by Robin Cook
Jordan took Laurie deeper into the office complex, showing her several rooms devoted to special ophthalmologic testing. What impressed her most were the two state-of-the-art operating rooms complete with all the requisite ancillary equipment.
“You have a fortune invested here,” Laurie said once they’d reached the final room, a photography lab.
“No doubt about it,” Jordan agreed. “But it pays off handsomely. Currently I’m grossing between one point five and two million dollars a year.”
Laurie swallowed. The figure was staggering. Although she knew her father, the cardiac surgeon, had to have a huge income to cover his life-style, she’d never before been slapped with such an astronomical figure. Knowing what she did about the plight of American medicine and even the shoestring budget the medical examiner’s office ran under, it seemed like an obscene waste of resources.
“How about coming by and seeing my apartment?” Jordan said. “If you like the office, you’ll love the apartment. It was designed by the same people.”
“Sure,” Laurie said, mainly as a reflex. She was still trying to absorb Jordan’s comment about his income.
As they retraced their route through the office, Laurie asked after Jordan’s secretary. “Did you ever hear from her?”
“No,” Jordan said, obviously still angry about the no-show. “She never called and there was never any answer at her home. I can only imagine it has something to do with her no-good husband. If she’d not been such a good secretary, I would have gotten rid of her just because of him. He has a restaurant in Bayside, but he’s also involved with a number of shady deals. She confided in me in order to borrow bail on several occasions. He’s never been convicted, but he’s spent plenty of time on Rikers Island.”
“Sounds like a mobster himself,” Laurie said.
Once they got into the back of the car, Laurie asked Jordan his missing secretary’s name.
“Marsha Schulman,” Jordan said. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” Laurie said.
It didn’t take long for Thomas to pull up to the private entrance of Trump Tower. The doorman opened the door for Laurie to get out, but she held back.
“Jordan,” she said, looking at him in the dim light of the interior of the limo, “would you be angry if I asked for a raincheck on seeing your apartment? I just noticed the time, and I have to get up for work in the morning.”
“Not at all,” Jordan said. “I understand perfectly. I’ve got surgery again myself at the crack of dawn. But there is a condition.”
“Which is?”
“That we have dinner again tomorrow night.”
“You can put up with me two evenings in a row?” Laurie asked. She’d not been “rushed” like this since high school. She was flattered but wary.
“With pleasure,” Jordan said, humorously affecting an English accent.
“All right,” Laurie said. “But let’s pick a place not quite so formal.”
“Done,” Jordan said. “You like Italian?”
“I love Italian.”
“Then it will be Palio,” Jordan said. “At eight.”
* * *
Vinnie Dominick paused outside of the Vesuvio Restaurant on Corona Avenue in Elmhurst and took advantage of his reflection in the window to smooth his hair and adjust his Gucci tie. Satisfied, he motioned to Freddie Capuso to open the door.
Vinnie’s nickname since junior high school was “the Prince.” He’d been considered a handsome fellow whom the neighborhood girls had found quite attractive. His features were full but well sculpted. Favoring a tailored look, he heavily moussed his dark hair and brushed it straight back from his forehead. He looked considerably younger than his forty years and, unlike most of his contemporaries, he prided himself on his physical prowess. A high school basketball star, he’d kept his game over the years, playing three nights a week at St. Mary’s gym.
Entering the restaurant, Vinnie scanned the room. Freddie and Richie crowded in behind him. Vinnie quickly spotted whom he was looking for: Paul Cerino. The restaurant still had a few diners since its kitchen stayed open until eleven, but most of its clientele had already departed. It was a good location and time for a meeting.
Vinnie walked to Paul’s table with the confidence of one meeting an old, good friend. Freddie and Richie followed several steps behind. When Vinnie reached the table, the two men sitting with Paul stood. Vinnie recognized them as Angelo Facciolo and Tony Ruggerio.
“How are you, Paul?” Vinnie asked.
“Can’t complain,” Paul said. He stuck out a hand for Vinnie to shake.
“Sit down, Vinnie,” Paul said. “Have some wine. Angelo, pour the man some wine.”
As Vinnie sat down, Angelo picked up an open bottle of Brunello from the table and filled the glass in front of Vinnie.
“I want to thank you for agreeing to see me,” Vinnie said. “After what happened last time, I consider it a special favor.”
“When you said it was important and involved family, how could I turn you down?”
“First I want to tell you how much I sympathize with your eye problem,” Vinnie said. “It was a terrible tragedy and it never should have happened. And right now in front of these other people I want to swear on my mother’s grave I knew nothing about it. The punks did it on their own.”
There was a pause. For a moment no one said anything. Finally Cerino spoke. “What else is on your mind?”
“I know that your people whacked Frankie and Bruno,” Vinnie said. “And even though we know this we have not retaliated. And we’re not going to retaliate. Why? Because Frankie and Bruno got what they deserved. They were acting on their own. They were out of step. And we’re also not going to retaliate because it is important for you and me to get along. I don’t want a war. It gets the authorities up in arms. It makes for bad business for us both.”
“And how do I know I can trust this gesture of peace?” Cerino asked.
“By my good faith,” Vinnie answered. “Would I ask for a meeting like this at a place of your choosing if I wasn’t serious? Furthermore, as another token of my desire to settle the matter, I’m willing to tell you where Jimmy Lanso, the fourth and final guy, is hiding out.”
“Really?” Cerino asked. For the first time in the conversation he was genuinely surprised. “And where might that be?”
“His cousin’s funeral parlor. Spoletto Funeral Home in Ozone Park.”
“I appreciate your openness in all of this,” Paul said. “But I have the feeling that there is more.”
“I have a favor to ask of you,” Vinnie said. “I want to ask you as a colleague to show some good faith to me. I want to ask you to spare Jimmy Lanso. He’s family. He’s a nephew of my wife’s sister’s husband. I’ll see to it that the punk is punished, but I’d like to ask you as a friend not to whack him.”
“I’ll certainly give it serious thought,” Paul said.
“Thank you,” Vinnie said. “After all, we are civilized people. Kids can make mistakes. You and I have had our differences, but we respect each other and understand our common interests. I’m sure that you will take all this into account.” Vinnie stood up.
“I’ll take everything into consideration,” Paul said.
Vinnie turned around and walked out of the restaurant.
Paul lifted his wineglass and took a sip. “Angelo,” he called over his shoulder. “Did Vinnie touch his wine?”
“No,” Angelo said.
“I didn’t think so,” Paul said. “And he calls himself civilized?”
“What about Jimmy Lanso?” Angelo asked.
“Kill him,” Cerino said. “Take me home, then do it.”
“What if it is a setup?” Angelo asked.
Paul took another sip of his wine. “I seriously doubt it,” he said. “Vinnie wouldn’t lie about family.”
Angelo did not like the situation at all. The idea of a funeral home gave him the creeps. Besides, he didn’t trust Vinnie Dominick to tell
the truth whether it was about family or business. In Angelo’s opinion there was a good chance this was a setup, despite Cerino’s thoughts to the contrary. And if it was a setup, it was going to be very dangerous to go breaking into the Spoletto Funeral Home. Angelo decided this was a good occasion to let Tony take the lead. And Tony was so eager, he’d no doubt be pleased. He’d been crying for a year that he was never able to do something on his own.
“So what’s your take?” Angelo asked once he and Tony were parked across the street from the funeral parlor. It was a rather large, white clapboard building with Greek columns supporting a small front porch.
“I think it’s perfect,” Tony said. His eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Don’t you feel it’s a little creepy?” Angelo asked.
“Nah,” Tony said. “My uncle’s cousin had a home. I even worked there for a summer when I needed a job for the parole board. The work is definitely not your usual nine to five, but for what we have in mind, I think it’s convenient. We whack him, they embalm him. It’s all done in-house.” Tony laughed.
“You get it?”
“Of course I get it,” Angelo snapped.
“Well, let’s do it,” Tony said. “I can see a light on in the back. Must be the embalming room. That must be where Lanso’s hiding out.”
“You say you worked in a funeral home?” Angelo asked as he scanned the neighborhood for signs of trouble.
“For about two months,” Tony said.
“Since you’re familiar with this kind of place maybe you should go in first.” He hoped it would sound as if the idea had just occurred to him. “Once you get Lanso cornered, you can flip the light on and off. Meanwhile I’ll hang out here and make sure it isn’t a setup.”
“Sounds great,” Tony said. With that, he was off.
* * *
Getting up from the cot, Jimmy Lanso stepped over to the tiny TV and turned down the sound. He thought he’d heard a noise again, just like he had the last couple of nights. He listened intently but he didn’t hear anything except his own heart thumping in his chest and a slight ringing in his ears from all the aspirin he’d been taking. Not having slept for sixty or so hours except short snatches, he was a nervous, exhausted wreck. He’d been hiding out in the funeral home ever since he and Bruno abandoned their pad in Woodside after Frankie didn’t return or call.
The last month had been a nightmare for Jimmy. Ever since the stupid acid episode, he’d been living in constant fear. Up until the dirty deed actually went down, he’d been convinced that his part in it would “make” his career. Instead, he seemed to have guaranteed his own death. The first terrible shock was Terry Manso’s getting killed trying to get into the car. And now he’d heard that both Frankie and Bruno had ended up floating in the East River. It couldn’t be long before they got him, too.
Jimmy’s only hope was that his uncle had talked to Vinnie Dominick, his brother-in-law by marriage, and Vinnie had promised to take care of things. But until Jimmy heard that everything was copacetic, he couldn’t relax, not for a second.
Jimmy heard a slight thump in the embalming room. It was not his imagination. With the TV turned down it had been as clear as day. He froze, wondering if he’d hear the sound again. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. When all remained quiet, he mustered the courage to check it out by stepping over to the door of the utility room he was using to hide out.
Opening the door as soundlessly as possible, Jimmy let his eyes slowly roam around the unilluminated embalming room. There was a series of high windows along one wall that allowed some light in from a streetlamp, but most of the room was lost in shadow.
Jimmy could see the two shrouded corpses that his cousin had embalmed that evening since they were on gurneys pushed against the wall opposite the windows. Their white sheets seemed to glow in the half-light. In the center of the room was the embalming table, but Jimmy could just make out its outline. Against the far wall was a large, glass-fronted cabinet that loomed out of the shadows. On the wall below the windows were several porcelain sinks.
With trembling fingers, Jimmy reached into the room and switched on the light. Immediately he saw the source of the noise. A large rat was on the embalming table. Disturbed in its foraging, it stared at Jimmy with angry, gleaming eyes. Then it leaped from the table and scampered to a grate in the floor and disappeared down a drain.
Jimmy felt disgusted and relieved at the same time. He hated rats, but he also hated hiding in a funeral home. The place gave him the willies and reminded him of all the horror comic books he’d read as a child. His imagination had conjured up all sorts of explanations for the noises he’d been hearing. So seeing a rat was far better than seeing one of the embalmed corpses stalking around the room like Tales From the Crypt.
Stepping out into the embalming room, Jimmy hurried over to a large metal box the size of a small trunk. Pushing it along the floor, he used it to cover the grate where the rat had disappeared. With that accomplished, he headed back toward his room. But he didn’t get far. He heard another slight thump through the door to the supply room.
Thinking the rat had surfaced in the supply room, Jimmy grabbed the broom that he’d been using on his clean-up chores. Planning on beating the crap out of the rat, he threw open the supply room door. He even took a step forward before he froze. Blood drained from his face. In front of him was an upright figure whose features were lost in shadow.
A muffled scream issued from between Jimmy’s lips as he staggered back. The broom slipped from his hands and fell to the tiled floor with a clatter. Jimmy’s wildest fears had become a reality. One of the corpses had come alive.
“Hi, Jimmy,” said the figure.
Panic could not overcome paralysis in Jimmy’s brain. He stood rooted to the floor as the figure in front of him stepped from the shadows of the supply room along with a cold breeze from an open window.
“You look a little pale,” Tony commented. He was holding his gun, but it was pointed toward the floor. “Maybe you’d better climb up on that old porcelain table and lie down.” Tony pointed with his free hand toward the embalming table.
“They made me do it,” Jimmy slobbered when he comprehended he was not dealing with a supernatural creature but rather a live human being obviously associated with Cerino’s organization.
“Yeah, sure,” Tony said in a falsely consoling tone of voice. “But get on the table just the same.”
As Jimmy stepped over to the embalming table with shaky legs, Tony walked over to the wall switch and turned the light on and off several times.
“On the table!” Tony commanded when he noticed that Jimmy was hesitating.
With some effort Jimmy got himself up on the table, sitting on the edge.
“Lie down!” Tony snapped. When Jimmy did so, Tony walked over and looked down on him. “Great place to hide out,” he said.
“It was all Manso’s idea,” Jimmy blurted out. His head was propped up on a black rubber block. “All I did was turn the lights off. I didn’t even know what was going down.”
“Everybody says it was Manso’s idea,” Tony complained. “Of course he’s the only one who didn’t make it from the scene. Too bad he’s not around to defend himself.”
A thump in the supply room heralded Angelo’s entrance. He came into the room warily, looking like a caged animal. He did not like the funeral home. “This place stinks,” he said.
“That’s formaldehyde,” Tony said. “You get used to it. You don’t even smell it after a while. Come over and meet Jimmy Lanso.”
Angelo walked over to the embalming table, eyeing Jimmy with contempt. “Such a little prick,” he said.
“It was Manso’s idea,” Jimmy insisted. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Who else was involved?” Angelo demanded. He wanted to be sure.
“Manso, DePasquale, and Marchese,” Jimmy said. “They made me go.”
“Nobody wants to take any responsibility,” Angelo said with disgust. “Jimmy
, I’m afraid you’ve got to go for a little ride.”
“No, please,” Jimmy begged.
Tony leaned over and whispered into Angelo’s ear. Angelo glanced over at the embalming equipment, then back down at Jimmy cowering on the embalming table.
“Sounds appropriate,” Angelo said with a nod. “Especially for such a gutless piece of dog turd.”
“Hold him down,” Tony said with glee. He darted over to the embalming equipment and turned on a pump. He watched the dials until sufficient suction was produced.
Then he wheeled the aspirator over to the table.
Jimmy observed these preparations with growing alarm. Having avoided watching any of the embalming procedures his cousin had performed, he had no idea what Tony was up to. Whatever it was, he was sure he wasn’t going to like it.
Angelo leaned across his chest and held his hands down. Without giving Jimmy a chance to guess what was happening, Tony plunged the knife-sharp embalming trocar into Jimmy’s abdomen and roughly rooted the tip around.
With a stifled scream Jimmy’s face seemed to pull inward as his cheeks went hollow and pale. The canister on the aspirator filled with blood, bits of tissue, and partially digested food.
Feeling queasy, Angelo let go of the boy and turned away. For a second Jimmy’s hands tried to grab the trocar from Tony, but they quickly went limp as the boy lapsed into unconsciousness.
“What do you think?” Tony asked as he stepped away to view his handiwork. “Pretty neat, huh? All I’d have to do is pump him full of embalming fluid with the embalming machine and he’d practically be ready for the grave.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Angelo said. He felt a little green. “Wipe off any prints from that machine.”
Five minutes later they retraced their steps and climbed back out the window. They’d considered using the door but decided against it in case it was wired.
Once in the car, Angelo began to relax. Cerino had been right. Dominick hadn’t been lying. It hadn’t been a setup. As he pulled away from the curb, Angelo felt a sense of accomplishment. “Well, that’s the end of the acid boys,” he said. “Now we have to get back to real work.”