Cutter (43 page)

The
n
th
e
goo
d
Docto
r
show
s
u
p
a
t
Donofrio’
s
bungalo
w
t
o
remov
e
m
y
stitc
h-
wor
k.
H
e
i
s
ver
y
professiona
l,
ver
y
artfu
l
i
n
th
e
wa
y
h
e
work
s.
Ther
e
i
s
virtuall
y
n
o
pai
n.
Whe
n
h
e
i
s
finishe
d,
h
e
show
s
m
e
hi
s
handiwor
k
i
n
a
mirro
r
.

‘Th
e
swellin
g
an
d
th
e
bruise
s
shoul
d
b
e
gon
e
soo
n.A
wee
k
o
r
tw
o.
Here’
s
somethin
g
fo
r
infectio
n.
’

H
e
hand
s
m
e
a
bottl
e
o
f
penicilli
n
.

Th
e
docto
r
leave
s
u
s,
an
d
I
star
t
packin
g
.

‘I’l
l
b
e
i
n
touc
h
abou
t
tha
t
tripl
e
orde
r
withi
n
tw
o
week
s.
Mak
e
sur
e
yo
u
tel
l
the
m
th
e
good
s
ar
e
o
n
th
e
wa
y,’
I
tel
l
Sa
l
.

‘Yo
u
bette
r
kee
p
you
r
en
d
o
f
th
e
dea
l,
Marc
o.
Yo
u
squea
l
o
n
m
e,
yo
u
won’
t
hav
e
Bi
g
Joh
n
t
o
worr
y
abou
t
n
o
mor
e.
I’l
l
cu
t
you
r
eye
s
ou
t
myself’

‘He
y,
we’r
e
businessme
n.
Thi
s
i
s
busines
s,
isn’
t
i
t?
We’r
e
goin
g
t
o
mak
e
a
lo
t
o
f
mone
y.
Dyin
g
peopl
e
al
l
ove
r
th
e
worl
d
standin
g
i
n
lin
e
fo
r
a
sho
t
a
t
a
ne
w
lif
e.
The
y
can’
t
wai
t
fo
r
al
l
thos
e
generou
s
donor
s.
An
d
th
e
guy
s
w
e
hav
e
a
s
customer
s
hav
e
th
e
cas
h
t
o
mak
e
i
t
happe
n.
The
y
don’
t
hav
e
t
o
stan
d
i
n
lin
e.
That’
s
th
e
servic
e
w
e
provid
e,
Sa
l.
’

‘Yo
u
ar
e
a
craz
y
motherfucke
r,
Marc
o.
’

‘I’l
l
b
e
i
n
touc
h.
’

I
tak
e
m
y
ba
g.I
pu
t
a
hoo
d
u
p
ove
r
m
y
hea
d,
an
d
I
leav
e
b
y
hi
s
bac
k
doo
r,
jus
t
th
e
wa
y
I
cam
e
i
n
her
e
.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Karrioses were in their early seventies, but the old man, Niko, had jet-black hair with only a trace of gray on the sideburns. The mother, Elena, showed the cruelty of age more readily.

Doc and I had tracked them down. They lived in Kankakee. Quite a little ride south of the city. We again had to clear things through the local coppers, but everything worked out smoothly.

We sat in their two-bedroom home in a not-very-fashionable area of this town. He was a retired brakeman for the railroad, and she’d worked as a checkout person at a grocery store for thirty-six years. They’d come here as immigrants, Niko told Doc and me, but they wanted better things for their son. They wanted him to be a doctor, but the boy decided to join the Army when he was in his twenties, instead of finishing college. He wound up as a medic in the Gulf War, but he came home very different, Elena told us.

‘He never talk to us no more. He just live here a little while after the War is over and then he leave without telling us anything. He take his bags and he leave. We don’t hear from him again ... We was close, Marco and me.’

I looked up at the wall with the photographs. There was Marco, and there were his two parents, in several of the shots.

But there was also a photograph of a young woman in several of the pictures.

I rose and walked to the wall with the photos.

‘Who is this?’ I asked the two older people.

Elena Karrios stiffened.

‘She ... she was our daughter.’

‘Does she still live around the city?’ Doc asked.

‘She ... she’s dead. She been dead a long time,’ Niko responded.

‘So Marco had a sister,’ I mused.

She was blonde and stunning. Marco was photogenic, but his sister outclassed him by a wide margin.

‘Yes,’ Elena said. ‘She was Marco’s sister.’

It seemed it was difficult for her to get the words out. She almost spat them at the two of us.

‘Were they close?’ Doc questioned her.

The old man squirmed in his seat, next to Elena Karrios.

‘You could say they were close,’ Mrs Karrios admitted.

‘How’d she die?’ I queried.

Elena looked me squarely in the eyes.

‘It was an accident.’

‘Accident?’ I returned at her.

‘Yes. A car accident. She and her husband die in a car wreck,’ the old woman murmured. Tears came to her eyes, but she did not break. ‘All a long time ago. Hard to remember, now.’

‘Is there anything else you can tell us about Marco?’ Doc wanted to know. ‘If we catch him, he won’t hurt anyone else, and maybe no one’ll hurt him.’

‘You catch him, they kill him in prison. With what? Lethal drug?’ Niko said.

‘They might,’ Doc told him. ‘But it’ll be easier if we get him before John Fortuna’s people catch up with him. You know who John Fortuna is and you know it was his sister who Marco ... killed.’

‘Yes. I read papers. I know who she was ... But we cannot help you anymore ... My wife ... my wife is sick. Her blood pressure is too high. She could have stroke. Please ... no more.’

I got up and thanked them, and then Doc and I began the long trip back to the city.

*

We finally set up a meet on that following Friday. It was at Fortuna’s place on the North Side. It was one of those Italian-American ‘societies’ that the Outfit has in a lot of neighborhoods where a crew is in charge.

All it said was ‘Italian American Club’ on the window of the joint. Doc, Jack Wendkos and I were meeting with Jackie Morocco. He had refused to sit down with the FBI unless they brought him in with a warrant. He knew my cousin Billy was on the run, so I guessed he figured he had some leverage over me.

He made his entrance like some kind of Hollywood star in a movie. He walked in with the long coat draped over his shoulders, unbuttoned, and some thug took it off him before he sat with us in a four-man booth. He planted himself next to Doc, sitting on the outside.

‘Lieutenant,’ John Fortuna said as a greeting.

He was about six-four. Tall for a Sicilian. He had the dark brown, glossy hairdo and a swarthy Mediterranean face. He even looked like an actor. But if you knew his reputation, you didn’t disbelieve when he spoke.

‘I want the killer of my sister found. I’m willing to cooperate.’

Someone arrived at the table with four tiny coffee cups and four tiny saucers. Fortuna drank his brew as soon as it arrived. The three of us left our cups untouched.

‘I want you to leave him to us,’ I told Fortuna.

‘I never thought of doing anything but,’ he said.

I was surprised he didn’t laugh at his own lie. But everyone at this booth knew John Fortuna was in heat for the blood of The Farmer.

‘I don’t want that FBI involved with Karrios,’ he said. 

‘The case is ours,’ Doc affirmed.

‘Good. I know they want me because they think I’m somehow involved in this business, but I want you to know I had no involvement with Marco Karrios. His business i
s
infamni
a
. You know what I’m saying, Lieutenant?’ he asked me.

I looked in his eyes and wondered how good an actor he really was, because I was almost convince
d
h
e
was convinced that he had no connection to The Farmer’s operation.

‘I want that motherfucker in a cage. To die is too easy for him. I want him in a cage like th
e
animal
e
he is.’