Deadly Deception

by Gilbert, Morris

  Dom studied him, then came closer and, almost shyly, touched Frank’s arm with a withered hand. “No. But you’re my son—the oldest Lanza. And I’ll say what I never said before—you’re smarter than Phil ever was. Not as much drive as he had, but that was good. If you had had it, the two of you would have been fighting for control. Now he’s gone, and you must step into his place.”

  “There’s Eddy,” Frank pointed out carefully. “I don’t think you give him enough credit. He works harder than any of us.”

  “Eddy is a good boy.” Dom nodded, but his eyes were guarded. “But he doesn’t have whatever it takes to make men obey. Phil had it, maybe more than I myself. You have more than you think—but time will tell.”

  Frank didn’t argue, but his face showed some doubt. “Well, we’ll see. But we’ve got to do something with Faye.”

  “He’s on his way up,” Dom said. The old man sat down in his chair, breathing heavily. “Frank, I have two new people coming.”

  “Not a bad idea. Security has got to be tightened. Who are they?”

  Dominic smiled slightly, “I should have talked with you about it. And I think this will be the last decision I make without checking with you. But—I was afraid.”

  “You were never afraid of anything in your life!”

  “You think that, Son?” Dom shook his head sadly. “I’m a better actor than even I thought! But I’m afraid now— and you are afraid, too. I’m afraid for you and for all the family, especially for my grandchildren. As long as old Sal was alive, things were fairly safe. But Johnny Ring—he’s a different matter.”

  “Faye wants to take him out.”

  “His stock response, but it won’t work this time. Maybe later.” Dom told him, “Frank, I want someone with the children night and day.”

  “We’ve argued about that already, Pop. Rosemary doesn’t want hoods like Louie or Legs in the house. They’re a bad influence on the kids. And I think she’s right. If the pair you’ve hired is no better than those two, forget it.”

  “How about this one?” Dom picked up a manila envelope, took out two photographs, and after a glance, handed them to Frank. “Not very much like Louie, eh?”

  Frank studied the photographs, then asked, “What’s this, Pop—a joke?”

  “That’s the children’s new schoolteacher, Frank—they call them nannys in England. She’s a private investigator—and a good one. I had her checked out. Her name’s Danielle Ross. This is one of her operatives. Name’s Ben Savage. He doesn’t look it, but he’s a hard one. He’ll be our physical-education teacher and part-time chauffeur. I want her to have a room as close to the family as possible. She can take the guest room in the west wing. We never have guests anyway. Savage can sleep over the garage.”

  Lanza was looking at the pictures. “You’ve got this all figured out, haven’t you, Pop?” He handed the photos back. “It’s fine with me. Does the woman know enough to teach kids?”

  “She’s a CPA. Worked for the attorney general’s office in Boston.” An unexpected smile lifted the corner of his thin lips. “Oh, yes, she was studying to be a preacher of some kind before she became a private cop. Not safe to have a woman that good-looking in the house, but I don’t think you’d get far with her, even if you tried.”

  “I’m not thinking of that!” Frank corrected him swiftly. He thought for a moment, then nodded. “I like it. There’s no way to secure the outside grounds—but these two will be the line of defense in the house.”

  “Right! But don’t let this out, Frank,” Dom warned. “As far as outsiders are concerned, they’re just a teacher and a health guy for the kids.” A tap at the door drew his attention, and he said, “That’s Faye. You’ll have to sit on him, Frank. He minded Phil, but he’s got the idea somewhere that he’d like to move up.”

  “I know.” Frank nodded. “I’ll keep him on a short leash. Come in, Faye,” he called, raising his voice.

  The door opened and a man of twenty-eight entered. He was well built, with cold blue eyes and smooth blond hair. “How you feeling, Mr. Lanza?” he asked in a low, pleasant voice.

  “All right, Faye,” Dom said flatly. “Did you get that new alarm system in place?” he demanded.

  “Sure. It’s working fine. We tested it this morning.” Faye shifted his feet, then his voice rose, “Mr. Lanza, about what we were talking about yesterday—”

  Dom cut him off with a slash of his thin hand. “No more of that, Faye. Not now. Frank and I have decided to ride this thing out. Ring and his bunch are sitting over there like cocked pistols—just waiting for us to make a move.”

  “Got to be done sooner or later,” Faye argued stubbornly. He gave Frank a strange look, then added, “I ain’t afraid of Ring.”

  “Faye, it’s not a matter of being afraid,” Frank interjected, his voice harsh. “It’s a matter of being smart!”

  Real anger touched Faye’s eyes, but the old man diverted his attention with the words, “Frank, I wish you’d go check that new system out.”

  “Sure, Pop.” Frank saw that his father was weary. He stepped forward and said fondly, “Drink all the liquor you want. What does that fool doctor know?”

  Dom laughed at that, and Frank turned and left the room, followed closely by Faye Dietrich. As they passed through the large foyer, Frank heard voices and declared, “I’ll be down in a few minutes, Faye.” He didn’t wait to watch the other leave, but turned and walked down a side hall then took a left through a set of double doors. Stepping into the large room that served as an informal recreation area, he found his three children wrestling over a television program.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, stepping into the fray. “Can’t you kids agree on anything?”

  Patrick Lanza, aged four, spoke up at once. “It’s my turn to pick a program!” he announced loudly. “I wanna watch ‘Sesame Street’!” Pat, as he was called, was a miniature edition of his father—black hair and sharp black eyes. He was cute, smart, spoiled, and a terror to the help.

  Rachel Lanza pushed at Pat’s small form. “He picked the last program, Daddy!” she protested. “Make him take a turn!” Rachel was small and thin, with glossy brown hair and brown eyes. She had a complexion problem that gave her an even greater emotional problem. Her self-esteem was nonexistent. She wanted to run to her father, for she idolized him—a fact he never seemed to realize.

  “Pat, did you pick the last program?” Frank asked.

  “Yeah, but it wasn’t good—I want another turn!”

  Matthew Lanza had his father’s black hair and eyes, but at fifteen was almost as lacking in self-esteem as Rachel. He glared at Pat, of whom he was fiercely jealous. “The little pig wants his own way all the time!” he spat out.

  “Don’t call your brother a pig, Matthew,” Lanza snapped, then shook his head. “And you, Pat, take your turn. Now, I’ve got something to tell you.” He looked them over carefully and thought how fragile they were—it made him fragile as well, he knew, and a gust of rage rose in him as he thought how a cheap hood named Johnny Ring had shaken the stability of his family.

  “You’re going to have a new teacher—two of them, as a matter of fact.” He had their attention then, as he had expected. “You won’t be going to your school for a little while.”

  “Hey! No more school!” Matt exclaimed. “That’s cool!”

  “Just a minute, now!” Lanza lifted his hand in a gesture for quiet. “I’ve hired two teachers to come to the house. You’ll do your schoolwork here.”

  “You mean—have teachers right here?” Rachel asked. She shook her head, “I don’t want them here! Why can’t we go to school?”

  “You dummy!” Matthew said in a lofty tone. “It’s too dangerous for us to go to school. We might get killed, like Uncle Phil and Aunt Lorraine. Everybody knows the Martino gang is—”

  “Matthew!” Frank ordered. “That’s enough of that!”

  “Well—it’s true, isn’t it? All the papers say there’s going to be a gang war
between us and them.”

  Frank hesitated, then told them slowly, “It’s too dangerous for you to go to school for a while. Don’t ask any more questions. Now, when they get here, you’ll mind them just as you would your teachers in school, you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Matthew and Rachel agreed faintly. Pat said nothing, but a stubborn look in his black eyes boded ill for the newcomers.

  “All right. We’ll talk about it more at dinner tonight. Stop fighting over the television. You watch that stupid thing too much anyway. Why don’t you read a book?”

  He left the room, and at once Pat pounced on the TV, turning the volume up as Bert and Ernie carried on a conversation. Matthew gave it only a glance, then exclaimed, “They’d better not try to pull any stuff on me! If they work for us, we tell them what to do!”

  “I wish we could,” Rachel allowed. “I hate teachers.”

  “Remember how we made ol’ lady Reynolds leave us alone?” Matt reminded her with a laugh. “She thought she’d tell us what to do, but we ran her out, didn’t we?”

  Rachel nodded slowly. “I guess so—but she was just a housekeeper. These are schoolteachers.”

  “They’ll be wimps,” Matt sneered. “Just do what I tell you, Rachel.” His face brightened. “Hey, this is going to be great! We’ll be able to do whatever we please when we get these two jokers cut down to size!” He laughed again and assumed what he thought was a tough expression. “What a time we’ll have!” he chortled.

  Dani stood in front of the mirror, studying herself carefully. She was wearing a pair of fawn-colored, pleated pants with front slash pockets, a bright red pullover sweater with ribbed knit trim and a round neck, and a single-breasted, oversized wool blazer with notched lapels and front welt pockets. A gold pin flashed from the left lapel, matching the gold hoops that dangled from her ears.

  Slowly she turned, lifting her arms, then gave a quick half turn that caused the coat to swing with the movement. She nodded to herself with satisfaction, and with her left hand she touched the hard surface of the .38 automatic that rested high on her waist. How to carry a concealed weapon had been a problem she had struggled with ever since making up her mind she would have to do it. She had tried carrying the gun in her coat pocket, but it had been too awkward. She had attempted to rig up a shoulder holster, but could find no way of concealing the straps. Carrying it in her purse had been a possibility, but she couldn’t carry a purse twenty-four hours a day.

  Finally she had come up with the idea of wearing the weapon in a holster on a thin belt beneath a loose-fitting sweater. Ben had wanted her to carry a larger caliber gun. He came in one morning and tossed a package at her, saying, “Happy birthday, Boss.”

  “It’s not my birthday,” she had told him, but opened the package all the same. Inside was a new revolver. “What’s this, Ben?”

  “Latest thing in women’s wear,” he said. “That’s a thirty-eight Chief Special. Takes a longer bullet, which gives you a whale of a punch, but the cylinder holds only five slugs. It’s got a three-inch barrel, and it’s a lot more compact than a regular thirty-eight.”

  Dani held the revolver, noting, “The handle is smaller, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Lots of women on the force carry them. They’re compact but will put your man down every time.”

  She had tried the holster in different positions, finally discovering that she could wear it flat against her back. The loose-fitting sweater covered it well, and the blazer helped. Good thing it’s winter, she thought as she peered carefully at her side. I’d never hide that thing with a sheer blouse and skirt in summer!

  Satisfied, she turned and walked to the door. Ben Savage was perched on Angie Park’s desk, and the two of them looked up as she entered the reception room.

  “My!” Angie exclaimed. “You look as if you just stepped out of the pages of Vogue!”

  Ben stood up, gave her a critical look, then commanded, “Turn around.”

  Feeling rather foolish, Dani did a half turn, then made a joke out of it. Moving across the room in the exaggerated posturings of a fashion model, she drawled, “And here we have an exquisite combination by our favorite designer, Noel Noel the Third! Isn’t it just lovely?”

  Savage stepped up, and before she could see what he was doing, slipped his arms around her waist. She tried to pull away, but he held her fast. “And what have we here?” he demanded. “Lady, are you packing heat?”

  “Let me go!” Dani protested and wrenched away as he released his grip. “I wish you’d stop pawing me, Ben!”

  “Sorry, Boss.” He grinned, winking at Angie. “I forgot what a touch-me-not you are. Just doing some basic research. Found out something, too. You’d better not be doing any hugging while you’re wearing that automatic. I was thrilled by your desirable body—but a guy hugging you is going to feel that gun.”

  “Nobody’s going to be hugging me,” Dani snapped.

  “No?” Savage asked, raising one eyebrow. “Well, let’s see how quick you can get that little gem out of the holster. Not going to do any good under that coat.”

  Dani glared at him. With her left hand she swept the coat back; then she reached behind her with her right to pull the weapon—only to discover that it was too far back—beyond her reach. Her face reddened as she stood there with her sweater pulled up, trying to draw the gun.

  “Maybe you need longer arms,” Ben remarked.

  Dani gave a yank at the belt, brought the holster farther around on her body, and finally pulled the automatic free. “I’ll have to practice a little,” she admitted.

  “You had better,” Ben agreed. “If you need that gun at all, you’ll need to unlimber it quicker than that.”

  Dani ignored him. “Angie, I’ll call often. You’ve got the number to call in case of emergency, but don’t call it unless you have to. Either Ben or I will check in every day.” She put the automatic back in the holster, saying, “Let’s go, Ben.”

  They left the office, and Ben got behind the wheel of the seventy-nine Marquis he drove. “Got to make a stop on the way,” he announced.

  “What for?”

  “Little target practice. You haven’t been checked out.”

  He avoided the main highway and said little as they drove. When they came to a dirt road, he turned off, drove a quarter of a mile, then pulled up and shut the engine down. “All out,” he directed.

  Dani got out, looking around at the line of cypress trees that dotted the beginnings of a swamp. “Pretty deserted area,” he said. “I come here to meditate. Now, take a few shots at one of those trees.”

  Dani pulled the automatic free and held it gingerly. She had never liked guns, and wearing one under her clothing went against the grain. She felt angry that she would have to do such a thing, and it showed in her face. “I hate guns!” she announced.

  “Too bad.” Ben shrugged. “Goes with the job. Now, blast away at that tree—the closest one.”

  Dani held the gun at arm’s length, shut one eye, and tried to hold steady. She pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. She stared at it.

  “Got to take it off safety,” Ben pointed out. He reached over and moved a small lever, then said, “Ready to fire.”

  She lifted the gun, pointed it in the general direction of the tree, and pulled the trigger. All she got was a slight clicking noise.

  “Have to put bullets in,” Ben stated without a trace of a smile. “The little round things I gave you. Did you bring them?”

  Dani gritted her teeth. “In my suitcase.” She turned and opened the door, then yanked the suitcase out and opened it. Fishing around, she found the box of ammunition and slammed the suitcase closed. “Here,” she rapped out rebelliously.

  “See if you remember how to load it,” he suggested. While she struggled with the clip, he whistled a little, seeming to watch a flight of egrets as they floated overhead. “All set?” he asked pleasantly. “Kill that big cypress.”

  Dani lifted the gun, pulled the trigger, and
shut her eyes tight as the explosion seemed to fill her ears. The gun kicked up, and she pulled the trigger again twice, firing blindly. Cautiously she opened her eyes and saw three circles spreading in the water, none very close to the tree.

  “Good thing that tree’s not shooting back, Boss,” Ben commented. Then he shook his head. “You’ve got to beat that.”

  “I’m no gunman!”

  “You agreed to protect the family, didn’t you?” he snapped at her. “You can’t stop an assassin by hitting him with your purse. If you didn’t intend to go through with this, you shouldn’t have taken the case.”

  “I know I shouldn’t!” Dani cried. She felt miserable and wished she’d never heard of the Lanza family. “I can’t do it, Ben! Kill a human being!”

  “Not much danger of that, the way you shoot,” he proclaimed in disgust. His hazel eyes were bright with anger as he directed, “Well, let’s go back to the office and make the call.”

  “What call?” she asked, lifting her head in surprise.

  “The call to Dominic Lanza, telling him we won’t be there.”

  Dani stood still, breathing rather shallowly. She had gone over and over the thing, trying to steel herself to the idea of using a gun, but now that the time had come, she felt weak and undecided. He was watching her closely, and that helped somehow. Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “All right, Ben. I’ll try it. Show me what to do.”

  His lips grew less tense, and he nodded. “All right. Just three things to learn today. We’ll go out and practice every day we can. But for now, just three things. First, forget holding that gun in one hand. That looks good in the movies, but no real marksman would do it. Hold the gun in your right hand and then hold that wrist with your other hand. Like this.”

  She watched as he took the gun. When he handed it to her, she held it as he directed. “Now, hold it on that cypress. Take one shot.” Carefully she swung the automatic into position and was amazed at how steady it remained. She squeezed the trigger, and the splat of the explosion caused her to bat her eyes—but she saw bark fly from the right side of the tree.