“OK,” said Vito, so the question is who’s going to get to whack him first?”
“It’s either gonna be the Lucheses or the Columbos,” Carlo said. “They both lost a bundle on the fight. Of course the Bonnanos and the Genoveses took a beating too, but not like the fighter Tony told us to bet on.”
“Whaddya you mean the families lost money?” Tony said, reaching into his pocket for his roll of Tums. “I just told you guyz to bet, I didn’t tell you to tell all da families back in New York to bet too.”
“I passed the word on,” Vito said.
“So did I,” Dominic said.
“Me too,” Benito said.
“You know we all gotta give our guys a taste,” Ricky said. “Now all of the five families are after you.”
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Tony said through a mouthful of Tums. “Most of you guyz can’t remember what you had for lunch, but this you get right.”
“I think Crazy Joey Gallo is gonna get whacked at Umberto’s Clam House,” Alfonzo Alzheimer’s said.
“That was over thirty years ago,” Vito said, shaking his head.
“I say we outta whack Tony right here and now,” said Eddie. “Beat the families to the punch; show the guys back home we old guys can still cut the mustard. Besides, I lost all my cruise money on that fight. I was looking forward to a trip to Nassau.”
“Yeah,” interjected Gianni. “My grandkids ain’t gonna get shit for their birthdays. Just lousy Walmart gift cards for a while. How is that gonna make me look with all the other grandpas?”
“I’m gonna be eating dinner in the middle of the afternoon until I die,” whined Eddie Early Bird.
“I may have to move out of the Palms,” Alfonzo said. “All I’m going to be able to afford is the Beachcomber. You know, the place with the sign that says ‘Luxury Rest Home, Funerals, Fine Wine and Fresh Bait?’”
Mickey picked up a butter knife from the platter of bagels on the table and brandished it at Tony. “Now I gotta win at Mahjong, and you know what that means, no old Jewish princess pupela for Mickey. And you know how testy I get when I don’t get laid regular. I say we make Tony here sleep with the alligators.”
“No, no,” Vito said. “We old guyz don’t do that no more … we’ll leave it to the families. They’ll send somebody down to do it right.”
On cue, the man in the shadows rose and stretched. He smoothed his silk black shirt into his chinos and cracked his knuckles loudly. “Sorry to interrupt your little meeting,” he said in a thick Brooklyn accent. “I’m called Frankie Fingers, and it ain’t ’cause I make finger sandwiches for no freakin’ bridge club. I break fingers. I’m looking for Tony Cajones.”
“You from New York?” Alfonzo said. “You must have been sent by Don Cesar; I heard he’s pretty pissed. He lost a bundle.”
“Don Cesar is a hotel you cooch,” Vito said, rolling his eyes. “You mean Don Casimaro of the Colombo family.”
“Never mind who sent me,” Frankie said. “Which one of you old geezers is Tony, or should I start calling you Lefty so’s you get used to the name?”
All eyes turned to an empty chair where Tony had been seated seconds before. “Hey, Tony sneaked out,” Alfonzo said.
Chapter Twenty
I’ll Castrate You With A Runcible Spoon
Hussey leapt from the car before it came to a full stop in the parking lot of the Santeria Hotel. Bounding up the steps to her room, she called over her shoulder to Jones and Bella; “I have to check on some things, I’ll meet you in the lounge.”
“Well, I need a drink,” Bella said.
“I’ll join you,” Jones said. “And I think I’m going to order lunch. We still don’t have any hard evidence on Cutter and Dee Dee, but I have a plan.”
Hussey stared in disbelief at the contents of both her doctor’s bag and her knapsack, spilled out in a multicolored jumble of vials and bottles on her bed. “Dee Dee,” she said as she started stuffing items back into both bags and searching through the pile of potions and powders for her Mambo powder. “Damn,” she said, “the Mambo powder is gone.” Taking a quick inventory, she also noticed her werewolf powder was missing as well as a vial of her Eros powder, the stuff she referred to as voodoo Viagra. The image of the kitty cat orgy flashed in her head. She knew Mama had stuffed a vial of Borko powder into her knapsack, but that was gone too.
If Dee Dee uses the Borko she’s going to make permanent zombies, Hussey thought, I have to stop her.
Tony Cajones sipped a beer and glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the bar door opening. As he watched, an olive-skinned man in a black silk shirt swaggered into the bar. His shirt was unbuttoned to mid-chest level and an array of gold chains swung across a forest of curly chest hair. Tony recognized the man from earlier at the Italian Club. “Mother Mary.” Tony choked on his beer and his Florida tan blanched to milky beige at the sight of the man scanning the room. “Cover for me,” Tony whispered to Roland, as he rolled off his stool ducked low and headed through the kitchen door.
Cutter looked up from slicing Blue-ringed octopus with a large kitchen knife, as a fat blur sprinted past him through the kitchen and disappeared through the outside door into the alley.
“I’m lookin’ for da guy dat yused to be called Tony Cajones,” Frankie Fingers told Roland as he approached the bar. “He’s an old fat guy, wid a big nose.”
“Yeah,” Roland said, “I know the guy, he comes in here sometimes, but I haven’t seen him in a while.” Roland looked sideways at the kitchen door still swinging from Tony’s hasty exit.
Frankie Fingers followed Roland’s gaze to the door, scowled at Roland, and slipped though the kitchen door in pursuit.
Tony hit the alley behind the Fugu Lounge at a full run, or in Tony’s case, a fast waddle. At the dock Tony stopped, breathing hard, not sure where to go. He couldn’t go home, they might have his condo staked out and he wasn’t safe on the street. Tony imagined mob muscle cruising up and down the street watching for him. His only escape was the bay.
He scanned the harbor and saw a huge, white yacht tied up to the moorings, the name Pale Sea Horseman stenciled on the stern of in gold leaf. The worn planks that made up the pier creaked under Tony’s weight as he trotted down toward the boat and slipped behind the mooring post. After a few minutes, when he didn’t see anyone on the deck, he cautiously crept up the gangway.
Slinking toward the pilot house, Tony noticed the figure of a man in a captain’s outfit standing by the big chrome wheel hunched over a stack of charts, his back to the gangway. Tony slipped past the distracted captain and disappeared through the hatch. He figured the lower deck might offer an empty cabin or a stateroom where he could stow away. When he reached the bottom of a brass, spiral staircase, Tony spied a large door at the far end of the hallway. He carefully opened the door a crack and peeked inside. As he gazed at the well-stocked bar, a wide grin spread over his face.
He stepped inside and sauntered up to the empty bar. “I’m as dry as a popcorn fart in the Atacama desert,” he said to himself as he slipped behind the bar, located the bar freezer, and reached for a frosty beer mug.
“Jones!” Roland said as Jones and Bella strolled into the bar. “How is Hussey? I’m working on getting a lawyer to get her out.”
“Not necessary,” Jones said, “she’s already out. I gave her a ride back from the station. She’s up in her room. She should be down in a minute. How about a drink?”
“Let me guess.” Roland smiled broadly “You’re on duty so you’ll have a beer?”
“Make it a Sazerac cocktail. I just quit the force. And I think I’ll have lunch too, he announced loud enough for Dee Dee to overhear from her position standing behind the sushi bar. Roland spotted an empty table in the far corner of the restaurant and motioned the couple towards it as he retrieved bottles of bitters, rye whiskey and absinthe from the shelf and began making Jones’s drink.
Four men, seated at a back table in the Fugu Lounge, stared intensely at Jones and Be
lla as they crossed the lounge to the empty table. Jones’s police instincts told him two things; one, they were looking for someone and two, they were trouble. Jones eyed the men up and down. He noticed the four men were dressed in assorted loud patterns of madras shorts, pastel polo shirts and deck shoes. They were trying too hard to look like tourists.
As Jones and Bella settled in at their table, the men began talking in low conspiratorial tones.
“Do you see her?” Famine said.
“I don’t think she’s here,” Death said. “Be patient.”
“What do we do when we find her?” Pestilence said.
“The usual … we try to buy her off, get that dog cure good and buried before someone figures out a way to use it on humans,” Death said.
“And if she refuses?” War said. “If the stuff works on humans, like it does on dogs, it could be worth a fortune and could cut drastically into our profits.”
“We do what we’ve always done.” Death smiled a toothy smile. “If she won’t sell us the rights to the formula, we liquidate her.”
“What about that cop sitting across the room?” War said.
The men went silent as Roland approached their table with another round of drinks. “Our yacht is tied up out on the dock,” Death said to Roland, “I didn’t see a harbor master’s office so I hope we are not violating any laws.”
“No,” Roland informed him. “It’s a public dock. How big is your boat?”
“Yacht,” Death corrected him. “A hundred footer.”
“Nice boat,” Roland said as he turned and headed back to the bar.
“We’ll get her out of the restaurant first, of course,” Death said, addressing War’s last concern, “then we’ll liquidate her.”
“Can we get a little business done while we’re waiting?” Pestilence said. “We might as well make use of the time.”
“Good idea. The next order of business is that president who’s pushed through universal health care,” Famine said. “We can’t let that be fully implemented.”
“I say we do what we usually do,” War joined in, “throw lots of money at the other party. That’ll put the players in our pocket and even if the candidate gets reelected, we make the powers in that party kill it.”
“And if that doesn’t work?” Pestilence said. “What’s plan B?”
“We handle it the same way our predecessors handled Jack Kennedy,” War said. “When Kennedy started messing with deregulating homeopathic drugs, our predecessors found a scapegoat and had him taken out.”
“I remember that,” Pestilence said. “Some voodoo lady gave Kennedy some natural remedy that cured his back problems and he started pushing to allow non-regulated medication onto the market. Our predecessors had no choice but to take him out.”
“Very expensive and very tricky,” War said shaking his head, “it cost all of our organizations lots of money to pull that off. Paying off Hoover alone cost us a mint.”
“Yeah,” Death said, an evil smile dancing on his face, “but we got even with Hoover in the end. My predecessor had Hoover’s personal doctor lace his blood pressure medicine with estrogen. I wonder how much of the pay-off money he blew on chiffon evening dresses and Italian pumps?”
All four men adopted Death’s malevolent smile. Basking in absolute power, they sipped their drinks and waited for Hussey to turn up.
“I see you already have drinks.” Dee Dee passed out menus to the Four Horsemen. “I’ll give you a few minutes to decide.”
“Just bring us four of the most expensive entrees on the menu,” Death said.
When Dee Dee moved on to the next table to take Jones’ and Bella’s order, Jones slid a small note across the table to her.
Dee Dee’s eyes grew wide as saucers as she read the note. She stuck her hand in her apron pocket and wrapped her fingers around the vial of Borko powder, wondering how to dispose of it.
“I think I’ll have the fugu today,” Jones said, ignoring Dee Dee’s reaction.
“I think I’ll pass,” Bella said.
Dee Dee scribbled his order on her waitress pad and walked trance-like to the sushi bar. She saw Cutter peering through a crack in the kitchen door and stepped over to him. “The cops know,” she whispered through the crack.
“What happened?” said Cutter. “Did that cop say something?”
Dee Dee placed the note in Cutter’s hand. “I know it was you,” he read aloud.
“Are they going to arrest us?” Cutter said.
“It’s one cop,” Dee Dee said, “and if he had any real proof he’d be arresting us right now. Hang tight, I’ll take care of it.” She smiled at him through the crack. I have to get rid of this voodoo powder, she thought.
Dee Dee had plates lined up at her sushi station for the four men dressed like tourists at the back table. She gazed around the room to make sure nobody was looking as she covertly retrieved the vial of Borko powder from her apron pocket and dumped the entire contents onto the slab of fugu she was cutting. She plated the orders for the four yachtsmen and brought the plates to their table.
As she strode back to the sushi table, a nattily dressed man approached her. Dee Dee discreetly dropped her hand holding the vial of Borko to her side.
“Do you remember me?” Winfrey Pinth Merrmian said as he approached. “I was in here a while back. I wrote a very complimentary review of your culinary skills in the Saint Petersburg Beach Times. The Snooty Foodie …?”
“Oh yeah,” Dee Dee said, as she opened her hand and let the vial drop into the trash can beside the sushi table. “Wasn’t there another man in here with you before?”
“Oh yes, my constant dinner companion,” Winfrey said, placing his hand over his heart, “may he rest in peace.”
“He died?” Dee Dee said.
“Unfortunately, yes. I’m afraid it may have been something he ate.”
“What happens to people after they leave here isn’t my problem,” Dee Dee said, waving a long sharp knife at the man. “If you’re thinking about suing me, forget it. I got no money for you to sue me out of.”
“No, no,” Winfrey said. “I’m not here to take your money. I’m here with a proposal to make us both extremely rich.”
Dee Dee plated the final fillets of Borko-laced fish to make up Jones’s order. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she headed for the table where Jones and Bella were sitting.
Dee Dee sat the plate of fugu in front of Jones and smiled. “Bon appetite,” she said as she turned back toward the sushi bar. Under her breath she said “More like rest in peace.”
“I believe this little restaurant is ripe for a franchising opportunity,” said Winfrey, as Dee Dee returned to the sushi table. “I see Fugu Lounges all over the country. It could be the biggest thing since the Cracker Barrel.”
“I don’t own the place,” Dee Dee said. “You’ll have to talk to Roland, the guy over behind the bar, he’s the owner.”
“I have already spoken with him. He doesn’t share my enthusiasm for the project, but he said that you were the force behind this little restaurant motif and that if you wished to pursue this opportunity he would be most amenable.”
“What does that mean?” Dee Dee said.
“Simply that I would bankroll franchising this restaurant and you would be my full partner in the enterprise. We would start with other locations in Florida first, open a Fugu Two on the east coast, perhaps Miami or Boca Raton. I actually have my eye on a little place in West Palm that has recently come up for lease. Then we work our way up the east coast. Open Fugu Lounges in all the major cities, Daytona, Savannah, Atlanta, Charleston, Richmond, New York.”
”Let me think about it,” Dee Dee said.
Winfrey reached into his jacket pocket and produced two envelopes with a flourish. Dee Dee could see her name written on one, in a fine calligraphic hand. Roland’s name was written on the other. Winfrey selected the one marked Dee Dee and handed it over to her. “Something to consider while you are thinking,” he
said.
Dee Dee slipped her fingernail behind the flap of the envelope and ripped it open. She stood slack jawed, staring at a check for three hundred thousand dollars. Before she could fully absorb the amount written on the check, Jones waved her over and asked to pay his bill.
“But you haven’t touched your food,” Dee Dee said.
“I’d like a to-go box,” Jones said and winked at Dee Dee. “I think I’ll have this analyzed. See what the boys in the lab can find.”
Dee Dee heard a gagging noise from across the dining room and noticed the four men who had eaten the Borko-laden fugu were in the early throes of the zombie powder. They were twitching and moaning, noses running, eyes rolling back in their heads.
“Pssst,” Dee Dee heard Cutter whisper and saw him crook his finger at her through the kitchen door.
“What the hell is going on?” Cutter said. “Those guys by the window are acting like they got some voodoo powder.”
“I told you that cop is on to us,” Dee Dee said nervously. “So I had to dump the powder, I dumped it into the food. And the cop is going to have his analyzed. When he gets the results we’re both going to jail.”
“You dumped the powder in the food! You’ve created more zombies!” Through the crack in the door, Cutter watched the four touristy diners convulse.
With Dee Dee distracted, whispering through the kitchen door to Cutter, Jones slipped over to the sushi table and dug the vial of Borko out of the trash. As he slipped the empty vial into his pocket, Hussey stormed through the door, scanning the room for Dee Dee and Cutter.
“Oh shit, more trouble,” Dee Dee said as she watched Hussey enter the bar, scouring the room with her eyes. Dee Dee ducked into the kitchen and joined Cutter peering from the crack in the door.
“Hussey, honey!” Roland said, moving around the bar toward her. He threw his arms around her and pulled her close. “Jones told me you got out! Are you OK? What happened?”
Hussey hugged him back and planted a distracted peck on his cheek. She looked over his shoulder, and continued checking the room. “I’ll explain later,” she said, as her gaze came to rest on two sets of eyes peeking out from the kitchen door, like a two-headed totem pole. “Right now I’m a woman on a mission.” She stepped around Roland and made for the kitchen door.
Homemade Sin Page 28