by Robin Cook
“Now that I have been fully open with you,” Hideki continued, “how about we get back to discussing tonight’s break-in?”
Before speaking, Louie silently questioned himself if there was anything else he wanted to know about the lab books and their backstory, but nothing came to mind. As up-front as Hideki had seemingly been, Louie was glad that there weren’t plans to kill him after all. Killing the two out-of-control enforcers would be enough.
As concisely as possible, Louie then went on to describe that night’s faux plans, including the pickup location and time, and the fact that the robbery was designed around a diversionary explosion to preoccupy the police, to be set off on Fifth Avenue, south of the break-in location, perhaps at the New York Public Library. When he was finished, he paused to give Hideki time for questions. He felt confident the plans sounded real.
“What if there are still police or general public around the iPS USA building after the explosion?”
Louie thought it was a good question, and gave it a bit of thought before responding. “If there are people or cops in the immediate surroundings, then we abort. We don’t do the break-in. We postpone it until another day. There’s to be no civilian casualties whatsoever if we can possibly avoid it. This is to be a clean break-in with no violence to others, except possibly to an inside security guard if there is one. Have your guys wear masks, gloves, and nondescript dark clothing, not white shirts and sunglasses.”
Louie looked at Hideki. There was a pause. Louie couldn’t believe Hideki didn’t have more questions. Hideki was clearly inexperienced at organizing such an event and was seemingly buying into the plan even though from Louie’s perspective it was, as he would say, nuts.
“If you have no questions for me,” Louie said finally, “I have one for you. When we spoke on the phone, you assured me that Satoshi’s death would be considered natural. How was the hit done?”
“I have been open with you as you requested about the lab books,” Hideki said. “But about this special technique, I can say nothing, as my oyabun has specifically ordered. We use it rarely, but it has always worked as designed.”
“Why did you use it on this occasion?”
“Specifically, we did not want the hit to appear as a hit.”
“I appreciate that you made the effort. If it is signed out as a natural death, it won’t cause the police to become agitated. That’s important to me, but why did you care?”
“Because of the Yamaguchi-gumi’s involvement. They had made a big effort to bring Satoshi over to America after they had helped iPS USA to acquire his lab books. If his death had been an obvious hit, we were fearful they might suspect us, the Aizukotetsu-kai, as the instigators. They are our rivals, and there has been tension between us because they stole the lab books from under our noses in our home city of Kyoto. In the past, such a situation could have resulted in violence. The problem is that they have grown too large. We would be overwhelmed even if we acted preemptively.”
“My God!” Louie exclaimed. “Such intrigue.”
“It is a time of change, I am afraid. The Yakuza used to be more respectful of tradition. The Yamaguchi-gumi are mere upstarts.”
After confirming that Susumu and Yoshiaki would be waiting outside the Barnes & Noble store in Union Square at eleven p.m., the three Yakuza left, all bowing before slipping out the door.
“Weird people,” Arthur said as soon as the sound of the outer door closing slipped back through the heavy draperies.
“This whole situation is weird,” Louie responded.
12
MARCH 25, 2010
THURSDAY, 3:10 p.m.
I don’t like this,” Carlo said. “I’ve never been in a morgue. How can people work in such a place day in and day out?”
“I think it’s kind of interesting,” Brennan said. He liked the forensics shows on television.
They had pulled into a no-parking zone on First Avenue at the southeastern corner of 30th Street. OCME was ahead of them on the northeast corner.
“It doesn’t bother you?” Carlo asked nervously. He was in the driver’s seat of his Denali, unconsciously gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.
Brennan shook his head. “Why? Come on, let’s get this over with. Maybe we should call this Vinnie Amendola and see if he’ll come out and meet us in a bar or something. Having worked here for so long, he undoubtedly knows the area.”
“I think Louie was pretty clear that he wanted you to talk to him face-to-face in the morgue.”
“He didn’t say specifically me,” Brennan said. “He said ‘we.’ And he didn’t say we had to talk to him in the morgue. But you’re in charge.” There were times that Carlo irritated him, especially with the fact that he was officially in charge when the two of them were on assignment, as they were at that moment. Brennan was not impressed with Carlo’s general intelligence and thought that his intelligence should trump Carlo’s seniority. Once he’d brought the issue up with Louie but had gotten reamed out for doing so, such that he’d never brought it up again. But the issue sat there in the back of his mind, like a mildly bothersome toothache.
“I am in charge,” Carlo acknowledged. “So here’s how we’re going to handle this. You are going in the morgue, make contact with the guy face-to-face, and tell him I want to talk to him wherever he wants, but I want to talk now.”
“And what are you going to do while I’m in the morgue?”
“Sit here and watch the car. It’s a no-parking zone. I don’t want to get a ticket. If I’m not here when you come out, I’ll be driving around the block.”
Brennan stared at Carlo for a beat, feeling Carlo was making him play gofer. “Suit yourself,” Brennan grumbled as he climbed from the SUV.
“I could use a beer, so suggest a bar.”
Brennan merely nodded before slamming the door harder than he needed to. He knew that it irked Carlo but didn’t care since the slacker was taking advantage of him. By the time Brennan crossed 30th Street, he’d forgotten his peevishness and was curious about what, if anything, he was going to see. When he entered the building’s foyer he recognized the reality that he probably wasn’t going to see much. All the doors into the interior of the building were tightly closed. In front of him was a pleasant-looking, grandmotherly African-American woman with sparkling eyes and a warm, accepting smile. She was sitting behind a U-shaped reception counter in a high swivel chair. According to a nameplate, her name was Marlene Wilson.
“Can I help you?” Marlene questioned, as if she was the concierge at a fine hotel.
“I’m looking for a Vinnie Amendola,” Brennan said, thrown off balance by Marlene’s pleasant appearance and demeanor. He’d prepared himself for something more intimidating or even gothic.
Marlene used an OCME directory before dialing, making several calls before she got Vinnie on the line. She then handed the phone to Brennan.
After making certain he was talking to the correct person, Brennan said he’d just come from talking with Paulie Cerino and wanted to convey a message.
“The real Paulie Cerino?” Vinnie questioned with a hesitant voice. It was, perhaps, the last person he suspected he’d be hearing from that day.
“The Paulie Cerino from Queens,” Brennan said. He knew that it was a name that used to strike terror in certain people, particularly deadbeats who had borrowed money or who had been unlucky at poker or picked the wrong horses or athletic teams.
“Is Paulie Cerino out of prison?” Vinnie questioned. Although Vinnie was not a gambler, he did not like to hear from Paulie Cerino.
“No, he is still in prison but expects an imminent parole. That’s why he sent me. Is it possible for you to come to the front reception area? We need to talk.”
“What are we going to talk about?” Vinnie said while frantically trying to figure out what to do. He intuitively knew that whoever this person was, he was not someone Vinnie should be associating with.
“Paulie has a few questions he wants me to ask.”
“Can’t he call me himself?” Vinnie questioned hesitantly. “I’ll give you my cell phone number.”
“Paulie has limited opportunity to call.”
“I see.”
“It’s just some simple questions,” Brennan explained.
“Okay, I’ll be up,” Vinnie said, and hung up.
“Are you family or just a friend of Vinnie’s?” Marlene asked, to make conversation. She’d heard Brennan’s side and wondered if something was amiss with talk about prison.
“Family,” Brennan said. “Very distant family.”
When Vinnie appeared, he purposefully took Brennan out of earshot of Marlene. The two men eyed each other. Although they were approximately the same age, any similarity ended there. Vinnie’s dark hair and olive complexion was a sharp contrast to Brennan’s transparent freckled skin and supposedly red hair, which was more a carrot orange.
After they introduced themselves, Vinnie said, “The last time Paulie sent a couple of his people to see me, it ended with me being forced to do something illegal, which got me in trouble, and I almost lost my job. I say this just to let you know I’m less than overjoyed to hear from Paulie Cerino.”
“We’re not going to try to get you to do anything,” Brennan promised. “As I said, we’re here just to ask you a few questions.”
“What do you mean ‘we’?”
“My partner is out in the car. We thought we could buy you a beer somewhere in the neighborhood.”
“Can’t do, not before I get off at four-thirty.”
“What a shame,” Brennan said sincerely. After Carlo had suggested a beer, Brennan had grown progressively fond of the idea.
“Well, nice meeting you.”
“Hold on!” Brennan blurted. “How about right here? I’ll call my buddy. We can sit here on the couch.”
Vinnie looked from Brennan to the couch to Marlene and back. He didn’t like the couch idea. In fact, he didn’t even like standing there in the foyer with the likes of Brennan, understanding that Brennan was most likely a member of the Vaccarro crime family, perhaps even one of their enforcers or hit men. When Vinnie was young, he and his friends were in awe of Brennan’s type, but that changed when one of Paulie Cerino’s guys had shot a guy outside the local candy store. Vinnie and his friends had been down the street in the ice-cream parlor when they’d heard, and had challenged one another to run down to catch a glimpse before the police arrived. When Vinnie saw the body lying in the street, blood and pink brain matter coming out, he’d gotten sick instantly as blood drained from the victim’s head. It had been one of those visual horrors of childhood that had been irrevocably stamped on Vinnie’s visual cortex. From then on, Vinnie felt nothing but fear for the gang lifestyle.
“Not here!” Vinnie said, worried the chief might suddenly appear. The chief’s office and the rest of administration was right off the reception area. Desperately he tried to think of what to do, as he was also reluctant to let them into the restricted interior of the building. “I know,” he said suddenly. “Let’s meet on Thirtieth Street. Go back out and walk down to OCME receiving area and the garage doors. I’ll meet you there.” Vinnie gestured toward the building’s front entrance as if Brennan had forgotten. “I’ll see you down there in two minutes.”
Feeling like he’d been given the bum’s rush, Brennan left the building and walked back to Carlo’s car. He opened the passenger door and leaned in.
“Well?” Carlo asked.
“He’s nervous as hell, mentioning his last dealings with Paulie. He claims to have almost lost his job.”
“He’s not going to talk with us?”
“He claims he can’t go out while he’s on the clock, but he’s willing to meet us out in the street,” Brennan said while pointing down 30th Street.
“For the love of God,” Carlo complained, climbing out of the car. He left the flashers on.
As they rounded the corner and started down 30th Street, they saw Vinnie appear from between a cluster of white vans. “At least we don’t have to go inside,” Carlo said while zipping up his coat.
Brennan introduced Carlo to an obviously anxious Vinnie, who kept looking back over his shoulder to see if anyone was paying them any heed.
Vinnie’s intuitions about Brennan’s occupation were confirmed when he saw Carlo’s attire, particularly the gray silk jacket over the black mock turtleneck and the gold chains. That was how the wise-guys all dressed back in his youth.
“Listen!” Vinnie said. “We have to make this short, because I’m still on the clock. What is it you want to ask me?”
“You know we’re here on Paulie Cerino’s behalf,” Carlo mentioned.
“So your friend said.”
“He wanted me to remind you what he did for your father.”
“You can tell Mr. Cerino that I will never forget what he did for my father. But you can also remind him what I did for him the last time I heard from him, and that I hope he feels we are more or less even.”
“I’ll tell him,” Carlo snapped, immediately taking mild offense at Vinnie’s implied brazenness. “But it’s the capo’s decision when a debt is paid, not the debtor’s.”
Vinnie took a deep breath to calm down. The last thing he wanted was to get into an argument with these guys. “Please ask me whatever it is you want to ask.”
Carlo glared at Vinnie for a beat, restraining himself from giving him a good slap. “You people here at the morgue got a body that came in sometime last evening. A Japanese man who’d collapsed on the subway platform at Columbus Circle.”
“I know the case,” Vinnie said. As one of the more senior mortuary technicians he prided himself that he knew just about everything that went on at OCME. “What do you want to know about it?”
“Who is the coroner that is involved?”
“We don’t have coroners,” Vinnie said with an air of superiority. “We have trained medical examiners who are medical doctors, not mere civil servants.”
“Whatever,” Carlo snapped back irritably. He was getting progressively tired of Vinnie’s attitude, but again he let it go. “Who is assigned to the case?”
“Dr. Southgate was assigned,” Vinnie began.
After hearing Southgate’s name, Carlo immediately began to relax. It was always pleasurable to report back positive news, especially if it meant less work, which Carlo thought would be the case in this instance. Unfortunately, his relaxing didn’t last as Vinnie continued, “But Dr. Southgate became ill, and Dr. Laurie Montgomery took over.”
Carlo did a double take. “What was that?” He’d heard, but his mind was not in a receptive mood for a change.
“Dr. Southgate started the case, but he became ill and Dr. Laurie Montgomery, or now it’s Dr. Laurie Montgomery-Stapleton, took over. Why do you ask?”
“Why would they change?” Carlo demanded, ignoring Vinnie’s question.
“I told you. Dr. Southgate became ill. He left OCME to go home.”
“Shit!” Carlo voiced, trying to reboot his brain from the sudden reversal.
“What was the diagnosis?” Brennan asked, as Carlo seemed to have momentarily lost his voice.
“So far there is no diagnosis,” Vinnie said. He found himself wondering why Paulie Cerino would be so interested.
“How about the manner of death?” Brennan continued, using lingo learned from TV forensics dramas.
“At the moment I’d have to say natural, but that could possibly change. It’s Dr. Montgomery’s first case since returning from an extended maternity leave, and I heard her say that she was determined to find some pathology if it kills her. She didn’t find anything whatsoever during the autopsy, so she’ll be reviewing the case with extra care.”
“So it’s your opinion Dr. Montgomery is still going to look into this case more than she already has.”
“That’s what she suggested,” Vinnie agreed. “And she’s persistent. I have to give her credit for that.”
Brennan and Carlo exchanged a
n unhappy glance, then Brennan’s eyes brightened. “I want to be sure you understand that we are here in strictest confidence. Paulie would be extremely unhappy if you were even tempted to mention the content of our discussion to anyone. You do understand, don’t you?”
“I do,” Vinnie said, and he was speaking the truth. “For sure,” he added. Vinnie, more than most people, knew that the myths about the Mafia were mostly all true. If provoked, mobsters were capable of episodes of extreme nastiness.
“I mean, something might happen to you or to your family.”
Although Vinnie’s anxiety had lessened to a degree as the conversation had proceeded, it now came back in a flash. In response to the threat, he merely nodded. It was this type of intimidation he’d feared when he’d first heard Paulie Cerino’s name.
“Paulie is very interested in the case of the mystery subway man. If you are interested, I can assure you that we did not kill the individual, but it is in the best interests of everyone that the case fades into the woodwork, so to speak. Paulie would prefer it stays as an unidentified individual who had a natural death. Do you understand?”
Vinnie nodded but wondered why he was being told what he was being told, as there was no way he could influence how the case was to be signed out.
“Let me hear you?” Brennan demanded.
“Yes,” Vinnie squeaked. All brazenness had evaporated.
“We are interested in this Laurie Montgomery-Stapleton. In your estimation, do you think she will follow up on her threats of finding pathology until it, quote, ‘kills her’? I believe that’s what you said.”
Afraid of contradicting himself, Vinnie was impelled to tell the truth rather than tell them what he sensed they wanted to hear. “She said she was going to find some pathology and that she was not going to give up.”
Brennan looked at Carlo. “Paulie’s not going to be happy.”
“I was thinking the same thing. No one is going to be happy.”