Part 6 (1/2)
For maybe two minutes that's all there was, room tone.
Then a doorbell, far off, in another part of the house.
Seconds later someone entered the room.
Sounds of someone sitting down, a paper rustling, a lighter being struck, more paper noises. Then a voice, getting closer to the room: ”Hey, Nicky, bom dia, how ya do at the track?”
It was Tagliani's voice; I'd heard it on tape enough times to know.
”I dropped a bundle.” Stinetto's voice.
”How the f.u.c.k you lose? It was a fix. I gave it to yuh just this morning. Din't I tell yuh, it's on for the four horse, third heat. Huh?”
”Ya to!' me. Too bad the other seven heats wasn't fixed.”
Laughter. ”I don' believe yuh. I give you a sure thing, you turn right aro- ”
At that point there was a sound of gla.s.s cras.h.i.+ng, a lot of jumbled noise, swearing and yelling . . .
Tagliani: ”G.o.d-no, no . . . ”
Stinetto: ”Motherfu- ”
Several shots, from two different guns.
A man's scream.
”Nicky . . . ”
Brrrddt. A m.u.f.fled rapid-fire gun, probably a submachine gun. It fired so fast it sounded like a dentist's drill.
Two screams; terrible, terrified, haunting screams.
Two more shots.
Bang . . . bang. Something heavy, a .357 maybe.
Somebody gagged.
Something heavy hit the floor, crunching gla.s.s as it fell.
Two more shots, s.p.a.ced.
Bang . . . bang!
Footsteps running and the sound of something else hitting the floor.
The something else was sizzling.
A woman's voice, screaming, getting closer, entering the room.
Baroomf!
The explosion blew out the mike. Dutch punched the off b.u.t.ton.
”That's it,” he said.
Charlie One Ear said, ”Utterly charming. Too bad about the woman.”
”Too bad about all of them,” Dutch snapped caustically. ”They were worth more to us alive than dead.”
Dutch ran the tape back and played it again. We all leaned forward, hoping to hear something significant, but there wasn't much. I listened to the shots, counting them.
”That one, sounds like a dentist's drill, I make that some kind of submachine gun,” Zapata said.
Dutch played it again.
It was a chilling tape. Just when you think you've seen it all and heard it all, you run across something like this, listening to three people die. Mobsters or not, it raised the hair on my arms.
”Definitely two guns,” Charlie One Ear said.
”That's pretty good, Charlie. Stinetto's gun was still in his belt when we found him,” Dutch said. ”Loaded and clean. The old man was light.”
”Pretty good shooting,” Chino ventured.
”Had to be two of 'em,” said Salvatore.
”Or an ambidextrous marksman,” Charlie One Ear said.
”f.u.c.kin' nervy one,” Zapata added.
”Any other ideas?” Dutch asked.
I kept mine to myself.
”Okay, now pay attention. We got a man here can maybe shed a little glimmer on the night's proceedings, so everybody just relax a minute. This here's Jake Kilmer. Kilmer's with the Freeze and he's an expert on this outfit.”
A moan of discontent rippled through the room.
”You wanna listen to him, or stay dumb?” Dutch snapped without a hint of humor in his tone.
The room got quiet.
And colder than an ice cube sandwich.