“Thanks, doc.”
“Like I said, you were very lucky.”
“Yeah, lucky,” Sudden said.
CHAPTER 20 – THE DEER HUNTER
“If we had known that Longstreet was behind the Boudreau conviction, we would have told you. I hope you believe that.”
It was two days later. After much groveling and a couple of Junior’s cheesecakes for the nurses, Buss had secured Dr. Cusamano’s permission to come and go as he pleased.
“I know that, Nigel,” Sudden said. His voice was back to normal. “How did you find out?”
Buss ran his hand through his almost nonexistent hair.
“Luck, really. After you were shot, we did a full-court press. I called in a lot of favors from people in the agency who depend on our information. I wish I could say it was because they have a high regard for you, or even me for that matter. But the truth is they were worried we had been compromised. Believe me, most of them were rooting for a jealous lover as the sniper. Anyway, working on the assumption the shooter was from out of town, they pulled surveillance videos from every airport within 200 miles of Southport. Got a hit and they didn’t even have to use face recognition. Someone in the F.B.I. recognized a shooter he knew walking through the terminal in New Haven. He’s a top-drawer hit man on loan to the Boudreau family from the Vegas mob. That’s too much of a coincidence.”
“The F.B.I. was involved?”
“Yeah. Funny, that. Someone in the C.I.A. asked a favor from a friend in the bureau. The C.I.A. guy didn’t know that we stole one of the wit-prot lists from the Bureau, which, of course, is how we got involved with Boudreau in the first place. The world goes round and round.”
“What’s the shooter’s name?”
Buss noted the change in Sudden’s tone.
“Vincent Vocce, originally out of Detroit.
“Vincent Vocce? Vinnie Vocce. You’ve got to be kidding. Sounds like something Julius Caesar would say.”
“I never would figure you for a Latin scholar, Cole.”
“The benefits of a Jesuit education.”
And long literary talks with Sylvia in bed, Sudden recalled bitterly.
“It gets better,” Buss said. “His middle name is Vito.”
“Vinny Vito Vocce? No wonder he’s a hit man. He probably started out by killing his parents for sticking him with that name. Where is he now?”
“Back in New Orleans.”
“Did the shooting make the press?”
“Yes. Big splash locally. Sadly, people in this part of Connecticut have been traumatized. It’s not that far from that school shooting. And the Manhattan papers and stations picked up on it because Sylvia Beech was fairly well known in her neighborhood. But things have quieted down since we put out the deer scenario.”
“The what?”
“Deer. Apparently you have a lot of deer in Connecticut and they are quite a nuisance.”
“The locals call them farm rats. It’s not safe to drive a car.”
Sudden thought Buss looked embarrassed. Or as embarrassed as he ever got.
“Well, since you were shot with a high-powered rifle, we planted the idea that it was an accident. You know, some over-zealous homeowner with some tomato plants to protect took matters into his own hand and took a shot at a deer in the woods and you just got in the way of a stray bullet. God knows it happens.”
Sudden recalled seeing stories in the local press about deer being found with arrows in them.
“And people are buying that?”
Buss smiled.
“A few deer carcasses with bullet holes have shown up in your neighborhood. I shot a couple of them myself. They are so used to humans they don’t even run away. Of course, they might be a little skittish now.”
A town cop stuck his head in the door.
“Excuse me, Mr. Buss. The desk called up. There’s a woman who wants to see the patient.”
Buss looked at Sudden.
“Might be Cristina, my book agent,” Sudden said. “She called.”
“I’ll go check.”
“Nigel.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t do anything about Vocce, or Boudreau. I’ll take care of it.”
Buss had seen that coming. He didn’t like it, but knew there was little he could do about it. Nothing was going to change Sudden’s mind.
“Sure, Cole. But only on the condition you are fully recovered. You’re in no shape to go up against them now.”
“Deal.”
***
When Buss returned, he had a woman in tow, and it wasn’t Cristina Parker. For a second, Sudden thought he was hallucinating.
“Cole, this is Allison Beech, Sylvia’s sister.”
Sudden gathered himself. The resemblance was startling. Allison Beech was a little taller, but had the same dark eyes and sensuous mouth as her older sister. Sylvia had once shown him a family photo and he’d even commented on how much they looked alike, despite the nine-year age difference. But seeing the sister in the flesh was disconcerting.
“I’m terribly sorry about your loss,” Sudden said as she walked over to his hospital bed. “And about missing the funeral.”
“I understand,” she answered. “It’s your loss, too.”
There was an awkward moment while they looked at each other.
“How are you and your parents doing?”
“We’re all still in shock. My father is taking it the hardest. They’ve gone back to Michigan while I take care of things here. There’s the bookstore and apartment, and a lot of other things one never thinks about. They want to sell the store, but, I don’t know. Sylvia loved it so.” Her voice cracked, but just for a second. “But I have time. How are you feeling?”
“Better every day. I should be out of here soon.”
“Do you feel up for a few questions?”
Buss cleared his throat.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do. Nice meeting you Ms. Beech, although I wish it could have been under different circumstances. Cole, I’ll be back later.”
After he left, Allison said, “My sister was in love with you.”
Sudden didn’t know what to say. Had he been in love with Sylvia? It was a question he’d been asking himself since her death. No, he decided, but he was falling in love with her. Maybe that’s the same thing. He started to say something when Allison put up her hand.
“I didn’t come here to find out what your feelings for her were. That’s all in the past and it would serve no purpose. What I want to know is why she was killed. She didn’t have an enemy in the world. Who wanted to shoot you?”
Sudden could tell by the tone of her voice that she was not a woman who could easily be fooled. Sylvia had told him that her baby sister was both highly intelligent and practical beyond her years. He wondered what she suspected.
“The police think it might have been an accident,” he said carefully. “A deer hunter. Apparently there have been some incidents.”
She stared at him and then smiled grimly.
“Yes, that would explain why it was so hard to get in to see you and why James Bond met me downstairs. And, of course, the guard outside your door. Do they think the fucking deer hunter wants to finish you off?”
Sudden couldn’t help it. It was exactly what Sylvia would have said. He laughed.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Sylvia told me you were a pistol as a kid. I guess nothing has changed.”
“That’s all right,” she said. “I just want the truth. You’re not a gangster or anything. Sylvia suspected that you were more than a writer. I think you’re probably some type of Government agent or cop and my sister was just an innocent bystander. I think you owe an explanation to us.”
It was the first time someone had seen through his cover and Sudden was shocked.
“What did she tell you?”
“Nothing specific. But you had nightmares. You talked in your sleep.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Allis
on Beech put a hand on Sudden’s arm.
“I don’t care who you really are, Cole, and I’m not judging you. I told you that Sylvia loved you. I just don’t want her death to be for nothing. She was special. Tell me that you are going to do something about it. I don’t have much confidence in the local police. We both know there was no deer hunter.”
Sudden tapped the side of his bed. She sat down.
“Allison,” he said quietly, “the first thing you should know is that you are right. It wasn’t an accident. I was the target because of my job. My boss made up the deer cover story. Personally, I think he looks more like George Smiley than James Bond, but his heart is in the right place. He didn’t have much time, so he winged it. The second thing you should know is that I’m not really a nice guy. None of us are. We take this sort of thing personally. The people who killed Sylvia will find that out very soon. But you probably won’t read about it in the paper.”
There was a tick of something in Allison Beech’s eyes – dread, maybe horror – at the abrupt and icy change in his demeanor, but she quickly recovered.
“I will want to know.”
“You will. I promise.”
CHAPTER 21 – BINGO
Vocce had been right. Boudreau had literally gone berserk when he saw the video of Longstreet and the hooker on the balcony. The mob boss had just replayed it again and it was as if he was seeing it for the first time. He began to run around the Presidential Suite of the Ritz-Carlton in New Orleans, picking objects off tables and smashing them against the walls.
“Call the airport. Get me on a plane to Florida. I’ll cut his fuckin’ dick off and shove it up his ass. I’ll feed him to the sharks and the alligators, whatever is handy.”
Only after sending the video did Vocce realize that he had made a mistake, one that he now desperately wanted to mitigate. On the flight back to New Orleans he’d begun to have second thoughts, which were confirmed by some later research he’d done on Florida real estate. Longstreet was a sleazebag and would eventually have to be put down, but he was also a sharp cookie sitting on a waterfront gold mine.
Vocce knew he would have to handle the situation delicately. Boudreau’s reaction was predictable. He had no problem with the Fat Man’s desire to kill Longstreet. He had ample cause. But a plan was already forming in Vocce’s mind, a plan that could mean a lot of money for everyone concerned, himself included. That meant talking sense to Boudreau, a daunting prospect in the best of times.
The mobster finally ran out of steam and plopped on the couch next to Vocce in the living room while some of his men picked up the broken glass and china. The Presidential was the hotel’s biggest suite and now served as Boudreau’s temporary residence while his mansion was drying out after the latest tropical storm. It was still a mystery to the Toothpick why anyone wanted to live in a hurricane zone below sea level. The food in New Orleans was just OK in his book. He didn’t know why people made such a big deal about it. He’d take Vegas any day.
The doors to the terrace were open and even though they were 12 stories up Vocce wondered if tourists in the nearby French quarter had heard the madman. He was relieved when a bevy of waiters brought in several food carts and set up a buffet. If anything could take Boudreau’s mind off murder, if only temporarily, it was food. From the look of the spread, every crab, crawfish and oyster in Louisiana had been sacrificed to feed the Boudreau crew, nine of whom were in the suite, which, given their average girth, looked a lot smaller than its 3,000 square feet. The waiters were hardly out the door when Boudreau’s men started to pile food on their plates. Vocce and Fats stayed seated.
“Lucien,” Boudreau shouted, “fix me a plate before you fill your face. And bring me a vodka.”
Lucien did what he was told and a few minutes later set up a tray table in front of his boss. Then he put a tray with a mountain of food on the tray. Boudreau looked at the plate.
“Someone tell you I’m on a fuckin’ diet?”
“Sorry, boss. Want me to get you some more?”
“Never mind. Just don’t go far. And get me my drink. Lots of ice.” Boudreau looked at Vocce. “Ain’t you hungry?”
“I think I’ll wait. It looks like feeding time at the zoo over there. I get too close to that table, I might get eaten.”
“Yeah. You just might, Toothpick. You look like a goddamn cancer patient.”
Vocce went over to the bar and poured himself a scotch.
“You may not want to be too hasty,” he said, sitting down. “I don’t think you should kill Longstreet. At least right away.”
Boudreau started sputtering, with bits of mollusk dripping down his multiple chins. Vocce held up his hand.
“Hear me out,” Vocce said. “I think you may have a chance to get some of your money back if you think things through. Wasn’t that the idea? What’s the big rush? You can always kill him later. You’ll have time to plan how you want to do it.”
Boudreau calmed down a bit, as he always did when thinking about his two favorite things: money and ways to kill people.
“OK, Toothpick. What’s the play?”
Vocce explained that Longstreet not only lived in the building where he was located, he owned it and was developing it into a luxury residence, perhaps the finest in Bonita Springs.
“Where the fuck is Bonita Springs?” Boudreau said, spraying more bits of crustacean on the table in front of him. “That where the glass-bottom boats are? My old man took me there when I was a kid. Saw them big walrus things.”
“They are called manatees, boss,” Lucien said, putting down Boudreau’s vodka. “They are very gentle.”
Both Boudreau and Vocce stared at him.
“They look like your fuckin’ sister,” Boudreau said, downing the drink in one gulp. “And they move faster than you do. I asked for this drink five minutes ago.”
“Sorry, boss.”
“Forget it. Just get me another. And Lucien.”
“Yeah, boss.”
“Stop watching the National Geographic Channel.”
“Ok, boss.”
“Your father probably took you to Silver Springs,” Vocce said calmly. “Bonita Springs is a resort community just north of Naples. Upscale. Been a little depressed since the housing bust, but the word from my people in Vegas is that it’s coming back. Some real bargains, and Longstreet apparently got one of then, a half-finished building that went under. He’s fixed it up and I hear he’s already sold a third of the apartments. Cheapest one goes for about 600 large. Biggest, maybe two mil.”
“So?”
“So, he did it with your money, basically. He’s probably not all that liquid anymore. You want your money back, you’ve got to get your hands on that building.”
“I don’t like real estate. Mortgage bankers make me look like Mary Poppins. What’s so special about Bonita Springs?”
“The fact that it’s so close to Naples. That’s the third priciest zip code in the country. A Who’s Who of American industry lives there part time. When their jets fly in during the season it looks like D-Day.”
“How do you know all this shit?”
“Guys in Vegas had me do some collecting there after the Enron, Madoff and Stanford busts. Some people thought they could welch on their gambling debts because they had suffered financial reverses. It was unpleasant work, but I made some contacts, the ones who helped me with Longstreet.”
Boudreau stopped eating and pointed a crab claw at Vocce.
“So how do I get my hands on this property?”
“Longstreet doesn’t know that you’re on to him. We show up there and prove that not only was he easy to find, but there is no place anyone can hide from us. After all, we got to Tucci in witness protection. If he hasn’t heard, we’ll brag about it.”
“But we didn’t get Tucci. The other guy did.”
Vocce took a deep breath. All the cholesterol from the shellfish was obviously clogging Boudreau’s brain.
“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that,�
� he said patiently. “He’ll be so worried that you will figure out what really happened he’ll do anything you ask.”
A look of comprehension spread slowly across Boudreau’s massive face.
“Like sign over the building,” he said.
“Bingo,” Vocce said wearily, thinking that explaining anything to the New Orleans thug was like pulling teeth. “You may not get all your dough back, but a lot of it. And if I’m right about the market, you might even make a killing if you hold onto the property a couple of years.” He smiled. “I might even have someone who’d like to manage the place.”
The mob boss caught the hint.
“You, Toothpick?”
“Why not? I know people down there. This other stuff is getting old. I’m due for a break.”
“I hate making a deal with the prick. He sent my old man away.”
“So, wait a few months and kill him after you get the building. They say revenge is a dish best supped cold.”
“What’s that mean?”
Vocce was rather surprised that Boudreau didn’t know the saying. After all, it was a food reference.
“Never mind.”
“What about the guy who did find Tucci? He gonna be a problem? You fucked up the hit. He’s still alive.”
Vocce didn’t like the criticism. But, in truth, it was deserved. He’d been sloppy. His contacts in New Haven who supplied him with the sniper rifle had given him the wrong rounds. The full-metal-jacket bullet went right through Sudden and killed the woman. That was unfortunate. He’d never even spotted her sitting on the wall behind the tree. Then the van full of kids pulled up. After that, with all the cops around, there was no way to get Sudden in the hospital. There was even a guard outside the hospital room. That level of security made Vocce wonder, but he didn’t mention it to Boudreau.
“It’s unlikely he can know you were behind it. Guys like that have a lot of enemies. Cops say it was a deer hunter. Even if he’s suspicious, I doubt he’d make the connection to you. The fact that I used a military round, even by mistake, works in our favor. He’s a pro, probably would figure a pro would use a dum-dum.”
TWO SUDDEN!: A Pair of Cole Sudden C.I.A. Thrillers Page 9