Skinny's voice hitting the ceiling again and giving Buzz chills right up his spine and into his head. He wouldn't have to listen to that lousy voice too much longer. What a pleasant thought.
"The sand," Skinny answered. He was looking down with a look on his face like maybe some acid he took in '68 was kicking in again. "It's making a noise."
"It's squeaking. This is Singing Beach, Dumbo. The sand makes a squeaking noise when you walk on it, so they call it Singing Beach. Get it?"
"If it squeaks, why do they call it Singing Beach? Why not Squeaking Beach?"
For a moment, Buzz forgot about the spic. He stared at Skinny. No wonder everything on this scam had gone wrong right from the start. He must have had rocks in his head bringing a dimwit like Skinny in on a once-in-a-lifetime score like this. Too late to worry about that now.
"Will you just shut the fuck up." And Skinny did shut up–for all of five seconds.
"What do ya think is in the gym bag, Buzz?"
Buzz'd been mulling the same thing over in his head ever since he'd seen the spic remove it from the trunk. "It isn't jockstraps and deodorant, that's for shitting sure. It has to be cash. And if I'm right, then Carpucci's here to buy his own stuff back."
Skinny's eyes glazed. "You mean it's full of money?"
"That's exactly what I mean."
"How much, you think?" Skinny asked dreamily.
"How should I know, Birdbrain? I don't have x-ray eyes."
Buzz'd been involved in enough busts through the years where cash had been confiscated in everything from paper bags to varying size boxes to the inside of socks still on someone's feet. In other words, he had enough experience to make an educated guess. The way Buzz had it figured a big gym bag, like the one Carpucci's boy had been toting, could hold maybe a few hundred thousand in big bills. Hard to imagine a man with Carpucci's reputation handing over that kind of dough for his own merchandise.
The spic was getting closer to them now, and beyond him, where the beach ended at the rocks, Buzz could see the bag and something else just sitting there in the sand.
"Move," Buzz shoved Skinny forward. "We're going closer."
"He'll make us," Skinny whined.
And Buzz had to admit he was right again. The spic was going to pass within yards of them. He'd make the pair of them if Buzz didn't do something fast. He reached over, wrapped his arm around Skinny's thin waist, and pulled him close, using his other hand to force Skinny's head onto his shoulder.
"Hey! What the fuck?" Skinny jerked and pulled, trying to get out of Buzz's tight embrace.
"Shut up, you little asshole," Buzz said as he gave Skinny a hard noogie rub on his head. "Believe me, I don't like this any better than you. But Carpucci's boy won't look twice at a couple of queers strolling the beach." Buzz gave Skinny a good tug and they started moving in the direction of the rocks.
"Jesus, I hope nobody I know sees me," Skinny muttered as they walked, his head buried in Buzz's big shoulder, their arms around each other's waist, real romantic-like. Buzz pulled Skinny's head in even tighter to his shoulder and lowered his own head onto it. He veered them off a bit in the direction of the water. The spic still passed too close for Buzz’s comfort, but if he took note of them he didn't show it.
"Sees you? For Chrissake, the only people that you know haven't been out of Charlestown in twenty years except to stickup a bank or go to the joint. Shut up so I can see what's going on." Now Buzz could see a man high up in the rocks and if he didn't have a shotgun in his hands, Buzz'd eat his hat. In the sand below him was the gym bag and . . . Jesus–a body!
Dominic Carpucci.
Buzz walked Skinny as close to the bag and the body as he dared before they turned and slowly headed back the way they'd come. The spic disappeared behind the bathhouse.
"What's happening?" Skinny mumbled, his head still plastered to Buzz's shoulder. "See anything?"
"Shut up." Buzz spun around and started heading back toward the rocks real slow, both of them hugging tight as lovers.
Skinny had a bird's eye view of the rocks now. "Carpucci! What's he doing on the sand?"
"He's not taking a nap, genius. The spic must've drilled him. Now shut up."
"He's getting away." Skinny suddenly pulled himself free from Buzz's love embrace. "He's got the money. What are we waiting for?"
Buzz had to decide. Fast. No way to know how much was in the bag–fifty grand? Three hundred grand? Three hundred grand sure wasn't what it used to be. It wouldn't even come close to letting Buzz retire in comfort.
"What are we going to do? They're both gettin' away. Jesus, Buzz."
Buzz didn't need a scorecard to figure out where the spic was headed. He'd found the cocaine and was probably on his way to a hundred-kilo payday. A payday worth at least two and a half million uncut. Didn't need to be a math whiz to figure that one out.
"Come on," Buzz sprinted toward the bathhouse. "We have to get to the car before the spic takes
off."
Skinny ran right behind him. "What about the bread?"
"Forget the bread, you dope. We're going for the main course."
~*~*~