Deadly Deception

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Yes, it is.” Dom smiled at her. “We were very good friends. I’m surprised you even know who he is, Dani. He was way before your time.”

  “Oh, I’m crazy about old movies. And I always liked those old gangster movies—” She bit her lip suddenly, adding hurriedly, “Tell me, did you know any more movie stars—James Cagney?”

  “I met Cagney twice. He was a fine man. . . .”

  For the next half hour Lanza leafed through the album, and Dani was fascinated. Lanza had been on the dark edge of respectability, but many people, she knew, felt drawn to criminal figures. As he showed her the pictures of politicians, movie stars, and writers he had known, he seemed to grow milder. The pain was not so bad, and he relaxed in the chair. Time ran on, and they finished the album. Closing it, he told her, “That takes me back. I haven’t looked at it for a long time.” Then he laid it on his lap and ran a thin hand over the embossed cover. “Most of them are dead now.”

  The silence deepened in the room, broken only by the ticking of the clock and the high-pitched chirps of the purple martins that were nesting just outside the window of Lanza’s room. The room was dark, almost gloomy. It’s like a mausoleum! Dani decided. She wanted to be all the help she could to the old man, but at the unpleasant thought, an impulse came to leave.

  Then a second impulse overtook her, and she knew at once that it was time to speak to her employer about the thing that mattered most to her. As always, she wished that she had more boldness, for she knew that if she did speak of what was on her heart, Lanza might order her out of his house. She had heard stories of his quick and deadly temper and feared that she might be subject to it.

  He sat there, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow, and she asked breathlessly, “Mr. Lanza—may I say something to you?”

  The eyes opened quickly, and there was something predatory in them. Dom Lanza had endured in a jungle by being watchful. He looked at her silently, then slowly nodded. “Yes.” It was not a cordial invitation, but Dani plunged ahead.

  “Well, you may be embarrassed, Mr. Lanza,” she warned evenly. “But since I’ve been here, I’ve become very fond of your family—and of you.” The color in her cheeks rose, and she laughed shortly, shaking her head. “I suppose you must hear that a lot, a famous man like you.”

  Lanza stared at her. “No,” he replied slowly. “I have not heard it a lot. I am not a man who inspires that sort of thing.” A light of surprise touched his eyes, and he spoke in a wry tone, “It surprises me that you say such a thing— but not very much. You are an unusual young woman. I’ve never seen anyone like you. You understand, many people have tried to gain my confidence—most of them for their own ends. But you are different. I have watched you carefully, Dani.” He raised one hand and rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. “If you are a fraud, you are the best I have ever seen!”

  “Oh, I’m not so unusual,” Dani denied his words quickly. Then she took her courage in both hands and almost blurted out, “If you’ve seen anything good in me, Mr. Lanza, it’s because the Lord Jesus Christ put it there!” She waited for him to raise a hand, to cut her off abruptly— but he only watched her intently, so she went on, “I came from a Christian home, but it was only a few years ago that I discovered that Jesus Christ is really alive—that He can live inside a person. . . .”

  Dani never raised her voice, but for the next ten minutes she told Dom Lanza how she had found Christ. It was a simple testimony with many Scriptures. Finally, “It’s hard for me to speak to you like this,” she told him, “because I know you don’t believe as I do about God. But for me, Jesus has meant so much—and I want everyone to know the peace that He brought to me.”

  Lanza had not moved for a long time, but now he stirred slightly. “Peace! I’ve known little of that!” Then he shook his head. “I have thought of Jesus Christ,” he admitted. “What man hasn’t? But if what I have heard of Him is true, how could He help a man like me? You know what I’ve been—the kind of life I’ve led.” A thought struck him, and he asked, “You’ve said these things to Vince, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.” Dani nodded. “I think a lot of Vince. We went through a hard time together. Did he say something to you about me?”

  “Not a lot,” Lanza answered. “But he’s been going around like a man in a dream. When I asked him what was wrong with him, he just muttered, ‘Oh, it’s that preacher woman! She’s been at me!’ So now I know what’s eating at him. But what can you hope for? Men like Canelli and myself, our hands are red with blood.”

  Dani sat there, not knowing what to say. Finally she shook her head. “You and Vince are not different from other men, Mr. Lanza. The Bible says that all men and women are sinners—that every one of us is cut off from God. Some may have committed what seem to be worse sins—but may I read you a few verses from my New Testament?”

  He smiled slightly as she took a thin book from her side pocket. “I notice you always have two things on you, Dani—your Bible and your thirty-eight! I am glad for the gun—so now I must pay heed to the other. What does it say?”

  “In James chapter two, there is a verse that says, ‘For whosoever shall keep the whole law, yet offend in one point, he is guilty of all.’ Do you see what that means? No matter which particular sin we might commit, we are equally guilty before God.”

  “But murder is worse than stealing!”

  “In the eyes of men—but the next verse says, ‘He that said, Do not commit adultery, said also, Do not kill. Now if thou commit no adultery, yet if thou kill, thou art become a transgressor of the law.’ Don’t you see? If you hired a man, there are many ways he might betray you. But no matter which one he chose—that wouldn’t matter, would it? He would be a traitor.”

  Lanza stared at her with fresh interest. “I never thought of that—but it is true.” With a puzzled look, he pondered, “I know little of these things, but surely it matters what a man does? I mean, is Adolf Hitler no worse than your ordinary person? He butchered millions of Jews! Surely God doesn’t look on him as He looks on you, for example?”

  “Hitler was a sinner,” Dani agreed quickly, “and a terrible human being. But the point of the whole Bible is that all of us are sinners! And it is God’s purpose to save us all from what we have become. My sins were not as terrible in your sight as those of Hitler, but in God’s sight I was a traitor. That’s why I had to be saved. Jesus said in John 3, speaking to a very religious man, ‘. . . Ye must be born again.’ If keeping the law had been all that was necessary, that man would have been in good shape—for he was very religious, keeping all the outward laws. But in his heart he was wrong! Jesus really meant, ‘Nicodemus, you look very good on the outside, but your heart is wrong. I must change that before you can be acceptable to God!’”

  Dom sat there, studying her. “This is very different from what I have believed,” he finally pronounced. “I have thought of God, but long ago I became so hard that I put Him out of my life and out of my mind. Now that I am going to die, I find myself thinking more of these things. But it is too late.”

  “No, it’s not too late,” Dani corrected him. “Jesus came to make men and women what God wants them to be. I know there are many who profess to be Christians who are not what they should be, but that’s true of any movement, isn’t it? Not all soldiers are patriots. Some are vicious or even traitors—but that doesn’t mean that America is evil! Sometimes Christians make very bad errors. I certainly have! But you see, Mr. Lanza, when God comes into a person’s life, it’s a beginning, not an end. We won’t be perfect in this world, but the Bible says that we will be resurrected someday—and then we will be like Jesus. Not tied to these frail, sinful bodies, but as God intended for us to be all along.”

  Once again the room fell silent. Dani knew intuitively that she had said what God wanted her to say. She sat there waiting, and finally Dom told her heavily, “I cannot explain what I think. I am old and dying—and my family that I have lived for is in terrible danger. I am too weak to protect them, and
it seems that my life is a failure. I have lived for my family, and now I can do nothing.” He lifted his head, and a terrible look of despair filled his old eyes. “But I will think on what you have said.”

  Dani saw that the pain was back, and she asked, “Can I get you something?”

  “Yes. Some water, if you will.” He waited until she returned with a glass of water, shook two pills from a bottle, and swallowed them. “I am tired,” he excused himself. “I think I will lie down.”

  “Thank you for listening to me, Mr. Lanza. I meant what I said—about becoming fond of you and your family.” Dani left the room, closing the door quietly. As she moved down the hall, a sense of failure closed in on her, and she prayed, I didn’t say it well, Lord—but take what was good, and let Dom Lanza find his peace with You!

  11

  The Hit

  * * *

  You couldn’t lay off the stuff for one day?” Frank glared down at Rosemary.

  Rosemary was trying to tie the bow of her sash, but her fingers were numbed by too many sips from the bottle of Scotch. She looked up at Frank and tried to smile. “I—I only had one or two, Frank,” she excused herself.

  He walked over and opened the drawer of her vanity. Pulling out the fifth of whiskey, he stared at it, then exclaimed, “You’ve had more than that!” In a sudden explosion of anger, he threw the bottle across the room. It shattered and left an ugly blotch on the pale ivory wall, but he paid it no heed. “The kids have been looking forward to this,” he barked bitterly, turning to face her. He had no idea how he looked to her at that moment, with his face iron hard and his voice cutting like a razor. Until her marriage to him, this gentle woman had been shielded by loving parents. She could not remember the day or the month when fear had come to take her by force. Her romantic ideas of marriage had not lasted long, and though she had never been a drinker, within six months of her wedding she had started seeking a refuge from fear in the bottles of liquor so readily available in the Lanza home.

  As she looked up at her husband, Rosemary remembered how gentle he had been when her drinking problem had first started. She lifted her hand and whispered, “Frank—don’t hate me! I—I don’t want to drink—!”

  He avoided her hand, thinking of all the promises she had made and broken. He was a drinking man himself, but it held no compulsion for him. There was something shameful in the way she clung to the bottle, and he could not understand it. “You keep saying that, but you always go back to it. Do you want the kids to grow up knowing their mother is a drunk?”

  She began to cry, shaking her head. “No! No!”

  Then Frank made a mistake. Without thought, he burst out, “Why, Dani is a better mother than you are to the kids!”

  The words shook Rosemary’s nerves, and she raised her tear-stained face to stare at him. “And I suppose she’s a better wife to you than I am? Is that what you’re thinking, Frank? Do you think I haven’t seen the way you look at her?”

  Frank blinked at her words, for they stung him. “Nobody would blame me for looking at another woman!” he shouted. “You’re no wife—and no mother!” He whirled and left the room, slamming the door.

  Rosemary got up, ran to the bed, and collapsed on it. She lay there, sobbing, for a long time. Finally, she sat up, took a deep breath, and got to her feet. The scene had sobered her to a great extent, and she walked to the mirror to examine her face. As always she hated to see her own reflection. But she set her jaw, went to the bathroom, and began to wash her face in cold water.

  Downstairs, Eddy and Irene were talking to Dom as Frank came in. Dom saw the expression on Frank’s face, and when he announced shortly, “Rosemary won’t be able to make it,” he knew at once what was wrong. But he said nothing. He had welcomed Rosemary as a daughter-in-law, for she had been of a good, respectable family, and he had known her to be a virtuous girl. Nothing had hurt him more than to watch her decline, and he had never ceased to long for her to gain control over the demon that drove her to drink.

  Eddy was less sensitive to such things. He nodded to Frank and asked, “Well, ready for the big production? All I’ve heard from Abby is about this guy Savage! She’s got a king-sized crush on him.”

  Irene gave him an angry look. “You wouldn’t be so happy if she decided to marry him, Eddy.”

  Eddy stared at her, nonplussed. “Marry him? Don’t be crazy, Irene! She’s got more sense than that!”

  “I don’t know why you think that,” Irene countered. “She was all set to marry that guitar player.”

  “Well, sure.” Eddy shrugged. “But I discouraged him.”

  “You had Faye beat him up,” Irene snapped. “I don’t think that would work with Savage.”

  Eddy started to argue, but at that moment Max and Helen came in. With interest Dom saw that Helen was angry. Except for Phil, she was the child who was most like him, Dom had often thought. His daughter had gotten much of her makeup from him—his quick ability to make decisions, his crafty ways, and his ruthless determination. She should have been a man, Dom thought as he studied her. He was aware, as well, that she had decided that Max should take his place at the head of the family— which meant, he knew, that she would rule the empire he had built up. That might be the way it would work out, Dom had often thought.

  Helen stiffly objected, “I don’t see why I can’t go watch the children do their show.”

  “Helen, we’ve been over that,” Max responded patiently. He removed his glasses and wiped them carefully with a spotless white handkerchief. “I had that bed shipped from Pennsylvania. If it has one scratch on it, you’ll send it right back.” He put his glasses back on, replaced the handkerchief, after folding it carefully, then spoke with rare firmness, “We can go see the children as soon as the bed comes. I want you to check it and be sure it’s what you want.”

  Helen sighed. “All right. But you were never so careful about furniture before.”

  Max smiled slightly. “I am now—because you sent all that antique furniture back last year, when you didn’t like it.”

  Frank broke in impatiently, “It’s nearly two. Helen, you and Max come on down, if you can. Let’s go!”

  As the small group passed through the front door, Faye and Vince ascended the front steps. Frank paused, ordering, “Faye, you and Vince get downtown.” A frown creased his brow, and he shook his head with a trace of anger. “Fats Marone has been getting out of hand. Go down and shake him up.”

  Faye grinned, for this had been his idea. “I’ll take care of it, Frank. But I won’t need Vince for a little job like that.” He turned to Canelli and instructed him, “You keep an eye on things here.”

  “Sure, Faye.” Vince nodded absently.

  Dominic Lanza’s lifetime of watching men made him catch something out of the ordinary here. When he had first come to the organization, Vince had been a pusher, aggressive as any man Dom had seen. Then the big man had not been the sort of man to take the slight Faye had just administered. In Dom’s eyes Canelli’s lack of fear of Faye Dietrich made him valuable, for Dom liked and needed strong, aggressive men.

  Something’s working on Vince Canelli, Dom decided. Perhaps his encounter with Danielle Ross? The thought caught at Dom, for he had been considering the young woman’s words more than he would have thought possible. Though he had tried to shrug it off, the woman’s genuine honesty made her words echo in his mind. He had tried to tell himself it was just because he was old and sick, but here was Vince—a strong man in the prime of life—and he seemed vulnerable to the same thoughts.

  As Vince and Faye turned and walked away, Frank called out, “Let’s go.” He led the family down the path toward the swimming pool, adjusting his steps to allow his father to keep up with them.

  Dani held the children to their academic schedule all morning, but after a light lunch, she accompanied them to the gym. Ben had met them, dressed in trunks and wearing a finger-tip-length, white terry-cloth jacket. He was doing some work on the trampoline when they entered,
and as he swung to meet them, Dani noted that the magnum was in a side pocket rather than in the customary shoulder holster.

  “Hey, you guys ready for the big number?” he called out as the group approached.

  “Pat’s going to sink like a rock,” Rachel objected in disgust. “He ate like a pig at lunch.”

  “No, I won’t,” Pat argued loudly. “I ate a lot so it’ll help me swim underwater. Make me sink more better.”

  Ben grinned and shook his head. “Never thought of it that way, Pat. I may have to jump in and pull you up. Okay, you guys warm up a little bit, while I talk to teacher.”

  Dani waited until they scattered, Abby and Rachel to the trampoline, Matthew and Pat to the pool. “I talked to Dad this morning. He says the work is piling up. Wants to know when we’re going to be able to get back to business as usual.”

  “Been wondering that myself,” Savage told her. “What’s it look like to you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Ben,” Dani voiced a trace of irritation. “On the one hand, Lanza’s paying us a bundle. But we’re not creating any new accounts. When this is over, we’ll have a good bank balance, but fewer jobs. And Dad’s working too hard.”

  “Want some advice?”

  “I need some. What’s your idea on all of this?”

  “I think we ought to give Lanza some notice and pull out.” Savage looked at the young people, then brought his gaze back to meet hers. “You’re getting too emotionally involved in the Lanza family, Boss. And they’re using you as a crutch—especially the kids.”

  “Even if you’re right about that, Ben, it won’t stop me from doing a good job.”

  “No, but there’s no end in sight.” He shifted his weight and considered her carefully. “Martino’s outfit isn’t going to give up, not with a hardcase like Johnny Ring running it. And Dom Lanza will have to die before he gives up. We’re all sitting on a bomb, and sooner or later it’s going to go off.”