by Susan Fleet
He raised the revolver.
“Orazio, come quick!” Catarina yelled, her voice shrill.
Startled, he almost dropped the revolver. “What is it?” he called.
“The Hummer is coming down the street toward the house!”
_____
Crouched beside the fence, Frank heard a gunshot. Not the rat-tat-tat of automatic gunfire, a single shot. The light was fading, and the moon was hidden behind banks of clouds.
He turned and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Kelly carry Bianca through the front door of the Hogan house.
Then he heard the roar of a high-powered engine. He peeked around the fence. The FBI Hummer was barreling down the street toward the mob house. Damn it to hell! Wyner wasn't going to call him. The FBI agent was going to order a full-scale assault on the house.
He had to get Natalie off the roof before the SWAT team deployed.
But she wasn't on the roof, he realized. She was sitting on the grass beside the driveway twenty feet away.
“Natalie,” he called. “Come over here to the fence!”
Seemingly dazed, she just looked at him.
The Hummer ground to a halt in front of the mob house. Deafening blasts of automatic gunfire erupted from the first floor windows. But they weren't shooting at Natalie. They were shooting at the Hummer. He darted around the fence and ran to her.
“My ankle,” she said. “I think it's broken.”
Sporadic gunfire came from the house. None from the Hummer, but any second Wyner's SWAT team might start shooting. Grasping Natalie by the armpits, he dragged her around the fence to get her out of the line of fire. She moaned as he lowered her to the ground.
His hands felt sticky. He looked at them and saw blood. His stomach lurched. Aghast, he said, “What happened?”
“Orazio,” she said, breathing in shallow gasps. “He shot me.”
He wiped his hands on his running pants. “Don't try to talk. I'll call an ambulance.” He got on his cellphone, called Dispatch and said, “This is Renzi. I'm at the mob house in Metairie. A woman's been shot. Get an ambulance over here.” He recited the address and ended the call.
Natalie lay on the ground with her eyes closed. She didn't look good, her face pale, her breathing shallow and labored.
He touched her arm and her eyes opened. “An ambulance is on the way. Are you pain? Where did he hit you?”
“My back. It feels like it's on fire.” Her attempted smile morphed into a grimace. “Now I know how you felt when I shot you.”
Amazed, he stared at her. How could she talk about something that happened two years ago at a time like this? Shot in the back, obviously in pain, surrounded by the din of gunfire.
“Well,” he said, “I didn't die, and you're not going to die either.”
She gripped his arm and gazed at him intently. “Where is Bianca?”
“Kelly took her to the house down the street. She'll be safe there.”
Natalie closed her eyes. “Good. At least I did something right.”
_____
From the top of the stairs, Orazio yelled, “Rocco, don't waste your ammo! Don't shoot until they leave the Hummer.”
He ran back to his room and warily approached the front window. A faint breeze failed to disperse the odor of gunpowder that hung in the air. He raised the Uzi, set his finger on the trigger and waited.
Now that the attack had begun, he felt utterly calm. In the heat of battle, action and steely resolve steadied his nerves.
He focused on the Hummer, a dark presence in the fast-dying light, just beyond the glow of the streetlight across the street.
Nothing happened for more than a minute. Then three men in full riot gear jumped out of the back. Protected by Plexiglas shields, they ran toward the front door in a V-formation.
Rocco began firing in short bursts, but the riot shields deflected the bullets, emitting high-pitched pings as the rounds bounced off the thick plastic shields and ricocheted onto the lawn.
Orazio set his finger on the trigger. The view from his second floor window provided a better angle. The rectangular shields protected only part of their bodies. Below the knees their legs were exposed and if they turned a certain way, their heads and necks.
He took deliberate aim and fired three bursts at their necks. One man crumpled to the ground like a puppet with cut strings. The others picked him up and rushed back to the Hummer. Intent on saving their comrade, they hoisted him into the back and climbed in after him.
Silence, but for how long? It was only a matter of time before they attacked again. He mopped sweat off his forehead. They were badly outnumbered. Three shooters against how many? Three dead in the backyard, thanks to Tommy. He had just wounded another, but he had no idea how many more were inside the Hummer.
Maybe he would die in this house after all.
Just as one bad move could decide a chess game, one bad decision could end a life. He hadn't told Tick-Tock about the stolen jewelry. Not out of greed, for the challenge of it. It pained him to admit it, but this had been a mistake, one that might ultimately defeat him.
Like nails hammered into a coffin, other disasters had followed. The treacherous Vietnamese gang. The massacre at the restaurant. The cops, armed with a description of Silvano's SUV, questioning Silvano.
He took a cigar out of his shirt pocket and sniffed it, savoring the aroma, recalling what Father had told him long ago: Trust no one, not even those who appear to be allies.
Maybe Silvano lied. Maybe Silvano wasn't sending any soldiers to help defend the house. And now the cops had the girl. The last living witness to the slaughter in Venice, and this Europol agent, John Conti, would question her.
He clamped his teeth together, seething with fury.
Because the treacherous Vietnamese woman who called herself Laura, the one Conti called Natalie, had lied to him.
Merda! He should have killed her and the girl after dinner when he had the chance.
Another whiff of the cigar brought a flash of inspiration.
A new plan took shape in his mind. The cops had the girl.
But he had the diamonds and the stolen jewelry.
_____
Bianca sat at the kitchen table, trying not to cry.
After they came in the house, Kelly told her not to worry, they were safe now. But when she asked about Laura, Kelly had turned on the little TV set on the kitchen counter, sat her in a chair, put a paper plate with a Snickers bar in front of her and told her to stay here.
But she didn't want a Snickers bar. If she ate it she would throw up. Her tummy hurt, worse than it did when Owl and Tommy and Catwoman took her on that boat and they raced down the Grand Canal. Away from Mama and Papà.
Where was Laura?
How could she watch a stupid TV show with all those guns shooting? It was just like Venice. Owl came out of Papà's store and shot Mama. Now Mama was dead. She would never see her again, never hold her close and smell her perfume, never hear her read another bedtime story.
After Owl shot Mama with the little gun, he shot a lot of other people with a big gun.
Her stomach cramped. What if he shot Laura?
She slid off the chair, went to the doorway and looked down the hall. The front door was shut, but she could still hear the guns. She tiptoed down the hall to the living room. Kelly stood at the window, peeking around the curtain.
“Where's Laura?”
Startled, Kelly turned. “She's with Frank. He's helping her.”
“Why are they shooting? It hurts my ears.”
Kelly came to her, knelt down and hugged her. “It hurts my ears too, Bianca, but we're safe here. Go sit in the kitchen and have your snack while you watch TV.”
“I don't want to. What if Owl shot Laura?”
“Owl? Who's that?”
“He shot my mother. And he hurt Laura. Tonight he came in our room and burned her arm with his cigar!”
Kelly gasped. “That's awful. Why did he do that?”
/> “Because he's bad!” she screamed. “Laura said so. I want Laura to stay with me!”
“Hold on while I call Frank.” Kelly took out a cellphone and punched in a number. After a moment she said, “Frank, what's your status? I saw the Hummer park in front of the house.” She listened for a while, then frowned. “No, we're fine, but Bianca is worried about … Laura.”
And after a moment, “Okay. Be careful.” Kelly put the cellphone in her pocket and said, “Laura hurt her ankle when she jumped off the roof, but Frank took her around the fence to the neighbor's yard.”
“Why doesn't he bring her over here?”
“I'm very thirsty,” Kelly said. “There's cold water in the refrigerator. Let's go get some.”
Her eyes filled with tears. Kelly was just like Catwoman.
When Catwoman didn't want to answer her question, she talked about something else. Or fed her ice cream.
She didn't want water. She wanted Laura.
Kelly said Laura hurt her ankle. She didn't believe it.
Laura had promised not to leave her.
The tears overflowed and ran down her cheeks.
Something really bad had happened to Laura. She was certain of it.
CHAPTER 42
Frank felt like he was in a war zone, not a tree-lined street in suburbia. Ten minutes ago Kelly had taken Bianca to the Hogan house, but that seemed like an eternity ago. Every time a burst of gunfire came from the mob house, Natalie flinched and shut her eyes, her face sweaty and pale.
“I want to move you away from the sidewalk,” he said.
Her eyes opened. Grasping her arms, he helped her sit up and crawled behind her. His gut churned with acid. The back of her shirt was soaked with blood. He put his hands under her armpits. “Lift your butt.”
She did and they scooted back ten feet. He helped her lie down. “The woman who lives in this house offered to help. I want to get you a blanket and a pillow and something for the pain. Will you be okay for a minute?”
“Okay,” she said in a dreamy voice. “Orazio is shooting at someone else now. Not me.”
He ran to the door of the one-story ranch with the bright lavender siding. Before he could ring the bell, the red-haired woman opened the door.
“Sorry to bother you, ma'am,” he said.
“Forget the ma'am stuff,” she said. “The name's Vivian. What do you need?” Barking at him like a moll in a thirties gangster film.
Despite his concerns, he had to smile. Vivian had sky-blue eyes and red hair like Lucille Ball's—from a bottle maybe—but cut shorter. He guessed she was in her fifties, athletic and fit in Bermuda shorts and a V-neck polo shirt.
“The woman is injured. Could you lend me a blanket and a pillow?”
“Why don't you bring her in here?”
“I don't want to move her.”
“Suit yourself.” She took him down a hall to a bathroom. When he opened the medicine cabinet, she said, “I knew this would happen sooner or later. Mobsters own that house. The fat one brings his whores there. And the skinny one is screwing one of the maids.”
He didn't ask how she knew this. Vivian seemed like the talkative type and he had no time to waste. “Mind if I take a hand towel?”
“Not at all.” She held out a plastic bag. “Put what you need in this. I'll get a blanket and some bottled water, meet you at the front door.”
He dropped extra strength Excedrin, sterile bandages and antibiotic ointment into the plastic bag. When he went back to the front door, Vivian gave him a lightweight blanket, a pillow, and two bottles of water.
“You need anything else, just come to the door and ask,” she said. “I'm not going anywhere.”
“Okay, but stay inside. It's not safe out there.”
“Are you going to arrest those hoodlums?”
Ignoring the question, he opened the door. “Thanks for your help, Vivian.”
“I didn't take offense when you yelled at me before,” Vivian said, grinning at him. “That's your job.”
Amused, he said, “That's one of the things I do best. Yell at people.” He didn't wait for her reply.
When he got back to Natalie, he dropped the blanket and the pillow on the ground. “I got you some pain meds. Let's sit you up again.”
Grimacing in pain, she managed to sit up. He opened the bottled water and shook two Excedrin into her hand. While she swallowed the Excedrin, he studied her blood-soaked shirt. Bandages and antibiotic ointment weren't going to help a gunshot wound.
Where the hell was the ambulance?
Natalie drank deeply from the bottled water, then offered it to him. “Want some?”
“No thanks. You're bleeding pretty bad. I think you should lie down.”
He helped her lie flat on the blanket and put the pillow under her head. She gazed at him, her almond-shaped eyes somber. “So many sad memories in New Orleans. I don't want to die here like my mother.”
Touched by the poignant comment, he felt a deep sadness well up inside him.
Uttering the first thing that entered his mind, he said, “Your mother was beautiful.”
“How you know?”
He hesitated, then said, “I saw the crime scene photos. She didn't deserve to die that way.”
“No, she didn't. I still miss her. When I was little she'd buy us ice cream cones and we'd walk along the river. We had some wonderful times.” Her lips tightened. “Yes, my mother was beautiful and she didn't deserve to die, period. Conti took my only picture of her.”
He tried to imagine how Natalie must have felt. Ten years old, no father around, her mother murdered. And Conti had taken her only picture of her mother. “I'll get it back for you.”
Natalie smiled and squeezed his hand. “I always fall in love with the wrong men.”
He couldn't believe she'd said it, acting like they were best friends. Maybe they were. Love and hate were flip sides of the same coin.
“Like Oliver James?”
Her smile faded. “Yes. Ironic isn't it? I meet a former CIA agent in Boston while I'm planning to avenge Mom's murder and fall for him.”
“But you shot him.”
“I didn't want to, but he found out who I was. Who I really was. I was so close to settling the score with Mom's killer, fulfilling my promise to her. I couldn't let Oliver stop me.” She locked eyes with him. “I couldn't let anything stop me.”
“Did you climb out your bedroom window last Friday night?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Yes.”
“Did you kill Hammer?”
“I didn't want to, but he shot Bruce and then he tried to kill me.”
“Who's Bruce?”
Natalie closed her eyes. “Just a friend.”
A burst of gunfire shattered the silence, but it wasn't coming from the mob house.
Frank looked down the street. A brown Range Rover was parked diagonally across the street, blocking the intersection near the Hogan house. He couldn't see who was in it, but he could see automatic weapons poking out the windows.
He took out his cellphone and called Kelly.
_____
Bianca perched on the foot of the bed opposite the TV set. Beside her on a plaid bedspread, a peanut butter sandwich sat on a paper plate, cut into quarters. Kelly had made it for her before they came upstairs. She didn't want it.
She didn't want to watch Big Bird and Elmo on Sesame Street, either.
Where was Laura? Why didn't Mr. Frank bring her here?
Kelly was standing at the window with spyglasses in her hand.
The sound of gunshots startled her.
She jumped off the bed and ran to Kelly. “Did they shoot Laura?”
“No,” Kelly said. “Get away from the window. Go sit on the bed.”
“I don't want to sit on the bed! I want Laura! You lied. You said Mr. Frank was going to bring her here, but he didn't.”
Kelly squatted and gripped her shoulders. “I didn't lie, Bianca. Mr. Frank will bring her here as soon as he c
an. Go sit on the bed.”
She backed away, but she didn't sit on the bed. Big Bird wasn't on the TV anymore. A loud song played for a second and stopped.
Kelly heard it, grabbed the remote and upped the volume.
Now a pretty woman was saying something on the TV. She couldn't understand what the woman said, but Kelly had a worried look on her face. Then Big Bird and Elmo came back on.
Kelly's cellphone rang and she answered right away. “Frank, I just saw a bulletin on TV. The Jefferson Parrish Sheriff's Department said there's police activity in Metairie. They put up a map of this neighborhood and advised residents to shelter in place.” After a moment she said, “I don't think the men in the Range Rover are friendlies.”
Bianca frowned. She didn't know what that meant.
Then Kelly said, “But you don't know how many men there are in the house.”
She ran over to Kelly. “I do!”
Kelly told Mr. Frank to hold on and said, “How many men are there?”
She held out her hand. “Let me tell Mr. Frank.”
“Bianca wants to tell you something,” Kelly said, and gave her the phone.
She held it to her ear like Laura did and said, “Hello, Mr. Frank?”
“Hi Bianca. What did you want to tell me?”
“About the men in the house. First there's Owl. He's a bad man. Laura said so. He burned her arm with a cigar.”
“I'd say that makes him a very bad man. Who else is in the house?”
“His brother Tommy. And Catwoman. They're married.”
“Is anyone else in the house?”
“Yes, another man, but I don't know his name. He sits downstairs and watches the door.”
“Nobody else?”
“Nobody else. When are you going to bring Laura here?”
“I'm not sure. As soon as I can. Don't worry, you're safe with Kelly.”
“But I miss Laura. Can I talk to her?”
“Not now. But I'll tell her you miss her. She misses you, too.”
“She promised she wouldn't leave me.”
After a pause, Mr. Frank said, “Say goodbye to Kelly for me, I have to go.”