A Quiet Vendetta (50 page)

I dragged him off the bed, and threw him to the ground next to his friend.

In my hand I held a pillow.

I looked down at Lenny, his tear-streaked face, his wide and horrified eyes.

‘When was your birthday?’ I asked him.

He looked at me in dismay.

‘Your birthday?’ I repeated.

‘Jan-January,’ he stuttered.

I nodded. I held up the pillow. I pressed the gun into it. ‘Last fucking birthday you’re ever gonna have,’ I said, and I pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit him in the throat. His hands grasped his neck. He clawed at his own flesh as if believing that he could pull the bullet out. Blood erupted from the wound and spattered across his chest, his legs, across Ricardo, and then he fell sideways and lay on the floor. His body shook for some time. I stood there and watched him until he stopped.

Ricardo stirred.

I let fly with a mighty kick to his chest and he went still. I leaned down, pressed the pillow against the side of his head, and shot him through the temple.

An hour and a half later I stood in my bedroom looking down at the sleeping forms of my wife and my children. I leaned forward and kissed them – all three in turn – gently on their foreheads. I held my breath. I did not wish to make a sound that might wake them.

I left the room. I walked downstairs. I washed my hands and face at the kitchen sink, and then I sat for a while in the darkness smoking a cigarette. When I was done I went through to the front and lay down on the sofa. I fell asleep there, slept like the dead, and when Angelina woke me it was gone seven in the morning. I was still fully dressed apart from my jacket and shoes.

‘Come and have breakfast with us,’ she said quietly. She leaned down and kissed me. I rose and stood for a moment, and then I placed my arms around her and pulled her tight.

In the kitchen the TV was playing silently. I said nothing when Richard Ricardo’s face appeared on the screen, and also the face of his friend Leonard. I made no sound, I didn’t even flinch, and when the anchorwoman reappeared I reached out and switched it off.

I ate my breakfast. I talked to my children even though I knew they could not understand a word I said. I felt unsettled, anxious. I did not feel good.

An hour or so later, having shaved and showered, and dressed in a clean shirt and a different suit, I left my house and walked three blocks to a diner. There I sat in silence, and with a cup of coffee in front of me and a cigarette in my hand, I watched people as they walked by the window and out into their lives.

Two of those lives were closed last night. Two of those lives – people of whom I knew nothing – were terminally closed. I did not question what I had done, nor why I had done it. I was asked to do something and I complied. This was the way of my world; the only world I knew.

It was the following day that I saw the newspaper. It was a day old, lying there innocuously on a chair at the back of Michael Cova’s cousin’s barbershop where I had stopped to have a haircut. I picked it up and turned it to the front page.

TWO SLAIN IN BRUTAL HOLLYWOOD MURDER
Son of Los Angeles Deputy Mayor shot

My breath stopped for a moment.

I looked at the images of the two men I had killed in the apartment.

Last night, in Hollywood, the son of Deputy Mayor John Alexander was murdered in a double slaying that has rocked the city of Los Angeles. Leonard Alexander, 22, was found murdered at the home of well-known celebrity fashion designer Richard Ricardo. Police Chief Karl Erickson was present at the scene, and made the following statement—

I read no further. I closed the paper and tossed it back onto the chair.

I got up and left the barbershop, walked two blocks with no particular purpose in mind, and then I turned around and retraced my steps.

For the first time in my life I imagined people were looking at me.

I found a phone booth on the next junction, and I called long distance to New York. I reached Ten Cent with no difficulty.

‘Ernesto?’ he said, surprise evident in his voice.

‘You heard what happened?’

‘I did, yes . . . is there a problem?’

‘A problem? The other man was the son of the Los Angeles deputy mayor.’

There was silence at the other end of the line.

‘Ten Cent?’

‘I’m here, Ernesto.’

‘You heard what I said?’

‘Yes, I heard you . . . what’s the problem? Did someone see you at the building?’

‘No, no-one saw me at the building. Of course they didn’t. But the kid was the son of the deputy mayor. They won’t let this thing lie down.’

‘We know, we know Ernesto . . . but don’t worry.’

‘Don’t worry? Whaddya mean?’

‘We’re gonna take you out and send you someplace safe.’

‘Take me out?’

Ten Cent laughed. ‘Take you out . . . yes, take you out of LA, not
take you out
for Christ’s sake! Don’t worry, Don Calligaris understands the situation, and he’s not gonna leave you there.’

‘He is upset about the other man?’

Ten Cent laughed again. ‘Upset? He’s as happy as I’ve ever seen him. You know what he said? . . . he said, “Two assholes for the price of one”. That’s what he said.’

I was quiet for a moment.

‘Ernesto?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s gonna be okay . . . I ain’t never heard you scared before. It’s gonna be fine . . . we’ll have you outta there just as soon as Don Calligaris figures out where to put you. You sit tight. Do nothing, say nothing . . . we’re gonna make it right, okay?’

‘Okay, okay . . . don’t let me down.’

‘I give you my word, Ernesto. You’re as much family as anyone else.’

I closed my eyes, I breathed deeply, I said ‘Okay’, and then I hung up the phone.

I walked home like a man lost. I walked home scared. Ten Cent had been right; this was a new feeling, and the feeling was difficult to comprehend.

It came back to family. Now there wasn’t just me, now I was a responsible man, a man who carried the burden of a wife and children, carried it willingly, yes, there was no question about that, but it made everything so different.

Angel was waiting when I arrived home.

‘The children are asleep,’ she said, and then she turned and walked through to the kitchen. It was obvious she wished me to follow her, and I did without question.

I sat at the table while she made coffee. I smoked a cigarette, something I had refrained from doing at home since the children had been there, but in that moment there was a sense of nausea and tension within me that it was hard to assuage.

Angelina placed the coffee in front of me and sat opposite.

She reached out and took my hand. She held it for a moment, and then she looked directly at me and smiled.

‘Something has changed, hasn’t it?’ she asked.

I nodded but did not speak.

‘I’m not going to ask about it, Ernesto . . . I trust you, always have done, and I know you wouldn’t have done something unless there had been a very good reason for it. But I am not crazy, and I am not stupid, and I understand enough about the way our family is to know that whatever might have happened it isn’t something you will talk about.’

I opened my mouth to speak.

‘No, Ernesto, you will listen to what I have to say.’

I closed my mouth and looked down at the table.

‘Whatever this thing is,’ she said, ‘I want you to tell me if it has endangered the lives of our children.’

I shook my head. ‘No Angelina, it has not.’

‘You would not lie to me Ernesto, I know that, but this time I am going to ask you to give me an answer, and whatever the truth might be I want to know. Tell me now if this thing will endanger the lives of our children.’

‘No,’ I said quietly, and I shook my head once more. ‘It will not.’

‘Okay,’ she said, and her very being communicated her relief. ‘So, what does it mean for us?’

‘It means we will have to move soon,’ I said. ‘We will have to go to another city and make our home all over again.’

Angelina did not say anything for some time, and then once again she squeezed my hand. I looked up and there were tears in her eyes. ‘I married you because I loved you,’ she said. ‘I knew who you were, I knew enough about the people you worked with to know how this life would be, and if we have to move then I will come with you, but I will ask one thing of you and I want you to give me your word.’

‘Ask it, Angel, ask it.’

‘I want you to promise me that nothing will ever happen to Victor and Lucia . . . that is the only thing I ask of you, and I want you to promise me that.’

I reached out and took both her hands. I held them for a moment, and then I touched her cheek, with my fingers, wiped away the streaked tears that were trailing down it.

‘I promise,’ I said. ‘I promise on my life that nothing will ever happen to them.’

She smiled. She bowed her head, and when she looked up she was smiling. ‘I wanted to stay here, Ernesto . . . in California. I wanted the children to feel sunshine on their faces and swim in the sea—’

She stifled her tears and was quiet for some moments.

She looked up at me again.

I felt my heart like a dead fist in my chest.

‘How long do we have?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know. They will tell me when they have a place for us.’

‘Not New York again, Ernesto . . . anywhere but New York, okay?’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Okay.’

We waited three months. The worst three months of my life. There was nothing for me to do. I was told to stay home, to be ‘a family man’, and Ten Cent would call me to make arrangements when things were in place.

Three times, seated there at the window in the front of the house, I saw squad cars pass by slowly. I imagined they knew who I was, where they could find me, and they were just waiting for me to leave the house so they could follow me and make their arrest.

They never did. I left the house very infrequently, and by the time November arrived, by the time Ten Cent finally called and told me where we were going, I believed that I could not have stood another day in that place.

Angelina was the soul of patience. She became the perfect mother, investing every ounce of her attention, every second of her time, in the children. I watched her, I envied her ability to lose herself entirely in what she was doing, but I also realized that this was the only way she could cope with the situation I had created. I could have given her such a life, but I brought her to this. I felt bad for that, guilty, and I cursed the day I had been so eager to please Don Calligaris. He had said to kill one, but I had killed them both. That was my mistake, and I paid for it dearly.

‘Chicago,’ the voice said at the end of the line. ‘Don Calligaris is moving to Chicago and taking a large part of our operation there. He wants you to be there with him, you understand?’

‘I understand.’

‘You leave the day after tomorrow. Make your way out to O’Hare and I will meet you there.’

I said nothing.

‘Ernesto?’

‘Yes?’

Ten Cent smiled; I could hear it in his voice. ‘Tell Angelina to pack some warm things for the kids . . . Chicago is a fucking icebox this time of year.’ He laughed and hung up the phone. I stood there with the burring sound in my ear and a cold stone inside my heart.

‘We have nothing on the wife,’ Schaeffer said. ‘Not a single fucking thing.’

‘It’s been twenty-four hours,’ Hartmann replied. ‘Even you guys can’t expect miracles.’

‘And now we have two kids to find, not one. I cannot believe that with the most advanced, state-of-the-art security database systems in the world we cannot find any evidence of this woman having existed.’

‘But you’re going off one name,’ Hartmann said. ‘And who’s to say that the name he’s using is actually his real name?’

Schaeffer didn’t reply. He looked awkward for a moment. The most complex and advanced security database in the world was only as effective as the information given to it. Bullshit in, bullshit out – wasn’t that the technical phrase?

Woodroffe stood up from the table in the main office. It was five of seven. Perez had been returned to the Royal Sonesta a little after six. Hartmann was aware of the fact that he had an appointment to keep with the man.

‘So we get our answer tonight,’ Schaeffer said, and in his voice was a tone of philosophical resignation. Though it had not been discussed further, there was no doubt in Hartmann’s mind that they were all fully aware of what that answer would be. Perez was not interested in a trade-off, and that had never been his purpose. It was that simple. Perez was here to make himself heard, and right now it seemed the whole world was listening.

‘You guys are now looking into Ducane’s involvement in these things, right?’ Hartmann asked, and – truth be known – he believed he was asking it merely to stir up dissent.

Schaeffer shook his head. ‘Transcripts of everything Perez has said have been passed directly to the attorney general and the director of the FBI. It’s their decision, not ours. Like I said before, and I’ll say again, we are here to get the girl, not to involve ourselves in the comings and goings of corrupt politicians.’

‘Allegedly corrupt politicians,’ Hartmann said, his tone a little sarcastic.

Schaeffer nodded. ‘
Allegedly
corrupt politicians, right.’

‘Whaddya reckon?’ Hartmann asked.

‘About Ducane?’ Schaeffer shook his head. ‘I’ve been too long in the FBI to be surprised about anything, Mr Hartmann . . . and that’s all I’m gonna say on the matter.’

‘So where from here?’ Woodroffe asked.

‘I go have some dinner with Perez,’ Hartmann said. ‘I hear him tell me how we can go stick our proposal up our collective asses, and then I go back to my hotel and get some sleep. I got a busy day tomorrow.’

Woodroffe shook his head and sighed.

‘Let’s get it done then,’ Schaeffer said, and rose from his chair.

‘Filet mignon,’ Perez said, and indicated a chair at the table in his room at the Sonesta. ‘It appears they have done a serviceable job. I shall perhaps recommend this hotel to some of my friends.’

Hartmann removed his jacket and took a seat at the table. A cloth had been laid, there were candles, warm plates already in place and on a trolley beside them covered dishes emitted a number of very pleasant aromas.