I SAT IN THE corner of the room, hands cupped over my face, hiding tears. From who?
Whom?
How sick was this, to be correcting my own grammar after I just killed my best friend? I lit another smoke, punishing myself. It had been years since I quit, but I’d stopped on the way home and bought some. It felt like the thing to do. They tasted like shit, but I popped them in, one after the other.
“Goddamnit.” I punched the wall beside me for probably the fifteenth time. My knuckles bled, more than when the nuns used to beat me, but not as much as they should have bled. It should be me dead, not Tony. I was the one who broke the contract; he was just trying to do his job. Isn’t that how we lived our lives—give your word and stick to it?
I didn’t. I took a contract and reneged on it.
Of course, I reneged. It was Gina. When I thought of her, the tears really flowed. How can a man fuck up so much? All I ever wanted was to grow old with Angela, have kids, love her forever. First Angie was taken away from me, then Tito took Gina.
Yes, it was Tito who took her. He’s the one who should be lying there in a pool of blood.
I mustered the strength to stand. I threw the rest of the cigarettes in the trash, got a pen and paper and sat down to write a shopping list.
Drill, with 1/16 and 1/8th bits.
4” screws
Rope
Duct tape (it worked well last time)
55-gallon drum (x2)
Chain to support drum
What else? Ah, yes, I thought, and wrote it at the end of the list.
Railroad spike.
That, though, would have to be gathered.
MAZZETTI SAT ACROSS THE diner booth from Frankie, sipping his third cup of coffee. He set the cup down. “Donovan, I know you’re upset—probably pissed off, too—but we’ve got to get to work. Besides, if I drink any more coffee, I’ll piss my pants.”
“If this was Nicky, why did he call 9-1-1?”
“Christ, you’re a dumb dago. I told you—they fight. He shoots Tony, then feels sorry for his old buddy when he sees him dying, so he calls the bus.”
Frankie downed his cup, pulled out a ten and left it on the table. “Wouldn’t want to take that theory to court.”
“I got news for you. If we don’t get some evidence, we ain’t taking nothing to court.”
They climbed in Frankie’s car and headed toward the station. “You got everybody going to Tito’s?”
“All of them,” Mazzetti said. “Harding called too. Said he’d have eight guys all day and six tonight.”
Frankie nodded. “We’ll get him this time.”
They drove halfway to the surveillance site without talking, and then Mazzetti started up a story. “I ever tell you about the rat in my apartment? Three years I tried getting rid of that bastard, but he outsmarted me every time.”
“You trying to cheer me up?”
“You’re supposed to ask what happened.”
“Okay.”
“Nothing happened. That rat proved to be smarter than me, so he’s still there. But he doesn’t eat much, and the mess he makes is small.”
“Are you telling me you got a rat in your house?”
Mazzetti shook his head. “Dumb dago. You got a rat in your house, and we might never catch him. Get used to it.”
“I’d rather ride in quiet.”
It took about fifteen minutes to get to Tito’s. Frankie parked on the next block. He and Mazzetti walked to the spot above the deli, manned by Maddox.
“Anything?” Frankie asked when he saw him.
“Nothing, Detective. Quiet as any other day.”
“So was yesterday, and then Tony was taken.”
“Yes, sir. I know.”
Frankie looked around, too nervous to contribute much. “Tito gone yet?”
“Left about an hour ago. I think he shifts his departures so he doesn’t have a routine.”
“Good. That helps.” Frankie checked the street, then headed for the door. “I’m going for a walk, Lou. Make sure we have coverage front and back, will you?”
“Bet your ass.”
“You can be assured, sir,” Maddox chimed in.
“Thanks, Maddox. I appreciate it.”
“Sir?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry about Mr. Sannullo. I know he was a friend.”
Frankie patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks again. See you later.”
CHAPTER 71
A LONG WAIT
Current Day
I decided to go for Tito quickly, though I still had some things to get ready. The shopping was done, had even gotten the railroad spike—a good, old rusty one I found loose by the tracks. And the house was ready too. All I needed was my accomplice. Anyone would do, even a homeless person. Someone like that would be even better; the less chance of recognition, the better I liked it.
By about ten that night, I had the details worked out. Within two hours, I found someone willing to do what I wanted for a couple of hundred bucks and return cab fare. I waited until 1:00 AM, then hailed a cab. I gave Tito’s address. As we drove, I explained to my accomplice what would happen, and then I paid him in advance. I ducked as we got to Tito’s street, reminding him to stop near the end of the block, after he passed Tito’s house.
“Are there cars parked at the curb?” I asked the cabbie.
“All the way up and down,” he said.
“Stop just before the end of the street,” I said, then waited.
When the cab came to a stop, my decoy opened the door and stepped out. I slipped out with him and rolled under the car by the curb, keeping close to the sidewalk so they couldn’t see me from the surveillance windows. Besides, they would be focused on the cab and the guy getting out. I lay still, watching as he walked down the street and turned the corner to the right. The plan was for him to walk two blocks. The cab would circle around and pick him up. I don’t know what activity this spurred in the rooms where they were stationed, but I’m certain it generated a lot of conversation and concern.
I waited for at least an hour, then, inch by inch, I crept up the hill toward Tito’s house. I wore black clothes and kept my face turned toward the sidewalk, away from their cameras. After much misery I made it to Tito’s car and positioned myself right underneath it. If someone bent down, they could have seen me, but people seldom look under cars. Now all I had to do was wait.
As I lay there, I thought about how my life was about to change. Again. When I finished with Tito, I planned to leave the city, find a place where I could settle in and be happy. Maybe find…someone. I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts. I had to focus or I wouldn’t live to find that someone.
After a few more hours, the front door to Tito’s house opened. It was early in the morning. Six-thirty, maybe seven. Footsteps came down the walk, then around to the driver’s side. That would be Manny.
He unlocked the car, got in and started it, then beeped for Tito, a signal that all was okay. It was difficult to stay focused with the car running, but I concentrated on Tito and the men coming to the car with him. If he did his normal routine, he’d get in, and his men would shut the door behind him. That gave me about a ten-second window. I drew my gun, waiting. The footsteps drew closer. I saw Tito’s brown Ferragamo shoes on the sidewalk.
When the door opened, I rolled out, jumped up, opened the door and got inside, pointing the gun at Tito’s head. “Don’t try anything,” I said, then, “Manny, lock the doors.”
The guys outside drew their guns, but mine was pointed at Tito; besides, now that the doors were locked it was done with. The windows were bullet-proof. “Move, Manny. Now.”
“Where to?” Manny asked. He kept his head straight ahead, but his eyes darted back and forth to the mirror.
“Just move.” I drew my second gun, the one I’d used on Muck.
“You’re dead!” Tito screamed, and when he did, I popped him with a tranquilizer dart.
“What the fuck?”
Manny said. “You kill him, Nicky?”
“Just put him out. Take the first right. Be quick. If you try anything, you’re dead. If we get caught, you’re dead.”
“We’re not getting caught. I been doing this too long.”
“I know that.”
Manny pulled out with some speed, but not screeching-tires type speed. I looked at the obvious FBI car on the corner. It showed no signs of moving.
“Take a right at the second corner, then a quick left.” I checked behind us a few times. I think we took them by surprise.
After half a dozen blocks, I had Manny take another right and an immediate left, running a red light in the process. I watched closely. Nothing. No tails.
“Sorry what they did to Gina.”
I looked at Manny through the mirror. “You have anything to do with it?”
“Coordinating.”
“Give any orders?”
“Passed them along, but I told Tito to let Gina go. I knew the kid.”
“That true? About you being sorry?”
He nodded. “I liked her. She had balls.”
I laughed. Thought about how she would stand up to anyone. “Yeah, she did.” I was quiet for a minute. “I don’t want to kill you. Do I have to?”
“They won’t get a word out of me.” He stared at me through the mirror.
“You talk, and I’ll find you. It’ll be worse than Johnny Muck.”
Manny held up his right hand, as if swearing an oath. “I don’t even know you.”
“Okay, then. Do as I say, and you’ll be safe.”
I told Manny to go to Red Hook, where I had a car stashed. When I was convinced we had no tails, I had him pull over by an old warehouse by where I parked the car. “Give me your cell phone and your piece.” As he handed them over, I got out. “Keys, too. Now put Tito in my car.”
He handed me the keys, got Tito out, and set him in the back seat of my car. “That all, Nicky?” He said it with a pleading voice. He probably thought I was gonna pop him.
“Manny, look at me,” I said, and when he did, I stared him down hard. “I wasn’t fucking with you earlier. You say anything, and I’ll find you. Hear me?”
“You lettin’ me go?”
“I said I would.” As I opened the door to get in, I told him, “I’d bail out if I were you. But if you don’t, and if the other bosses get an idea to come after me, tell them I’m through with it. This was between me and Tito.”
“Hey, Nicky. Thanks.”
I nodded, got in the car and drove off. Valley Stream wasn’t far away, but when you had a body in the back seat, it was. I kept the tranquilizer gun handy in case I needed to pop Tito again, but if traffic wasn’t bad, I’d get there before he woke up. “Sleep well, Tito. I’ve got some nice surprises for you.”
CHAPTER 72
RULE NUMBER FIVE:
MURDER IS A PROMISE
Current Day
Frankie dialed Paulie’s number at home, got the answering machine, then dialed the cell. “Suit, call me if you get this. It’s Bugs.”
Mazzetti lit another smoke and turned up the radio. “Donovan, I say we let this guy get Tito. Then maybe he goes underground, and we don’t ever hear from him again.”
“You probably would do that.”
“I’d do it in a heartbeat. What did Tito Martelli ever do for this world but suck it dry?” He dragged hard on his cigarette then changed the radio station. “I wouldn’t tell you if we were sitting next to this rat guy at the light.”
“When are you retiring?” Frankie asked.
“Not soon enough.”
“Be better for the NYPD if you did. They ought to do one of those forced retirement deals and get you off the streets.”
“You’re the one who said it, Donovan. Tito killed the guy’s wife. As far as I’m concerned, fuck Tito. This is revenge, pure and simple.”
“The Feds are in on it now, and they want Tito alive.”
“Fuck them, too.”
“So I guess I’m alone on this one, huh, Lou?”
“I got your back in a jam, but don’t go finding trouble. Let’s go about our business and see if it finds us.”
“Lou, this guy might be after me. He already killed Tony—his best friend. Maybe Paulie.”
Mazzetti shook his head. “Don’t think so. Can’t see it.”
“We’ll see what Manny has to say about it. They’ve got him at headquarters.”
FRANKIE LOOKED THROUGH THE one-way glass at Manny, sitting there for more than three hours now. He turned to Morreau. “He hasn’t lawyered up?”
“Never asked once. But he won’t say shit.”
“Let me try him.”
“It’s your case.”
Frankie went in and took a seat across from Manny. He extended his hand to shake. “I don’t think we ever met formally, but I’m—”
“Bugs Donovan. Yeah, I know.” Manny shook hands then clasped them in front of him again.
“What happened, Manny? Where’s Tito?”
“You really care, or is this just for the press?”
“I’m working a case. Whoever took Tito has killed six people so far. Maybe more.”
“Wish I could help, but I never got a look at him.”
“Never? Not when he jumped in your car? Or when you drove him all the way to Red Hook? Or when he took Tito with him into another car?”
Manny shook his head. “Kept behind me the whole time. Then he took my phone, my keys, and my licensed gun, and took off.”
“In what kind of car?”
Manny laughed. “You know, Bugs, I was never good at knowing cars. If it’s not a Caddie or a Lincoln, I don’t know what it is.”
A smile popped on Frankie’s face. “Me, neither. How about colors, though? You any good with colors? Was this car blue, green, white?”
Manny thought, his brow wrinkling. “You know, I don’t recall. I can’t believe it, but I don’t.”
“Yeah, that’s kinda what I thought you’d say.” Frankie stood and pushed his chair in. “I don’t have anything on you, so I guess you can go. I just hope this guy doesn’t come after you.”
Manny shook his hand, then whispered, “You better hope he doesn’t come after you.”
Yeah, no shit.
I TURNED THE CORNER to Johnny Muck’s street, backed into the driveway, got out and opened the garage door. I grabbed the wheelbarrow, sitting next to a tool chest, and took it outside, next to the car. When I was certain no one was watching, I opened the rear door and dragged Tito into the wheelbarrow, then covered him with a blanket.
I took him inside, then dragged him to the cellar, where I tied and gagged him. I went back out, drove the car to the mall parking lot, then walked back by a different route. This would give me two options—subway or driving. When I returned, Tito was still out. I stripped him and went to the kitchen. I got the drill, drill bits, screws, rope, tape, hammer, and the railroad spike, then went back downstairs and finished preparations. I had already spread my first bag of evidence when I set things up. It took me almost a whole day to get it all ready.
I tied Tito to the wooden table, hands and legs stretched out toward the corners. He was face down and naked. Twenty minutes later he was staring at me, wide-eyed as a scared rabbit. The gag prevented him from talking, and his hands and feet were bound, but he tried valiantly to break free. I thought about what to do first. The nails worked so well with Johnny Muck that I decided to try screws this time. I put on a coat and a plastic cover then grabbed the drill, attached the appropriate driver, and got one of the four-inch screws. Tito tried talking, banging the side of his head on the table. I ignored him and went to his feet, positioning a screw in the bottom so it would go through and fasten to the table. I pressed hard against the sole of his foot then squeezed the trigger.
Tito thrashed about, bouncing the table so hard that it was difficult to hold the drill steady. Twice it slipped and I had to restart. Blood swirled around and pieces of flesh flew from the
drill. Before I finished, Tito passed out.
While I waited for him to regain consciousness, I wondered what I had become. What kind of man could do something this vile? I had planned on doing this to both hands and feet, but I decided I would stop where I was. For fifteen more minutes I waited, admonishing myself for cruelty, but then, when he came to and looked at me with arrogant eyes, I wanted to hurt him again. Badly. I removed the tape and gag.
“I’m gonna kill you,.”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to kill anyone, Tito.”
He screamed again, cursing, threatening. I walked around while Tito continued. I spoke calmly in return. “You really shouldn’t have come after us, Tito. And worst of all, you should have finished the job. That was one of Johnny’s most important rules—finish the job.”
“Yeah, well I finished the job on that bitch of yours. She’s dead, and I hear she died on her back like the whore she was.”
That hit a nerve. A bad nerve. I’d almost made up my mind to be merciful, to just shoot him and get it over with—but now, now he was going to pay. I grabbed the hammer and spike, then walked to the table. I put the gag back in, taped his mouth and looked him in the eyes.
“Tito, remember when you asked me if anyone fucked me in prison? Nobody did, but I figured you must have been curious, so I thought I’d let you see what it feels like.”
I stuck the spike in his ass and shoved it in, hard. He screamed through the gag. I tapped the spike sideways. It still had some wiggle in it, so I hit it with the hammer, lightly. He bucked up and down as if he was fucking the table. “Don’t think you’re done, Tito. I was going to be nice, but you pissed me off. Your pain is just starting.”
I dragged the table back a few feet, positioning it under a fifty-five-gallon drum I had rigged up. It was suspended from a pulley, and it was filled with water, making it weigh almost five hundred pounds in all. Holding it in place was a rope draped over the I-beam, which was fastened to another fifty-five gallon drum, also filled with water. I made sure that the spike was dead square in the center of the drum, then I took the drill and inserted a 1/8” bit. I walked over to the drum on the ground and drilled a hole in the bottom part of it. Water trickled out.
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