Bells held on tight, waiting for the guard to stop struggling. It wasn’t long before the guy slumped to the pavement, out cold. As the big tires of the flatbed rolled past his motionless body, Bells wondered if he was dead, if he was one of those one-in-a-hundred people. Bells looked down at his blunt bulb-nosed face and decided that this dweeb couldn’t be one in a hundred in anything.
He turned and walked toward the float as it tried to crawl away from him. When he caught up with it, he put his palms on the paper snow and vaulted on board, then went to the steps of the sleigh-tower and climbed up. Sitting in Ole Saint Nick’s seat, he looked out at the big friggin’ caterpillar as it slithered into the tunnel. Gina DeFresco was somewhere on board with Prince Mikey-boy and the cool-ass dinosaurs. As soon as they got to Manhattan, they’d probably flag down a cab or something, and Bells would do the same, follow them wherever they went. It would all work out fine. New York was full of dark little nooks and crannies where you could off someone quick and just walk away from it, no problem.
Except this wasn’t gonna be a single hit. It was gonna be a combination shot.
TWENTY-ONE
11:54 P.M.
Gibbons held his chest and took shallow breaths. He was having chest pains—not bad ones, but bad enough. They weren’t the same pains he’d been feeling all day. These were new pains. He tried not to think about them. He had enough to worry about.
He was sitting on the black-leather couch in Bells’s grubby loft, opposite the green-leather couch where Buddha was sitting with a big plastic bag full of ice on his head. The corners of the bag drooped over his ears, and now the little shit looked even more like Napoleon. Everybody was standing around waiting for His Highness to make a declaration, but the little bastard was still smarting from the bop over the head Bells had given him with the toilet-tank cover, and he hadn’t said a word since it happened.
Gibbons looked over at Lorraine on the other end of the couch. He was getting edgy. It was a bad situation. The longer Buddha and his gorillas kept them there, the more likely they’d end up killing them. True, Gibbons was the law, but he and Lorraine had heard too much. At the very least, these guys were facing a kidnapping charge that could send them away for a good long stretch. Gibbons knew they weren’t gonna let that happen if they could help it, and Buddha Stanzione wasn’t known for his charitable nature.
The loft was as solemn as a church as they all waited for the little emperor to show some signs of life, and that just aggravated Gibbons more than he already was. He wanted to know what the hell happened to the backups he’d called for hours ago. He wanted to know what the hell happened to Tozzi. He wanted these bastards to at least let Lorraine go. But he wasn’t getting what he wanted, and he was ready to strangle someone. Except that his chest hurt so bad, he didn’t think he had the strength.
Then something occurred to him that drained the blood from his face. What if the chest pains weren’t from the bullet shots he’d taken? What if he was having a heart attack? Jesus. He couldn’t have a heart attack now. He couldn’t leave Lorraine alone with these animals. No, it couldn’t be. It wasn’t a heart attack, he kept telling himself. If he croaked, they’d kill her for sure.
Gibbons started sweating. He couldn’t wait around for the emperor anymore. He might not have the time. “Hey, Buddha,” he said, breaking the silence, “wake up over there. You looking for sympathy or what?”
Stanley and the four double-knit gorillas glared at him, but Gibbons didn’t give a shit. He was sick of waiting around.
“Wake up, Stanzione, will ya? We supposed to sit around here all night? Big Dom’s gonna start stinking up the bathroom pretty soon. You guys smell bad enough. I don’t wanna have to smell him, too.”
Buddha opened his eyes and rolled them toward the bathroom. He’d forgotten about the dead gorilla in the can.
Gibbons laughed despite the pain. “Yeah, let’s hang around for a while. Maybe the cops’ll come by, and you can tell them how Big Dom got that way.”
Buddha looked at Stanley. “Shut him up.” The little emperor shut his eyes again.
“You heard him, Gibbons.” Stanley was as solemn as an altar boy.
“Tell him to go fuck himself.”
Stanley’s eyes bulged. “I’m warning you, Gib.”
“Go tell your old lady.”
Lorraine took his hand and squeezed it. She was warning him to behave. She was being as solemn as the rest of them.
Gibbons rubbed his chest and felt his pounding heart. His shirt was soaked through with sweat under his jacket. He kept telling himself it wasn’t a heart attack. It could be a combination of things: no lunch and no dinner; lack of sleep; the effects of the booze and the pain-killers had finally worn off; maybe the two didn’t mix and he was reacting to that. It could be anything. But it wasn’t a heart attack. It couldn’t be. Still he was anxious to get things going, to do something to save Lorraine before he . . . couldn’t.
He turned to Freshy, who was pacing the floor around the bunched-up plastic tarp. “What’sa matter, Freshy? Nothing to say? You used to have a big mouth. Why don’t you say something?”
Freshy just glared at him from under his brows and continued his pacing.
“C’mon, Fresh. Speak up. What’re you, a wuss now?”
Another quick glare.
Buddha raised his voice. “I said, shut him up.”
Stanley stepped toward Gibbons, pulling his gun out of his belt. He held it in his palm and raised it over his head, about to bash Gibbons over the head with it.
Gibbons was ready to duck the blow—or at least try to—when Lorraine suddenly jumped up and got between them.
“Stop!” she screamed.
“Sit down!” Stanley shoved her out of his way.
“No!” She got in his face again.
Gibbons started to get up off the couch, but the pain in his chest wouldn’t let him move. He felt like his chest was a lemon being squeezed. He wanted to rip Stanley’s head off, but he couldn’t move. One of the gorillas came around the couch and grabbed his shoulder to keep him down. Gibbons cursed and threw an elbow into the couch. It just made the pain worse, and he had to hold his breath to keep himself together.
Stanley raised the gun again, but Lorraine hung on to his arm.
The sweat was pouring off Gibbons, and the gorilla had him by the shoulders. He had to do something. For Lorraine. To save her.
“Wait!” He tried to breathe evenly, but he sounded like a balloon with a slow leak. “Whatta’ya bothering with me for?” He pointed at Freshy. “He’s the one you should be pissed off at. He’s been working for us, ratting on you guys. How do you think Tozzi got introduced to you people?”
All heads turned toward Freshy, who started blinking out of control. “Wha-wha-whatta’ya talkin’ about? He’s crazy, Mr. Stanzione. That ain’t true. No how, no way. He’s crazy.”
The icebag rattled on Buddha’s head. “Stanley,” he said, “how did Bells meet this FBI guy Tozzi?”
Stanley was staring holes into Freshy. “Through him. Freshy told Bells not to worry, the guy was okay.”
“No, no, no. You don’t understand, Mr. Stanzione.”
Stanley had his finger on the trigger, muzzle leveled on Freshy. The four gorillas had their pieces out, too. Buddha only had to give the word. Freshy’s mouth was moving, but nothing was coming out. He seemed to be backstepping in place, like a mime with the shakes.
Buddha’s icebag rattled again and broke the tension. The little emperor was not happy. “So?” he said.
“You don’t understand, Mr. Stanzione. You don’t understand. Lemme explain, lemme explain.”
“So explain.” The ice cubes shifted and rattled very softly, like termites about to bring a house down.
Freshy gulped and blinked a few more times before he started. “All right, here’s the deal. No bullshit, okay? Yes, it’s true. I was working with these guys . . . the, the FBI guys.”
Stanley and the gorillas got restless
real fast. They wanted the go-ahead from Buddha to blow his brains out.
“But, listen, listen.” Freshy was holding up his index fingers, head cocked to the side. “I wasn’t doing it to help them. No fucking way, I swear to God. I was stringing them along, telling Bells everything I found out from them. Everything. I swear to Christ on my mother’s eyes. I’m not lying, I swear.”
Gibbons exploded. “Bullshit! You were working for us.”
Stanley’s gaze bounced back and forth from Freshy to Gibbons and back to Freshy. His face looked like a fist. “If you’re lyin’ to us, you little bastard—”
Freshy backed away from him. “No, Stanley, no. I’m telling you the truth. I told Bells everything I knew. I was loyal to him, man. Absolutely. The FBI didn’t know what I was really doin’. They thought I was playing straight with them. That’s what Bells told me to do. I swear.”
Gibbons watched Freshy doing his little tap dance, but it didn’t seem to be working. Stanley and the gorillas weren’t buying his story, and for the moment Buddha was ominously noncommittal. Gibbons was glad. The heat was on Freshy now and off them. He had no problem giving up Freshy for the slaughter. The little shit had turned on Gibbons and helped Stanley take him and Lorraine hostage. And if he was telling the truth and really had double-crossed the Bureau, he deserved to be thrown to the lions.
Freshy still had his index fingers up. He was blinking like a strobe light. “You think you’re smart, Gib. I know what you’re trying to do here. Well, I got some news for you. For all of youse.”
Gibbons winced and bared his teeth. “Spare us the bullshit, Freshy. Nobody wants to hear it.”
“Oh, no? Well, lemme tell you something. That agent that got shot up on the Turnpike this morning? Paterson?”
“Petersen.”
“Petersen, Petersen, right. Bells did do it. I know it for a fact.”
Stanley barked. “Bull-shit.”
“No, Stanley, no, not bullshit. Before the meeting he had last night with Mr. Stanzione downstairs in the bar, were you with Bells? Were you?”
Stanley didn’t answer right away. He looked at Buddha. “I was home.”
Buddha’s ice cubes rattled.
Stanley glared at Freshy. “But so what? What does that prove?”
“C’mon, Stanley, get real. Bells had an appointment with that guy Petersen. The guy was bringing money he wanted Bells to shy for him. And what did Bells always say? You want free money, find some jerkoff shy who’ll give you a loan and then whack him. Free money. I heard him say it a hundred times. You guys never heard him say that?” Freshy looked to the gorillas for corroboration.
Buddha held on to his icebag and looked up at the gorillas. “Did you?”
The polyester primates nodded in unison.
“See what I’m saying here? I thought I was doing the right thing, telling Bells everything I found out from the FBI so we could keep a step ahead of them. How the fuck was I supposed to know he was gonna turn around and whack a fed? I didn’t know that. I swear to—”
BA-BOOM!
The locked stairwell door flew open and crashed against the brick wall behind.
“Freeze! FBI! You’re under arrest! Drop your weapons!” Four agents rushed in, guns drawn, high-stepping over their battering ram on the threshold. Gibbons recognized two of them, young guys from the Newark office whose names he couldn’t remember. The first one in had wavy red hair and reminded Gibbons of cub reporter Jimmy Olson from the Superman comics. He nodded at Gibbons in recognition but kept his eyes on the bad guys. Gibbons clutched his chest and smiled with his teeth, wanting to cheer, even though the bastards should’ve been here hours ago.
Then suddenly he heard Lorraine’s squeal behind him. “Gibbons!”
Freshy had his arm crooked around Lorraine’s neck, bending her backward. Excalibur was in his other hand, the barrel buried in Lorraine’s scalp.
Once again Gibbons reached for the gun he didn’t have, even though he was looking right at it. Son of a—
Pain seared through his chest. He held his breath, hoping it would pass, but it didn’t. He kept telling himself it wasn’t a heart attack, it wasn’t a heart attack, but the words kept bouncing back at him like a racquetball: It was a heart attack, it was a heart attack. He remembered hearing guys who’d had cardiacs say that the pain was like a truck parked on your chest. Gibbons wasn’t sure if his pain felt exactly like that, but he had nothing to compare it to. But the more he thought about it, the more it did feel like a heavy weight, and the more he tried to deny it. It wasn’t like it was an eighteen-wheeler parked on his chest. More like a pickup truck, he thought, a little pickup, that’s all.
He blinked and squinted up at Lorraine with Excalibur to her head. He sniffed in a sharp breath. “Let her go, Freshy. Let her go now.” He wanted to yell it, but he could barely get it out.
Jimmy Olson heard Gibbons, and he repeated the order. “Let the woman go.”
Freshy ignored them both.
Stanley and the gorillas were ignoring the agents, too. The greaseballs had pulled their guns as soon as the agents broke down the door, and now they were holding them on the squeaky-clean street agents from Newark. Freshy had Lorraine, and Gibbons and Buddha were sitting on opposite couches, just staring at each other. It was a friggin’ Mexican standoff. Gibbons couldn’t believe it. This never happened in real life. Not like this. But if he dropped dead, the wiseguys would have the clear advantage. That’s why he couldn’t croak now. Not until he knew Lorraine was safe. He sniffed in another short breath and kept his eye on that little shitass Freshy.
“Drop your weapons. Now!” Jimmy Olson was very stern.
“Drop your own fucking weapons,” Stanley growled.
Young Olson looked grim, and so did his buddies. The FBI philosophy is to always have overwhelming manpower and firepower when you go into a situation like this. So much for philosophy.
The room fell silent all of a sudden. You could almost feel everyone thinking hard, trying to figure out what he could do to break the stalemate. Gibbons’s hand was still on his chest, palm over his heart. He was counting the beats, hoping they were regular beats, though he wasn’t sure he knew what regular was. He watched Lorraine breathing fast under Freshy’s arm around her neck. The minute stretched. Nobody from either side was coming up with any brilliant moves, and the pickup truck was still parked on his chest.
The icebag rattled.
“So?” Buddha said.
That’s all he said.
Gibbons stared at him, fighting to hide his discomfort. “Yeah? So what?”
That was all he could say without giving himself away.
They just stared at each other.
After another long minute, Jimmy Olson coughed. “Ah, Agent Gibbons?”
Gibbons rolled his eyes toward him.
“You’re the senior agent here. Perhaps you should handle the negotiations.”
Gibbons frowned. Thanks a lot. No wonder Perry White was always so pissed off at Jimmy Olson. Gibbons closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe through his nose until he thought the pain let up a little.
He opened his eyes and looked at Buddha. “Let’s make this simple, okay? You let my wife go, we’ll leave. Okay?”
The four freshman from Newark bristled, but they kept their mouths shut. Gibbons knew these young guys were mentally tallying up the charges they could make against these mooks. And they didn’t even know about the stiff in the john yet. But Gibbons didn’t give a shit about making cases against these zeroes. All he wanted was his wife back, unharmed. Before he died.
He stared hard at Buddha. “So? Say something.”
The little emperor took the icebag off his head and felt the goose egg. He looked at Gibbons. “Sounds okay to me.” He looked up at Stanley then and nodded with his head toward Freshy.
Stanley interpreted the gesture. “Let her go, Fresh.”
“No, no, wait.” Freshy shuffled his feet, and his burst of jitters joggled Lorrai
ne like a marionette. “Listen, listen.”
Stanley shook his head. “No, you listen. Mr. Stanzione says to let her go. That means let her go.” The Tazmanian Devil was working his jaws.
So was Gibbons. Gun or no gun, chest pains or no chest pains, he was ready to pounce on the little shit.
Freshy backed up, hauling Lorraine back with him. “Just listen to me, listen to me. Okay? You still think I’m a rat, that’s what you’re thinking. But you’re wrong. I’m not. I did the right thing. At least, I thought I was doing the right thing. I swear. Why don’t you gimme a break here?”
“Let her go.” Buddha spoke to him directly now, and Freshy reacted as if it were a ghost talking to him.
“No. No. Listen to me, Mr. Stanzione. Please.” Freshy was shitting bricks. “Bells fucked you over, right? He gave you counterfeit money, right? Okay, so let me take care of him for you.”
“You?” Stanley couldn’t believe this twerp would even suggest that he could take on Bells.
Gibbons couldn’t believe it either, but this made him nervous. If Freshy seriously thought he could go mano a mano with Bells, he’d lost it, which wouldn’t have bothered him at all, except for the fact that he was holding Excalibur to Lorraine’s head. The pickup truck was still on his chest. Tears came to his eyes, but it wasn’t because of the pain. The thought of him sitting here helpless when Lorraine could die at any moment from a slug fired from his faithful revolver totally overwhelmed him. . . . But only for a few seconds. He opened his eyes, set his jaw, and sniffed in as deep a breath as he could stand. Personal emotions never help in situations like this.
“How do you think you’re gonna get Bells?” Gibbons wasn’t mocking Freshy, just putting it to him hard, trying to make him think straight and be rational.
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