Cut Out

by Bob Mayer

  Trying not to give in to wild speculation, Giannini concentrated on what she did know: Lisa Cobb was safe with Riley. The only link to Lisa was her brother, but Giannini was the cut-out on that, having never told Tom who she was contacting to help his sister. The problem, and the reason she was driving south of Chicago, was that Tom was the most likely point of contact for anyone trying to find Lisa. Lisa and Tom’s parents were dead, and they were the only children. Giannini knew it wouldn’t take very long for another interested party with the right connections to find out these facts and track down Tom.

  Giannini grabbed the phone and dialed a new number—long distance. This time the other end was picked up.

  “Hello?”

  “Dave, it’s Donna.”

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “I just had a look at Jill Fastone’s body.”

  “What?”

  “Someone shot her between the eyes and dumped her body here in Chicago. I don’t know time of death, but I’m assuming she was killed after coming back here from North Carolina.”

  “Any idea who did it?”

  “Must have been the mob.”

  “But I thought she was working for them. I thought she led them to our friend.”

  “I thought so too. Maybe they just got pissed when they didn’t get both of the Cobbs. Maybe they just wanted to get rid of a witness. I don’t know what’s going on, but this thing is getting deeper by the minute.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to talk to Lisa’s brother. He’s Lisa’s only living immediate family and he’s the only link between her and me, and subsequently you. I want to make sure he’s safe.”

  “You make sure you’re safe,” Riley replied.

  “What about you all?” Giannini asked.

  “We’ve set up a meet for early this evening with the feds, so Lisa should be in the clear by then and I’ll be out of it. Don’t worry about us; we can take care of ourselves. We’ll be leaving in a few minutes to set up our surveillance of the meeting site.”

  “All right. Give me a call tonight to let me know how it went.”

  “I’ll do that.” Giannini put down the phone and drove a little faster.

  FORT BRAGG

  30 OCTOBER, 5:27 p.m. EASTERN TIME

  Riley sat in the corner booth, flanking the front window of the NCO club—Lisa to his right, Hammer on the other side, watching the doors to the bar. Riley’s attention was focused on the old PX parking lot across the street. He looked up as a figure approached the table in the dimly lit lounge. Hammer tensed, his eyes taking in the uniform, while his fingers caressed the .44 magnum revolver he had hidden underneath the table. The muzzle was angled up, pointing directly at the newcomer’s stomach.

  “Master Sergeant Martin,” Riley greeted the man without rising. Riley nodded at the empty space next to Hammer. “Have a seat.”

  Martin slid in, noticing the glasses of water in front of the three people. It was a rather unusual sight in the NCO bar, where the just-off-duty crowd was already raising the noise level with the thud of beer mugs on the tables and the bar. Martin was obviously not comfortable with the choice of meeting location.

  “I’ve got my students waiting over at the ACFAC. I told them everything you gave me this morning. The only thing I didn’t tell them—because you didn’t tell me—was where we’re meeting and what they’re supposed to be looking for.”

  Riley pointed out the tinted window, across Reilly Road. “We’ve got a personal meeting set up for any time between eighteen hundred and twenty-two hundred. One vehicle in the old PX lot, facing this way. Lights will be turned on for one minute, every fifteen minutes. We’re not going to initiate the meet until twenty thirty. I want your people to make sure that no one else is watching the lot during the two and a half hours before we make contact.”

  “Like who else?” Martin inquired.

  Riley shrugged. “Anyone. Even MPs. Watch for static surveillance and also rolling surveillance—they may even use multiple vehicles in rotation. It’s most likely that any surveillance will be nonmilitary and not have post decals.” Riley pointed. “I want the woods there to the right of the bank covered also. It’s a good place to put someone to eyeball the lot. There should be no one in there this time of day. Your men need to be in place by seventeen fifty.”

  Martin reached into his cargo pocket and pulled out a pair of small handheld two-way radios. He gave them to Riley. “They’re set on the proper frequency. My call sign is Eagle One. My surveillance teams are Eagle Two through Seven. Your call sign is Bear One and Two.”

  Riley flicked on the radios, pressed the send to check for a hiss of static, then turned them off. “One last thing, Top,” he said, stopping the master sergeant as he was about to leave the booth. “Make sure you emphasize to your people that if they spot anything, they are simply to call it in. Under no circumstances are they to make contact with anyone they spot. No matter what they see. Is that clear?”

  Martin paused and then sank back down on the worn leather seat. “These students are my responsibility, Chief. I’d appreciate it if you would tell me what’s going on.”

  “I can’t do that, Top.”

  Martin wasn’t going to be dissuaded so easily. “Then at least tell me if this is real world.” He tilted his head slightly toward Hammer, who had remained silent throughout, his eyes scanning the inside of the bar. “Your friend here has been playing with something under the table the whole time I’ve been talking to you, and I don’t think it’s his dick.”

  Riley realized that Martin’s request was reasonable. “This is real world. There’s a possibility that some armed personnel may show up who aren’t exactly friendly to the lady here.”

  Martin looked at Lisa, then back at Riley. “This some sort of divorce crap or something?” The tone of his voice indicated his displeasure.

  “I assure you it isn’t anything like that, Top,” Riley said. “I can’t tell you exactly what’s going on for security reasons, but suffice it to say that there’s a federal agency involved in this personal meeting, and we’re trying to pass this lady over to them. We just want to make sure it goes smoothly. The last time it was tried, the whole thing went to shit and someone died.”

  Martin’s eyes narrowed. He stared at Riley and then Lisa for a few seconds. “Sergeant Major Alexander said to do whatever you asked. He also said I should trust you. That’s good enough for me. I’ll tell my people to keep their eyes open and their dick out of the wringer if it gets cranked up.”

  “Thanks, Top.”

  Hammer watched Martin’s retreating back, then turned to Riley. “You sure command a lot of respect around here.”

  “I’ve worked with good people,” Riley replied.

  “Uh-huh” was Hammer’s only comment. He glanced at Lisa. “How are you doing?”

  She’d washed her clothes at Riley’s apartment, but the dark circles under her eyes were a clear indicator that she needed rest. “All right, I guess. I just want this to be over.”

  Riley tapped his watch. “Another three hours and it should be. I think everything will turn out all right.” He ordered another round of soda and water, then looked at Lisa. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did all this get started? Donna told me your husband turned state’s evidence against the mob, but how did he get in the position to do that in the first place?”

  Lisa hesitated for a long time, then spoke. “I think you deserve to know, even though it’s not something I enjoy talking about. I only found out what happened after the mob tried killing Philip the first time, as he was coming out of Jill Fastone’s apartment. She was the person who brought him into the whole mess.”

  “What exactly did your husband do for the mob?” Hammer asked.

  “He did quite a few things. He was a real estate developer, which meant he handled numerous business transactions involving a lot of money. So he was the perfect conduit for the Torrentino gang: he could funnel their dirty money and make i
t come out clean. There were a lot of ways he could do that, and a lot of ways he could kick the money back to the Torrentinos—most of the time with a profit.” Lisa shook her head bitterly. “With real estate and money, Philip was very smart. It was in other areas that he wasn’t so bright. I don’t know— I suppose if I had paid more attention, and if things with Melissa hadn’t gotten so—”

  “Hey,” Riley interrupted, “don’t try to second-guess what happened. It’s done with.”

  “No,” Lisa disagreed. “It’s not done with. If it was, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

  Riley and Hammer remained silent and she continued her story. “Philip did quite a few things for the Torrentinos—most of them illegal. But he started off with things that, while not illegal, were shady, and that’s how they hooked him in—besides the presence of Jill Fastone, that is.

  “Philip put the names of some of Torrentino’s people on his business ledger as sales representatives—giving them the appearance of legitimacy and allowing them to claim that as the source of their income. He juggled the prices of properties he bought and sold and covered the kickback to the Torrentinos in the commissions. It was all very complicated, but Philip had enough of a paper trail to get the Torrentinos indicted and convicted once he himself was caught.”

  Riley’s eyes were scanning the parking lot across the street. “Why did the Torrentinos try to kill your husband in Chicago? That’s what started this whole thing. Did he ever tell you?”

  “Not really,” Lisa said. “Philip never came right out and said it, but I got the impression that it was because of Jill Fastone. I think one of the two of them, or maybe both, took it too far, past what Michael Torrentino could accept.”

  “You think that’s why she showed up in Charlotte?” Riley asked. “That she was really in love with your husband?”

  “I don’t know—but I think he must have been in love with her. Why else would he have called her?” Lisa said bitterly. “Maybe he was just trying to end it cleanly before he moved on to our new life. Who knows.”

  Riley shifted his gaze from the window to Lisa. “Jill Fastone is dead. They found her body in Chicago this morning.”

  Lisa’s expression didn’t change. “Do they know who killed her?”

  “No. Donna said that they suspect the mob.”

  “That doesn’t make sense if she set Philip up for them,” Lisa commented.

  “It does if she set him up only in terms of being followed down to Charlotte,” Riley said. “The strange thing is that you said it looked like they were carrying two bodies out of your motel room, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “If that second body was Fastone, why did they—whoever they are— take it all the way back to Chicago to get dumped?” Riley’s question went unanswered and he switched directions. “If the Torrentinos really wanted to get to Philip and you, they’d keep tabs on those closest to you. For your husband, that would have been Jill. For you, it’s your brother.”

  “Oh, my God!” Lisa exclaimed. “I hadn’t thought of that. Is he in trouble?”

  “Don’t worry,” Riley said. “When I talked to Donna a little while ago, she was going to check up on him.”

  CHICAGO

  30 OCTOBER, 4:38 p.m. CENTRAL TIME

  Tom Volpe’s house was a small two-bedroom “fixer-upper” nestled in a neighborhood of similar lower-middle-class dwellings. Giannini pulled her car into the driveway, relieved to note that Tom’s old Mustang was parked there. She had fond memories of cruising in that car north along the shore of Lake Michigan into Wisconsin and to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

  As she walked up the sidewalk to the front door, she remembered the last time they’d been together—the long drive to the Upper Peninsula, a picnic in the sand dunes that lined the water’s edge, and Tom pleading with her to follow him to San Diego and wherever else the navy might send him. Giannini thought it was interesting that she still had her job and he was back in Chicago. He might have been better off accepting her counterproposal that he settle down in the city and go back to school to get the advanced degree in engineering he always wanted while she stayed at her job and supported them. She imagined that idea was too radical even for someone as open-minded as she had thought Tom was. He’d gone into the navy within the month, and that was the last she’d heard of him until the phone call the other day.

  Giannini pressed the doorbell and heard the muted chimes ringing inside. She waited a minute, then rang again. She opened the screen door and tried the doorknob; it turned freely and the door swung open. She slipped her right hand inside her jacket and pulled out a revolver.

  She slid into the foyer, back pressed against one wall. Her nostrils were immediately assaulted by a strong odor—something she couldn’t quite place—that caused a wave of nausea. She darted across to the opposite wall and scanned the front room; nothing there except worn furniture. The corridor split the front of the house—living room on the right, two closed doors, leading to what she presumed were bedrooms, to the left. A swinging door at the end must lead to the kitchen and the rear of the house.

  Giannini carefully pushed open the first door. A weight bench and cardboard boxes occupied the floor. She shut the door and moved on to the second door, all the while trying to recognize the smell.

  This door revealed a bedroom with a double bed, unmade, in the center, and a bureau against the near wall. She turned and faced the swinging door, then pushed it open with her foot. The stench washed over her. She moved in, propping open the door, and forced herself to keep from gagging at the odor and the sight that greeted her. Tom was secured to a kitchen chair with duct tape around his arms and legs. On his naked chest was a random pattern of round blackened marks. The smell was charred flesh.

  “Oh, God!” Giannini groaned and stepped forward. She knelt on the linoleum and checked the vein in his neck—he was dead. His blue eyes were frozen open, his face contorted. Giannini had once seen marks similar to the ones on his chest at a homicide scene: someone had used a blowtorch to elicit information.

  A puckered black bullet hole in his right temple indicated how Tom had been finished off by whoever had done this. A rag was tied around his neck, securing a rubber ball in his mouth to muffle his screams. How long had he endured this? Giannini wondered. She had no doubt that he had talked—who wouldn’t as the blue flame touched flesh? His skin was still warm; he hadn’t been dead long.

  She reached into her purse, pulled out her portable phone, and rapidly punched in Riley’s number. It rang four times and she heard his voice on the answering machine. She cursed to herself before speaking—maybe he would check the machine from a pay phone.

  “Dave, it’s—”

  A noise startled her, and as she spun around, bringing her gun up, the sap caught her above the left ear. She crumpled to the floor unconscious, phone and gun sliding out of her fingers.

  FORT BRAGG

  30 OCTOBER, 7:48 p.m. EASTERN TIME

  The car had arrived in the parking lot at 1755 and turned its lights on exactly at the hour and every fifteen minutes since then for the designated minute. The car had tinted windows, so it could not be determined who was inside.

  Riley pressed the transmit button on the radio Martin had given him and spoke into the small boom mike, his back to the bar. “Eagle One, this is Bear One. Status report. Over.”

  “This is Eagle One. All my people report in clear. Over.”

  Riley handed the second radio across the table to Hammer. “I want you to do a sweep of the area on foot. All around the parking lot. Get a feel for it. If you report in clear, we’re going to go make the meet.”

  Hammer nodded and slipped the radio in his fatigue pants pocket. He hid his .44 magnum revolver in the holster under his fatigue shirt and left the NCO club bar. Riley keyed the radio. “Eagle One, this is Bear One. Alert all your units that Bear Two is going to be out there walking around. Over.”

  “Roger. I’ll pass the word. Over.”

  Ham
mer departed the NCO club and made his way across Reilly Road, angling away from the old PX parking lot and into the large stand of pine trees that extended from Reilly across to Community Access Road, eighty yards away. In the darkness, his camouflage uniform merged with the green and brown background. He worked his way from the edge of the woods facing the parking lot, until he was halfway between the two roads. Then he cautiously moved forward and knelt behind a fallen log, where he could scan the parking lot.

  The Fort Bragg main post office was on the far side of the lot, and it was closed for the day. A few cars were pulling up to it every so often as patrons checked their post office boxes. Hammer made a mental note to check the inside of the post office when he made his way around. It would be a good surveillance location.

  He spotted two other cars with two men in each one and checked them off—O & I students trying to be surreptitious as they pulled surveillance for Riley. The old post exchange was along the right flank, and nothing was moving there. A pizza place was the only thing open in the long line of stores. On the hill overlooking the parking lot were Moon and Hardy Halls. Hammer knew that Martin had a team in each one, checking the hallways and stairwells for unwanted watchers.

  Hammer left the woods and made a beeline for the sidewalk fronting the closed PX. He walked swiftly along the concrete until he reached the pizza place, where he stepped inside. Several soldiers with maroon berets and distinctive AA patches, identifying them as members of the 82d Airborne, were inside, eating or playing the video games. Hammer looked them over and decided they were no threat.

  He ordered a Coke and went to an empty table at the front window, checking the scene from this perspective: Riley and Lisa across the street in the NCO club, the car still sitting there, the two surveillance cars with the O & I students, the post office, Moon and Hardy Halls out of sight to the right.