Sergeant Rogers never saw or felt a thing. He just sat there, staring idly at my building.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Elizabeth returned to the parlor, and I kept an eye on Rogers. The burning in my hand had turned into a deep bone ache, like an infected tooth. The aspirin was doing nothing to cut through it. The phone rang. I picked up the receiver and whispered, “Hello?”
“Sorry for what Sam did.” Tony Gianolla’s gruff voice sounded almost kind. “He ain’t much for controllin’ his temper.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“Yeah, I’m workin’ on him. Anyways, just like we said, bring both Adamos to Giuseppe’s at eleven o’clock. Pietro Mirabile will be there in case Vito thinks I’m tryin’ to pull somethin’. Mirabile’s guaranteein’ their safety. His men are gonna frisk ever’body. Once you all are inside, my brothers and me’ll come in. We’ll get frisked too.”
Elizabeth stuck her head into the den.
“No,” I said. “You go in first. Better yet, I’ll look the place over, then you come in, and then the Adamos come in.”
“Yeah, okay. Now listen to me, Anderson. This ain’t no bullshit. We’re both losin’ too many men. Pretty soon neither side’s gonna have any shooters, and somebody else’ll step in. I’m tryin’ to keep that from happenin’. Detroit’s plenty big enough for both of us.”
“Okay.” If his nose grew when he lied, it would be about eighteen feet long by now.
“You tell him that. No tricks. We’re comin’ unarmed, and he better too.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“And listen. Your ma and pa got nothin’ to worry about from us. That was all a mistake.”
“Elizabeth as well?”
“Yeah. I’m tellin’ ya. We just want this shit to stop so’s we can get back to business.”
We rang off. I stared at the phone for a few moments after he hung up.
“What did he say?” Elizabeth whispered.
I recounted our conversation and added, “Tony acted conciliatory on the train, though I have to say the impact was lessened a bit when Sam threw me off. But this time he really sounded like he was trying to make peace.”
“Maybe they’re hurting worse than we thought,” she said. “They’ve lost a lot of men. Could he be sincere?”
“Well, we certainly can’t trust him. I hope the Adamos are prepared for the worst.”
The bangs and booms and whistles of firecrackers and fireworks sounded from all across the city. I glanced up at the wall clock. It was almost nine. “And speaking of the Adamos.” I picked up the telephone’s receiver and asked the operator to connect me. Vito was there, and I filled him in on what Tony had said.
“So it is still Giuseppe’s, eh?” Vito asked.
“So he says.”
“Hmm. Reports are that it is clean. I have spoken with Pietro as well. He told me the Gianollas have asked him to broker peace between us. I believe I can trust Don Mirabile.”
“Are you sure?”
“There is no ‘sure’ in this life. As I said, I believe I can trust him. Let’s meet fifteen minutes early.”
“At the restaurant?”
“No. Where my men picked you up yesterday.” He was quiet for a moment. “By the way, I discovered that Carlo Moretti was killed by someone known as ‘the Razor.’”
“The razor?”
“For his choice of weapons.”
I immediately thought of the two men who entered Moretti’s apartment building ahead of him. One was medium height, medium build, the other short and thinner. I knew a pair of brothers who fit that description, and one of them always carried a straight razor. But … they were kids. At fifteen years old, could Joey already be known for his method of murder? It seemed unlikely but, given his temperament, not impossible.
“Mr. Anderson?”
I brought my attention back to Adamo. “Yes, I’m still here.”
“Do you know who that might be?”
“No … no, I don’t.” I was not going to share my suspicion with him.
“Listen to me,” he said. “If they start shooting, cover Miss Hume with your body. They will be gunning for the Adamos, but I don’t think they will be discriminating.” He laughed. “Do you like that? Now I can say words like ‘discriminating’ without a stumble.”
I laughed with him. “You’re becoming an American.”
“Oh, I don’t think I can go that far, Mr. Anderson. But I am, what’s the word? Assimilating?”
“That’s the word.” The guy amazed me.
“I must go make preparations. Be careful. And tell Miss Hume the same. Good luck to you.”
“You too.” God help me, I meant it.
* * *
I hung up the receiver and sat back in my chair. After I thought for a moment, I called the Detroit Electric garage and told them to deliver the Torpedo to the corner of Charlotte and Cass as soon as possible. The man I talked to said it might take an hour, but they’d get it there.
I looked at Elizabeth. “Adamo says Moretti’s killer was someone known as the Razor. You haven’t spent a lot of time around Joey Bernstein, but he always carries a straight razor.”
She thought about it and shook her head. “No. It couldn’t be him. That would mean Abe has been working with the Gianollas from the start. If that were the case, he never would have set us up to ambush them.”
“You’re right. And Joey’s fifteen, for crying out loud. Never mind.” I leaned forward. “Okay. Assuming Izzy’s little trick works, we ought to be able to get out of here. But I don’t know how much we can count on Adamo. We need an angle.”
She patted her leg. “I’ve got the twenty-five. And the knife in my shoe.”
“It’s a start.”
“Why not leave a note for Detective Rogers?”
“What?”
Elizabeth crouched down next to me. “It will take the police a while to get to Giuseppe’s. If we cut it close on the timing, maybe they could catch both the Adamos and the Gianollas—and get us out of there alive.”
“Good thinking. What else?”
Her forehead creased. After a few moments, she shook her head.
I stared at the desk in front of me. The contents of Elizabeth’s purse were scattered across the surface from Rogers’s search. The sight of the switchblade gave me an idea. I looked at my glove. “Maybe…” I pulled off the glove and reached inside, trying to work the cotton out of the fifth finger, but I couldn’t hold on to the outside with my right hand. Elizabeth saw what I was trying to do and reached over, took the glove, and pulled out the cotton. She looked up at me.
I handed her the switchblade. “Fit that in there.”
“What are you going to do with your pinkie?”
“I’ll just push it into the fourth hole.”
She took the switchblade and stuffed it inside. It wasn’t exactly finger shaped, but the size was reasonably close—a little wider, and of course flat rather than rounded, but I thought inside the black glove it might pass.
Now for my fingers. I set my jaw and pulled the glove back on, with the stub of my little finger jammed into the fourth finger slot. The pain was about what I expected. When I’d gotten the glove all the way on, I held it up in front of me. Not bad. The knife wouldn’t pass close scrutiny, but the Gianollas had seen me wearing the glove often enough that they might just overlook it.
When I finished, I removed the glove, a burst of air forcing from my mouth. While I did, Elizabeth pulled a notepad from my desk and wrote:
Sergeant Rogers: Giuseppe’s on Rivard. 11:00 PM. Adamos AND Gianollas. Hurry!
She showed it to me. I nodded.
We had a chance. If Rogers found the note in time, he could upset the Gianollas’ plan. I had to keep us alive until then. I set the note on the kitchen table before putting the glove back on and changing into a black shirt and trousers. We settled on the sofa in the parlor to wait.
I nudged her. “So you were saying before we were so rudely int
errupted?”
“What?”
“You came back in July?”
“Oh.” She laughed and immediately clapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she whispered. “My uncle Peter—my mother’s brother—was trying to get her money. He had her committed. She was locked up at Eloise asylum for almost a month before I could get her out.”
“Oh. Gosh, I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with the murder, if that’s what you were thinking.”
“I didn’t think so, but…”
“You couldn’t help but wonder.”
I nodded.
She took my hand. “Don’t worry about it. I understand.”
Homemade fireworks began to explode in the sky, lighting the night green and white and red. In the distance, I could just hear the city’s fireworks booming out over the river a mile and a half away. I wondered about the Gianollas’ timing. The official fireworks would be finished before eleven, but there would be plenty of people shooting off fireworks and firecrackers well into the morning.
It would be an ideal time to shoot people.
* * *
From this far away the fireworks downtown were nothing more than a distant thud and a glow on the horizon. Occasionally the bursts rose far enough that they peeked out above the skyscrapers as they exploded.
Elizabeth sat next to me on the sofa in the parlor, nestled in under my left arm, one of her arms around my waist, the other hand resting on my stomach. Her hair smelled of vanilla. She was no more than a vague black form, yet I could picture her exactly. I traced the outline of her cheek with my left hand and then leaned down and kissed the top of her head through her short curls.
“Elizabeth,” I whispered. “Thank you for giving me another chance.” A string of firecrackers blew off down the street. I waited until the explosions stopped. “Being with you like this is worth a thousand beatings. It’s worth my life.”
She reached up and caressed my cheek. “Mine as well. I never thought I could be happy again.”
I took hold of her hand. “I want you to stay here tonight. Let me go alone.”
She sat up slowly, not the angry response I expected. “No, Will. Neither of us will be happy again without the other. I’ve faced that.” She laughed quietly. “We’re both ruined for anyone else anyway. So if either of us has to die tonight, let it be both.”
I started to protest, but she pressed a finger against my lips, then leaned in and kissed me. It was a soft kiss, but her lips lingered. I knew she was memorizing this moment, just as I was—her smell, the feel of her soft, full lips pressed against mine, the love that passed between us. It was only a moment, but it was perfect, the most perfect moment of my life.
She wrapped her arms around me and laid her head against my chest. We sat like that until the downtown fireworks stopped. The next part would be tricky. We needed to get away, but we also needed to alert the detectives to our departure.
I nudged Elizabeth. “Are you ready?”
She sat up. “Yes. Let’s go.”
“You’ve got your gun and knife? And they’re hidden?”
“Yes. Nobody’s going to find the gun, but I’ve got a bruise that’s killing me.”
“I noticed.” My arched eyebrow was a waste in the dark. She didn’t say anything, and I wondered if she was smiling. “Okay, let’s go out the back. We’ll sneak to get past him, but I’m going to shout for you to run once we get far enough away.”
After I ducked my head into the hall to see if it was clear, we tiptoed to the stairs and padded down to the first floor. I eased the back door open and slipped outside into the dark, Elizabeth right behind me. We crept alongside the building, ducking under windows so as not to be framed by the light.
From somewhere behind Third Street, a shrill whistle split the silence, followed by a bright white burst in the sky.
“Hey!” the detective yelled. “Get back here!”
“Run!” I shouted. We raced across the lawn. I looked back over my shoulder to see the cop lumbering along, much nearer to us than I’d hoped he’d be. Given that I had to get the Torpedo started, it was going to be close. No one ever wished they had a self-starter more than I did right now.
“Stop, or I’ll shoot!”
“Keep running, Elizabeth!” I called over my shoulder. I turned the corner onto Charlotte and sprinted to the car, which sat just outside the cone of light from a streetlamp. I jammed the key into the ignition, flipped the spark and throttle levers to a quick approximation of starting positions, and ran around the front. Elizabeth reached the car and jumped up in the seat as I started spinning the crank. The engine didn’t catch. I spun it again. Still nothing.
“Elizabeth, check the spark and throttle!” I yelled.
I looked out at the street. The cop was perhaps a hundred feet away now, running toward us with his gun hand extended. His hat flew off his head. “Stop, asshole!” he shouted.
“Turn the crank, Will!” Elizabeth yelled.
I spun it again. The engine caught.
I ran around, jumped into the car, and jerked down on the throttle lever. The tires spun and the car fishtailed away from the curb. The back end caught the cop in the hip, knocking him to the pavement. I hurtled around the corner, just able to squeeze between a pair of cars on Woodward.
Elizabeth was still turned in her seat, looking out the back. “That’s not going to be good, Will.”
“Really?” I demanded. “Running over a cop isn’t going to be good? Any more important information you’d like to share?”
We glared at each other until Elizabeth started to giggle. And then we both broke out laughing. When she caught her breath, she said, “I don’t think you really hurt him, but you should have seen his face.”
I glanced over at her. “What did he look like?”
She made a face, her eyes wide and her mouth in a big O. “Somewhere between surprise and sheer terror.”
“Well, thank heaven for small favors. I’d hate to add cop-killer to my résumé.”
Once Rogers discovered his car wouldn’t start, he would go back inside my apartment looking for clues as to where we’d gone. I hoped all would be forgiven between us when he found the note and caught the Gianollas. It would take the police a while to get to Giuseppe’s. If the timing didn’t work out, we were in a lot of trouble.
I drove through alleys where I could, otherwise staying on side streets. It was ten minutes of eleven when we arrived in front of the mission. I didn’t see Adamo. I hadn’t expected to. He would be at least as suspicious of my motives as he would of Pietro Mirabile’s. For him to wait like a sitting duck would have been stupid. And Vito Adamo was anything but.
I pulled to the curb, fished the switchblade out of my pocket, and set it on my lap while taking off my glove. After Elizabeth shoved the knife into the finger hole, I pulled the glove back onto my hand. I tried to hide the pain when I jammed the stub of my pinkie in with my ring finger, but her sympathetic frown showed I didn’t do so well.
When I thought I could keep the pain out of my voice, I held my hand up in front of her. “Not too bad, huh?”
Nodding, she said, “It might pass. If they don’t look too closely.”
“I may need your help with that.”
“I know just the thing.”
I looked at her with a question on my face, but she just shook her head and smiled. Half a minute later, the blue E-M-F pulled up alongside us, Angelo the only occupant. “Follow,” he said, and the car shot forward. I drew down the throttle and trailed behind.
“Where do you suppose the Adamos are?” Elizabeth asked.
“I don’t know. But they’re not taking any chances. That’s good.” I looked over at her. “We’re going to need them to keep us alive tonight.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Along the way, we passed four or five children I thought were likely members of Abe’s “business group.” When Angelo pulled the E-M-F to the curb in front of Giuseppe�
�s Restaurant, I parked just behind him, almost directly under a streetlamp. Ray Bernstein sat on a stoop across the street. When I caught his eye, he shrugged and held his hands out to his sides.
He hadn’t seen anyone? That seemed unlikely. I leaned toward him and made the same gesture back, pantomiming, Nobody?
He shrugged again and shook his head.
Angelo climbed out of the car, unholstering a pistol as he did. Filipo Busolato came from around the side of the restaurant and walked up to him. They spoke for a few moments. Angelo nodded and pulled a sawed-off shotgun from the backseat. He turned to me and nodded toward Ray. “Gianollas?”
“He says no.” I bit my lip. “But we better be sure.”
“My man say the same. But we will be sure.” He turned toward the restaurant. “Come with me.”
He walked to the door, shotgun in one hand, pistol in the other, followed by Busolato. Elizabeth and I fell in step behind them. When Angelo opened the door, a pair of toughs who were just inside let us in. The interior was well lit, but the walnut paneling made it seem dim. Streetlights shone through a pair of small windows in the front wall. Starched white tablecloths covered every table, which otherwise were empty. Behind the dining area was a corridor that I assumed led to a back door. I thought it looked like a relatively safe place to meet. Or as safe as a place could be with the Gianolla brothers present.
An older man in a dark suit stood in the center of the dining area, his silvery hair shining in the restaurant’s lights. He said something in Italian, and the men stepped back and let us pass. I squeezed Elizabeth’s hand, and we walked in behind Adamo’s men. The pressure on my pinkie finger was incredible. I tried to move it, hoping to relieve the pain, and was rewarded with even more.
The old man was short and squat, and had three deep scars on his left cheek that fanned out like a cat’s whiskers. “Buona sera, gentlemen, miss,” he said, in a deep, gravelly voice.
Angelo bowed to him. “Don Mirabile.”
They talked in Italian for a minute. I discerned from the tone of the conversation and Angelo’s hand motions that he wanted to search the restaurant before handing over his weapons, a sentiment with which I wholeheartedly agreed. Mirabile gave his approval, and called two of his men from the kitchen to join Adamo’s men in their search.
Motor City Shakedown Page 33