Part 11 (2/2)
Sonny flipped off the ashes from his cigarette. ”How soon's it s.h.i.+pping?”
”Tomorrow morning. I have two more s.h.i.+pments due in on Friday.”
”Same stuff?” Big Tony asked before lighting the end of his cigar. He reached in his breast pocket and offered one to Charlie.
Charlie shook his head. ”One is. The other's rubies, coming from Sierra Leone. Both are worth about the same, though.”
Big Tony stood up from the chair and tugged at the ends of his suit jacket. Sonny and Charlie got up and followed him out to the waiting limo.
Big Tony slid onto the backseat and rolled the window down. ”Give me a call when the next s.h.i.+pment arrives.”
”Will do,” Charlie said, and then turned to go back into the warehouse.
Big Tony tapped on the window separating the driver from the rear of the car. Tommy lowered the part.i.tion. He looked at the men through the rearview mirror.
”Time for lunch, Tommy.”
Tommy nodded and raised the part.i.tion.
Big Tony re-lit his cigar and turned to Sonny. ”Speaking of food, what time's dinner?”
”Six sharp.”
Chapter 13.
Laura tossed a bag of hamburgers and fries down on the desk in front of Stevens. He smiled gratefully and removed his headphones. He jerked out the headphone jack and turned up the volume k.n.o.b so they could both hear the conversation going on over at Pal Joey's.
”Anything good?” she asked.
”If you wanna learn about cars,” he answered, taking a bite out of the hamburger.
”Are you serious? Cars again?”
He nodded and took another bite of the sandwich. ”I swear, that's all they freaking talk about.” He dipped a couple of fries in the ketchup. ”Did you know that the frame for the 2006 Ford Sport Trac is the same one used in the 2007 model, except that its wheel base was extended 16.8 inches or that the 2005 Escalade has two recalls-one for the transmission and one for the second-row center seat belt or-”
Laura held up her hand for him to stop. ”Okay, okay. I get the point. How long have they been at it?”
He glanced down at his watch. ”Since noon and it's now six.”
”Have we got anything from Castrucci's office?”
He shook his head. ”h.e.l.l, no. They've been here all day.”
Henry Venutti and Jay Farino sat at the corner of West First and Spring Street in silence, watching the front entrance to Little Vic's Delicatessen.
”Show time,” Jay announced, nudging Henry's arm and nodding across the street.
A blue Chevy Blazer pulled up in front of the deli and came to a stop. Henry turned the key and started the engine. He put it in drive and slowly turned the corner, pulling the van up next to the Blazer's driver-side door before stopping.
Paulie and Georgie, the occupants inside the blazer, never stood a chance. The AK-47 bullets ripped through the car like a sheet of paper, creating a drone of noise so loud, it easily drowned out the screams of innocent bystanders, scrambling for cover on the opposite side of the car.
It was over in an instant. The van slowly pulled away and disappeared around the corner as quietly as it had arrived.
Rheyna had just finished printing off the photos Terasa had chosen and was inserting them into an envelope when a live-breaking news report on the TV got her attention. She turned up the volume to hear the man holding a microphone in front of his face.
”I'm James Styles and I'm at the scene here in front of Little Vic's Delicatessen, where two men were brutally killed as they sat in their vehicle.”
Directly behind him was the blue Chevy Blazer. Part of the driver's side window had been shot out, and what remained was covered with blood spatter. The driver's side door and fenders were riddled with bullet holes. It looked like a slice of Swiss cheese. The driver's body lay against the steering wheel.
The camera operator zoomed in for a close-up view. Rheyna could see that he had taken several shots to the head and upper body. The camera then followed the reporter around the front of the car and stopped next to the pa.s.senger-side, where another man, still wearing his seatbelt, lay slumped against the window.
In the background, police officers could be seen cordoning off the area and pus.h.i.+ng a group of curious onlookers back.
The reporter looked directly at the camera. ”Witnesses claim that a grey panel van pulled up next to the men and opened fire with what sounded like a machine gun.”
That would definitely explain the amount of bullet holes, she thought to herself.
The reporter continued speaking as a police officer pushed him outside the tape perimeter. ”An anonymous source with the Los Angeles Crime Division stated that the two men in the vehicle were identified as George Fabrizio and Paul Moceri.”
Rheyna recognized the names instantly. She knew what he was going to say next.
”Both men were suspected of working for reputed Mob Boss Carlos Ma.s.sino.”
She turned off the TV and leaned back against the couch. She knew this was a dangerous operation from the beginning, but hearing the news report brought home the crude fact of reality and the seriousness of her situation.
Once again, she felt that black pit in her stomach. There was no doubt in her mind that somehow, Castrucci was responsible for those two men's death. That proved he was willing to do anything to get what he wanted, and she was determined to be the one who nailed his a.s.s to the wall.
Sonny sauntered toward the back of the alley and stopped beneath the street lamp. He rubbed the right side of his temple with his fingers as Henry and Farino dragged Ritchie into the alley.
They stopped in front of Sonny. Farino slammed Richie up against the wall, knocking the wind out of his lungs. Richie gasped for several seconds, trying to catch his breath.
Sonny grabbed him by the hair and lifted his head up to face him. ”Where's my money, Richie?”
”I ... I'll have it ... have it in the morning, Sonny,” Richie said, struggling to get the words out.
Sonny slapped him across the face, splitting his upper lip. ”I gave you twenty-four hours. Where's my f.u.c.king money?”
Richie spit a mouthful of blood on the ground. ”Please, Sonny ... I swear I'll have it in the morning,” he pleaded.
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