Ultimate Betrayal

by Joseph Badal

Cataldo glowered at Peter. Everyone in the room waited tensely for his reaction.

  Finally, he cracked a terse smile.”All right, Mr. Hood. You want to help, that’s okay by me. You and your son and two of my men can take the second shift. That’s better, I think, than me kissing your ass.”

  Cyril laughed, seemingly out of pure relief.

  CHAPTER 42

  Manny Segal viewed his chosen profession in the same way another man might view his job as a banker or a merchant. It was just another way to make a living. A way to pay his expenses. Of course, the difference between Manny and most others was that his expenses were quite high.

  At 2 a.m., Segal blackened his face and left his car parked on a quiet residential street one block from the estate David Hood had entered earlier. He was dressed in all black: knit cap, pullover, a pair of pants gathered at the cuff, a fanny pack, and a pair of rubber-soled shoes. He crept along the stone walls that fronted the unlighted road. He stopped at a nine-foot-high wall, about thirty yards right of the estate’s entrance gate. He stayed away from the security camera that pointed at the gated entrance. About to launch a plastic grappling hook attached to a rope over the wall, a sudden noise alerted him to movement down at the gate. He dropped to the ground and pressed against the base of the wall. After a few seconds, he heard the gate open. Security lights mounted on stone pillars illuminated a vehicle that slowly pulled out to the end of the driveway. Manny recognized David Hood at the steering wheel. There was another person—an older man—in the front seat. Maybe Hood’s father, another of his targets.

  A voice from inside the gate shouted, “Say hello to Mr. Bartolucci for me, will ya?”

  The car sped off. After the gate had closed and the security lights switched off, Segal ran back to his own car. He knew the hospital surely wouldn’t be as well protected as was this estate. David and Peter Hood, and Gino Bartolucci in the same place at the same time—it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. Maybe Jennifer Ramsey would be there, as well. He reached into the back seat for a towel and rubbed the black grease from his face and neck. He removed the knit cap from his head and smoothed his hair.

  Segal used his cellphone to call St. Joseph’s Hospital.

  “Mr. Bartolucci’s room number please,” he said to the hospital’s switchboard operator.

  “Room 532, sir.”

  Manny snapped his fingers. Nothing to it, he thought.

  He reached the hospital at 3:10 a.m. There was an SUV with a man behind the wheel parked near the front entrance. The man eyeballed him as he drove past. Segal figured the man for one of Bartolucci’s men. He drove around to the rear of the building where he spied a loading dock. After he parked in the employees’ lot, he walked to the dock, climbed a set of stairs, and attempted to open the double doors there. Locked. He moved to an adjacent personnel door and saw it was card key-activated. Segal took a tool from his fanny pack and worked on the lock until it popped open.

  Inside, a dozen large, wheeled canvas baskets were piled high with laundry. Manny extracted a white smock from one of the baskets and put it on. The smock reached to his knees, partially hiding the sinister appearance of his black outfit.

  Dennis O’Neil was well beyond having gone stir crazy. He suspected Jennifer Ramsey was as stressed as he was, but was better at not showing it. They sat in the guest house den and shared ideas about how to take down Bishop. After an hour, they were both frustrated.

  “I’ve got to do something. I feel as useless as a screen door in a submarine.”

  “Let’s drive out to the hospital,” Ramsey said.

  “In what? We don’t have a car, and it’s the middle of the night. You want to call Cataldo and wake him up? Ask him to have one of his guys drive us?”

  Ramsey shrugged. “We could borrow one of his vehicles.”

  “You want to steal a car from a mobster?”

  “It wouldn’t be stealing. I said ‘borrow.’ ”

  “And how will you get the car past the gate guard?”

  Ramsey groaned. “Good point. Maybe Cyril could help.”

  O’Neil frowned at Ramsey. “He won’t be happy about you waking him up either.”

  She shrugged.

  O’Neil picked up the phone and called Cyril’s room. He answered after only one ring.

  “You think Ramsey and I could borrow a car?” he asked.

  “I’ll arrange it,” he said. “Do you know how to find the hospital?”

  “How did you know we were going to the hospital?”

  “That’s where I would go, sir, if I were in your situation.”

  “Amazing,” O’Neil said under his breath. He thought that as long as he was asking for favors, he might as well ask for a really big one. “What’s the possibility of borrowing a couple handguns?”

  “Detective Ramsey’s service pistol will be in the glove compartment of the car that will be in front of the guest house in ten minutes. There’ll be one there for you, too.”

  O’Neil hung up the phone and turned to Ramsey. “If that guy was a woman, I’d marry her.”

  The bell of a nearby church tolled once at half-past-three when O’Neil and Ramsey arrived at St. Joseph’s Hospital. O’Neil spotted a man in a large SUV outside the hospital entrance. Maybe one of Cataldo’s crew; maybe not. As they exited their vehicle—a black Lincoln Towncar—and walked toward the smoked-glass hospital entrance door, the guy in the SUV watched them like a hawk zeroes in on a mouse.

  John Spellina, a Cataldo crew member, watched the man and woman leave their vehicle and walk to the hospital entrance. He didn’t recognize them and immediately used his radio to call his partner, Tiny Santori, who was stationed in the hospital lobby. Twice, he tried to contact Tiny, with no success. “Dammit!” he cursed, tossed the radio on the passenger seat, and got out of the SUV.

  As he followed Ramsey through the hospital’s automatic entry doors, O’Neil saw out of the corner of his eye, the courtesy light illuminate in the SUV.

  There was no one at the reception counter, which was on the far left side of the empty lobby. A printed sign on the counter instructed visitors to proceed to the emergency room entrance on the south side of the building. A bank of elevators was behind the counter.

  “Get down behind the reception counter,” O’Neil told Ramsey. “We got company.”

  As Ramsey hustled to hide, O’Neil moved to the elevators, pressed the “UP” button, ran back to the reception counter, and crouched behind it with Ramsey. He heard the lobby doors open and sounds of footsteps on the marble floor. Then, around the side of the counter, he saw a stocky man in a black suit walk toward the elevators when a chime sounded there. The man reached inside his suit coat.

  O’Neil held up a hand and showed Ramsey three fingers on his left hand. He folded one finger at a time into the palm of his hand while he pulled out his pistol with his other hand. He and Ramsey stood and raced across the lobby.

  “Police!” O’Neil shouted. “Freeze!”

  The guy raised his hands over his head. O’Neil snatched a pistol from his right hand.

  “Turn around,” O’Neil ordered. “Who the hell are you?”

  The guy turned. “You got a badge?” he said.

  “Yeah, I got a badge. You’ll see it after you tell me your name and why you’re here.”

  The man glared at O’Neil for a few seconds, but finally broke it off and said, “My name’s John Spellina. My partner and I are here to keep an eye out for a patient here.”

  “That patient have a name?”

  “Yeah! Let’s see that badge first.”

  O’Neil pulled out his ID wallet and flashed his badge at the guy.

  Spellina hesitated, but finally said, “Gino Bartolucci.”

  “You work for Mr. Cataldo?”

  Again the guy hesitated, but then said, “Yeah; how’d you know?”

&
nbsp; “We’re staying at the Cataldo estate. Where’s your partner?”

  Spellina’s eyes widened. “Somewhere around here. He’s supposed to be watching the lobby and the first floor exits.”

  O’Neil had a clear view past Spellina of the now-open elevator. “Is that your partner in the elevator?”

  Spellina turned and exclaimed, “Shit!” He moved into the elevator car while Ramsey stuck her foot against the door. “Someone’s cut Tiny’s throat.”

  “Someone’s after Bartolucci,” Ramsey said. “We’ve got to get to his room. What floor’s he on?”

  “Five!” Spellina said.

  “Maybe you should cover the lobby,” O’Neil told Ramsey. He saw she didn’t like it, but she nodded her agreement. Someone needed to watch the hospital entrance.

  O’Neil stepped into the elevator, punched the “5” button, and watched the door slide shut. He handed Spellina’s pistol to him. “You might need this. I want you to guard the fifth floor elevator lobby. Stay there and call 9-1-1. Anyone who comes through the lobby, stop him.”

  O’Neil left Spellina outside the elevator on the fifth floor. He looked left and right and spotted a nursing station to the right and ran there.

  The nurse behind the desk appeared to be in her mid-50s. She looked tired, harassed, but competent. She reminded him of the Marine drill sergeant he’d had in boot camp.

  “Ma’am,” O’Neil said, “I’m looking for Gino Bartolucci’s room. It’s a matter of life and death.”

  “I’ve heard every form of BS over the last thirty years, but that one takes the cake. It’s past visiting hours, so you need to get out of here and let our patients rest.”

  O’Neil flashed his badge. “This isn’t bullshit. There’s a dead guy in the elevator. Someone slashed his throat. I want to know Mr. Bartolucci’s room number NOW!”

  She pointed back to the right and squeaked, “Room 532.”

  O’Neil reached the end of the corridor. A sign on a corner of the wall showed rooms 500-550 were to the right.

  Manny Segal marched toward an elderly man seated in a chair outside a closed door. The man looked up at him as he approached. Segal saw the room number behind the old man: 532.

  “So,” Segal said, “how’s Mr. Bartolucci?”

  The man rose from his chair. “He’s still asleep, Doctor.”

  “Well, I’ll try not to disturb him,” Segal said, as he stuck his hands into the pockets of his smock and wrapped his fingers around the handle of the knife in the right pocket.

  O’Neil reached the end of the second corridor. A sign on the far wall of the cross corridor had an arrow that pointed to the right with the numbers 526-550. He turned the corner and saw a little guy in a white smock standing a couple feet away from Peter Hood. The little guy pulled something from a pocket.

  O’Neil raised his pistol from where he held it beside his right leg and shouted, “Hey!” just as he spotted a knife in the little guy’s hand.

  The man with the knife spun around. O’Neil crouched, raised his pistol, and shouted, “Drop it!”

  At that moment, David Hood opened the door to the room behind the two men and stepped into the hall.

  O’Neil shouted, “Get out of there! Now!” But David charged the guy, grabbed his knife-arm with both hands, and smashed it down against his own raised right thigh. The knife clattered to the floor. The little guy twisted his arm free and squared off with David. He stepped forward, just as Peter kicked him in the back of his knee. Then David landed several punches to the man’s face and midsection, kicked him in the balls, and smashed a fist into the side of his head.

  O’Neil ran forward to help, but all that was left for him to do was pick up the knife and search the unconscious man. He frisked the guy and found a garrote in a smock pocket and a Glock 9mm pistol in a shoulder rig.

  O’Neil eyed David and Peter. “Good job. How’s Gino?”

  David said, “Sleeping. He seems to—”

  Just then a nurse came around the corner. “What are you people doing here?” she rasped. Before anyone could answer her, she apparently noticed the knife and gun O’Neil held and the unconscious man on the floor. She gasped, “Oh my Lord!” She wheeled around and ran back down the hall, just as John Spellina turned into the corridor.

  David looked at Spellina. “John, where’s Tiny?”

  He pointed at the unconscious man in the white smock. “I think that guy killed Tiny. Cut his throat. He’s back in the elevator.”

  “We have to get this guy out of here,” David said. He turned to O’Neil. “Have you got a car?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay! Help John carry this guy out to your car. Take him out to the Cataldo place.”

  David took a roll of surgical tape from a medical cart in the hall and tossed it to Spellina who taped the assassin’s hands, feet, and mouth, and then hoisted the man onto his shoulder.

  Just as Spellina walked away, O’Neil heard the wail of sirens. “When the police get here, don’t tell them a thing about Tiny or the little guy. Just say you chased off some guy who you saw in the hall. Tell them you have no idea what the nurse saw.”

  “Why?” David asked.

  “You tell the police an assassin murdered Tiny and tried to kill Gino, and you’ll be tied up for days in interrogation and the police will invade the Cataldo estate.”

  CHAPTER 43

  After two of Cataldo’s men replaced David and Peter at the hospital, the Hoods returned to the estate. They found their host in the library in conference with Detectives O’Neil and Ramsey, Paulie Rizzo, and two other men, introduced only as Vince and Sylvio.

  Cataldo shook David and Peter’s hands. “You guys did good,” he said. He smiled at Peter as though he remembered Peter’s earlier comment. “Paulie’s got something to tell you.” Cataldo nodded at Paulie.

  Paulie tapped a side pocket in his jacket and said, “I’ve got Don Bartolucci’s cellphone. He got a call from a Philly cop who’s on his payroll. Said the S.W.A.T. team that attacked the Chestnut Hill estate found a note addressed to Rolf Bishop taped to a door there.”

  “I saw Gino tape something to the basement door,” David said, “but I didn’t see what was on it.”

  “I’ll get to that in a minute,” Paulie said. “But get this. A DEA guy named Morton came to Philadelphia and met with the mayor, the police commissioner, and the S.W.A.T. commander. Morton claimed one of their undercover agents had infiltrated Bartolucci’s organization, had been compromised, and was Bartolucci’s captive. Morton also said there was an enormous amount of heroin on the estate. It was the dope that got the mayor and the police commissioner excited. They had visions of juicy, vote-getting headlines.”

  “That old man in the cardiac wing at St. Joseph’s has never gone near the drug business,” Cataldo said, disgusted. “That’s one of the reasons he walked away from the . . . his position. He wanted nothing to do with drugs and he realized there was too much money in narcotics for the business to be ignored.” Cataldo stood and waved at Vince and Sylvio. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “The police did find heroin stacked on a table in Bartolucci’s house,” Paulie said, after Cataldo and his two men left the room. “But they didn’t find any DEA undercover agent.”

  “You said this DEA guy told the police there was an ‘enormous amount’ of dope at the Bartolucci estate,” Dennis O’Neil said to Paulie. “Did he say how much?”

  “He said ‘enough to fill a panel truck.’ That would mean about six, seven thousand kilos. Maybe 15,000 pounds.”

  “And how much did they find?” O’Neil asked.

  “Hell, a lot less than that,” Paulie answered. “About 200 pounds.”

  “We ran right through the dining room on our way to the basement,” O’Neil said. “There wasn’t a damn thing on that table.”

  “Anyone check on
this DEA guy. Morton?” Ramsey asked.

  “Yeah,” Paulie said. “Our guy on the Philly police said the S.W.A.T. commander called Morton at DEA headquarters and was told he’d retired. Left instructions where he wanted his retirement checks deposited, but left no forwarding address or contact information.”

  Peter said, “What was in the note the police found?”

  Paulie smiled. “The note read ‘When you play ball with the wrong people, you get the bat shoved up your ass. Bend over, Rolfie Baby, your time has come.’ ”

  For a few seconds, no one said a word. Then Jennifer Ramsey laughed. In a few seconds, they all joined in. They had just begun to quiet down when Peter said, “That Gino! That old man’s got rhinoceros balls.”

  Ramsey asked, “What the hell is going on? Why a DEA connection?”

  “I don’t think there’s a DEA connection,” David said. “I’d bet anything Morton was a rogue agent on Bishop’s payroll.”

  Ten minutes later, Cataldo came back into the room. “Well, people,” he said, “we just had a conversation with the little guy from the hospital. He became really quite cooperative after Vinny had a talk with him. His name is Manny Segal. But his professional name is Paladin. He’s an artist at what he does—he kills people. I’ve heard about this guy for years but I never met him before. Actually, no one I know has ever met him before. And get this, Rolf Bishop agreed to pay the bastard two hundred thousand dollars up front, with a promise of another two hundred thousand when he killed Gino, David, Peter, and Detective Ramsey.”

  “Hell,” O’Neil said, “there are at least ten million people in this country alone who’d kill someone for way less than that.” He laughed, but no one joined in.

  David paced and said, “Why would Detective Ramsey be on Bishop’s hit list. How would Bishop even know she was here?”