For Nothing
Page 22
“Big man wants a word with you.”
Alex nodded his head and opened the door to the sedan. It was dark inside the vehicle and as Vaughn sat down on the leather seat and closed the door behind him, his eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom.
“Hello Vincent. Or should I say, officer.”
Vaughn looked over and almost jumped out of his skin.
“Yes, I know now who you are.”
There in the car next to him was Christian “The Pope” Biela. The detective shook his head. The Pope must have known that Jimmy and Tommy worked for Falzone. Yet here he was and there they were. Alex winced as he thought back to his antics earlier that morning. Vaughn felt even more vulnerable as he noticed his gun and holster and knife sitting on the seat between them.
“What to do with you detective? You know, I came here to kill you along with those,” here The Pope dragged out the ‘S’ lacing it with contempt or trying to hold back a cough; perhaps both, “cops. Those pig fuckers, those two-faced bastards. I’ve been wanting to deal with them for a long time. It made my day when I thought you were with ‘em. But, you’re not.” He started coughing and held up a finger telling Alex to wait while tears rolled down the consigliore’s cheeks. When he composed himself, he continued, “There’s a geek’s body in the kitchen that led us to that conclusion just moments ago.”
Alex could just nod his head in silent accord.
“So back to the question. What. To. Do. With. You. “
“All due respect sir, but I’m confused. I thought these two worked with Falzone.”
The Pope raised a brow, and glanced at Alex. “I forgot that you spent time as Mr. Garducci. I’m not mad about that by the way. A man doing his job. Besides, any hindrance to that group is ok by me. As for Tommy and Jimmy…” The Pope let out a wry chuckle. “It amuses me that the police think they are the only ones that plant people. I mean, we show them time and time again that we can get people inside their very organizations, yet still, they assume they are the masters of infiltration.”
Vaughn was aware at this point how adept the gangsters seemed to be at penetrating organizations.
“But you sent Rafael to Wizeguyz to bring the place to the ground.”
“Well, yes. Perhaps others view it as coincidence that Tommy and Jimmy weren’t there when that went down? Interesting.”
He paused for effect and pulled a cigar from his jacket. It was rolled tight and Alex wondered whether or not it was a Cuban. He never smoked the things but he figured, by the way The Pope slide it under his nose and soaked in its aroma, that it must be a good one.
“Me? I don’t believe in coincidence. Take you for example. This, this is no coincidence. That’s why I’m not gonna kill you.” He grimaced and took another look at the cigar and then tucked it back into the folds of his jacket. “You have unfinished business to attend to. I sympathize. But let me ask you one question. Who did you see here today?”
Vaughn knew where this was going, and given his day, he was fine with playing along. “No one.”
“Well then, I guess there’s no reason to kill you. Let us just call it honor amongst thieves.”
“Honor amongst thieves.”
The Pope held out his hand and Vaughn clasped it, grateful.
After a brief moment, The Pope gave Alex a nod and said, “Now get the fuck out of my car.”
Vaughn stepped out and shut the door. The car started forward and then stopped. The window rolled down and Alex heard The Pope. “You might need these.” Alex walked up and grabbed his pistol and shoulder holster and switch blade.
“Thanks.”
Without saying a word, The Pope waved the driver forward and rolled the window up. Within moments, he disappeared down the block and around the bend.
Before Vaughn could take stock of what just happened, Jimmy ran towards another car that Tommy must have pulled up to the curb. “Get in Vinnie!”
“Hurry up, you two!”
Tommy was inching the car along only just waiting for Jimmy and Alex. Having no other way out of the place, and not wanting to linger around the scene, Vaughn hobbled into the backseat of Tommy’s car. As they peeled out of the neighborhood, Alex realized the reason for their rush. Smoke billowed up behind them as the safe house burst into flames. Jimmy Jacks turned around in his seat and watched the smoke recede behind them; his eyes alight like a child on Christmas morning. They rode along in silence. After a while, Vaughn felt the need to cut through the quiet.
These men saved my life. As much as he hated it, he felt indebted.
“What a day,” he stated.
“Day ain’t over yet.” Tommy stated.
“Look, I just wanted to thank you two for earlier. You saved my life.”
Jimmy flashed him a toothy grin, but Tommy said, “Just following orders.”
Vaughn accepted the statement. After few more moments, when they were safe beyond the area of the fire, Alex had Tommy drop him off at a diner not far from the baseball stadium where a minor league team played. With a wave, Alex said goodbye and stood alone on the street corner. The cold air felt good on his battered body and he found a patch of pavement free of snow courtesy of some well-placed salt by an employee of the diner.
Flipping open his cell phone, which somehow survived in his coat pocket, he dialed Ryan Slate. He needed to gauge the truth of Elliot’s statement that Ryan was not working for them. Alex needed someone he could trust. If Elliot wasn’t lying, then Alex needed to warn Ryan. He had to warn him about Elliot, and about the fact that the Garducci cover was blown.
After a moment the call connected. “Hey, Vincenzio here.”
“Ryan, its Alex. I need you to meet me at a bar downtown. Meet me at 76 Pearl Street.”
“I’m a little, involved, at the moment.”
“Ryan, it’s a matter of life and death. You need to get your ass over here.”
The silence echoed on the other line. “Okay. I’ll be there in twenty.”
Alex hung up the phone and then went inside to sit down and wait. His stomach rumbled. It felt like forever since he enjoyed a warm meal.
*
The hum of the tires lent a rhythm to The Pope’s musings. Nuncio drove him through the city streets towards the bar that had been the epicenter of the consigliore’s life for the last twenty years. He let his eyes drift into the alleyways they passed as they drove and somewhere in those catacombs, he found his own mind hidden in the maze of side streets.
Christian Biela—he’d been called that in a previous life. Sure, people still used his name, but what they were thinking, what they were all thinking, was this is the fucking Pope. He roomed with a close cousin of Don Ciancetta’s as an undergraduate.
Back then, The Pope was a scrapper and won more bar fights with his new college roommate than he could count. It was amazing the kind of bond that could be forged through common blood and bruised knuckles. His roommate was long since gone. His throat was cut in Vegas. But he introduced him to his cousin, a man named Leonard Ciancetta.
The Pope cupped his chin in his hand. Most people might be angry how it all worked out. But The Pope had a sense of loyalty that the Roman Legions would be hard-pressed to instill in its soldiery. His eyes darted back and forth amongst the passing avenues as he saw his past playing out right in front of him. He could see their faces as clear as if they were being cast on the walls of the buildings by a movie projector. They were younger then, but their roles in each other’s lives were steady, and remained unchanged.
Christian hadn’t been able to pay for the law school he got into. He remembered bitching about it to Leonard while they were searching for some cheap college pussy on Quarter Beer night. It was offhanded, and Christian needed an ear to hear his gripes. Imagine his surprise when he found fifty thousand dollars in cash sitting on his pillow when he got home.
They were friends, but more than that, Don Ciancetta was a benefactor to the lawyer. Since that day, The Pope, as he was now called, made every move
he could in order to help his friend the Don.
It’s the least I can do, he mused.
To The Pope, every player in this game of life was just a pawn devoted to the protection of The King.
The Pope felt a cough coming on and brought his handkerchief. He paused for a moment, wondering if he could hold back the explosion. His body ached from all of the hacking. He couldn’t, and he caught the air and spit onto the piece of fabric, glancing at its contents before folding it over and sticking it back into the folds of his jacket.
Blood.
He noticed a bit of it and wondered if it was from the constant coughing rubbing his throat dry or if it was from something worse. It would have to wait either way. In a few hours, he would know whether or not it even mattered.
The Pope ran his fingers through his hair. It was dark, his hair, but used to be darker. He wondered if the hair was thinning out. He couldn’t be sure though, these changes happened so gradual.
Everything changed. This whole war, it was about fighting against the tide of change. If they won, it would just stave off change until the next guy wanted a poke at the top spot, or they all got arrested. It was the way of this world.
The Pope, though, he built a reputation of being able to protect the family from within the confines of the law. Sure, he stepped over on more than one occasion, but reputation—reputation is everything. For instance, he didn’t know what happened in that garage. He could well imagine, but he didn’t know. Sometimes, that was enough.
He let that cop go. Most people would have killed him. The Pope wasn’t playing games when he said he respected the fact that the officer was doing his job.
Maybe if more people just did their job this country wouldn’t be such a cluster fuck.
There was also opportunity there. When the cop stuck that gun in The Pope’s face, Christian felt pretty sure about the cop’s desire to kill Rafael Rontego. Either way, it was better for the family and better for Don Ciancetta.
Hell, and if the cop gets the best of Rafael, then we might be able to strong arm the pig to our advantage, he mused.
“We’re here, sir” Nuncio declared.
The Pope came back to the present and realized they pulled up to the curb in front of Rumors. Nuncio got out and slammed the door beside him. The Pope put on a pair of dark sunglasses even though it was overcast and threatening to snow outside.
A moment later and Nuncio opened the back door and The Pope was sliding out of the car. A few of the fellas hanging around the outside of the bar stopped what they were doing and shuffled closer to watch The Pope enter the building. It was all slicked back hair and leather jackets from the small throng of men that cloistered around the consigliore. It was all about respect and The Pope meant to see to it that, after tonight, respect for the hierarchy would no longer be an issue.
Chapter 30
Alex Vaughn sat in the booth in the back of the bar and sipped on some water. He picked this seat because it was close to the rear exit and afforded him a view of the front door. The bartender was kind enough to rustle up some chicken fingers and Alex was devouring them when Ryan Slate made his way into the hole in the wall bar.
At first, Vaughn couldn’t tell who came in. The dwelling was so poorly lit that when the door opened, the sheer whiteness from outside blinded the detective. After a moment though, the silhouette of Ryan Slate became clearer and Alex waved him over.
Alex could tell that Ryan was not pleased to have been called out of action. If there was any doubt from the scowl on his face, it was gone once Ryan started talking. His voice took on the gruff edge of a New York City cab driver.
“This better be good. I have a lot going on today and I can’t even get a hold of Elliot or … Jesus Alex, what happened to you?”
Alex studied Ryan for a moment. He took a sip of water to buy time as he was unsure how to proceed. He wanted to trust Ryan. He hesitated, and then decided to tell Ryan everything. Just like the first time the two spoke after Jack’s death, everything flowed out.
He told Ryan about how Elliot and the guys were after the money and why. He told Ryan about the torture and how the very people saved him he’d been sent to take down in previous investigations. Finally, he told Ryan of how he knew where Rafael Rontego was. When he paused for a breath, he recognized the look that crept on to Slate’s face. It was fear.
Fear of what though, Alex wondered.
“Christ. You know I have been feeding them information on the Ciancetta crew for months now? If they were working with Falzone and the Bonannos then I could have been inadvertently helping to provide intelligence for God knows what.”
Slate’s face looked ashen and a layer of sweat beaded on his forehead despite the bar’s chilly atmosphere.
“To be honest, I don’t know what to do Ryan. Elliot is out there running around. We have dead bodies down the street. There’s a guy who killed my best friend in Canada for crying out loud. I mean, we’re fucking cops, aren’t we?”
Ryan swallowed hard. “Well, I think its real simple. We gotta go to the captain.”
“He assigned Elliot to organized crime.”
“So we bring the Internal Affairs guy, Billy, with us. Either way, this is too much for us.”
Vaughn bit his lower lip and gave the back of his neck a reassuring rub. “What about Rafael?”
“What about him? Alex, you gotta ask yourself, what are you doing all this for? What are you after?”
“I’m not even sure anymore.” The realization was painful. Vaughn’s cracked lips tried to smile but the pain brought them back down into a stoic grimace. Alex, seeing that Ryan was hoping for more of an answer, changed the subject. “I don’t think you should go back to Ciancetta’s. It’s too dangerous with Elliot running around town knowing your identity.”
Slate chuckled. “I suppose not.” He leaned back in the booth. “So shall we go see the cap’n?”
Alex gave a half smile to the part of his face that didn’t hurt. Slate wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “Ok, but can I ask a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Can I have a ride?”
Ryan Slate started laughing. It was such a spontaneous laugh that for the first time, Alex felt like things might be all right. It was pure and came from the man’s toes. Vaughn knew he placed his trust in the right guy.
*
The Pope sat across from the Don’s mahogany desk and studied his old friend’s face. Everyone else called him the Don, and even Christian called him that in front of the men. But here, when it was just the two of them, he was Leo.
Leo looked tired. His face was gaunt and his angular features looked even more angular. Maybe it was dehydration. The Don ran his fingers through his hair over and over again—a nervous tick that The Pope came to recognize over the years. The Don’s fingers stroked hair that had once been jet black but was now littered with patches of grey. He grew a bit of grey stubble that set in, which was odd for the fanatically clean shaven boss. His eyes, which boasted a green hue, were bloodshot and darted back and forth with a look common to that of a caged jackal. He was worried, and the consigliore didn’t blame him.
Don Ciancetta picked up a cigar and cut off its tip, then inserted it between his teeth. “So everything is ready then?”
The Pope looked at his friend and nodded in the affirmative. He felt sorry for the man; it was tough sometimes to get what you wish for. Everyone gunned for the top spot.
The Don caught the look and gave his friend a small smile. It was an attempt to reassure the consigliore.
“I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”
“I know Leo, I know.”
“Christ, we’ve been through worse, you and me. Remember how we got here? To this position? Now that was a scary time.”
It was The Pope’s turn to share a smile and, despite himself, he couldn’t help but recall the success fondly. He helped navigate a series of wars and triumphs at his friend’s side over the years.
No time for
old glories, he thought.
“Leo, everything’s in place. Everyone knows their role.” The Pope felt his chest seize up and knew that another cough was on its way. He held up a finger as it hit him and he coughed so hard that his eyes began to water and his body ached. “That one hurt,” he allowed as the Don tossed him a bottle of water.
“I been telling you, you ought to get that checked out. I ain’t no doctor but it don’t sound good.”
The Pope took down the cool liquid and felt it creep into the crevices of his throat. He swallowed hard and felt as if his throat muscles were pushing down a Cadillac. “Eh, what’s the point? If tonight doesn’t go well, then it won’t matter.”
The Don stood up and looked at The Pope with eyes searching for a hint of a joke before his voice took on a shrill pitch that was new to the consigliore.
“Jesus Christ! Tell me that’s a joke. It isn’t funny but it better be a joke. I mean what the fuck Chris?”
“Relax, relax. All I’m saying is that I’ll go get it looked at tomorrow. Tonight will be fine. It’s my job to worry. So I worry about everything.”
The Don sat back down and took a deep breath. “You surprised they’re coming?”
The Pope let his mind wrap around the question for a few moments then shook his head. “Not really. What other choice do they have? Sure, we took some losses, but they took more. Sure, we lost some money, they lost more. Muro’s dead. They don’t know Rafael is halfway to Canada. Sitting down, trying to negotiate, it’s their one chance.”
“What if they got a little surprise for us?”
“Then we’ll be ready.”
Chapter 31
Rafael Rontego grabbed up his bag and made his way towards a tiny gift shop in the rear of the train station. It wasn’t much; the place seemed to first and foremost sell bubblegum and magazines. A middle aged woman, rather unremarkable other than a small mole on her left cheek, greeted him with a wave.