The tall man stopped dead in his tracks.
“Bruschetti?” he asked.
“Rhymes with ‘spaghetti,’” said Luigi.
“No” was the reply. His head went very slowly from side to side. “Can’t say I do.”
The elevator arrived. Luigi nodded good-bye and stepped in. The door slid shut.
The agent smiled to himself. He loved his job. One word had just revealed to him that Carter Allinson was guilty of something. Luigi had no idea what that might be, but it would be very interesting and possibly rewarding to find out.
58
Carter Allinson was about to go back to his study when Fiona asked, “What was all that about?”
“Nothing. At least nothing to do with us.”
“Who’s Bruschetta?”
“No one important. Someone I once did business with. It’s a long time ago.”
He turned to go, but his wife put her hand on his arm to stop him.
“Tell me about it?”
“Why?”
“When you heard that name you turned white as a sheet.”
Carter kept silent. He knew if he opened his mouth there would be no going back. But what could he say or do?
“I think I need an explanation,” she persisted.
“Fiona, it’s a long story,” he bluffed. “I’ll tell you all about it another time.”
“Why don’t you try now? I have plenty of time.”
“It’s also not a pretty story. Are you sure you…?”
“Carter. I’m your wife. The mother of your children. Whatever it is, I can handle it. Tell me why that man was here!”
“I’m afraid it has to do with drugs and a silly, youthful transgression back in college. You remember how it was.”
“No, I do not remember how it was,” she said with a scathing look.
“Come off it!” said Carter. “We all did a little something back then.”
“No, we did not all do something.”
“Oh please!”
“What do you mean it has something to do with drugs?”
Carter took his time before saying, “I met a guy who worked in the college commissary.”
“The commissary?”
“Yes. He was the guy who cleared the tables. He sold me some marijuana. Made it easy for me to supply my friends. I became very popular, and at the same time it gave me a little pocket money.”
“Was his name Bruschetta?”
“No. And it’s Bruschetti.”
“So, you met a man in the commissary called Bruschetti who sold you drugs. Is that all?”
“No. Look, why don’t we sit down and talk…”
Fiona flared. “For Christ’s sake! We just had a Federal Agent in here asking questions and you’re burbling on about college!”
“Look, I’m the one who put us in this mess,” said Carter, beginning to get irritated. “So you’re just going to have to be patient and let me find a way out of it.”
“Patient! What mess? You still haven’t told me…”
“Will you please shut up and let me explain?”
“Don’t talk to me like that!”
“I’m going to talk to you any way I please,” he said pointedly. “Because right now we don’t have many options open to us.”
“Then start at the beginning,” she said bitterly. “If my life is going to fall apart I would like to have some idea of just how it happened.”
“I need a drink,” he said, and walked into the short passageway that served as a wet bar. Fiona followed and leaned in the doorway as he took down a whisky glass and half-filled it with scotch. He added ice from the ice machine and topped it up with water.
“I’ve done my best to insulate you and the kids from what happened back then,” he said turning to face her. “I’ve done everything I can to bury the evidence and cover my tracks so that no one would ever be able to follow the paper trail. From what we just heard, I must have slipped up somewhere.” He took a long drink. “The last thing I ever expected was to see a cop walk in here and use the name Bruschetti.”
“Were you using pot when I met you?”
“Good God no! It was all over by then. But that’s when all the trouble started. When I tried to quit, I was blackmailed.”
“By the man in the commissary?”
“No, not him. He was nobody. It was his boss, Sal, the man who had been supplying him all along. I met with him and he told me quite simply if I didn’t agree to work for them and handle their investments he would kill me. ‘Dead meat’ was the phrase he used.”
Carter downed the whisky and banged the glass down on the counter.
Fiona stared at her husband. “You agreed to take care of this man’s investments even when you knew you could be handling drug money?”
“What option did I have?”
“Why didn’t you go to the police?”
“Would you have married me if you had known I was involved with illicit money? Would your father have taken me into the firm?”
He walked up to her and spoke quietly and intensely. “Let’s get realistic. I am extremely successful in what I do. And that success has brought me a large number of wealthy clients. Like it or not, when I was starting up, that ‘drug money,’ as you call it, made all that possible.”
Fiona looked at the agent’s card in her hand. “Why was he here?” she asked. “Why is the IRS involved?”
“I have no idea. That’s why I should go talk to Max.”
“Max?
“Max Bruschetti. Sal’s brother. He’s the real boss now. The capo.”
“Capo!” said Fiona. She turned away and began to wander distractedly around the living room. “Jesus!” she cried. “The hospital presentation is tomorrow. What should I do about that? And Amanda’s trip! Does this mean we’ll have to cancel it? What about the schools? How do you think Deerfield is going to react when they find out? And the clubs? How long before they ask us to resign? We’re going to be just like Valerie and Geoffrey, aren’t we? Everything in the Post for all the world to see! Do you think you’ve been clever enough to make the front page?”
He took a step towards her.
“Don’t touch me!” she said, her voice a whisper. “Just leave me alone. Get out of here! Go to your office! Meet with your capo! Do whatever you have to do to save your rotten, filthy skin.”
With that she strode away and down the hallway.
Carter sank into one of the big armchairs. Fiona’s reaction to the bad news was understandable, but he was surprised that she had become so hysterical. Well, he mused, it had finally happened. The showdown that would no doubt open the floodgates. And all because of that stupid meeting with Sal Bruschetti in that filthy Chinese restaurant in Queens and the smug way in which the Sicilian rambled on about crime paying.
“Yes, Sal, it may pay and pay well,” Carter muttered to himself, “but you forgot to mention there’s one hell of a downside.”
He stooped down and picked up the agent’s card from the floor where Fiona had dropped it. Grabbing a jacket from the closet he walked out to the elevator.
In the lobby the doorman asked helpfully, “You taking your car, Mr. Allinson, or should I call a cab?”
“That’s okay, Sergio,” he replied with a wan smile. “I need some air. I think I’m going to walk awhile.”
59
With no idea how long it would be before Enzo left his building, Harry had driven to McDonald’s and loaded up with enough food for ten unhealthy adults. A mailbox partially hid his car as he sat waiting, once again across the street. To keep himself awake he spoke aloud lines of the various Shakespearean parts he had done over the years. As he reached the point in Mercutio’s Queen Mab speech where “her chariot is an empty hazelnut” the familiar car pulled up outside.
Enzo came hurrying out of the lobby and got in back. Harry started up the engine but sank way down in his seat until they had passed by and then followed as they went east on 62nd Street to the FDR and then south
and through the tunnel to the depths of Brooklyn. As they drew up curbside he drove past. At the first corner he turned and slammed on the brakes. Jumping out, he ran back and was just in time to see Enzo going alone through the front door of a big warehouse.
Harry had two choices: wait and follow them when they left or stay and take a look around. He chose the latter as the old building was the perfect place to hide Lizzie and he could pick up Enzo’s trail anytime. The sun was now just above the horizon. Prudence suggested that he wait for dark before setting off. At one point in his vigil Enzo reappeared and drove off. Harry calculated that he had been inside for about twenty minutes.
Taking deep breaths he crossed the road and headed down the alley at the side of the building. The walls here were sheer and every window was covered with thick wooden planking securely nailed in place. Without a sledgehammer or crowbar there was no way in. Harry went to the end and looked around the corner. Midway down the back wall was a fire escape. Moving closer he saw that the lower part of the ladder was hinged at the first floor and held up by a counterweight.
From several piles of junk and garbage he was able to dig a piece of old rope and a length of two-by-four. With the wood securely tied to the rope he flung it up over the ladder. It took three attempts before it took hold but then he was able to ease the contraption down. Mercifully for an old piece of machinery it made little sound.
The fire escape was old and rusty but still safe to climb. As he stepped off the last rung the counterweight dropped and the ladder creaked back up to its original position. A stairway now rose up above him. On each landing he found an emergency exit, but each one of them was locked up tight from the inside. Peering through a tiny crack in the top doorframe he could see only emptiness. It was frustrating but he kept going up and was rewarded to see a narrow walkway that ran along the center of the roofline. On one side was a straight drop to the roof of the fourth floor. Parallel to the walkway was a row of skylights. At some time they had been covered in black paint, but much of this was now peeling away. Some were now lit from below.
With extreme caution he crawled out a few feet and looked down through the first dirty pane. The space below looked empty and unused but was a possible place where he might gain access to the building. Time and weather had reduced the putty that held the glass to brittle pieces that could be easily pried loose.
“I need supplies,” he muttered to himself.
On the bottom flight of the fire escape he rode down to the alley and secured the ladder with the rope. Back at his car he opened the trunk, grabbed the largest of his drill bits and put it in his pant pocket. Hanging the tire iron on his belt, he retrieved the flashlight from the glove compartment, locked the doors and sprinted back into the alley. Before he climbed up he freed the rope and coiled it over his shoulders.
Entry to the rooms was from the one corridor. Harry decided to check the last room first. Very gingerly he crawled along to the far end of the walkway. Below was an office with a series of surveillance monitors above a desk. A desk lamp illuminated a man sitting there working at a computer.
Spinning around on his stomach, Harry edged his way over to an adjoining pane of glass and peered down through a crack in the paint. The faint nasal twang of Asian music could now be heard.
Below in the dark he could make out an enormous machine. On the front control panel several LED lights showed that it was powered and ready to be switched on. Harry had no idea what it was used for.
The next two rooms had been knocked together to form one large area. One door had been removed and the entrance boarded over. The space was filled with refectory tables that were packed tightly together to create an extensive worktop. On these were nine digital projectors that sent their images to what looked like white bedsheets tacked to the walls. Interspersed between these were a series of laptop computers. Everything was connected by a forest of wires that seemed to terminate at two servers in the corner of the room.
There were two men below. In complete contrast, one was small in stature and wore a white shirt. He sat to one side doing nothing. The other man was huge and had very black hair. He was watching the code that scrolled down on one of the sheets. In his hand was a yellow lined pad where he made an occasional note.
Harry pulled himself back and sat up in the middle of the walkway. Directly below him was clearly an important part of the Bruschetti organization. One they wouldn’t want to lose. Perhaps he could find a way of messing it up? But right now his assignment was to find Lizzie. The building had to be searched. The only way inside that he could see was down through the first room at the far end of the walkway.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. The wood beneath him creaked as he went back to the first skylight. Taking out the big drill bit he chipped off the putty from three sides, eased the tire iron under glass and pried it up. With it wedged he managed to get his fingers underneath the edge. But as he began to lift it up the pane started to slip as the fourth side gave way. Harry tried frantically to hold on but he had thoroughly underestimated the weight. The thick piece of glass slid from his grasp and slithered over the edge. With a loud crash it shattered on the sidewalk.
Harry prayed for a full minute. First that no one was walking below and second that the two men beneath him were hard of hearing. His prayers were answered. There were no shouts, cries or moans and nobody came out to investigate.
With the flashlight tucked into his waistband he secured one end of the rope to the ironwork and, easing his legs over the edge, slowly slid down until his feet touched the floor.
Except for a metal folding chair and an old empty filing cabinet the space was empty. Harry tried the door handle. It was not locked so he carefully opened it. It was fortuitous that he didn’t open it fully as the man at the end came out of his office at that moment and went into the room with the bedsheets.
Harry heard the door close.
Now all three men were in the same room. If he could keep them there, he could do a fast search for Lizzie without interruption. Presumably all the doors had the same hardware. The metal chair would certainly be sturdy enough to act as a wedge.
Harry ran fast down the passageway and gently pushed the back of the chair under the brass knob of the door, pressing the ends of metal legs firmly into the floor boards. Tiptoeing away, he took out his flashlight and headed swiftly but cautiously down the stairs.
The floor below was an empty void. On the second floor were the dusty remains of cubicle partitions. Scattered everywhere were discarded folders and papers. The ground floor contained several large rooms, all of them clean and filled with an assortment of boxes stacked from floor to ceiling. Harry opened one up and pulled out a new CD. With overt sexual graphics it had the descriptive title of Penetentiary Penetration. Harry threw the disk in the box and headed for the basement.
Like the top floor, this was divided into small rooms. Directly opposite the stairs were two toilets. Harry went into the one marked MEN. Inside was nothing of significance until he checked the floor with the flashlight. By his left foot were four cigarette butts. When he leaned over to take a closer look he saw that each of the butts had a trace of mauve lipstick. Lizzie had been there. But how long ago? There was no sign or scratch on the tiles to give him a clue.
The fact that Lizzie was being held captive by a bunch of thugs made him angry and that produced an even stronger desire to go on the offensive. If he could chase the men upstairs out, he could use the same tactic and follow one of them. But how to do that? Best thing would be to mess up the fancy computer setup on the top floor. This was kept running by a constant flow of electricity. With so much wattage being used in an abandoned warehouse it was a wonder that Con Edison hadn’t thought it strange and made inquiries.
It was only when Harry looked in the little room at the end of the passageway that the answer to that was found. A shiny thick black cable had been skillfully welded into the supply before it reached the meters. All electricity coming in was unrecorde
d. Harry traced the cable and saw that it ran up the side of the stairs. Cutting it would be the best way to cause mischief. But how?
Searching around, he came across two red extinguishers hanging on the wall with a fire axe in a glass-fronted case. The axe could definitely be used to cut the cable. But if he did that there was a distinct possibility he would be electrocuted. Insulation was required. And fast. It wouldn’t be much longer until someone tried to get out through the door upstairs.
From one of the rooms he brought a box of nudie magazines and made two piles on either side of a section of the cable that lay flat on the floor. Smashing the glass with his elbow, he seized the axe and used it to splinter the wooden case. Taking a length of the wood, he wedged the blade between the magazines with the sharp side down and laid the board on top. Picking up the heavier of the two extinguishers he crashed it down as hard as he could on the board above the axe. The force of the blow went from the steel cylinder through the board and into the axe.
Harry was totally unprepared for what resulted from his Rube Goldberg efforts. There was a huge flash and sparks flew everywhere. A fire crackled and hissed where the blade had partially penetrated the cable. Smoke billowed up and the lights went out. Harry flung down the extinguisher and ran up the stairs.
As he headed for the front door he heard shouts and sounds of banging as the three men above found themselves in the dark with the door wedged shut.
Out in the street he flew as fast as he could to his car and drove off. It wasn’t until he was three blocks away that he remembered to put on his lights. As he approached the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel several fire engines passed him going in the opposite direction.
A little while later, on the radio of the Ford Escape the 1010 WINS announcer reported a four-alarm fire at an abandoned warehouse in Brooklyn that had involved the entire block. There were no reports of any fatalities or injuries.
Harry swallowed. He knew better. He had probably just killed three men.
60.
Once a Crooked Man Page 25