“You got any more of those pills, Lorraine? My tooth is kicking up again.”
She shook her head. “I lost my purse back at Macy’s. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
She wasn’t listening, though. She was frowning at the void again. He thought about saying something but decided against it. Why ask for trouble?
“C’mon. Let’s go find a phone,” he said. “I gotta call in and let them know what’s going on.”
“What about Michael?”
Gibbons shrugged. “If we had the van, maybe we could’ve found them.”
“Bells is going to kill him. He took them to that place, the Belfry.”
The look on her face was so sad, Gibbons didn’t know what to do: lie to her to make her feel better or tell her the truth. The way he saw it, Bells was too damn unpredictable to say what he’d do with Tozzi. But Gibbons didn’t want to lie to her and tell her everything would be okay, because he wasn’t so sure himself. He remembered how shook up Freshy had been when Stanley told him to go to the Belfry. He could just imagine what kind of place that was.
Gibbons pointed up the block. “Let’s find a phone. Who knows? Maybe our guys have already located them.”
“You don’t really think so, do you?” She was either very depressed or very sarcastic, he couldn’t tell for sure. He must’ve done something wrong. She was definitely in a mood.
He shaded his eyes and peered down the deserted street. Cinder-block factory walls lined the sidewalks on both sides. They were covered with spray-painted graffiti, and not particularly good graffiti at that. Down at the end of the street, two blocks away, a small cluster of very old red brick buildings sat by themselves like an island in the middle of muddy overgrown lots surrounded by Cyclone fencing. A sign hung out over the sidewalk on the closest building, but Gibbons couldn’t make out what it said. What he did see was the glow of an orange neon sign in the front window, probably a Bud sign. There was a green and white neon sign in the same window. Probably Rolling Rock.
“There’s a bar up there,” he said. “C’mon. I can call in from there. I could use a good stiff drink anyway.”
“Me too,” Lorraine said.
Gibbons looked at her sideways. There was definitely something wrong. Lorraine wanting a drink in a sleazy bar before sundown? That wasn’t her at all.
“Let’s go,” she said, and started walking toward the bar. She cast a long, lonely shadow that reached from the middle of the street all the way over to the graffiti-covered walls. Olive Oyl walking into the sunset. Olive Oyl in mourning. Olive Oyl royally pissed off.
Gibbons pressed his fingers into his sore jaw. He couldn’t figure her out for shit.
SEVENTEEN
5:15 P.M.
“Wake up, my little kumquats.”
The doors swung open, and the back of the truck was flooded with light. Tozzi had to squint against the sudden brightness. He felt a tug on his handcuffed wrist as Gina tried to shield her eyes with her forearm.
Bells was standing outside on a loading dock, gun in hand, beaming at them. “C’mon. Get up. We’re home.”
“Whose home?” Tozzi hauled himself to his feet with a groan. His joints were stiff from the cold damp interior of the truck.
He tried to help Gina up, but she shrugged him off. Tozzi’s coat was hanging inside out from their handcuffed wrists, like a muff. They’d both refused to wear it.
“What’sa matter? You two kids can’t get along?” Bells laughed as he motioned with his gun for them to get out of the truck.
As Tozzi stepped into the sunlight, he gathered up the ends of his coat so Gina wouldn’t trip. Then he wondered why the hell he was worrying about her. She was so goddamn nasty—let her trip.
Bells started doing that little voodoo dance of his, moving on the balls of his feet. “C’mon, Gina. Let’s move it. I thought you were dying to see my place here.”
“Go scratch, will ya, Bells?” If looks could kill . . .
There wasn’t much to see from the cracked cement loading dock, just a big dirt lot with abandoned cars and dumped stoves and refrigerators poking out of the overgrown weeds. Tozzi squinted at the horizon, looking for big buildings. Maybe he could figure out where they were if he could identify something, but between the overhanging tin roof on the loading dock and the truck in the way, he couldn’t see very much.
A freight elevator was already open, waiting for them. With its wooden gate up, it looked like a big mouth ready to swallow them.
Gina was rubbing her arms, inching out into the sun, but the muzzle of Bells’s gun corralled her back into the shade. “This way, Gina.”
“Don’t talk to me, okay?”
“Why so mean, Gina? What’d you do to her, Mikey? You didn’t try to take advantage of her back there, did you? Shame on you.” Bells was getting a big kick out of himself, but there was an edge to his good humor that made Tozzi nervous. “Shall we?” Bells cocked his head and escorted them into the elevator.
When they were inside, Bells dropped the gate and yanked on the rope that started it. It must’ve been a very old building, Tozzi thought. You didn’t see many of these rope-start elevators anymore. Bars of light and shadow passed over their faces as the rickety elevator moaned and groaned its way up. No one spoke, but Bells whistled softly to himself. It took Tozzi a second to recognize the tune. “Would You Like to Swing on a Star?” The elevator was so slow, Bells had time to go through two verses and then some.
It stopped with a jolt, and Bells threw the gate up with one hand. Jiggling the gun barrel, he indicated that they should get out. “Go on in. Go on. Don’t be shy.” He grinned at Tozzi. “‘Or would you rather be a pig?’”
Tozzi scanned the large loft space. It was nothing special. The walls were crumbling, open-faced brick, and the hardwood floors were grimy and scarred. A room had been made out of a corner of the space, but the wallboard walls had never been painted. A dingy kitchen had been set up in the opposite corner from the room: cheap metal cabinets, Formica counter in an imitation wood-grain pattern, a square table with five mismatched chairs. The stove was old, but the big refrigerator looked fairly new. Two imitation-leather sofas—one black, the other green—and two burgundy imitation-leather lounge chairs were grouped near the kitchen. Newspapers, magazines, and full ashtrays were scattered all around. The place had the feel of a men’s clubhouse where guys hung out, drank beer, ate pizza, played cards, made coffee, and shot the shit.
Rows of single-paned, arch-topped windows lit the space with natural light. There was a good view of the Hudson and the Manhattan skyline through the east wall windows. Using the Empire State Building as his gauge, Tozzi figured they were either in Hoboken or Weehawken, not too far from the Lincoln Tunnel. Tozzi shook his head in disbelief. He lived in Hoboken, probably less than a half-mile from here. If all of this hadn’t happened, he’d be over at his apartment right now, resting up for the black-belt test he wasn’t going to be taking tonight. Shit.
Bells went to the kitchen area and started looking through the drawers. “Sit down. Make yourselves comfortable.” He pointed to the sofas with his gun.
Tozzi started to move toward the black sofa, but Gina stayed put. She gave Tozzi a dirty look, but he ignored her and kept walking, pulling her along with him. He was sick of her shit.
He sat on the end of the sofa, and she sat as far away from him as she could with Tozzi’s bunched-up coat between them as a barrier. They both kept their wrists bent against the cuffs, determined not to even touch each other.
Gina glowered at Bells, who was crouched down looking through the bottom drawers under the counter. “What’re you gonna do with us now, Bells?”
Bells kept rummaging through the drawer. “Kill you. What’d you think?”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be.” He continued his search for whatever he was looking for.
Tozzi cleared his throat. “Hey, Bells, what’s the sto
ry here? I mean, let’s stop fucking around.”
Bells stopped his search and stared at him. “I’m not fucking around, Mikey-boy. You’re the one who was fucking around. Both of you, together. And that’s why I’m gonna do what I gotta do.”
“You mean kill us.”
“That’s right.”
Gina looked at Tozzi, her face drawn. “Is he really serious?”
“You know everything. You tell me.”
Bells laughed to himself as he stood up and dropped a length of heavy steel chain onto the countertop. “You two are getting to be like a comedy routine.” He lifted the chain with the hand that wasn’t holding the gun and dangled it from one end. It was short. Maybe two, two and a half feet long. “Too bad you gotta go. You’re very funny.”
Gina went to cross her arms, but the cuffs stopped her. “Oh, go to hell.”
“You want some coffee or something? I think I’ve got some soda here.” He opened the refrigerator and checked. “Pepsi, ginger ale, beer, and fizzy water. Have something. This is gonna take me a while. What can I get you, Mikey? A beer?”
“Nothing.” Tozzi was looking at the green phone with the long cord that was sitting on the counter. “Gina, it’s me. Gimme a call.” He was wondering if Bells had called her from here.
“Whatta’ya want, Gina? A ginger ale?”
“No. I’ll just have to pee.”
Bells jingled the chain and grinned. “Not if I’m fast.” If the devil had a face, this was it.
Tozzi leaned forward and let out a sigh. It was time to show his cards. “Look, Bells, you’re making a big mistake here. There’s an army of federal agents out looking for you. Don’t make it any worse for yourself.”
Bells dropped the heavy chain on the counter, and the sudden noise made Gina jump. His eyes glowed as he stared at Tozzi. “Why would they be looking for me, Mikey?”
“Because you killed two agents from the Federal Bureau of Investigation today. What the hell do you think?” Tozzi could feel the blood rushing to his face.
Bells shook his head. “My, my, my. For a rat, you think you know a lot. But you don’t know nothing. For one thing, I only shot one guy, the old guy with the swollen face in Macy’s. That other guy on TV, the one up on the Turnpike—what’s his name, Paterson? I don’t know nothing about him. That’s a frame.”
Bells was too calm, too rational. He was fearless, and Tozzi didn’t like that. Unless Bells wanted something or feared something, there’d be no negotiating with him.
“You telling me you didn’t shoot Petersen, the one on the Turnpike?”
Bells shook his head. “Wasn’t me.”
“But they think you did it, and they’re looking for you.”
Bells shrugged as he rummaged through another drawer.
“It’s not just the cops looking for you. Your own people are looking for you, too. You know that, don’t you?”
“Why’s that, Mikey? ’Cause they think I shot a fed? You been watching too many movies, my friend.”
Fury ballooned inside Tozzi’s head. “You did shoot a fed. And you shot my fucking partner, jerkoff. The cops, the FBI, everybody’s gonna bust balls until they have your ass nailed to the wall. And don’t act like you don’t know that because you do.”
Bells just looked at him, calm as could be. There was almost pity in his face for Tozzi.
Tozzi’s head was throbbing, he was so pissed. He was losing his cool, lashing out, while Bells was the one keeping his center, letting it all come to him. Tozzi had been practicing aikido for almost six years now, and what had he learned? Nothing. Aikido principles are supposed to apply to all situations, not just when someone’s throwing punches at you. He shouldn’t be losing it like this. But apparently Tozzi just hadn’t gotten it yet. But Bells, he was like some kind of Zen master; he had it all together. He was making Tozzi the aggressor even though Bells was the one who had kidnapped him. Jesus!
Tozzi threw himself back against the couch in frustration and yanked on the handcuffs.
“Hey! Watch it,” Gina complained.
“Shut up!”
“You shut up!”
Tozzi bit his bottom lip and looked up at the cracked plaster ceiling. He couldn’t believe he was letting everything get to him like this. He’d been in bad situations before. It wasn’t like this was a first for him. Then he thought about Gibbons and sighed. It was his first bad situation without Gibbons. Maybe that was the problem. Gibbons never got flustered, and he never let himself get stuck. Gotta keep moving, he’d always say. Life was like driving a car in deep snow. If you can’t go forward, go backward. Do anything you have to to get something moving because the most important thing is to keep things moving. That was Gibbons’s philosophy.
Tozzi dropped his chin and watched Bells going through that drawer. He took long, measured breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth—aikido breathing exercise—until he felt a little calmer. Gotta keep things moving, he kept repeating to himself, trying to get centered. You can’t just sit there. Gotta keep things moving. Even going backward is movement.
“Bells, look.” Tozzi opened his sport jacket and pointed to the beeper clipped to his belt. He’d totally forgotten about it until just now. Stupid. That’s what happens when you’re not centered.
As Tozzi went to unclip the beeper, Bells thrust out his gun hand. “Whatta’ya doing?”
“Relax, Bells. I just wanna show you something. No tricks. Shoot me if I try something funny.”
“Don’t get wise, Mikey.”
Tozzi unclipped the beeper and held it out to Bells. “See this?”
“Yeah?”
Tozzi wrapped his fist around the transmitter so they wouldn’t be overheard. “It’s not really a beeper.”
Bells narrowed his eyes.
“It’s a transmitter, Bells. It broadcasts everything we say to a surveillance van.”
Gina smirked. “What is this, Star Trek?”
Tozzi ignored her.
Bells’s suspicious expression didn’t change. Neither did his gun hand extended at Tozzi’s head.
“Here’s the deal, Bells. You wanna escape, I’ll help you. You take off, go wherever you wanna go, and we’ll keep talking as if you’re still here. Better yet, if you don’t trust me, just put the thing somewhere where it’ll pick up some conversation. Someplace like a diner or a store. It’ll throw them off the track.”
Bells looked skeptical. “Lemme see that thing.”
Reluctantly Tozzi uncurled his fingers and tossed the transmitter to Bells, who caught it in his left hand. He examined it at arm’s length. Tozzi feared that Bells would smash the transmitter to bits with the butt of his gun, and then they’d really be up shit’s creek because it was the only bargaining chip he had. But he kept thinking about Gibbons’s philosophy. Gotta keep moving. Gotta keep gambling if you wanna stay in the game.
Bells held the beeper like a microphone and started to scat-sing into it to the tune of “Swinging on a Star.” He started to laugh then and tossed it back to Tozzi: It landed in the folds of the coat. “Nice try, Mikey-boy, but no cigar.”
Tozzi picked up the transmitter and wrapped it in his fist again. “I’m telling you the truth, Bells. I’m an FBI agent.”
“Is that so?” Bells nodded. “Interesting.”
“I’m telling you. I can help you out here if you listen to me.”
Gina rolled her eyes. “Give it up, will ya?”
Tozzi glared at her sideways. He wished she’d shut the hell up.
“You’re throwing away a good chance to save yourself, Bells. Your only chance. Believe me.”
Bells’s face turned hard. “Believe you? Why the fuck should I believe a professional liar like you?”
“Don’t be stupid, Bells—”
“I’m not stupid. That’s why I would never listen to you, my friend. You are the lowest kind of rat there is. Any fucking cop who goes undercover and gains a man’s trust just so he can send the guy to jail is less than
shit on my shoe.”
Gina nodded. “He’s got a point.”
“And you’re no better, my dear Gina.” The gun shifted its attention to her. “What can you say about a woman who turns her back on a man’s sincerest offer? Huh? I tried to be nice to you, Gina, but you turned your back on me. You said to yourself, ‘Fuck him. Who needs him?’ Right? You probably even heard her say it, huh, Mikey?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bells.” In fact, Tozzi didn’t. He had no idea what this “sincerest offer” business was all about. But once again Bells’s voice on Gina’s answering machine came echoing back to him. He glanced at Gina and the wedding ring hanging around her neck. What the hell was going on between these two?
Bells was wearing the devil’s face again. “What can I say, Gina? You turned out to be a real class-A bitch. Worse than that, you betrayed me.”
Gina spat. “You’re crazy. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
Tozzi was stumped. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s none of your business,” Gina snapped, then turned back to Bells. “When are you gonna let us go, Bells? I’m getting sick of the both of you.”
Bells started to shake his head, back and forth. He kept shaking his head.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
Bells tilted his head sideways like a curious dog. “It means I’m not gonna let you go. I’m gonna kill you. I thought I told you that.”
“Oh, cut the shit, will ya?”
Tozzi felt like there was a baseball lodged in his throat. He couldn’t understand why she didn’t believe him. She saw him kill Gibbons that morning. The man was crazy. He’d do it again in a minute.
Bells shook his head in pity. “You don’t get it, Gina, do you? Do you know what this place is?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
Bells looked at Tozzi. “Do you know?”
Tozzi shook his head.
“You never heard of the Belfry? That’s not what I call this place, but I know a lotta guys do.”
“You got bats in the belfry,” Gina said.
“And that’s not all.” Bells grinned.
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