Deadly Deception

by Gilbert, Morris

  Darrow puffed nervously on a cigarette, wishing that it were over. Since Phil died, there had been immense pressure on him. Not that he wasn’t a good lawyer, but none of them sitting at the table realized how hard it was to run an empire based on illegal activities and make it look good to the police and the tax people. Eddy was always ready to blame Max for anything that went wrong, but he wouldn’t have the faintest idea of how to launder money.

  We’d be in the pen or the poorhouse in six months, if Eddy were in charge, Darrow thought.

  He snuffed out the cigarette and tried to listen to what was going on.

  He had noted that Faye was at the meeting, as well as Vince Canelli. Faye, he knew, had lusted after entrance into the inner circle as most men lust after money or women. But Canelli was a newcomer, and Darrow couldn’t remember a time when an outsider had been permitted to attend one of these meetings.

  “. . . Profits have been down for the last two months,” he heard Helen saying and wished she would sit down and be quiet. But she went on in her strident tone, as though everyone needed a hearing aid, “It doesn’t take much of an analyst to figure out that, if something isn’t done, we’ll be broke in a year.”

  Dom nodded, yet took occasion to speak before she could continue: “You’re right, Helen, but every business has to go through these low points. Things will change, and we’ll see those profits flowing in again.”

  Eddy chimed in, “Not until we get Martino and Ring off our back, Pop. Helen can make charts, but we all know it’s those two who’ve cut into our territory. If we don’t do something, we may as well sell out and retire.”

  “That’s what I’ve been saying, Mr. Lanza,” Faye agreed. Then he added, “I admit I was a little hasty—I couldn’t stand the thought of Ring pushing us around and handing nothing back.”

  Dom stared at him. “We’ve talked about that, Faye. It was a bad move.”

  “We ain’t heard the last of it, either,” Vince Canelli spoke up. “I been picking things up on the street, and the word is that Ring is hot enough to spit bullets!”

  “Then hit him before he can hit us!” Faye argued. He looked at Dominic, and reminded him, “That’s what Phil would have done, Mr. Lanza. It’s what you did when you were fighting for your life in the old days. I’ve heard you say so many a time.”

  Dom Lanza, Darrow thought, didn’t look as if he could sit in his chair for five minutes. His illness was draining him of strength, and his vitality, once almost legendary, had become a pale shadow. Then Darrow looked at Frank, who objected, “These are new times, Faye. Those days were wide open, but we got all sorts of people now just waiting to hang us. Just ask Max.”

  Darrow felt Faye’s eyes on him, and insisted, “Frank’s right. We’re just one step ahead of an IRS audit right now. They’ve assigned a crack team to us, and they talk about an examination—but they’ve really been told to nail our hides to the wall. If we get into a shooting war, it’ll be just what they want!”

  The argument continued for twenty minutes, always circling around the issue of the Martino threat. Dominic Lanza let none of the gnawing pain that tore at him show in his face. It seemed that he could feel the life slowly leaking out of his disease-ravaged body, moment by moment a part of his vitality lost—never to be replaced. He was like a man on a lonely, forsaken highway, with the needle on the gas gauge resting on empty and no welcome islands ahead; it was as if he sat tensely in the seat, waiting for the sudden cough that announced that the last drop of gasoline was gone. A matter of time. And no hope that some miracle would intervene.

  Looking around the table, Dom studied the familiar faces as a gambler studies his cards. Being a man of intense practicality, he realized that if any part of his life survived, it would have to be in the lives of these. His eyes moved around the table as he cataloged each one.

  Frank. Intelligent, more so than I ever was, he thought. Plenty of courage, but he doesn’t have the killer instinct that I developed. Phil had it. Frank’s preoccupied with his family probems. That will make him careless. The man who holds this business together can’t be thinking of anything but survival.

  Eddy. I have failed with him. He needed me more than the others, and I gave him less. Too late now! He would go down under pressure.

  Irene. Cold and ambitious. She would love to control the business, but knows that Eddy will never be more than a minor figure.

  Helen. She should have been a man! She’s always been smart, almost as smart as Frank—and she’s as tough as Phil. Too bad! If she had been able to have sons, she could have lived her life through them, but with a weak husband and no sons, she’s trapped. A bitterness in Helen—I wish it were not so.

  Max. A weak man. If he had exerted power over Helen when they first married, they could have been happy. She needs a strong man, but Max doesn’t have it in him. Will do all he can, but like Eddy, he will cave in when the pinch comes.

  Vince Canelli. Tough enough and shrewd. But he is not of my blood. He will be useful, and I think he has a loyal quality— something not found in most men of his type. Greedy for power, of course, but which of us around this table is not?

  Faye. The most dangerous man at this table, Dom thought. Cruel, violent, ruthless. As I have been. Will let nothing stand in his way.It would be nice if Frank had some of this in him, but I would not want Faye for a son. Phil was much the same—but he had a heart, at least for the family. Faye will try to marry Abby and make himself a part of this family. I see through that, but she does not. That will put Faye up against Frank. There must be one, single voice to control the rest—and when I am dead, it will be those two. And Frank will go down, for Faye is an animal with no thought except his own survival.

  A sense of heavy despair touched the old man, and he interrupted, “We’ve done all that can be done today.” Getting to his feet, he moved away from the table and went at once to his room.

  Thomas Rossi took one look at Lanza’s face and went to the medicine cabinet; he returned with two pills and a tumbler of water. “Take two instead of one,” he ordered.

  Lanza took the tablets, stared at them, then shrugged his shoulders. He swallowed them and leaned back in his chair, drained and empty.

  “Not a good meeting?” Rossi asked as he knelt and untied the old man’s shoes, slipping on a pair of soft carpet slippers. He had been with Lanza so long he could read his thoughts.

  “No. Not good.” Lanza sighed. He closed his eyes, laid his head back on the chair, and murmured, “It is bad to be old, Thomas. Very bad!”

  Faye was slow leaving the house, and Vince knew he was waiting to catch a glimpse of Abby. But Frank dismissed the two of them curtly, and they made their way out through the foyer. As they came down the steps, Faye protested, “Just another meeting! When is Dom going to wake up, Vince?” His cold eyes were rash with an impatience that was ready to boil over, and he shook his head with an angry motion. “We’re doing exactly what Johnny Ring wants—just waiting for him to pick us off like ducks in a shooting gallery!”

  “Maybe’s Dom’s got something planned,” Vince suggested. “He’s a pretty shrewd guy.” As he spoke, a movement caught his eye, and he saw Dani leave the side entrance, headed for the garage. “See you later, Faye,” he ended their conversation and hurried to catch up with her.

  “Hello, Dani,” he greeted her. “This must be your day off.”

  Dani turned to him with a smile. “Yep. Ben’s watching the store this morning.” She was wearing a black skirt of buffed napa leather with an oversized trench coat of the same material. The coat had a padded shoulderline and two deep front pockets. The solid black was set off by a quilted jacket of purple and gold with a cowl-neck top. A pair of shiny black crocodile boots set off the outfit, along with a white wool felt fedora she wore at a rakish angle.

  “I don’t know much about fashions.” Vince grinned. “But you look good in that outfit. Where you headed, all dressed up?”

  “Going to church, Vince,” Dani told him
cheerfully. A thought came to her, and her full lips lifted in a smile. “Remember how you got mad when I had church in the silo? I told you then I’d let you take me to church someday. So how about it?” She saw that her invitation had caught him off guard and needled him: “You’re not afraid of a preacher, are you, Vince?”

  Canelli blinked, then broke into a smile. “No. I heard enough preaching from you when we were in that silo to get me used to it.” He made a quick decision, nodded, and agreed, “I’ll take you up, Dani. Hope the roof don’t fall in.”

  “It won’t,” Dani asserted. “Come on, we can take my car.” They walked rapidly to the garage, got into the Marquis, and left the property. Louie was on duty at the gate and grinned at them as they left, warning, “Watch out for that one, Dani!”

  As they drove along the road, Dani asked, “How was the meeting, Vince?”

  “Just a meeting. Nothing decided.” Canelli looked at her, admiring the texture of her smooth cheek and the fresh color of her lips. He had known many women, but something about this one intrigued him. He had never forgotten the time when he lay almost dying in Maxwell’s prison. Dani had sat beside him and encouraged him during his sickness. Thinking of that, he questioned suddenly, “Remember when I nearly kicked the bucket in the silo, Dani?”

  She gave him a sober nod. “I can’t ever forget that, Vince.”

  “I think of it a lot. But I never told you one thing about it.”

  “What was that, Vince?”

  “Well, I thought I was going to die—and I guess you did, too. And I kept waiting for you to jump on me with a lot of preaching.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yeah, I did.” His heavy brows knitted together, and he shook his head in a gesture of wonder. “Most preachers would have, I guess. I sure couldn’t get up and walk away!” Then he put his hand on her shoulder and abruptly demanded, “Why didn’t you try to convert me, Dani? You didn’t hold back on Candi or on any of the others. Was I just too rough a case?”

  Dani removed the fedora, allowing her rich auburn curls to fall free. She didn’t answer at first, but let the silence run on. Finally she shook her head and explained, “No, that wasn’t the reason. I wanted to ‘preach’ to you very much—or at least to share what Jesus has done for me. But you weren’t ready, Vince.”

  “Not ready?”

  “No. You were dying—but you were still not ready to let God into your life. Until a person is ready, all the preaching in the world won’t do much good. I prayed for you a lot, but the time never came for me to speak.”

  Vince sat there silently, watching the cypress trees reel by as the car hugged the edge of a small swamp. “Well, you were right,” he admitted. “I was all tensed up. Had my speech ready for you, but it kinda set me back when you didn’t say anything to me.”

  Dani spoke quietly, “Vince, it’s time now.”

  He gave her a startled look, and she laughed at his expression. “Now don’t jump out of the car! I just want to tell you about myself. I’m not going to drag you to a creek and baptize you—not unless you insist on it.”

  Vince grinned, nodded, and conceded, “Go ahead, Dani. I’d like to hear it. You bother me a lot—I mean, you’ve got it all, everything a dame ought to have. You’re a real dish, and you’re smart. So why aren’t you out with the rest of the crowd, looking for a good time?”

  Dani began to relate her experience in a steady voice— how she’d been raised in a Christian home, had been saved when she was fourteen, then gotten away from God. She explained how she’d been in love with a young man who was planning to be a missionary and how he had died in a car accident. “I thought it was my fault, Vince,” she told him in a subdued voice. “So I decided to be a missionary—to take his place. But I had to find out that God had other plans. So for now I’m a private detective. But if Jesus wants me to be something else, then I’ll be that.”

  Vince asked in a puzzled tone, “How do you know what Jesus wants you to do? He don’t actually talk to you, does He?”

  “No, but with people you love, you don’t have to actually hear them say the words. With my father, for example.” She smiled, and a thoughtful light touched her greenish eyes. “We know each other so well, most of the time I just know what he wants before he says it. It’s a little different with Jesus, of course. But some things He commands are in the Bible. When I read what He’s said, I know I’m supposed to obey. Then there’s another thing that I can’t explain. Jesus said that He would never leave His followers alone. Now, I’m His follower, but you don’t see Him in this car. But He is here, Vince!” She gave him a brilliant smile, adding, “To me Jesus is just as real as you are!” Then she looked up and exclaimed, “Here’s the church!”

  He looked out at the small white frame building with the steeple and asked, “What kind of church is it?”

  “Oh, nondenominational,” she replied. The parking lot was crowded, but she found an empty spot and turned off the switch. “Not any particular brand. Come on.” She got out of the car and walked around to his side. Looking up at his tense expression, she laughed and took his arm. “It’s not going to hurt a bit, Vince. You’ll like the preacher. He was a fighter pilot in Nam. Spent two years in the Hanoi Hilton.”

  Vince nodded. “I read about it. That was a rough place.”

  They made their way to the front of the church, and she led him inside. It was a small building, seating no more than two hundred. Dani led Vince to a row close to the front, and they sat down. A young man with a longish haircut was sitting at the organ, a middle-aged woman at the piano. They began playing at once. Five minutes later a choir marched in, clad in blue robes, and filled the small choir loft behind the rostrum. Then an older man with pure white hair and a deep tan came to the front, declaring, “This is the day the Lord has made. We will be glad and rejoice in it! Let us praise the Lord for his benefits!” For the next twenty minutes the sound of praise and worship filled the small building. It was a singing church, and this was what had drawn Dani to it in the first place. She loved singing, and the enthusiasm and obvious joy of the congregation had thrilled her the first time she had ventured in.

  Vince looked at her strangely, whispering, “They sure are a noisy bunch! I never saw people enjoy singing so much!”

  Dani smiled up at him. “I spent many years in a church that was nothing but ritual, Vince. But this is the real thing!”

  The song service went on for nearly forty minutes, and then the preacher rose. Vince blinked and whispered, “Why—he’s blind!”

  Dani nodded, reporting tersely, “That’s what the Viet Cong did to him.”

  “I don’t think I could handle that.” Vince shook his head.

  “Reverend Taylor has gone back many times to Vietnam to preach. Three years ago he won the man who tortured him to Christ. Now, that’s real forgiveness, Vince—and real love,” Dani told him intently. “The kind only God can give a person.”

  Vince sat there for the next hour, lost in the sermon. He’d never heard a sermon in his life and had made up his mind that all preaching was dull. But the man with the dark glasses wasn’t dull! He didn’t shout and scream, but the excitement and freshness in his voice were contagious.

  He had the gift of the storyteller, and woven into his message were little dramas that kept his congregation’s attention riveted on his message.

  His sermon was on the new birth, and the topic was familiar to Vince—for he had heard Dani speak of it often in their days together. But he’d managed to get around her by saying, Well, she’s just a woman. They’re all emotional!

  But Ron Taylor was no woman. Congress had awarded him the Medal of Honor—and Vince knew what that meant! He sat there lost in the message. When it came to an end, he heard Reverend Taylor explain, “This is the part of the service when we give those who want to follow Jesus Christ an opportunity to do so.” He hesitated and stopped dead still. The building was absolutely quiet. Vince began to perspire, and his hands trembled. Something a
bout the sermon had shaken him, made him think of himself in a deeply troubling way. He wanted to run out of the church, but then Reverend Taylor spoke quietly, “I have the impression that there is one among us who is being dealt with by God in a powerful way. One who for the first time is finding out his need for God’s love. Oh, I would love to tell you how wonderful that love is!”

  Vince stood there, head down, and his hands locked on the bench in front of him so tightly that the knuckles ached. The preacher continued, “If you will allow Jesus Christ to come in and take over your life, step out of your seat. We will pray with you, whoever you are, and you will find peace.”

  The congregation began to sing, and Vince’s jaw ached as he kept his teeth clenched. He lifted his eyes to see that two people—a young boy no more than fourteen and a young woman with a baby—had gone to the front. The preacher prayed with them, and then one of the men led them away.

  “We rejoice that these two have come, but I feel that there is another. All of us in this church will pray that God will find you—and that you will find Him!”

  He asked one of the men to pray, and when Dani and Vince got to the door, he was waiting. “Reverend Taylor, I’d like you to meet a very dear friend of mine—Vincent Canelli.”

  Canelli put his hand out and found it grasped in a strong grip. “I—I enjoyed the sermon, Reverend,” he confessed haltingly. The dark glasses were disconcerting, and he blurted out, “I guess it was the first sermon I ever heard, except for Dani’s.”

  Reverend Taylor listened to Vincent carefully, seeming to search for something behind the words. He kept a firm grip on Vince’s hand and then carefully replied, “I’m glad you came this morning.” He paused again and seemed to be listening to something before continuing, “God is dealing with you, Vince. Don’t run away from Him.”