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

by Susan Fleet

“What did you tell him?”

  “I said it was in my garage.” And after a pause, “But you and I both know it wasn't. Where was it?”

  “Parked in the garage at Tick-Tock's house. Sunday afternoon I took Tommy and his wife for a steamboat ride along the river. We came home at four-thirty.”

  Silence on the other end. He wiped sweaty palms on his trousers and waited.

  “Did you see the newspaper article about these murders at the Vietnamese restaurant?”

  “No. What happened?” When difficult questions arise, admit nothing. But his worst fear had come true. Silvano had read the article, and a cop had questioned him about the SUV.

  “Someone whacked four Vietnamese gangsters. It did not appear to be a robbery.”

  “Perhaps another Vietnamese gang was responsible.”

  “Perhaps,” Silvano said.

  Orazio said nothing, growing more and more apprehensive during the extended silence. Did Silvano recall the comment he'd made about the Vietnamese gangs that stole cash and jewelry? If Silvano knew the Ng Family bought certain items for cash, he might conclude that Orazio had tried to fence jewelry at the Saigon Cafe Sunday night. Diamond jewelry worth many thousands of dollars that he had not reported to Tick-Tock.

  Silvano might also surmise that the deal fell apart, which necessitated the murders that had drawn so much attention.

  At last, Silvano said, “Your business will soon be finished here.”

  “Yes, thanks to you, and I appreciate it. Angelo will have those items ready for me on Wednesday afternoon.”

  “Good. Meet me at the real estate agent's office at eight-thirty on Thursday. Leave my SUV in Tick-Tock's garage. I will drive you to the airport.”

  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. “That is very kind of you.” No it wasn't. It was terrifying.

  “See you Thursday,” Silvano said, and ended the call.

  Orazio hurried to the elevator and rode it to the rooftop garage. The air was hot and humid. He mopped sweat from his forehead. His hand trembled as he held his lighter to his cigar and puffed to get it going.

  The aroma of a fine cigar usually settled his nerves, but not today.

  When he was seven, Father had taught him to play chess, an enjoyable game but also instructive. The first thing Father taught him: a chess match might be decided because of one bad move, a move that—once made—set the player on a certain path to destruction. And in chess, as in life, such a move could never be taken back.

  Snippets of Silvano's words echoed in his mind. I told him the SUV was in my garage. But you and I both know it wasn't. Someone whacked four Vietnamese gangsters. Leave my SUV in Tick-Tock's garage.

  Most alarming of all: I will drive you to the airport.

  Silvano's SUV was not parked in Tick-Tock's garage. This was easily remedied. But Silvano's offer to drive him to the airport was ominous.

  If a made man, especially a close confidant of The Boss, said he was taking you for a ride, it was definitely not good news.

  Orazio shuddered. When he arrived at the real estate office on Thursday, a bullet might be waiting for him.

  _____

  3:15 PM

  Frank trained the binoculars on the mob house. David was downstairs taking a break. An hour ago Orazio, Tomasso and Catarina had left in the dark blue SUV and hadn't returned. No sign of Natalie and Bianca. He was pissed that his plan had failed, but he was also worried. What happened after they returned to the house?

  He doubted that Orazio would kill them there. But Natalie seemed certain he would kill them tonight, and he believed her.

  He got on his cellphone and called Tony Coppola in the surveillance van. “Tony, it's Frank. Is Conti there?”

  “No. I haven't seen him for quite a while.”

  “I'm still at the Hogan house. Conti's pissed that I didn't tell him about it. But here's the big problem. Natalie thinks Orazio is going to kill her and Bianca. He said he'd take them shopping after dinner. If he does, be ready to stop the SUV.”

  “Will do, but what if Conti comes back?”

  “Screw Conti. He's focused on the mobsters. He doesn't give a shit about Natalie and the girl.”

  “Whatever you say, Frank. I'm with you.”

  “Thanks, Tony.” He ended the call and spotted Kelly walking toward the side entrance of the Hogan house, carrying two plastic bags.

  He yelled to David, “Kelly's here with the take-out.” He hadn't eaten since breakfast, but he wasn't hungry. Acid was eating a hole in his gut.

  A minute later he heard footsteps on the stairs and Kelly entered the guest room. “What's going on?”

  “Orazio, Tomasso and Catarina drove off in the dark blue SUV an hour ago and haven't come back. Natalie and Bianca weren't with them. How's Jacques?”

  “Okay. Better than he was, anyway. When I told the social worker how he responded when Natalie sang to him, she was thrilled. She said she'd tell the speech therapist to try that.”

  Frank saw Conti pull into the driveway. Silently cursing, he got on his cellphone, called Conti and said, “Get your car out of the driveway! You want the mobsters to see you?”

  “Don't tell me what to do,” Conti snarled.

  “Move it now! Park on the side street and come in the door beside the garage,” he said and ended the call.

  “Asshole,” Kelly said. “What is he thinking?”

  “He's not thinking. He's too pissed. I better go down and talk to him. Stay here for a minute. I'll send David up to stand watch.”

  When he entered the kitchen, the spicy aroma of Kung Pao Chicken filled the air as David spooned some onto a plate.

  “Conti's here,” Frank said, “and he's loaded for bear. Can you go upstairs and watch the mob house?”

  “Aw shucks, and miss all the excitement?” David flashed a grin and headed for the stairs with his plate of Chinese take-out.

  Frank went in the mudroom. Conti stood outside the entry door with the mother of all frowns on his face. When Frank opened the door, Conti brushed past him and entered the kitchen.

  “Jesus Christ, Renzi. Last night you told me you didn't find a surveillance house. Now I find out Natalie and the girl came here.”

  “I have warrants for Natalie's arrest. And I'm worried about the girl.”

  “You never intended to tell me.” Conti glared at Kelly as she entered the room. “Who's this? Another NOPD cop to help you arrest Natalie?”

  “Detective Kelly O'Neil,” she said, matching Conti's nasty look. “I'm worried about Bianca. Why aren't you?”

  “If you're so worried,” Conti snapped, “why did you let her go back to the house?”

  “They sent Catarina to get them,” Frank said. “If we hadn't let them go, Orazio might have come over here with a gun. We had two kids here. I didn't want to endanger their lives.”

  Conti studied him silently for a moment, then said, “I just came from the local FBI office. When I told the Special Agent in Charge about the 'Netti brothers, he was very appreciative. He's been trying to identify the man who runs the Mafia gang in New Orleans. He's mobilizing a SWAT team to arrest them.”

  “A SWAT team?” Frank said. “Are you crazy? Two women and a five-year-old girl are in that house. Once the FBI takes over, you'll have no control over what happens.”

  “They know what they're doing. The SWAT team will order them to come out of the house. If they don't, SWAT will make a forced entry and take the 'Netti brothers into custody.” Conti smiled, thrilled with his new-found power. “We'll take them to the FBI office and interrogate them, maybe cut them a deal if they give up the name of the Mafia kingpin who runs the local gang and the Antonetti Family in Venice.”

  Frank wanted to strangle him. If a SWAT team went in guns blazing, the mobsters wouldn't go down without a fight. Hell, they might even use Natalie and Bianca as shields. Even if they didn't, there was no way to guarantee the safety of anyone inside the house, least of all Natalie and Bianca. A sick feeling invaded his gut.
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  “How soon will the SWAT team be here?”

  Conti smiled. “I'm not sure. But it shouldn't be long.”

  CHAPTER 36

  6:15 PM

  Natalie dried her sweaty palms on the napkin in her lap. The odor rising from the Veal Alfredo on her plate—fried veal in a spicy batter and thick creamy sauce coating the noodles—nauseated her. She knew she should eat to keep up her strength.

  After dinner Orazio was going to take her and Bianca somewhere and kill them.

  The guard was eating in the kitchen. No need to watch the door, not with Orazio seated at the head of the table in an expensive business suit like the Mafia kingpin he was. He'd made Bianca sit on the chair to his right and told her sit beside Bianca. Tommy sat to Orazio's left, facing Bianca. Catarina sat beside him in the chair opposite hers.

  Just a happy Italian family eating a home-cooked meal. It might be her last.

  Every muscle in her body was knotted with tension. Orazio, Tommy and Catarina were drinking wine. She didn't dare touch hers. She needed to stay alert. What she needed most of all was a way to escape from Orazio before he executed his murderous plan.

  Catarina was in a festive mood. Apparently she had forgotten the nasty scene when they returned from the house down the street, prattling about the fabulous silk dress she'd bought at Saks. It was the perfect shade of red. All her friends in Venice would be jealous. Tommy seemed strangely subdued, silently wolfing down fried veal and noodles.

  “I saw a notice posted in Saks,” Catarina said to Orazio. “There will be fireworks at nine o'clock tonight in the Spanish Plaza. Maybe we can take Bianca—”

  “No.” Orazio put down his fork and glared at Catarina.

  “But Bianca would enjoy the fireworks—”

  “Did you not hear me?” Orazio snapped. “I said no.”

  Natalie tried to get her attention: Don't make him angry. But Catarina just gulped some wine and sliced off a bite of veal.

  Bianca began swinging her legs back and forth, faster and faster. She might not have understood the exchange between Orazio and Catarina, but she knew Orazio was angry. Natalie put a hand on her leg. This was the worst possible time for Bianca to throw a tantrum.

  Bianca stopped swinging her legs and stuck out her lower lip in a pout. She picked up her fork, twirled strands of noodles around it and let them fall to her plate.

  Orazio frowned at her. “Stop playing with your food.”

  Bianca went still and stared at her plate.

  Do what he says, Natalie silently pleaded. Don't make him angry.

  “Eat your dinner!” Orazio commanded.

  Bianca grabbed the plate with both hands and shoved it off the table. The plate fell to the floor with a clatter, scattering pieces of porcelain, bite-sized chunks of veal and clumps of noodles over the polished wood floor.

  Dead silence in the room. Everyone stared at Bianca.

  “That's rude!” Orazio said in Italian. “Clean up the mess you made!”

  Bianca screwed up her face and began to cry. Orazio grasped her forearm, pulled her off the chair and dragged her closer. Bianca wailed in fright. He released her arm and took hold of her chin. “Stop crying and clean up the mess you made!”

  Recognizing the murderous look in his eyes, Natalie rose from her chair. “I'll help you, Bianca.”

  Avoiding the gooey mess on the floor, she hurried to the sideboard, returned with an empty serving platter and put it on her chair. Hiccoughing sobs, Bianca looked up at her with mournful eyes. She used a linen napkin to wipe away her tears. “Put the broken pieces on the serving platter, Bianca. I'll wet a towel and clean up the noodles.”

  Without looking at Orazio, she hurried to the powder room below the staircase, a cramped space with a steep-slanted ceiling, a toilet and a small sink. She took a towel off a metal rod, wet it and returned to the table. Two large pieces of broken porcelain sat on the serving platter.

  Bianca stood by her chair, silently staring at the mess on the floor.

  “The maid could do it faster,” Tommy said. “Probably got a mop in the kitchen.”

  “No,” Orazio snapped. “The girl made the mess. Let her clean it up.”

  Filled with an icy rage, Natalie clenched her jaw. Orazio was heartless, yelling at a defenseless five-year-old girl, displaying his power over her.

  But this was only a prelude. Soon he would kill her. She had to get Bianca out of here.

  Her heart hammered her chest as she put the broken porcelain on the serving platter, scooped up pieces of veal and noodles with the towel and dumped them on the platter. An ominous silence filled the room, interrupted only by the clink of silverware as Tommy attacked his veal. Catarina was gulping wine like an alcoholic who hadn't had any booze in weeks.

  Bianca was picking noodles off her jeans. Natalie tried to assess her mood. Frightened yes, but angry, too. Dumping her plate on the floor had been a deliberate act. Bianca had to know there would be consequences.

  Why was she so angry? Missing the fireworks? Doubtful. Something else was bothering her.

  She finished mopping the floor, tossed the filthy towel on the serving platter and rose to her feet, intending to take the platter to the kitchen.

  “Leave it,” Orazio said. “Take the girl to her room and stay there.”

  “But Natalie didn't eat her dinner,” Catarina said. “She must be hungry—”

  “Silencio!” Orazio thundered. “Or I'll send you to your room too.”

  Tommy glowered at him, but said nothing.

  Gripping Bianca's hand, Natalie went to the staircase. She squeezed Bianca's hand, but Bianca didn't squeeze back. The girl was terrified. So was she, but as they mounted the stairs the rage that she'd felt moments ago returned. No way would she allow Orazio to kill Bianca.

  When they entered their room, Bianca ran to the table near the TV set, opened the coloring book and scribbled furiously on it with a black crayon. Natalie went into the bathroom, shut the door and massaged her throbbing temples. She and Bianca were trapped inside a house with a madman bent on killing them. A hopeless situation.

  Then she recalled her mother's words, spoken more than twenty years ago, but she'd never forgotten them. “Never give up, Natalie.”

  Setting her jaw, she took the cloth pouch that held her makeup kit off the shelf beside the tub, unzipped the pouch and took out her iPhone. No messages. Not that it mattered. Pak Lam was too far away to help her. But a red light was flashing on her Conti phone.

  She had a text message. Not from Conti, from Frank Renzi. R U OK? I am in the house down the street. My teams are stationed at both ends of the block. If O takes you and B out in the SUV, we will stop him.

  Tears misted her eyes. Help from an unexpected quarter. Frank was worried about her.

  “Laura,” Bianca called from outside the door. “I have to pee.”

  “Okay, I'm coming.” She put the iPhone in the makeup bag, zipped it shut and put it back on the shelf. She stuck the Conti cellphone in her pocket and opened the door. Bianca was kneeling at the table, scribbling on another picture.

  She took out the Conti phone, accessed Frank's text, hit Reply and typed: Not OK. B threw tantrum. O sent us upstairs to our bedroom.

  Her heart jolted. Voices outside the door. Tommy and Orazio.

  She hit Send and jammed the cellphone in her pocket.

  _____

  6:30 PM

  Unable to sit still, Frank did another circuit around Mary Hogan's kitchen table and perched on a chair opposite Kelly. “I texted Natalie a half hour ago but she never answered.”

  Kelly looked at him, somber-eyed. “You don't think Orazio killed them already, do you?”

  “I don't know. He killed a lot of people in Venice. Why worry about two more?”

  Kelly had on her take-down outfit and her game-face. Her Glock 9mm lay on the table in front of her. “Where's Conti?”

  “Hell if I know. I called Vobitch and laid out the situation. But when I asked him to call
the SAC and ask about the SWAT team, he said he didn't think the SAC would tell him anything.”

  But Vobitch would monitor the situation with his radio handset and had sent reinforcements. Now Orville and David were in a squad car at the far end of the block north of the mob house, ready to stop Orazio if he drove in their direction with Natalie and Bianca.

  Frank massaged his eyes, then his aching temples. He'd done what he could to protect them. Now it was a waiting game. He hated waiting.

  The odor of Kung Pao Chicken lingered in the air. He hadn't eaten any. He'd run out of Rolaids hours ago, not that they did much to relieve the acid in his gut. His cellphone was on the table beside Vobitch's Glock.

  Not as good as the SIG-Sauer that IAD had confiscated, but better than nothing. He checked the phone. No messages.

  Kelly gulped some bottled water. “Conti's a heartless bastard. How can he think about letting a SWAT team go into the house? All hell could break loose. Doesn't he care about Bianca?”

  “Hell, no. He's like a bulldog on a bone, got one thing on his mind. Grab the 'Netti brothers and make them talk. No telling what's going on inside that house right now.”

  He got on his cellphone and called Tony Coppola. If he used his radio, everyone would hear their conversation, including some things that were better not spoken aloud.

  “Hey, Frank, what's up?” Tony said.

  “Nothing doing at the mob house?”

  “Nope. Quiet as a cemetery in a fucking snow storm.”

  Frank grinned. Man, he loved this guy. Tony could sling some zingers. “Any sign of Conti?”

  “No, which is fine by me. The guy's a major pain in the ass.”

  “If you see him, tell him to call me. In the meantime, be ready. If Orazio takes Natalie and Bianca out of the house and drives your way, block the intersection with the van.”

  “Damn straight,” Tony said. “Grab the scumbag before he hurts anybody.”

  Frank closed his cell and it immediately vibrated. He checked it and said, “Great! I just got a text from Natalie.”

  He read it to Kelly: Not OK. B threw tantrum. O sent us upstairs to our bedroom.