by Tom Barber
‘Nothing new, Stef,’ her friend replied. ‘People know he’s going places.’
‘This one is serious, bitch,’ she answered, walking down the stairs to the exit.
‘Who is she?’
‘Some piece from Ozone Park. Father was a two-bit fisherman, I heard. Sort of skank who should be serving me drinks at the club. Not trying to trap my Gino.’
‘I heard about her. Also heard she’s cute. You’re gonna need to take care of it.’
Stefani approached one of their three cars parked by the sidewalk, fumbling as she retrieved her keys from her purse, then hissed in irritation as they slipped through her fingers.
She bent to pick them up and that movement saved her life.
Two bullet-holes materialised in the side of the vehicle an inch above her head, the sound of the loud shots echoing off the nearby buildings. Shocked, Stefani spun round to see two men in ski-masks standing in the street, one of them holding a pistol aimed in her direction as the other covered the road. An approaching car was forced to screech to a halt to avoid hitting them; the masked figures turned but seeing it was only a terrified female driver and no threat, swung back.
However, Stefani used that brief moment to full advantage; she shoved her hand into her clutch purse, pulled out a .34 and as the main shooter turned back to finish her, she fired. The shot missed, but her attackers apparently hadn’t been expecting her to return fire and seeing they were now attracting attention, bolted for their car, one of them firing wildly a couple of times back at her as they ran. Stefani’s fourth bullet hit the cover-man in the leg and he fell. His friend came back for him but then Stefani hit the man who’d she already shot again, this time in the neck.
The uninjured man dragged him into the car as Stefani scrambled around hers for protection, hearing the tires of their ride screech as they took off.
‘She killed Kev!’ one of the Devaneys said, his ski mask rolled up to reveal his panic-stricken face. Ten feet away, the body of his fellow shooter had been dragged out of the car and was lying slumped on the ground, the wound to his neck having caused him to bleed out in the car. ‘Cops’ll be all over us! They know who he’s connected with. Shit.’
‘How did you not hit her but she hit you?’ Carla snapped angrily, standing there with him, looking down at the body.
‘She dropped her keys just when Kev fired. You never said she was carrying!’
‘She’s banging a capo from your biggest rival!’ Carla raged. ‘You didn’t think he might get her to carry protection?’
‘Yeah, rubbers, not a pistol!’
Not wanting to waste any more oxygen on the idiot, she looked down at the dead mobster’s body. ‘You need to get rid of him. Make him disappear.’
‘He’s my friend. We go back a long way. Known him since we were kids.’
‘You wanna get pinched? Or hung out to dry when your bosses realised you fired up a gang war? Police don’t find him, you can’t be implicated.’
‘I still don’t like it. Kev’s too-’
During their exchange, she’d picked up the dead man’s pistol, pretending to put it in her purse, but when the remaining Irishman turned back to look at his dead friend, Carla ended the conversation, and his concerns about Kevin’s burial permanently. She put the gun to the rear of his skull and blew his brains out.
After he dropped, it took her almost thirty seconds to settle. It was the first time she’d ever killed someone.
But then she coolly wiped down the gun and after thinking carefully, took out her cell phone and made a call.
*
‘Two hours after she shot the guy, that car was being crushed and compacted inside a junkyard in Brooklyn with the two bodies stuffed inside,’ Vargas explained to Ledger, Shepherd and Josh, now back at the Bureau with Marquez on late night duty. The pair of female detectives had relayed exactly what Natalie had told them, referring to notes Marquez had made. The former mob wife hadn’t allowed herself to be recorded. ‘That incident triggered an escalation of violence between the two gangs for the next two years. Gino and the others thought the Devaneys were coming after their women. Spouses, families. That’s against the code.’
‘Wasn’t for Carla. How did Natalie know she was behind it?’ Shepherd asked.
‘Her husband owned that junkyard.’
‘And how’d Carla get these Devaney boys to try to kill Gino’s partner?’
‘Gino had been giving her money for fancy clothes. She’d saved a load of it up and paid them a stack for the kill. Convinced both of them the hit would get them noticed by their crew.’
‘They were that dumb?’ Josh said.
‘Beautiful women can get men to do a lot of stupid shit,’ Marquez replied.
‘Did Stefani realise who’d put the moves on her?’ Shepherd asked.
Marquez nodded, looking back at her notes. ‘In the end. But listen to this.’
*
‘I want this bitch killed,’ Stefani said to some of the Lombardi men inside the bar on Walker Street, the same bar where years later Carla would pistol whip and almost beat a waitress to death. The mobsters glanced at each other as she spoke, a card game they’d been playing briefly suspended after she’d walked in and interrupted it. ‘She lives in Bensonhurst, works out at a sports club in Midtown. I don’t care where you do it, or how you do it, but she’s gone by the end of the week.’
None of the men spoke.
‘Is it loud in here?’ she said.
‘We don’t work for you, Stefani,’ Lorenzo told her.
‘You work for my man.’
‘For him, yeah. And you ain’t married. Not yet.’
‘You know she hired those paddywhacks to try to kill me?’
‘You can’t prove that. They been coming after us for years.’
‘After you. Not your wives or girlfriends. Look at all the problems she’s caused already. You want this bitch around for good? She’s trouble.’
A door near the back of the bar opened, and then Bianca Stefani saw a newcomer step into the room.
She immediately took a step back, but one of the men caught her.
His meaty hand gripped her arm tight, holding her in place.
Having heard every word of what Stefani had said, Carla had a pistol in her hand, the look in her eyes chilling. The last obstacle between her old life and her new one was standing in front of her, and had just been trying to orchestrate her murder.
As she fought to free herself, Stefani looked at Gino’s men and saw with a stab of fear that they all seemed unsurprised by Carla’s sudden arrival.
In that moment, she realised why they hadn’t been responsive to her orders.
‘You lay a finger on me, he’ll kill you all,’ she said quietly.
‘Hold her down,’ Carla ordered.
During what followed next, Stefani learned with a lot of pain that power and influence can change in a heartbeat when the right person planned a takeover. Guys who would have done what she asked without question only a month ago took firm hold of her arms and legs and dragged her onto a table, one going to the door and locking it as she screamed, another man covering her mouth before gagging her.
Carla put her pistol down while snatching a corkscrew off the bar. She pushed her way into the group of men, stepped astride Stefani and knelt with one knee each side of her torso.
Stefani screamed so loud she lost her voice, but the gag held the noise, even when the blood that followed soon soaked it and made it hard to breathe. Carla went at Stefani’s face methodically and with precision, like she was cutting up a box before needing to fit the pieces into the trash. Once she’d ripped deep gouges all over her rival’s cheeks, forehead, across her nose and along her chin, Carla stepped off her, Stefani’s face a torn-up mask of blood, the woman coughing and crying.
One of the men who’d been pinning her took off the gag, as Stefani moaned and fell off the table, landing on the floor.
‘See if he finds you so pretty, now, puttana,�
� Carla laughed. ‘See if anyone wants to look at your face again.’
*
As Shepherd’s group of NYPD detectives learned more about Isabel’s mother’s past and the sheer savagery of the woman who’d carried the girl in her womb for nine months, the tall man who’d caused such chaos in New York City left a house in the Bay Village neighbourhood of Boston and was at Logan International Airport thirty minutes later.
His passport and ticket were valid, but even so, he was taken to one side for an extra check. The alert from New York about a wanted man possibly attempting to fly to the UK had reached the airport; the passenger’s height matched the alert, but after brief questioning he was allowed to continue his journey, his appearance very different from the description the NYPD had sent through.
Like Issy, he’d adjusted how he looked, knowing there’d be alerts out; he’d cut and dyed his hair, and was wearing green contact lenses, adding a pair of glasses, all of which made him look entirely different from the photofit currently being circulated. He’d used the alterations before to disguise himself on a job or to avoid detection afterwards. Airport police hadn’t thought to check his body for any recent injuries either, the cuts to his torso from his fall into the dumpster off the roof in south Brooklyn likely to need explanation if they’d seen them, but then he realised that the police didn’t know he’d been hurt that night. The Logan cops apologised for any inconvenience and let him go.
Before nightfall, he was in the air, heading east on the non-stop red-eye to London Heathrow Airport. He slept almost the entire way, untroubled by his recent actions, and needing the rest, knowing he had important work to do when he landed.
But he may not have slept so well if he’d known that back on US soil, having begun a conversation with a female employee at Kemah Boardwalk, a member of Matt Shepherd’s team had just learned his name.
TWENTY FIVE
‘You sat back and let Carla cut up Stefani’s face?’ Josh asked, the next morning.
‘She was the boss’s woman by then,’ a grey-haired but still physically imposing Lorenzo Cortese told him and Ledger. Natalie’s ex-husband and former capo for the family was sitting opposite the two men, wearing a set of prison overalls. ‘Less you wanted to be next on her list, you did what she said.’
Nineteen members of Gino and Carla’s family and other members of the organisation had been waxed that day in March several years ago, but being in the joint had saved Lorenzo’s life; a year before, he’d been recorded discussing several murders over the phone, and turned witness to reduce his sentence. Almost a year ago from the present day, he’d been moved up to Sing Sing Correctional Facility in the village of Ossining, thirty miles north of New York City. Josh and Ledger had made the trip, and right now, the chance of some favors from the NYPD had persuaded Cortese to open up. ‘Carved her face up like a Thanksgiving bird.’
‘Gino’s reaction?’
‘Found out that night when Stefani was in the ICU.’
'Why did you help her?’ Ledger asked. ‘Thought lending a hand doing that to the boss’s fiancée would be the equivalent of suicide.’
‘They weren’t engaged no more. Gino told us he was planning to get rid of the bitch and replace her with Carla. And we were sick of Stefani’s shit. C was a wildcat, but she could move on once she got what she wanted. Stefani was just as bad but she never let things go, even if she won. Once you were in her sights, man, better get used to it. She’d come after you until the day you died.’
‘Still, he must’ve been pissed she took that sort of action. How come he didn’t take retribution on you boys?’
‘Carla. She convinced him Stefani was talking to the FBI.’
‘Was she?’
He snorted. ‘No chance. She liked being the queen too much.’
‘And he just believed it?’
‘Carla had that effect on people; she could make them do pretty much she wanted. I never seen anyone that good at manipulation. If she wanted something, it was already hers. And the boys loved her for that. She knew she needed them on her side, so she got real good at keeping them from getting punished by Gino if they screwed something up. But if they got something wrong, or pissed her off…different story.’
‘What happened to Stefani?’ Ledger asked.
He scratched his beard. ‘Once Carla convinced him about her FBI story, Gino put the word out. Guess she heard and was smart enough to disappear from town the day she was discharged from hospital. Me and some of the boys initially suspected she’d ended up with two in the back of her head somewhere.’
‘Did she?’
He shook his head. ‘Gino would’ve told me.’
‘So you don’t think Stefani turned informant,’ Ledger said. ‘From what you just said, she doesn’t sound the type to let something like this go? Carla stole her status, her fiancé and her looks.’
He shrugged. ‘Didn’t think much more about it. I had more important shit to worry about than a bitchfight between two goomahs. When I got busted, I took the stand and brought down a load of the boys. It was that or never get outta here. Gino beat the rap and wanted my head on a spike.’ Lorenzo lifted part of his overalls to reveal several ugly scars on his torso. ‘Got transferred up here after I got a couple shanks put in me at my previous. Was in a secure wing, but guess one of the guards forgot to lock all the doors. Twice. So when I heard what happened to G and Carla in East Hampton, Christmas came early. Means I got a shot of staying in one piece when I get outta here.’
‘So there’s a real chance that Stefani could still be alive?’ Josh asked, focusing on their main concern.
‘Sure. You just asked if she’d let things go with Carla. And I’ll tell ya, if she’s out there, that bitch will still hold a major grudge. Even if Carla’s dead. Those two hated each other like I never seen. And if someone sliced up my face like that, you bet your ass I’d want payback.’
As Ledger continued to talk with the man, Josh took out his cell and stepped to one side, calling Shepherd. ‘Hey, boss. We’re sitting down with Cortese.’
‘Co-operating?’
‘Yeah, we’re getting some good information here. You making any progress on the name Archer got?’
‘There’s hundreds of Gerald McGuinness’ across the country, but only one has employment at Kemah down on his tax returns.’
‘IRS able to help?’
‘Yeah, and we’ve got a residence. The Kemah McGuinness started renting a house in Boston, four years ago.’
‘Any of our guys get up there?’
‘Vargas left as soon as we got the tip. Boston Special Operations just got a warrant signed by a judge.’
‘How’d you sell him?’
‘We told him what happened to Doc Wyzyck and that we think McGuinness was responsible.’
As Shepherd had told Josh, according to the IRS’ tax records the tall man who’d been employed by Kemah Boardwalk as a ride jockey, Gerald McGuinness, was forty two years old, unmarried, born in New Orleans, Louisiana as far as anyone knew, and his last known address was in Bay Village, Boston. After he left Texas four years ago, he’d taken a job at Edaville Family Theme park in Carver, Massachusetts, but had quit after six months; however, his Boston address was still listed with the Inland Revenue Service. Since then, he hadn’t registered any income, which meant he’d either lived off savings for the last three and a half years, or had found another way to make a living which didn’t involve paying taxes.
The owner of the house the man rented had informed Shepherd that McGuinness was a great tenant. He paid for each year in advance like clockwork on January 1st, and was the only occupant of the two floor home. Rent wasn’t cheap, which meant he was bringing in good money somehow.
The street where he lived was in a northeast New England neighborhood. That July morning, a man in a Bruins t-shirt walking a dog passed a couple of kids on roller blades playing street hockey, the pair’s sticks cracking on the concrete as they exchanged the orange ball and tried to take it fro
m each other, their hair under their helmets damp with sweat.
The kids didn’t pay any attention to the passing hockey fan, immersed in their own game.
‘No sign of anyone in the residence, over,’ the man’s voice said over the radio, once he’d moved on down the block, completing the lap of reconnaissance. In a car at the end of the block, Vargas looked at McGuinness’ home, then at the children playing in the road.
The knowledge of who they were living in such close proximity to chilled her to the bone.
‘How bad we talking?’ a lieutenant from Boston’s Special Operations Unit asked from the passenger seat. Vargas had gone directly to their precinct, after driving the four hours from Queens while Shepherd was going through the process of obtaining a warrant.
‘He killed three guards at a high school in Chelsea on Tuesday,’ Vargas told him, wanting to avoid any reference to Issy for the moment. One verbal slip where she mentioned her in the present tense could lead to questions. ‘Shot one, put knives in the others.’
‘Stabbed them?’
‘One got his throat slashed. The other was hit in the throat with a blade he threw from fifty feet away. Went on to skewer a medical examiner to his living room wall with a set of kitchen blades too, the one my guys told you about. And killed another medical worker.’
The lieutenant looked at her, then picked up his radio. ‘NYPD are saying the suspect likes throwing knives, so go careful and watch your sixes. Move.’
He put the device back, before opening his door. She got out of the car as officers from the task force suddenly appeared from either end of the street, materialising from where they’d been waiting for the order, walking down the sidewalk with helmets, weapons and tactical shields. Two of them peeled off and moved over to the children playing hockey, their rifles lowered as they took the wide-eyed kids and led them quickly away, while the rest of the team congregated front and back of the house.