Double Espresso (A Loretta Kovacs thriller)

by Anthony Bruno

  Loretta’s chest felt as if it were going to explode. Her pounding heart was shaking her chest. She opened her eyes to prove to herself that she wasn’t in the drier, but she could tell from the depth of the water that she was nowhere near the shore. She recalled that somewhere out here there were some big boulders that broke the surface. If she could find one, maybe she could hide behind it and go up for air. But she couldn’t see any boulders anywhere near her, and when she looked straight up, she saw the dark bottom of a hull haloed by the sun looming over her like Jaws.

  She had no air left. She had to surface before she passed out and drowned. Her arms and legs ached as she used what little strength she had left to propel her body up through the water. She couldn’t get there fast enough, and when she finally made it, she sucked in as much air as she could, inhaling the water dripping down her face, coughing painfully, her lungs on fire.

  Her eyes shot open. The side of the boat was just inches from her face. She expecting someone to start yelling at her, “You’re under arrest,” multiple gun barrels pointed down at her head.

  But there was nothing.

  The boat’s engine was idling loudly, which must have drowned out her coughing. She fought to control her ragged breathing and stop panting.

  She listened carefully and heard two male voices above her. “You see anything?” the higher voice asked.

  “Nope,” the low one said. “Ain’t nothing here.”

  “Look close. We don’t find them, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

  “There’s already gonna be hell to pay. First time anybody’s ever broken out of here. Darcy’s gonna get his butt reamed for this.”

  “We’re all gonna get our butts reamed. Keep looking.”

  They fell silent for a while. Loretta stayed still, silently treading water. They must have been looking over the other side of the boat, searching the shoreline. That’s why they hadn’t noticed her yet.

  “Come on,” the low voice suddenly said. “Let’s move on. There’s no one here.”

  The engines revved, and Loretta dipped under the surface, swimming down under the boat. When she thought she was deep enough, she looked back up and saw the boat’s churning propellers moving away.

  But now she was in a real bind. If she surfaced, the men on the boat would spot her. She had to swim underwater to one of those boulders so she could hide. She was exhausted and her arms and legs felt like jelly, but she had no choice. She had to force herself.

  She took her first strokes, and all of a sudden she thought of coffee. She craved it so much she could taste it in her memory. If she had a real cup of coffee right now, she could do this. She needed caffeine. That’s why she was so exhausted and disoriented. A little coffee would give her the energy, the edge, even the sense of direction she needed to do this.

  She could smell the aromas in her mind. She kicked harder, gliding forward, bubbles streaming out of her nose, hands in front of her like Superman. She was flying though the air, searching for a cup of coffee, ready to dive-bomb the first espresso bar she found. She was so fixated on getting some coffee into her veins, she forgot where she was, and when she opened her eyes, she was shocked to see a boulder looming just a few feet in front of her. She looked down and saw bottom. It wasn’t that deep here; she could probably stand up.

  She quickly swam around the big rock. Her feet touched bottom as she cautiously rose to the surface, sucking in air as she coughed and blinked, pushing the wet hair off her forehead. She spotted the shore and got her bearings. Staying low, she peered around the rock to see where the boat was. It was far in the distance, chugging along close to shore. She stayed put and waited until it rounded a point and was out of sight.

  She pushed off and swam for shore, standing up and walking when it got too shallow to swim. Her clothes were dripping. She wondered how the hell she was going to find Rispoli and where she was going to find a big piping-hot cup of coffee so she could dump it in his lap when she found him. Her shoes squished as she walked over the rocks. Immediately she went into the woods to get out of sight. Blinking back tears, she told herself she wasn’t going to cry, even though she was right on the verge of it.

  “How the hell did I get here?” she grumbled.

  Everything had gone wrong. She’d just lost the government’s most important witness against the mob. She and Marvelli were in deep doo-doo now. For all she knew, Marvelli was probably getting torpedoed to kingdom come right now, and if he wasn’t, they’d eventually catch him and throw him in jail, and his sister-in-law Jennifer would come by to visit him, and he’d be so lonesome and vulnerable, he’d end up marrying her in one of those jailhouse ceremonies with periodic conjugal visits. And Loretta would probably end up back at the Pinebrook Women’s Correctional Facility, sharing a cell with Brenda Hemingway.

  She wrung out her hair and slapped her arm where a monster mosquito was helping himself to a transfusion. A second mosquito landed on her other arm, and she shook like a golden retriever to get them off, cursing them under her breath.

  Then suddenly she smelled something that wasn’t her wet clothes or the clean scent of pine. It was smoke, cigarette smoke. She trudged through the brush, trying to locate the source, walking under branches and swatting mosquitoes the whole way. When she came to a clearing, she found the smoker. Gus Rispoli was sitting on a bed of pine needles, leaning against the tree with his fingers linked behind his head, his ankles crossed, the ever-present cigarette dangling from his lips. Seven damp cigarettes were lined up by his side on a rock in the sun.

  He raised one eyebrow. “So where were you?” he asked. “I’ve been waiting.”

  20

  Back in Seattle Marvelli knocked on the door to Loretta’s hotel room.

  “Who is it?” Loretta called through the door. “It’s me.”

  He heard the bolt being thrown, but no one opened the door, so he let himself in. He did not find happy campers inside. Loretta was sitting on the bed, Rispoli at the table. They were both glaring at him. Loretta was still in the same clothes she’d gone swimming in, and she was scratching some whopper mosquito bites on her arms and neck. There was a particularly angry-looking bite on her cheek. Apparently she didn’t trust Rispoli to behave while she took a shower.

  Gus Rispoli was sitting at a table littered with foil and cellophane wrappers from candy bars, a stick of beef jerky, a cinnamon Danish, and a couple of packages of peanuts, as well as two empty Heineken cans and several nip bottles of Johnnie Walker Red. Most of the junk food he’d only tasted and left uneaten, but the booze he’d drained to the last drop. He didn’t look drunk, though, just cranky.

  “How come she says I can’t get no room service?” Rispoli griped.

  Loretta answered before Marvelli could respond. “I already told you, you can’t. Don’t ask again.”

  He ignored her and looked to Marvelli. “How come? All’s I want is a steak and some coffee.”

  Loretta raised her voice. “I said no room service. You’ll tip them off that we’re up here.”

  Rispoli made a face and waved her off in disgust. He was used to first-class service whenever the feds took him out of My Blue Heaven.

  “How’re you guys doing here?” Marvelli asked. “You okay?” He hoped to clear the air a little.

  “Oh, we’re just peachy,” Loretta said sarcastically. She grabbed some fresh clothes and headed for the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower,” she announced, and slammed the door behind her.

  Marvelli and Rispoli looked at each other.

  “Hard woman,” Rispoli said.

  “Not really,” Marvelli said. “Not when you get to know her.”

  “I don’t think I wanna get that close.”

  Marvelli just shrugged. Whatever.

  “So how’d you get rid of them guys in the cigarette boat?” Rispoli asked.

  “I took your advice and hugged the shore. They thought they had me cornered in this little bay a couple of miles from where I left you off, but I managed to
squeeze through a strait where they couldn’t fit. I ran like hell and lost them before they could catch up.”

  “See? I told you,” Rispoli said.

  Marvelli could see that he was the kind of guy who had to be right all the time.

  “See?” Rispoli repeated. “I was right. Wasn’t I?”

  “Yeah, I guess you were.” Marvelli took off his jacket and hung it over an empty chair.

  Rispoli shook one of the beer cans to see if there was any left. There wasn’t. “So how about that room service?”

  “Don’t bust my chops, Gus. Loretta already told you.”

  “ Aaahh, that’s a load. How’s that gonna tip anybody off that I’m here?”

  “Hmmm?” Marvelli wasn’t paying attention. He was listening to the sound of the shower through the bathroom door, thinking about Loretta shampooing her hair. He liked her hair, especially when she wore it loose.

  Rispoli was getting steamed, waiting for an answer. “I said, how’s a friggin’ steak and a pot of coffee gonna give me away? How?”

  “Let’s not take any chances, okay, Gus? Sammy hits you, I may as well shoot myself for what the feds’ll do to me.” Not to mention Loretta, he thought.

  “So who’s this Sammy kid again? I don’t think I ever heard of him.” Gus was posturing. After him, there were no hit men worth mentioning. According to him, they were all street punks.

  “Sammy Teitelbaum,” Marvelli reminded him. “He’s connected with Taffy Demaggio.”

  “Directly connected?” Rispoli seemed skeptical.

  “No, through Tino Mazelli. The bookie from Newark?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know him. He’s a flea. And those two nephews of his should’ve been abortions if you ask me.”

  You’re right about that, Marvelli thought. He glanced at the bathroom door and remembered how Larry and Jerry had hassled Loretta. More than hassled. The sons of bitches would’ve raped her if they’d had the chance. He clenched his jaw, a flash of pure hate blinding him for a split second.

  Rispoli was shaking his head, his eyes crinkled tight. “This Sammy Teitel—whatever his name is. I don’t know if I know him. He got a nickname or something?”

  Besides Dirtbag? Marvelli thought.

  “No, I don’t think he’s got any nicknames,” Marvelli said. He heard Loretta turning off the shower.

  Rispoli shrugged as if Sammy didn’t matter. “So how about that steak?” he asked again.

  “Change the tune, will ya, Gus? You’re not getting any room service, so just stop asking.”

  “So what’m I supposed to do? Live off peanuts and Ding Dongs? Forget about it. I need nourishment. I got low blood sugar. I gotta eat real food, not this crap.” He brushed the wrappers onto the floor.

  Marvelli glanced down at the mess on the carpet. “I suppose you think you’re getting maid service, too? Think again, Gus.” Marvelli stared Rispoli in the eye until he bent over and started picking up the wrappers.

  “There, you happy?” Rispoli snarled. “Maybe I should cook, too. It’s probably the only way I’m gonna keep from getting sick around here.”

  “You’re breaking my heart, Gus,” Marvelli mumbled as he listened to Loretta moving around in the bathroom. He imagined her combing out her long wet hair. “So, Gus, tell me. If you were Sammy, and you were planning to whack a guy in your position, how would you do it?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “You’re a hit man, Gus. You must have some ideas.”

  Rispoli rolled his eyes under his overhanging brow, like the crab that he was. “Why the hell should I tell you?”

  “Why? Because it might help us keep you alive.”

  Us, too, Marvelli thought, glancing back at the bathroom door.

  “Depends,” Rispoli grumbled.

  “Depends on what?”

  “How the customer wants it done.”

  “The customer being Taffy, you mean.”

  “Taffy or whoever. Some guys want it done neat; some guys like it messy, lots of blood and suffering. Some guys make special requests.”

  “What kind of requests?”

  Rispoli glanced at the bathroom door, then leaned in close to Marvelli and whispered. “Body parts cut off and stuck in the vic’s mouth, up the—”

  Marvelli interrupted before he could go on. “I get the idea. So how would Taffy want you done?”

  “Messy. He’s a sick pup, that Taffy. He’ll want it to hurt. Bad.”

  “So how would he do it? Hire a bunch of guys to barge in and beat the crap out of you?” Marvelli glanced at the door, wondering if he should get up and double lock it.

  Rispoli shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “You seem pretty calm about it.”

  The hit man shrugged again. “A guy’ll do it any way he thinks he can get away with. Me, I would never do it in a hotel if I could avoid it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too many people around. You’re gonna do three people messy, you’re gonna make noise. Can’t be helped. Even if you’re quiet, the vics never are. They cry, they scream, they carry on.… That’s what makes it messy.”

  Marvelli nodded, feeling a little queasy. He was trying hard not to think about a team of hit men breaking in to this room and doing a job on him, Loretta, and Rispoli. And Loretta wasn’t even dressed, he thought. No telling what they’d do to a naked woman, the sick bastards. He wondered if Sammy was really that sick. He could be, Marvelli thought. Besides, in the heat of the moment people do unspeakable things. And if those people are getting paid for it, they’ll really go to town.

  He stared at the bathroom door. It was too quiet in there, he thought. “Loretta?” he called out. “You okay in there?”

  “What?” she yelled through the door. “I can’t hear you.”

  “Never mind,” he yelled back a little louder. He looked at Rispoli and lowered his voice: “Somebody told me once that the real pros won’t kill women. Is that true?”

  Rispoli gave him a look, annoyed with such a stupid question. “If you’re getting paid to kill someone, you just do it. Doesn’t matter who it is. Some guys’ll do their friggin’ mothers if the price is right.”

  “Yeah … that’s what I thought.” Marvelli’s stomach was doing backflips. “Tell me something, Gus. What if—?”

  Suddenly the cell phone in Marvelli’s pocket started to ring. Marvelli took it out, pulled out the antenna, and pressed the answer button. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Marvelli.” That’s all the person on the other end said, his oily voice oozing out of the phone. Marvelli recognized the voice immediately. It was Taffy Demaggio. But how the hell did he get Marvelli’s number? From Tino maybe? Marvelli just listened, waiting for Taffy to state his business.

  “Short and sweet,” Taffy finally said. “Here’s the deal. I’ve got two lovely ladies here with me. One’s named Jennifer. The other one’s Annette. Outstanding women, both of them. If you’d like to see them again, you give me Gus, and we’ll make an exchange.”

  Marvelli’s face was hot, and his throat was tight. Exactly who was holding them? he wanted to know. Jerry and Larry? God forbid.

  “You don’t have to answer now. Take a few minutes and think about it. I’ll get back to you.” Taffy hung up.

  Rispoli’s brow was furrowed. “What’sa matta? You look like a ghost. Who was that?”

  “Taffy,” Marvelli said. His hands were shaking.

  “Crap!” Rispoli said, bouncing out of his chair. “We gotta get outta here. Fast. Taffy must know where we are.”

  “You may be right.” Marvelli stood up, too. “But where should we go?”

  “What do you mean, where should we go? You’re running this show here. Don’t you have any other safe houses in this town, a backup team, stuff like that?”

  Marvelli shook his head.

  “You gotta be kidding me.” Rispoli was stunned. He was being protected by amateurs.

  “Okay, okay, don’t panic.” But Marvelli was panicking. Larry and Jerry w
ith Jennifer and Annette? Oh, God! And what about Taffy? He was no angel when it came to women. He’d strangled that woman in upstate New York.

  Rispoli ran to the little refrigerator and grabbed some beer nuts and beef jerky, stuffing them into his pockets. “Okay, let’s go,” he said, slamming the refrigerator shut and heading for the door.

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Marvelli said. “I have to think.”

  The bathroom door opened halfway, and Loretta popped her head out. Her hair was wet, combed straight back. She only had a towel wrapped around her.

  “What’s going on out here?” she said with a disapproving frown.

  “Come on! We gotta go,” Rispoli said. He was waiting by the door, practically jumping out of his skin.

  Loretta looked at Marvelli. “What’s he talking about?”

  Marvelli was trying to keep it together, but all he could think about was Taffy’s beastie boys coming through the bathroom window and jumping Loretta from behind. “We gotta go, Loretta,” he said. “Come on. Hurry up.”

  “Go? Go where?”

  Marvelli wrinkled his brow. “That’s a good question.” He looked to Rispoli. “You got any ideas?” The hit man rolled his eyes.

  21

  “Greetings,” Alan Winslow the computer nerd said. He was holding his apartment door open, trying his best to be friendly, but he was having a hard time making eye contact. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  Loretta sighed as she walked through the door with Marvelli and Rispoli in tow. She was already regretting that they’d called Alan.

  When they were all inside, Alan just stood there, looking big and gawky, like Chewbacca with a shave. Loretta took in the apartment, which was a third-floor walk-up a few blocks from Volunteer Park. It was a cramped and cluttered two-bedroom that looked like the kind of place where mad bombers hatched diabolical plots in the movies. Books were jammed haphazardly into the built-in bookshelves that ran along one wall of the living room. Two bone-dry spider plants hung from rusty nails over the windows where they’d been rotisseried to death in the full sunlight that poured through the dirty glass. The gray velveteen couch was tattered and dusty, the cushions flat from overuse. It looked like elephant roadkill. There were newspapers and magazines all over the floor, as well as coffee cups—dozens of them, their bottoms stained with the dried sediments of what they’d last held. Alan apparently just left them wherever he finished his coffee, and some of them looked like artifacts from a mummy’s tomb. Loretta peered through a doorway into one of the bedrooms and noticed three computer screens burning brightly. Two long folding tables and a tall rack of chrome baker’s shelves were crammed with electronic equipment. Alan had more computer stuff in there than an air-traffic-control tower.