“I am going to die tonight, aren’t I?” she whispered, her face not even an inch away from his.
He stared at her as the tears began to fall.
She felt herself instinctively reach around him and take a deep breath. His body seemed to throw off an inordinate amount of heat. She just needed to hold on to someone. He put his arm around her and tightened it against her shoulders. She took another deep breath and laid her head on his chest.
It felt good, being held. It had been so long since anyone had touched him.
“Aw jeez,” he said. “I’ll think of something.”
* * *
Giuseppe Geddone stubbed out his cigar and looked at his watch. It was ten. Time to get out to Idlewild—no, Kennedy. For some reason, that airport still stuck in his head as Idlewild.
He was just about to open his briefcase for one last look when a sharp itchy feeling went up his back, straightening it as flat as a board. His ears pricked up. He was straining as he stood there, not even breathing, so he could hear better.
Off in the distance of the outer office, there was a small creak of the outer office door.
He swore he heard it. He snapped off the lamp quickly, walked around the desk, and ducked down. He exhaled from stooping and was having trouble catching his breath. He would lose a little weight in Europe, he thought, trying to keep his mind sharp and on his prize. He carefully slid out his bottom drawer, felt around. His fingers wrapped themselves around the old dusty pistol and pulled it out. He put the safety off, cocked it, and shifted his weight onto one foot so he could get at his belt. He stuffed it in at the waistband.
He hoped to hell it was loaded. He hadn’t looked at it in ten years, since the first time they showed to him, his first day there at work.
A floorboard creaked, closer to his office door, and he centered himself on both feet, trying to run down what would be the best thing to do. He could hear whispering.
BAM.
The door to his office swung open and bounced off the wall, then shut itself. He took a breath.
WHAM. It swung open again, but less hard this time, and he peered over the desktop, looking at the empty doorway. He saw a flash of light on metal, along the barrel of a gun being held up by a hand, on one side of the door.
“We know youse in there, Giuseppe,” he heard Tony Mac’s voice call into the room. “We seen the light on when we come in.”
So that was it. They’d sent Tony Macaroni to do the job.
Fuckin’ Ralphie. Lyin’ rat bastard—
“Why don’t you make it easy on yourself and come outta there?” a second voice said, and Giuseppe bobbed his head up over the desk, puzzled.
He didn’t recognize the second voice at all.
Madonna.
Solly’d sent two people to do him. Little Giuseppe Geddone, CPA, rated two hitters?
“Where are we?” a third voice whispered.
“Ssshhhh.”
“What are we doing here?”
“Would you shut her up?” Tony Mac’s voice whispered.
“Sshhh!”
“Well, I’m just asking a question—”
“For God’s sake, shut her up!” Tony’s voice boomed.
Lisa felt her mouth drop as she huddled in the dark next to Michael. They were in some kind of office building. She took a step forward to try to see what Tony was doing, and the sight of him holding a gun up made her bite her bottom lip hard. Michael’s hand squeezed hers and he drew it around his stomach. She felt her pressing herself, pressing against his back, and realized that they had been hanging on to one another since the car. She was just about his height, she noticed.
Giuseppe crouched, trying to breathe, in back of his fortress, the desk. Three hitters? Three people to get a poor little accountant who was just trying to make a buck like the rest of America?
And a woman, no less.
God, it was like Solly’d hired a whole fuckin’ army to wipe him out. Okay, one person, maybe he could take, but three?
“C’mon, Giusepp’, we got you here. Why’s make it hard on everybody?”
Snap.
The overhead lights went on, and Giuseppe squinted in the light and slowly stood up, his arms in the air, as Tony Mac entered fully, his gun pointed at Giuseppe’s head. He was followed by a woman Giuseppe didn’t recognize at all, being pushed inside by Vincent Bonello’s kid, Michael.
“Mikey? That you?”
“Yeah, Giusepp’, it’s me.”
“What you doing here? I thought you was a lawyer.”
Michael swallowed, but his mouth was bone-dry. Tony grabbed Michigan’s arm and pushed her over next to Giuseppe. He came back to stand beside Michael.
Tony Mac grunted and broke in. “Solly’s very angry wid youse.”
“Why?”
“You been skimming off his money.”
“Me?”
“C’mon, c’mon, we want the money—”
“What money?”
“The money, now!” Tony Mac boomed, and he made it across the floor in one step.
Michael stared at Michigan, who was shaking and staring at him as she realized which side of the room she was standing in. Tony raised the handle of the gun and grabbed Giuseppe by the collar. He lifted him up until Geddone’s toes were barely touching the floor.
“Give me the fuckin’ money now,” he said, and raised the gun back, ready to swing it into Giuseppe’s jaw.
“The briefcase. There are two passbooks—”
Tony Mac dropped him down, went to the briefcase, and began trying to open the locked case. After a moment, he slammed the top with his fist and shot it.
The thud of the case on the floor was mingled with a whine from Michigan, who began to cry and looked as if she was going to pass out. She was shaking uncontrollably and her knees began to buckle. She felt herself falling back against a filing cabinet for support.
Tony Mac emptied the case out on the floor and sifted through it as Michael kept his gun centered on Giuseppe. He picked up two passbooks, the plane ticket, and the passport. Geddone looked over at Michael.
“Mikey, why? You was a good—”
“Shut your face,” Tony ordered, flipping the passport open with his free hand while the other was pointed at Geddone. He grimaced and stared at the signature.
“You gonna sign this over to Solly,” he ordered, and Giuseppe nodded.
Lisa kept her eyes on Michael as Tony and Giuseppe took care of the paperwork. She kept shaking her head at him, feeling as if she was going to get sick. She relaxed a second when he mouthed to her to be calm. Tony then ordered Giuseppe back against the wall, with his arms raised.
“Tony, please, I knew your father.”
“Yeah, Pop hated you. Nobody steals from the Soltanos. You shoulda known that. Everything you have is because of Solly. You shoulda remembered that, Giuseppe,” Tony finished, then stepped back next to Michael.
They all stood in silence for a moment until Tony looked over at Michael.
“What you waiting for, Mikey?” Tony snapped.
“I—I just…” Michael stammered.
“You got the fuckin’ safety on,” Tony said, and he grabbed the gun from him, clicked it off, cocked it, and handed it back. “You gotta get the hang of this better, Mikey,” he scolded.
Lisa looked over next to her. Giuseppe Geddone’s hands were raised over his head, with his jacket waving loosely around his big belly. She looked back at Michael, who was holding the gun out, pointing it at Giuseppe.
“C’mon, Mikey, I’m hungry,” Tony said, and waited another second.
“Shoot him now.”
“I CAN’T,” Michael screamed.
“What?”
“I can’t do it, Tony.” He lowered the gun, shaking. “I can’t shoot him. I’m not a killer. I don’t know how to kill him.”
“Whadda you talkin’? You just aim the gun and squeeze. It’s easy—anyone can do it.”
“Well, I can’t!”
�
��Mikey, come,” Tony said, pulling him back a couple of steps. He turned his back to Lisa and Giuseppe and lowered his voice.
“You promised Solly.”
“I know, but I just can’t do it.”
“You gotta.”
“Why?”
“’Cause otherwise, I gotta shoot you.”
“What?”
Lisa glanced over next to her at Giuseppe and then, suddenly, looked down as something caught her eye. He moved his arms back and she stood, staring at the gun stuck in his waistband. Her stomach began to knot up and she looked back over at Michael and Tony.
“Because it’s morally wrong,” Michael was saying.
“But Solly wants this.”
“So? You do everything Solly says?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“He got me this job—”
Lisa heard Giuseppe exhale next to her, and she knew, deep down, he was deciding whether this was his chance. She stared back at the gun, then raised her eyes and looked up at his face. He was glaring at her. Suddenly, it sank in: There was going to be a gunfight. She felt her chin drop as she realized that if Tony didn’t shoot her, this guy would. She had to do something.
In a second, she watched Giuseppe’s hands begin to drop, and without thinking she made a grab for the gun. He grabbed her arms as she tried to pull it free, but his ample stomach kept rolling over it, trapping her fingers in the waistband like a vise of flesh as they struggled.
“What the—” was all Lisa heard of Tony’s voice as Giuseppe yanked hard on her arms.
Her hands tightened suddenly and she got a grip on the handle and pulled it free. It sent her reeling back against the filing cabinet. The metal sounded like a clap of thunder going off next to her ear.
“Give me the gun,” Giuseppe growled, motioning with his fingers as he began to take steps toward her.
She began backing out toward the window, shaking her head as he stalked her.
“Give me the fuckin’ gun,” he growled louder.
“Don’t come any closer,” she squeaked, and felt a breeze from the window.
“Give it to me NOW,” he screamed, and lunged.
When she opened her eyes, she was flat on her back, staring at a crack in the ceiling that looked like a rabbit. The back of her head hurt where she had hit it against the open window sash. She stayed there, perfectly still, finally hearing the voices.
“She got him clean all right, lookit this, Mikey.”
“My God.”
“Jeez, that’s clean, one shot, almost perfectly centered, right between the eyes.”
She slowly, reluctantly lifted her head in time to see Michael back away to the desk and lean down. She could see him swallowing hard, trying to control himself.
Tony’s voice floated back down to her as she tried to concentrate on the crack.
“I could’na done it better myself. She’s a good shot, Mikey. Not a great shot, but a good one. A little training and she could be valuable.”
Lisa groaned, and Michael looked over at her. He looked down and dropped his gun on the desk and went over to where she was. She looked up at him, and he fell to his knees.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quivering slightly.
“No.”
“Are you hurt?”
“What have I done?” she whispered.
He gave her a hand, and she stood up, wobbling like a new calf. She gaped at the body and realized her lower lip was bleeding.
Michael looked over at Tony, who was now busy stuffing the passbooks into his pockets and wiping down the table with his handkerchief. Michael looked back down to her, and suddenly everything fell into place. He began to exhale, as though fifty-ton weights had been taken off his chest.
It was over. Giuseppe was dead, and he hadn’t shot him. Michigan had done it, in self-defense. All he had to do now was go back to Solly’s, pick up the bonus, and figure out how to get her out of this whole mess, or how to calm down Rosa Morelli’s bloodthirst. Everything would be all right now. He’d have time to back out now, get away from the Soltanos and Tony Mac.
What a gift he’d gotten from her. He was off the hook.
“What have I done?” she repeated, and he suddenly focused in on her. She was riveted to the body, and shaking, and he realized that she was going to lose it.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Her eyes were stuck on the body and her neck seemed to have been bolted into place, so she could look neither up, nor down, nor sideways. And there was this shouting feeling of panic across her torso as the hair on her head seemed to stand on end, and the bloody face of the body began mixing itself with the last image she had had of his face as he lunged at her. Of his eyes and nose and face, when he was a living human being. And the face was coming closer and closer and she again saw him lunging at her and his voice saying, “Give it to me NOW.” “GIVE IT TO ME NOW” boomed over her like a thunderstorm and Lisa suddenly felt herself put her hands over her ears as though to block him out, and she heard the echoes of her own screams desperately trying to drown out the sounds of the man inside her own head. My God, I shot and killed another human being! Good God Almighty. “I took someone’s life,” she heard herself screaming.
Tony ran over to her.
“We gotta get her out of here,” he ordered.
Tony took one arm and Michael took the other. They carried her, still screaming, down and out of the building. Tony exhaled as they stood on the street, with her screams echoing off the empty buildings. He dropped his keys, spun around, and gave her a wallop with the back of his hand.
Lisa grabbed her cheek with the side of her hand and stared at him.
“Shut the fuck up! Whatta you makin’ a fuckin’ big deal outta nothin’, fahcrissakes?”
He opened the car and unlocked the doors.
Tony got in front and Michael took his usual position next to her. She slid down in the seat, holding her stomach as Tony started the car.
“Anybody hungry?” Tony asked after a moment.
They both stared at him incredulously. He turned back and put the car into first, and drove to the corner.
“I gotta get something to eat. Let’s see if Forlini’s is open, huh, Mikey?”
“I don’t know, Tony. I don’t know if I could eat right now.”
Tony grunted and then looked back over his shoulder at Michigan.
“What about you? You hungry, Michigan?”
“Aw God, I think I’m going to be sick,” she said, and covered her mouth with one hand.
“Well I’m hungry here, so I’m taking us down to Forlini’s,” Tony said forcefully, and began to drive up the ramp to the Brooklyn Bridge.
“And after I get something in my stomach, we can decide what to do,” he added.
“Do about what?”
“What to tell Solly.”
“Solly?” Michael asked, leaning forward. “What do you mean? We did it. We got his money, and … did it. All we have to do is go there and pick up the bonus.”
Tony got onto the bridge as Lisa sat up and stared grimly at the bright city lights.
“Now, Mikey, that ain’t exactly true.”
“What are you talking about, Tony?”
“Well, we got the money to give him when we go there, but the rest of it, it din’t go down the way Solly wanted,” Tony said quietly. “You can’t pick up that bonus, Mikey, it ain’t fair.”
“What?”
“Well, Mikey, Michigan was the one did him. That fourteen should be hers, and we gotta tell Solly, so he can give you something else to do to make your bones.”
Michael fell back in his seat and darted a glance over at Michigan.
She was Jell-O.
He stared back up at Tony.
“You can’t tell him that some girl we picked up did the hit for him,” Michael began. “He’d…” Michael’s voice trailed off.
“But he owes Michigan the money. She done the hit—she get the payment.”
&nbs
p; “Tony, this is crazy. You can’t tell him what really happened.…”
“You want me to lie? Lie to Solly?” His voice was booming with indignation. “I can’t do that, Mikey. Besides, you gotta do something real to make your bones. That’s what it’s all about. He gotta get something on you, see? That way, you gotta be loyal to the family or it’s your ass, and you ain’t done nothin’.”
“I was in on a murder,” he offered.
“Yeah, but that don’t count. You gotta pull the trigger.”
“You’re all confused.”
“I ain’t confused, Mikey. You’re the one confused. Solly owes Michigan fourteen bills for the hit and you ain’t made your bones.”
Michael sat back again and stared down at her. She didn’t seem to be moving or listening at all. What could he say?
“But she wouldn’t have done it if we hadn’t brought her there, would she?”
Tony was silent for a moment, and Michael could feel him twisting his face up into his painful thinking expression. The truth was, he didn’t give a damn about the money, but he didn’t want to be there when Solly was told, and he certainly didn’t want to be given another task. This one was enough.
He pulled the car down the ramp and headed over to Little Italy.
“We discuss it over dinner at the restaurant,” he said finally.
Lisa closed her eyes and the horrible sight of the man lying there came into her head, as if it was on instant rewind on a VCR. She had stopped screaming, that was true. After Tony’s slap, this eerie numbness had overtaken her. She opened her eyes again, wondering how long the sight was going to stay with her. Would she always see the body?
Guilt began to gnaw at her. She’d just left some poor man lying in a pool of blood, and the only thing she could think of was when would the picture in her mind fade.
She thought about going back home to Bliss, Michigan. And she thought about church. In all her years at the end of the sermons, when they were supposed to reflect upon their sins, like an unspoken confession, just about the worst she’d ever come up with was sleeping with some guy or cheating on her tax return. That was enough for the Presbyterians to sentence her to eternal hell.
Wiseguys In Love Page 11