He decided to run. No car. Prospect Park wasn’t far. He jogged down Ninth Street, past the old row houses, past the expressway, and all the way to the park. A small crowd was gathered at the Ninth Street entrance. The killer turned and went down to Fifteenth Street. He entered the park from there. No sense risking anything.
At first he didn’t see anybody, and wondered if everyone had parked their fat asses on sofas, but as he ran he started spotting some joggers, and some walkers, too. He turned right, toward the lake. A pair of females were just ahead—running buddies, he guessed. Paired up so they’d be safe. He thought about shooting them to prove them wrong, but opted not to. At the next bend, an older couple were doing a fast-walk, hands swinging like robots from a sci-fi movie. They wore matching blue jogging suits and what appeared to be identical running shoes. Or maybe they were walking shoes. Who the hell knew? The killer didn’t give them a second thought. They were too boring to kill.
It was almost dark. The joggers were thinning out—going home to shower, watch TV, talk to each other about how fit they were. The men, in particular, amused him. The ones in shape thought they were invulnerable, able to handle themselves no matter what came up. But one pop from a gun and they’d fall just as hard as a couch potato. Invulnerable my ass.
He didn’t see anyone as he passed the lake. He turned left, hugging the lake, running parallel with South Lake Drive. An older woman sat on the grass by herself. Two guys, who looked as if they should have stayed home, walked by panting, ready to call it quits. No doubt they were heading for the exit. The killer continued, smiling as he slowed to inspect a couple with a dog. They looked young—thirtyish—both with iPods plugged in. The woman was runner-thin, taut and tight. The way he liked them. With the proper mindset, she’d be good in bed.
Almost as good as Susan.
The guy was a hair on the chunky side. He needed the run. The killer wondered if he ran as an ultimatum—run or you get no sex. He took a final glance at her body and nodded to himself. Given those circumstances, he’d run, too.
The dog kept changing pace. Moving in front of the couple, then behind. The leash had him restricted, but even with that, he looked more bored than the killer felt. He was probably thinking he could be home watching TV or humping somebody’s leg and wondering why they brought him out here—he didn’t need to lose weight.
The killer wondered why he always called dogs of an unknown gender he. As he thought about it, he realized he did something similar with cats, but called them she.
Weird, he thought. Do other people do that?
“Try to keep up,” the woman jogger said to her partner as they passed by.
The killer turned his head. The guy was sweating, his tongue hanging out as he struggled for a good breath, and that bossy bitch had the nerve to push him? Bossy Bitch didn’t know it, but she had sealed her fate. Unfortunately Chunky was destined to share it. The killer let a minute or so pass, then he turned around and picked up his pace. He’d catch them before long. Bossy Bitch might have given him a run for his money, but only if she abandoned Chunky.
For a moment he worried they might leave the park, but then she turned on West Lake Drive. “Fate’s Warning,” by Iron Maiden came to mind, the lyrics popping into his head.
He wasn’t sure he had the lyrics all right, but he recalled something about destiny, and staying alive, and bullets. That was enough for him.
The killer closed to within about fifty yards. He altered his pace, falling back a little, then inching up near, but never too close. No need to attract attention. Bossy Bitch stopped, reached down and undid the leash on the dog. The killer glanced at his watch—8:45. Leash laws ran till 9:00.
Shame on you, Bossy.
Before he realized it, he had closed to within about twenty yards. A quick check showed no one around. He pulled out the gun, kept it by his side. When he got within ten feet, he raised it and popped Chunky in the forehead. Bossy Bitch gasped. He shot her in the face, then fired a second time into the side of her head. The dog growled, moving toward the killer. He looked to be some kind of terrier. Ordinarily, he liked terriers.
Oh well, he thought, and shot the dog in the chest. “Sorry, friend. You should have stayed home.”
He took out the little notepad he carried and penned a quick ditty. Afterwards he removed her top and bra, sharpened a small stick, stuck it next to her breast, and attached the poem. He did a quick glance around, saw no one, then headed for the Ninth Street exit. He’d be home in no time.
CHAPTER 38
Some Wounds Never Heal
I woke early and called Angie, but she didn’t answer, which made breakfast miserable. I liked to enjoy breakfast, not worry about whether she would be waiting for me when I got home.
If I get home. This morning’s meeting would go a long way in deciding the if.
I stopped a few blocks from Dominic’s house, took the gun from under the wheel well and put on my cap, the one with the derringer rigged inside it. I didn’t want any trouble, and had no intentions of causing any, but I couldn’t control what might happen.
If Manny had told the truth, Dominic Mangini was the lone holdout of the Five Families when they granted me a reprieve for killing Tito. He was also the most vicious Mafia boss since Lucky Luciano. One story said he had a guy’s eyes cut out while he was still alive and that even after the guy told Dominic what he wanted to know, he continued cutting. I shivered. Not many people frightened me. Dominic Mangini did. And there was no telling how he’d react to me being in New York.
I kept a slow pace, looking for traps or spotters. As I climbed the steps to his house my stomach turned a few times. I hadn’t seen anybody but I didn’t know if that was good or bad. Either no one was there, or I missed them. I dreaded the thought that I could be slipping.
The sidewalk leading to the house was brick—old from the looks of it, but well maintained. Brick steps led to the door. I knocked firmly. As I waited, shifting weight from one foot to another, I noticed a bullet mark in the door. It brought to mind one of the other stories about Dominic, how a rival family tried killing him one night and missed. Within a week everybody involved disappeared. The stories said he never fixed the door, kept it as a reminder never to be caught off guard. I saw now the story was true. That was good to know.
The door was answered by an older man who looked as if he ate pasta a little too often. He had a smile that went ear to ear. No way is this Dominic.
I held out my hand. “Nicky Fusco. I’m here to see Dominic Mangini.”
He grabbed my hand with zest. It seemed as if that zest came naturally to him. “Nicky Fusco. Son of a bitch, I’ve heard tales about you.” He still had hold of my hand. I was beginning to get worried, but then he let go. “I’m Zeppe Mangini, the nice brother.” He laughed when he said it. The laugh came naturally too. Already I liked this guy.
Zeppe led me across a small marble foyer. He moved fast for a heavy man. I glanced around as we walked, keeping alert. I felt like I did those first few weeks in prison, when the showers were like a minefield and I never knew who might try to grab me for a back-ender.
I got my second kill that way.
French doors opened into a living room with hardwood floors and an Oriental rug. The house was impeccable; I expected no less.
An older man, about sixty, sat in a chair by the window. He looked like somebody’s grandfather, except for his eyes—piercing eyes that burned holes all the way to my soul. The saying from Julius Caesar came to mind about Cassius’ lean and hungry look. I suspected Dominic was more dangerous than Cassius.
I was halfway across the room before he stood. He was shorter than me. Thinner, too. The hair on the sides of his head were distinguished gray; the rest was bald. I got a lot of impressions right away but the predominant one was danger. This man would make a bad enemy.
I shook hands with him, making sure to give him my best smile. “It is an honor to meet you.”
“Niccolo Fusco, I knew your father
. He was a respected man.”
I nodded, taking note of the slight. I decided not to do the same to him. “As you are respected, Signor Mangini.”
“You already met my brother, Zeppe, and this” —he gestured to his left—“is my lawyer.”
Being in Dominic’s presence changed Zeppe. The plump, jolly man with the quick smile was gone, replaced with the look of a worried man. Not a good sign. He wasn’t a threat himself, but the change in attitude told me lots. I extended my hand to the other man. I had felt his eyes on me ever since I entered. This man might have been many things. A lawyer wasn’t one of them. He had the eyes of a fox and the posture of a tiger. I pegged him for Fabrizio, Dominic’s feared enforcer I’d heard so much about. If he was Fabrizio, then Manny was right. This guy was good. I could sense it. He looked me up and down in a heartbeat, but didn’t bother to offer a handshake. I’m sure he wanted his hands free.
“It is a pleasure, Signor Fusco.”
He spoke good English but with the Italian cadence. Definitely Fabrizio.
“The pleasure is mine, Signore.”
I turned back to Dominic. “I’m grateful you could see me, Signor Mangini. I should have called.”
The one I pegged as Fabrizio moved closer. “I’m sorry, Signore, but I assume you don’t have weapons on you?”
I kept my eyes glued to his. Neither one of us was fooling the other. “Mi scusa. Back of my waistband.”
“Grazie.” He reached behind me and grabbed the gun. “It will be returned, of course.” With that said, he continued to frisk me better than any cop would have.
I gave him my best fake smile. “Of course.” All the while I thanked God he hadn’t checked my hat. Maybe Fabrizio wasn’t as good as everyone thought. One of the first things Johnny Muck taught me was to never underestimate an enemy. I removed my hat, like any respectable person, and held it in my hand, beside my leg.
I waited for Dominic to take his seat, and then I sat too. A guy who didn’t look like a servant came out from the kitchen. He waited for Dominic to speak.
“See if our guest would like espresso.”
It went without saying that Dominic did. The man looked at me, but not like a waiter. More like a guy who wanted to break my legs. He didn’t speak either.
“I’ll have a cup,” I said, “assuming Signor Mangini is.”
Dominic didn’t have to look to know when the man was out of earshot. “What brings you to New York, Niccolo?”
I felt certain that Manny had told him, but I played it safe. “My best friend, Bugs Donovan, was stabbed. He’s in critical condition.”
Zeppe looked genuinely surprised. “No shit? Bugs? He’s a good guy. He helped us—”
Dominic never took his eyes off me, but his hand moved slightly, enough to shut Zeppe up. I figured Zeppe would be in the East River if he wasn’t Dominic’s brother. Again, it told me what I needed—that Dominic already knew about Bugs.
“Isn’t he a detective?” Dominic asked.
“He is,” I said. “Homicide.”
Dominic shook his head. “No one has respect anymore.”
I knew he meant it as another slap at me. Time to test the water. “Not like the old days.”
Dominic shot me a glare. I think he’d have shot me if he wasn’t afraid of getting blood on the furniture.
The servant/waiter who wasn’t a servant/waiter returned with espresso for all of us, then brought in a plate of biscotti.
Dominic broke a small piece from a biscotto and nibbled on it. “Buon appetito.”
I took a sip of my espresso. “Perfetto. Grazie.”
He looked at me. His eyes were as riveting as Pops’ were. Maybe more.
“You’ve been to visit your friend?”
There was no sense lying to him. If he caught me in a lie, it would go far worse. “Last night.”
“When will you be leaving?”
I had to hand it to Mangini, he didn’t dally around. I thought about how to answer it and decided the truth was best. “Not until I get the guy who did this.”
I glanced to my right as I spoke, checking on Fabrizio. He sat on the sofa, his right hand lying across the top of the cushions. One hand moved a little until he saw me look. I figured there was a gun hidden there. When I first came in he had opened his jacket, exposing his waistband to show me he was unarmed. I stared back to the sofa cushion where his arm lay. He seemed a little too tense. If Dominic did anything, I’d have to shoot Fabrizio first.
Dominic munched on his biscotto and took a sip of espresso, and all the while he stared at me. “I granted you the courtesy of a meeting even though I shouldn’t have. The Families didn’t come after you for a lot of reasons, but it does not change the fact that you killed a boss without sanctions. It was not your place.”
“I understand that, and I offer no excuses. What I did was wrong, and many of us have suffered. I hope that the Council is more pleased with Manny Rosso than they were with Tito.” The last part was a jab at Dominic. He couldn’t deny that Manny was far better for them than Tito had been.
Dominic took another bite from the biscotto. He took his time, as if he had just sat down to a six-course meal. “If someone kills the president and the next one is better, they don’t let the killer go.”
“True, but if he hasn’t been caught, perhaps they don’t search as hard for him.”
He took time to evaluate me, his stare intimidating. “It was my understanding that you would leave New York, never to return.”
“The circumstances with Bugs forced me to return.” No need to say that I came to get justice. That would be taken for granted.
A long silence followed. “I heard tales of why you killed all of those people. They say it was over a woman.”
“Tito wanted me to kill a woman. I told him I would, but decided not to when I found out that she was innocent. He killed her himself and tried to kill me.” I shook my head. “He shouldn’t have done that. We would have left him alone.”
“And the killings? You did them alone?”
“All of them.”
“And now you are here to avenge your friend Detective Donovan? A noble cause.”
I bowed my head. “Thank you, Signor Mangini. You have my word, I will be in and out quickly. I’m not looking for trouble.”
“No one wants trouble,” Dominic said. “But I cannot allow you to stay. You have broken the rules again. It seems as if you are in a habit of breaking rules.”
Dominic stood. Fabrizio tensed, like a snake coiled to strike. I smiled and stood with Dominic, offering my hand. “I’m sorry to hear that, Signore, but I understand. Not everything in life is as easy as we’d like.”
My response took him off guard. I could tell by the way he eyeballed me, as if expecting me to do something. But Dominic had control of his emotions; he recovered quickly.
“I’m glad you understand, Niccolo. It would have been…unfortunate, if we had to disagree.”
“I’m not here for that,” I said. “I hoped we could have done this differently, but I will ask a favor.”
Dominic narrowed his eyes. “Yes?”
“I would like to stay until Bugs is stable, at least able to talk.”
“And if I refuse?”
I shot a glance to Fabrizio, made sure the servant/waiter wasn’t around, then stared into Dominic’s eyes. “I hope you won’t.”
“But if I do?”
“I’ll stay anyway.”
Dominic flashed a smile that was not a smile. “Of course you will. But I knew that.” His glare turned hard and he moved close, his whisper a threat in itself. “No one wants trouble. You should go home to your family.”
I shifted my hat to my left hand, holding it as we chatted. “Thank you for your advice, Signore.” I turned to Zeppe and thanked him, then I turned to Fabrizio, extending my hand. “My gun?”
I had my hand on the derringer inside my cap, praying I didn’t need it but ready if I did. Fabrizio got a nod from Dominic and handed it
to me. His other hand was behind his back, gripping his own gun of course. I tucked mine into the waistband behind me, put my cap on.
“Don’t be a fool,” Dominic said. It was a threat, not a plea. This man had no fear.
“You’re thirty years late with that advice.”
Dominic stared. The guy from the kitchen, the servant/waiter, appeared with a gun in his hand. So much for disguises. I kept my eyes on Dominic. He’d have to give the order for anything to happen.
“I didn’t come here to kill you or you’d be dead already. I came to get the guy who stabbed Bugs. When that’s done, I’m gone.”
Mangini glared. “We have rules for a reason.”
“I know all about your rules. And a hell of a lot of your people don’t follow them. What I did was Tito’s fault.”
Dominic’s face muscles tightened and his eyes narrowed even more. “It was not your decision.”
“I know how you feel. But it’s done with. I’ve moved on. I’m not even in this life anymore.”
“And yet here you are, with a gun, in my house.”
“I mean no disrespect, but I can’t let the guy who did this to Bugs get away.”
“Leave my house,” Dominic said.
I nodded, staying alert. Dominic had already made up his mind. Fabrizio would be coming after me, and he’d probably have help. I headed for the door. No sense in threatening him. It would just make him come after me harder. When I got to the front door, I turned. “Signor Mangini, I know this is your home, but you’re being unreasonable. I hope you’ll reconsider. I only want the guy who did this to Bugs.”
Dominic didn’t answer. Neither did Fabrizio. Even Zeppe said nothing. I backed out the door. Halfway down the sidewalk, I heard Dominic’s voice.
“I’m not an unreasonable man. You have twenty-four hours.”
I nodded. He didn’t need to say anything else. I hustled to my car, wishing I’d parked a lot closer. I needed to act fast. Dominic would put Fabrizio on this right away. I needed to switch hotels, get a rental car under a fake name, and watch myself whenever I went to the hospital. I never thought it would be easy; to come to New York after I’d been gone so long and track down a killer; now it had gotten a lot harder.
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