Natalie's Dilemma: a Frank Renzi crime thriller (Frank Renzi novels Book 7)

by Susan Fleet

  “Don't worry. King Rock is at the top of my list.” Right after I arrest Natalie. No need to mention he'd see her at the Clearview Mall four hours from now. He couldn't arrest her while Conti was there, but if she managed to meet them at the mall, maybe he could figure a way to get her out of the house to meet him somewhere else. Without Conti.

  _____

  10:00 AM

  Orazio strode down the driveway toward the white limousine, trying to contain his fury. Tommy wanted to meet The Boss. He didn't even know his name. Father had never allowed Tommy to meet him. Such meetings required self-confidence, intelligence and skill. Tommy thought flashy suits impressed people. Nonsense. For the sit-down, Orazio had worn his conservative charcoal-gray suit, one befitting an important businessman.

  With an obsequious smile, the livery driver opened the rear door. “Good morning, sir.”

  “A fine morning indeed,” Orazio said, and settled onto the plush leather seat.

  The driver, a young white man in a tuxedo, got behind the wheel. “Where to, sir?”

  “I must attend an important meeting near the lake.” The lake with the strange name that sounded like Punch-A-Train. “But I am in no hurry. Go up West End Boulevard and drive around. I enjoy seeing the elegant homes there.” In fact, he intended to purchase one. Silvano would facilitate the sale. For cash, and a few diamonds perhaps.

  The driver pulled away from the curb. “Some of those houses are as big as mansions.”

  “True. In Venice we call them palazzos. I would be happy to tell you about them, but I must focus on my meeting.” Enough of this prattle, though it amused him to show off his command of American English. Tommy spoke only basic phrases in a thick accent. With his good looks and charm, Tommy expected everything in life to be easy. Crippled from birth, Orazio had worked hard to master many things, including English.

  As a young boy he had watched television programs in English. When he was ten, he discovered Zorro. A superb athlete and marksman, Zorro was a master of stealth and cunning. Well-educated and wealthy, he used high-tech gadgets to defeat his enemies. Orazio watched the show alone in his room, without Tommy. Zorro was his secret fantasy world. Someday he would be as wealthy and powerful as Zorro. Now he was.

  He glanced out the window at the mansions where wealthy white men lived, important men who owned banks or lucrative businesses. Not as lucrative as Don Rotondo's business, but substantial enterprises nevertheless. Some were huge, others smaller, though still impressive. He saw no “for sale” signs outside them. Perhaps millionaires did not allow such tawdry signs on their property. But Silvano would help him find some mansions that were for sale here.

  “Would you care for a beverage, sir?” the driver asked. “There are soft drinks and bottled water in the cooler beside you.”

  Orazio checked his Rolex, rather flashy but a fine timepiece. 10:35. If he arrived early, he would appear over-eager. “Thank you. Keep driving. When it's time to go to my meeting, I will tell you.”

  He opened a bottled water and drank some as they passed a two-story mansion, almost as fine as his palazzo in Venice. Sunlight glanced off the white-stone exterior. Too bad Father wasn't here. But he would be here in spirit. Father's guidance would govern his behavior at the meeting. The path he intended to travel was dangerous, but he had taken many risks in his life. This would be no different.

  He massaged his right leg. Even now if he sat still too long, the muscles stiffened up. As a boy he hated being a cripple. Father had taken him to the best surgeon in Rome, but the doctor said he must wait until he attained his full growth. Finally, when he was sixteen and six feet tall, the surgeon reconstructed his leg. The arduous rehabilitation process had taken six months.

  Then Father gave him the assignment he had long yearned for. Kill a member of a rival gang. He prepared for the hit as diligently as he had prepared to fight his tormentors in school. When the time came, he did not flinch. He looked the man in the eye and pulled the trigger. The next day in Father's library, surrounded by soldiers of the Antonetti Family, he had sworn an oath in blood. Omerta. Silence and loyalty.

  To betray The Family would bring certain death.

  Not until Tommy was nineteen had Father given him an assignment: Kill a low-level soldier who had betrayed The Family. Tommy needed three shots to do it. He was a wuss, and Father knew it. By then, he had already introduced Orazio to Don Rotondo.

  Now it was time for the meet. He gave the driver the address and relaxed into the leather seat. In the course of his thirty-two years, he had overcome many obstacles. When it came to matters of crucial importance, he felt supremely confident. Tommy said he had ice-water in his veins. Nonsense. Fear was foreign to him, difficult to comprehend. He rarely expressed his emotions, unless something triggered his fury. He had the killer instinct. Tommy did not.

  The limousine stopped in front of an imposing four-story mansion surrounded by an eight-foot, wrought-iron fence. Orazio gave the driver a fifty-dollar bill and told him to wait. A man with hard eyes and a scarred face opened the door, took him inside and frisked him. He found nothing. Orazio knew better than to bring weapons to a sit-down. After searching his briefcase, the man took him to the room where the Don received visitors, a twelve-foot-square room with a stone fireplace on the left, two windows with drawn shades on the right.

  Ahead of him, two enormous men with hard eyes and bulges under their jackets guarded two men in business suits who occupied chairs in front of a low table. The man he had come to see occupied the largest chair, high-backed like a throne, with red velvet upholstery.

  Anthony “Tick-Tock” Rotondo had to weigh at least 350 pounds. Even his fingers were fat, fondling the chihuahua with big brown eyes perched on his lap. Orazio had once seen him on the grounds of his mansion, an enormous fat man walking two dogs no bigger than his fist.

  He studied the chihuahua. One twist of the neck and the creature would be dead.

  Silvano Tucci occupied the chair beside Don Rotondo, thin and wiry in his pinstriped gray suit. Orazio took a seat opposite Silvano and placed a gift-wrapped package on the table. “A gift from the Antonetti Family, Don Rotondo, an ornament made of Murano glass.”

  Now seventy-five, Don Rotondo had acquired a fearsome reputation on his way to the top. He had whacked many people. Some hits were merciful, one shot to the head. Others involved ice picks, garrotes and knives. When Anthony Rotondo paid a call, they knew the clock was ticking. Hence the Tick-Tock moniker. Nevertheless, Don Rotondo remained a devout Catholic. He unwrapped the gift, a large multicolored mosaic of The Virgin Mary. A smile suffused his pudgy face. “A most thoughtful gift, Orazio. I will treasure it.”

  “A fine gift indeed,” Silvano said.

  “I trust your business goes well, Don Rotondo?” Orazio said, easing into business mode.

  “Better with each passing year, even without the drugs. Good riddance to that. Now the blacks peddle drugs on street corners and run around shooting each other to protect their turf.” He waved a pudgy hand. “Stupid. This attracts police attention.”

  Orazio nodded, expressionless. So far no one had mentioned the attention the murders in Venice had attracted, and he did not intend to speak of this.

  “The Vietnamese are worse,” Silvano said. “They prey on their own people, invade their homes and torture them to find out where they keep their money and jewelry.”

  Interesting, Orazio thought, storing away this piece of information.

  Don Rotondo fixed him with a hard stare. “You have made a big score in Venice?”

  “A fine score indeed. I learned that a shipment of uncut diamonds would arrive at a jewelry store and made the owner an offer, but he refused. This I could not tolerate. Now he is in hospital, comatose. His wife is dead.” He said nothing about the girl. Why ask for trouble?

  Gazing at him, his dark eyes full of greed, the Don said, “You have the diamonds?”

  He opened his briefcase and placed the drawstring bags of uncut diamonds on t
he table. Silvano opened them and carefully spread the contents over the table, diamonds of various shapes and sizes. The largest was almost as big as a golf ball, impressive, even in the dim light.

  A hush fell over the room as Silvano counted them, broken only by the Don's labored breathing.

  At last Silvano said, “Sixty-eight uncut diamonds.”

  This brought another smile to Tick-Tock's pudgy face.

  Orazio maintained a confident expression and relaxed posture. To conceal the fact that he had also stolen jewelry, he must appear unconcerned, not the least bit guilty. “Take your pick of the diamonds,” he said. “Our tribute to you, Don Rotondo.”

  The Don stopped petting the chihuahua. His hand snaked out and his fat fingers plucked the largest diamond off the table. “What do you think this is worth, Silvano?”

  “At least a million. Perhaps more. Your nephew would know more precisely.”

  Tick-Tock smiled, revealing yellowed teeth. “You did well to smuggle them into the country, Orazio. The feds grow more vigilant every day. I will take the four largest diamonds. You and your family may have the rest. My nephew will cut them for you.”

  Angelo Esposito, the fagosa. Orazio hated dealing with him, but he had no choice.

  Silvano put the other diamonds in the drawstring bags and gave them to Orazio. “Sixty-four uncut diamonds. After Angel works his magic, they will be untraceable. Much better than drugs.”

  Orazio nodded in agreement. “Thank you, Don Rotondo. And thank you for lending us your home. We especially appreciated the fine meal you provided on our arrival.”

  Don Rotondo waved a hand. “We take care of family. I will call my nephew and tell him to expect you.”

  Translation: I know how many diamonds are in those bags and my nephew will tell me if you bring him more.

  “Thank you,” Orazio said. “I will make an appointment to see him on Monday.”

  CHAPTER 20

  SATURDAY – 1:40 PM

  “So many cars!” Catarina exclaimed. “The stores in this mall must be bellissimo!”

  “You'll love Sears,” Natalie said. “It has some fantastic outfits.” She had no idea if it did or not, but it was a huge store, which would keep Catarina busy, and away from the food court. Cursing the line of vehicles in front of her, she gripped the wheel with sweaty hands.

  Her nerves were shot. Catarina had already given her a hard time about leaving the house. After lunch Orazio said he had to go out, and Tommy insisted on going with him. When Catarina said she wanted to go shopping, Orazio told her to be quiet.

  After the men left the house, Natalie had said, “Let's rent a car. Why let Orazio ruin our day?”

  With a tense frown, Catarina said, “He can do more than ruin our day, believe me. Besides, I know nothing about how to rent a car.”

  “I'll rent the car,” she'd said. “They'll pick us up. Come on, it will be fun. We'll take Bianca with us.” Twenty minutes later, a man picked them up and drove them to the rental office. She used her Ling Lam credit card to rent a four-door Honda Accord, but it had taken forever to complete the paperwork.

  She didn't give a damn about shopping, but it was an excuse to get to the mall and meet Conti. Something else she didn't want to do. If they ever found a parking space. Seven days before Christmas, people were hellbent on shopping. And so was Catarina.

  The cars ahead of them inched forward.

  Behind them in the back seat, Bianca said, “I want ice cream.”

  “I'll get you some as soon as we find a place to park,” Natalie said. Now it was 1:45. If she didn't find a space soon, she'd be late for the meeting. Sweat dampened the armpits of her fancy running suit, the one Catarina so admired. Catarina had on an emerald-green wool dress, better suited to the weather in New York City.

  “That car is leaving,” Catarina said, pointing at a red Jeep one row over to their left.

  “Great! Go stand in the space and wait till I get there.”

  Catarina got out and rushed to claim the space. Another car tried to pull into it, but Catarina stood her ground. Natalie couldn't help smiling. Catarina could be a pain in the ass, but she was a pit bull if she wanted something. And she wanted to buy some fancy new clothes.

  Five minutes later, Natalie helped Bianca out of the car and checked the time. 1:55. She'd never make the meeting in time. She took Bianca's hand and hurried toward the mall entrance. Catarina struggled to keep up, hobbled by her spike-heeled shoes. A line of cars halted to let them cross to the mall entrance.

  Conscious of the passing minutes, Natalie pushed through the door into the mall. “After I get Bianca some ice cream, I'll buy her some summer clothes, T-shirts and shorts.”

  “And a new dress,” Bianca said.

  Catarina trilled a laugh. “That's right, Bianca. We both need a pretty new dress. Shall I come with you and help you pick one out?”

  Definitely not. “We don't have much time. Go have fun shopping at Sears. Target has nice clothes for children. It's the store on the end with the big red-and-white bulls-eye.” Pointing to their left, she said, “Sears is the store on that end of the mall.” On the mall directory, she touched the star on the first floor map. “We're here. If you get lost, keep walking until you come to the mall directory. We can meet here at these wooden benches.”

  “Okay, let's meet at four.” Catarina pointed at the directory. “Look, there's a movie theater. Maybe we can come and see a film some night.”

  She forced a smile. If Catarina didn't shut up, she'd be late. Conti would be furious. “Maybe. See you at four. Have fun shopping.” And stay away from the food court.

  Bianca seemed enthralled, gazing at the crowds of people and the stores with their holiday decorations, wreaths and fir trees decorated with gold tinsel and colored ornaments. A short walk took them to the food court. Along the right-hand wall enticing aromas came from takeout stalls. Beside them a vast seating area held dozens of tables. Enjoying their food and beverages, shoppers of all ages sat at them, grandparents, young couples, parents with small children.

  Her heart jolted. Frank Renzi was sitting at a table near the back of the seating area. Why was he here? He was just as attractive as she remembered, a pale blue shirt open at the neck contrasting with his tanned face. Almost as though he'd felt her eyes on him, he turned and locked eyes with her. Then he said something to the man beside him. Conti.

  She couldn't decide who she feared most, Conti or Renzi.

  But to hell with them. Bianca wanted ice cream. Why should she worry about being late? It was Conti's fault, expecting her to find a way to get here. She took Bianca to the Baskin Robbins stall and said in Italian, “What flavor do you want?”

  Bianca studied the big tubs in the display case. Finally she pointed at two tubs. One held chocolate ice cream, the other orange sherbet.

  “Two scoops?” Natalie said in English.

  The young female clerk said, “It's okay. I can put a small scoop of each into a big cup.”

  “That would be perfect. And a bottle of iced tea for me.”

  The clerk put their order on a small tray. She paid cash and added several napkins to the tray. Bianca went to the nearest vacant table and climbed onto a chair.

  She bent down and said in Italian, “Not here, Bianca. Two of my friends are sitting at another table. Here's the deal. You get to have two flavors of ice cream, but you have to promise not to tell Catarina or Tommy or Orazio I talked to them while you ate your ice cream, okay?”

  “Okay. I love ice cream.”

  She took Bianca to a vacant table beside the one where Conti was sitting. He wanted to talk about the 'Netti brothers, and she didn't want Bianca to overhear them. She settled the girl in her seat and gave her the cup of ice cream. Already, Conti was signaling her to come to their table.

  Ignoring him, she said to Bianca, “How is the ice cream? Good?”

  Bianca spooned a bite of chocolate into her mouth. “Very good.”

  She opened her bottle of i
ced tea and drank some. Conti waved his hand to get her attention. The idiot. Did he expect her to jump when he snapped his fingers? She leaned closer to Bianca and said, “Which flavor do you like the best?”

  Bianca smiled and licked orange sherbet off the plastic spoon. “Both. I like both the best.”

  “Good,” she whispered. “I need to go talk to my friends now.”

  Bianca put down her spoon and looked at her with mournful eyes. “You won't leave me, will you?”

  “Of course not. I will be sitting right over there. Just for a minute, I promise.”

  She rose to her feet, stepped over to the other table and sat on the chair facing Bianca. Before Conti could speak, she said in English, “How did you expect me to get here, walk? I had to rent a car and it took forever. I can't stay long. Catarina is with us. She is shopping now.”

  Conti studied her for a moment, expressionless, then said, “I told Frank you'd find a way.”

  Renzi's eyes bored into her. “How did you rent the car?”

  She had expected this question. When in doubt, lie. “Catarina has a credit card.”

  Seemingly satisfied, Renzi said, “How's it going? Do they suspect you?”

  “I'm not sure. Orazio trusts no one. Not even his brother, I think.”

  “Why?” Conti said. “What makes you think so?”

  “He went to meet someone this morning. Tommy wanted to go with him and they had a big argument. Orazio left by himself. Tommy was pissed.”

  “Who was Orazio going to meet?” Conti asked.

  “I don't know. He didn't say.” She glanced at Bianca, who was intent on eating her ice cream, a bite of chocolate, then a bite of orange sherbet. “Orazio had a limo pick him up at ten o'clock.”

  “I know,” Conti said. “I saw it.”

  She drank some iced tea. That answered one question. Conti was watching the house. “Where did he go? Did you follow him?”