“You want to see that kid of yours again?”
Jinks nodded.
“Good. I don’t find Jake, you die. We crystal on this?”
Jinks nodded again.
“Where do I find Maurizio?”
“The disco?”
“Cops have it shuttered. Where did you meet with him, you know, when you sold us out?”
“Wasn’t like that. His gorilla snatched me coming out of work.”
“Right. You didn’t call him?”
“No.”
“And you have no idea, no clue where I can find him. Too bad.” She hovered her index finger above Jinks’s face, deciding where to strike. “Eye?”
“No, no.”
Sam stabbed her finger down stopping so close she could feel his eyelashes. “Wait. Why you? If you didn’t call him . . . then?”
“Jo Jo knew I did demo. Put two and two. They snatched me. Said Kimmy, my kid, we were all dead if I didn’t rat you out. Didn’t even clear my debt. Swear.”
“He screwed you hard and dry. Val, the knife.”
“Whatever you say, Sam.” Valentina pulled the butcher knife and handed it to her. Jinks went pale.
“Last chance. Where.”
“Shit, um, shit . . . I heard he lives in North Beach, swear it’s all I know.”
Sam gripped the knife, took a breath then leaned down and slipped the blade under the extension cord. With one smooth move she freed Jinks from the chair.
“Sam?” Jinks said, rolling over to stand up.
“Don’t say my name. History gets you a walk away. Can’t promise the same if I see you again.”
Jinks looked from Sam’s cold eyes to Valentina’s. He started to say something, shut up and walked out. Sam followed him to the door and locked it behind him.
“Should have killed him.”
“You’re a thief not a killer, remember?”
“Losing Jake changes everything.”
“I know, baby.”
“Who do we know?”
“Nobody that runs with the black-hand boys.” Valentina went to the built-in alcove that held her phone and phonebooks. Grabbed the white pages.
“Really? He won’t be listed.”
Valentina thumbed rapidly through the names. “Bingo, big boy, busted.”
“What?”
“Maurizio Binasco, douche, lives over on Chestnut Street in North Beach. Man has big balls, lists his number because who would have the stones to front him?”
“We would.” Sam grabbed her leather jacket and was out the door before Valentina had her purse.
“Slow down, little sister, we have to play this smart.”
“Or we kick in the door and shoot anything that moves.”
“Good as that might feel, might not get us Jake back.”
“You got a better plan?”
CHAPTER 24
* * *
“Is it safe?” —Marathon Man
“Your name’s Jo Jo, right?” Jacob asked the huge man looming over him.
“They call me that. Name’s actually Clarence.”
“Last name’s not Odbody is it?”
“No. Who’s Odbody?”
“Clarence Odbody. No? It’s a Wonderful Life? No? Nothing?”
“I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
“Yeah, I get that, but what am I going to do? My hands and feet are tied. I’m blindfolded.”
“Still . . . boss would have my ass, he finds out.”
Jacob heard the refreshing pffft of a beer bottle opening. “Brewski? Can I have some? ‘Swear I’m so dry I’m spitting cotton.’ Bus Stop?”
“You’re weird, kid, real space case.”
“A thirsty space case. Come on, one sip. What’s the harm?”
The bottle clinked against Jacob’s teeth as Jo Jo tried to give him some. “Sorry, kid.”
Jacob took a deep chug. “No biggie. Thanks. Hey, you smoke boo?”
“I guess.”
“You guess? You call me weird. I’ll make you a sweet deal. Take off my blindfold and I’ll share some Panama Red with you. Good, blow your mind, Class-A grass.”
“I’m not even supposed to talk to you.”
“So someone comes, you put the blindfold back. Right?”
“Ummm, I don’t know.”
“Pussy.” A hand hit the back of Jacob’s head. “Ow.”
“Sorry. Promise you won’t tell Mr. Binasco?”
“Scout’s honor.”
When the blindfold came off, Jacob couldn’t see all that much better. A dim overhead light revealed an industrial-looking storage room. Jacob was on the floor with his back against the cement wall. Jo Jo sat in a metal folding chair a few feet away.
“Front shirt pocket, Bugler,” Jacob said. Jo Jo reached in and pulled out the tin. Plucking out a joint he sniffed it. “It’s good shit, trust me.”
“We’ll find out in a minute,” Jo Jo said, flicking his Bic. He took a hard hit, holding it in. He leaned back on the hind legs of his chair and tilted his head back.
“What about me?” Jacob asked. Jo Jo looked down at Jacob then leaned forward, putting the joint between his lips. Jacob held the smoke in like a pro, not even a tiny cough.
“Fuck,” Jo Jo said, leaning back again.
“Told you it was good shit.”
“You didn’t lie, little man.” Polishing off the beer, Jo Jo opened a fresh frosty. He gave Jacob the first gulp.
Jacob noticed a line of scabs and bruises on Jo Jo’s knuckles. “What happened there?”
Jo Jo looked at his fist. “That Chinese dude from your crew.”
“Jinks?”
“That’d be him.”
“You kicked his ass?”
“Mostly his face. Cut myself on one of his fucking teeth.”
“He is a total scumbag,” Jacob said.
“Tried to trade you for a marker.”
“See? Scumbag.”
“He’ll be eating his egg foo yung through a straw.”
“Good.”
As they finished the joint and the mellow set in, Jacob got Jo Jo talking about his childhood. He’d grown up in South Bend, Indiana. “While the other guys were playing with cap guns I was dressing up my sister’s Barbie. That should have tipped my folks off to something.”
“When did you figure out you were into dudes?”
“I always knew. I mean, I didn’t have words for it. But yeah, I knew. I didn’t have anyone to be gay with.”
“Truth, Jo Jo, some days I think it would be easier to be gay. I, um . . .” Jacob let it trail off.
“Tease, that’s what you are, little man. But I got a newsflash.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I ain’t into boys. Men are what springs my pole.”
“Did you just say ‘springs my pole’?” Jacob was laughing.
“Yes, um, I did.” Jo Jo started laughing and the laughter took on a life of its own. Soon their eyes were watering and they were howling. Slowly it subsided. By then, neither could remember what had started it.
After Jacob caught his breath he looked up at Jo Jo, serious. “Jo Jo, if Binasco tells you to kill me, will you?”
“I’d have to. That’s how this works. I’d feel like shit though.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“Then you shouldn’t have robbed Mr. Binasco’s disco.”
CHAPTER 25
* * *
“I got some bad ideas in my head.” —Taxi Driver
Maurizio Binasco’s address was a three-story white with black trim Victorian. Black iron scrollwork supported handrails leading to the second floor entrance. It had one door, making it clear it had never been broken up into flats. From the earliest days North Beach was San Francisco’s little Italy. Joe DiMaggio grew up there, lived there in the ’50s with Marilyn Monroe. The beat generation flocked to its coffee shops. In 1964 the Condor Club opened on Broadway. It was reported to be America’s first topless and bottomless entertainment venue. None
of this history meant jack shit to Sam as she sat in Valentina’s Galaxie with an M16 on her lap. Looking up she could see a sofa and part of the living room through the sheer curtains covering the second floor bay windows. A pretty, middle-aged woman was helping a ten or twelve-year-old boy with his homework, or at least that’s what it looked like to Sam.
“We go in and snatch the wife and kid, trade them for Jake,” Sam said.
“You really want to play chicken with a mobster? You willing to shoot an innocent kid? The wife?”
“For Jake? Maybe.”
“No you’re not, neither am I. We don’t bluff with Jacob’s life, deal?”
“Deal. Man, I hate waiting.” Thirty painfully slow minutes later Maurizio emerged from the back of the house dressed in a suit. He kissed his wife and then put up his dukes like he was going to box with the boy. The boy threw a stage punch. Maurizio snapped his head back in exaggerated slow motion. They both laughed. Maurizio tousled his son’s hair then walked out the front door. Coming down the stairs there was a spring in his step. Sam and Valentina crouched down in their seats. Through the open window they heard him whistling Diana Ross’s “Love Hangover.” Sliding behind the wheel of the Lincoln Continental he pulled away from the curb. Valentina gave him a two-block lead before she followed.
“Where are you going, Mr. Binasco?” Sam asked as the Lincoln rolled up onto the 80 heading toward the Bay Bridge. They followed him across the double-decker bridge. Curving at the tollbooths, he took the 580 into Berkeley. He was driving slow, casual, like he had nowhere to be. It was Monday night and traffic was light. At University he exited. Near the freeway off-ramp he took a left into an industrial neighborhood. Valentina had to hang well back as there was no other traffic to hide behind. At a small warehouse he stopped. Sam slipped down below the window as the Galaxie cruised past Maurizio.
By the time Valentina circled the block Maurizio had disappeared. Parked beside the Lincoln was a cute little red Alfa Romeo Spider. “‘Mrs. Robinson, you’re trying to seduce me,’” Valentina said pointing with her nose at the sports car.
“What?”
“The Alfa, it’s what Dustin Hoffman drove in The Graduate.”
“Val?”
“Yeah, Sam?”
“Weird time to bring that piece of trivia up.”
“Agreed.”
“What are the odds my brother is being held in that building?”
“Good.”
“What do you say we go get him back?”
“Little sister, there is nothing I’d rather do.” They were parked two doors down. Each had an M16 with a full magazine and a spare taped to it upside down, jungle style. “Time to take it to them full rock and roll, baby.”
“You got it,” Sam said, switching the rifle’s selector to full auto. Quietly they circled the building. No back entrance. The roller door in the front was locked down. A steel-clad wooden door was the only other way in. It had a Schlage deadbolt with a thin metal pick guard, enough to keep most out. Sam wasn’t most. In thirty seconds flat the door clicked. Sam swung it silently open and Valentina moved into the room. Spinning in a quick 360 she cleared the small inner office. From the Snap-on calendars on the wall with babes in bikinis humping tools to the grease-stained invoices on the desk, it was clearly a machine shop of some kind. From beyond the office walls drifted the sound of a cello. A second door seemed to lead to the main floor. Valentina motioned with two fingers for Sam to take the left side of the room when they breached the door.
Stealth was over.
It was time for shock.
Valentina hit the door with her shoulder at a dead run. The hollow wood splintered in. Valentina aimed right, sweeping the room with her M16.
Sam was behind Valentina, sweeping the left side of the room. At first her mind couldn’t catch up to what she was seeing. Instead of a machine shop she saw a grand living room. Several crystal chandlers hung from the rafters lighting the room in a warm glow. Kilim Persian rugs littered the floor. Large canvases hung from the walls, some blank, others dripping Daliesque cityscapes in various stages of being painted. The cello was coming from a high-end hi-fi with a reel-to-reel tape player and glowing tube amplifier.
Something moved in the middle of the room. Sam took aim. Through the rifle’s sights she saw Maurizio sitting on a pile of pillows, back resting against a chaise lounge. He wore a floral kimono. In his hand was a Champagne flute. On his lap rested a pretty young man’s head.
Maurizio’s mouth formed an O but no sound came out.
The young man sat up, pulling an afghan over his naked chest.
Valentina kicked open a side door, discovering a kitchen and dining room, both empty.
Sam kept the front sight planted squarely on the middle of Maurizio’s forehead.
In the back of the space Valentina found a bedroom, also empty. She moved back into the carpet-strewn main room and studied the tableau.
“He’s not here,” Valentina said in a soft voice, not wanting to startle Sam into action.
“Where?” Sam said, walking forward, keeping the sight on Maurizio, her finger on the trigger. “Where? Where?”
“Fuck this.” Maurizio stood and a Walther PPK, slick little automatic, appeared in his hand. “You two bitches want to dance? Let’s boogie.”
Valentina shouldered her M16, dialing in on the mobster. “No way you walk out of here.”
“Ha! You chicks kill a made man? How long before my associates find you? Hours, days if you’re lucky, which you aren’t.”
“I just want my brother back. Where is he?”
“Bottom of the goddamn bay if you don’t put that piece down.”
“Don’t do it, Sam.” Valentina moved in, taking aim at the pretty young man on the floor. “The twist goes first. Can you dig it, old man?”
“Ricky? He’s got nothing to do with this.”
“Please.” Ricky started to cry softly. “I’m just a painter.”
“Collateral damage, babe.” Valentina was in full-on jungle mode. “This shit gets wet nobody’s going to stay dry. Sam, you got the greaseball?”
“He twitches and he’s a smear on the rug,” Sam said, readying herself to pull the trigger. Hesitation would get them killed.
“Do I look even vaguely like I care if I die?” Valentine let her eyes droop to bored slits. “Even if you somehow kill us both, on full auto we will rip you both to shreds before we hit the floor.”
“Popi, do what they say. I don’t want you to die,” Ricky said.
“Shhh, Ricky.” Maurizio opened his hand and let the automatic fall out of it. “I’m talking to a couple of ghosts. Kill me and there will be nowhere to hide.”
“Let’s do this thing, Val, screw him and his threats.”
Maurizio looked from Sam to Valentina. “Be a god damn shame to punch bullet holes into a beautiful woman like you. Why not put the guns down and talk. See if we can get you home in one piece.”
Valentina slowly lowered her rifle. “Yeah, alright, talk. Sam, keep a bead on him.”
“You got it. Scratch your balls without giving me fair warning and I will punch your timecard.”
“Understood. Ricky, get us some coffee. Cappuccino, you gonna love it.” Ricky stood up, shaking. He started to move to Maurizio for comfort but the older man shook his head ever so slightly. “Go on. Alright, gorgeous, pull up a chair.” He motioned Valentina to a chair in front of one of the paintings. The mobster sat on the end of the chaise lounge. “What a fucking mess, right?”
“Fubar,” Valentina said in a flat voice. “And you are just as fucked as we are.”
“How you figure that?”
“Your associates OK with a fanook for a soldier?”
“No, but I ain’t no fanook. I got a wife and kids to prove it.”
“I think you might believe that. Walks like a duck, fucks like a duck, it’s a duck.”
“Ricky, he’s an artist. I’m his patron.”
“You haven’t told your unc
le Jimmy that you lost his two hundred grand.”
“I handle my own business.”
“Word gets out on the street that you got rolled by three girls and a couple of high school kids, well, you can do the math.”
Ricky came back in. He’d changed into a tight tee with Andy Warhol’s Marilyn Monroe silk-screened on the front. He had a tray with two cappuccinos. He knelt at Maurizio’s feet, serving him first. Maurizio didn’t look down. He took the cup while keeping his eyes on Valentina.
“Um, thanks.” Valentina blew on the steaming liquid. “You’re right, it’s good.”
“Dark roast, caffè nero, ground fine, that’s the trick. You?” He raised a cup to Sam. “Not thirsty?”
Sam kept her finger on the trigger and slowly shook her head.
“You made a huge mistake when you took her brother. Sam is a stone killer when it comes to family.”
“I think you’re right, about the mistake part. I misjudged you two. That won’t happen again.”
“Wait a fucking minute,” Sam said lowering her rifle. “I don’t have to threaten your Guinea ass. Nope.” Leaning down she took the cup from Valentina and took a sip. “You’re right, that is one hell of a cup of coffee.”
“Sam?”
“I got this one, Val.” She turned to the boy on the floor. “Ricky, this goes sideways and I don’t walk out of here, you’ll need to line up a new sugar daddy.”
Ricky looked up at the older man. “What is she talking about?”
“She’s blowing smoke up my ass.”
“Think about it, big guy. I am the only one in this room who has any idea where your two hundred grand is, and I’m the only thief here good enough to get it back. You lose all that bread, no place in the world you can hide. Now, shitbird, where the fuck is my brother?”
Young Americans Page 17