“Eddie still alive?” Don Gallico’s box squawked. He looked only mildly shocked when I sat at his table.
“I didn’t check.”
“Oh, Moses, you really have lost the will to live.”
“Got that right, old man. The punks you set on me fucked up.”
“Who are we talking about?”
“This is bullshit. Look out that window, see that man in my car? See him?” Gallico flicked his eyes past me to the widow then back to me. “He’s a real sick person. I don’t walk out of here, then he fades into the night. And one by one he takes your people off the count.”
“You dumb Mic bastard. You dare threaten me?” His face was dead still but I could see the veins in his neck popping, fighting for sounds his ravaged vocal cords could never produce. “You are a dead man.”
“I keep hearing that. Just wish I gave a rat’s ass. Look,” I said, trying to be reasonable, “you let some boys try to kill me, they failed, I don’t care, I know it’s nothing personal. Damn it Sir, I’ve known you since I was a kid. I’ve never done you wrong. My ass is up against a wall. I don’t want more blood spilled, don’t think you do either. But we both know we’ll do what it takes.” He looked at me for a long moment then let out a sad sigh.
“Mickey Mouse Mafia, that’s what they call us behind my back. LA gets no respect from New York and Chicago. They ask me to allow these punks into my city, I don’t have any options but to say yes or go to mattresses in a war I can’t win.”
“Who’s hunting me?”
“A San Francisco crew, big earners in stock scams… I don’t know what you did to them but they want you and the girl dead.”
“Who’s the boss?”
“Jeffery Sabatini, a college man, he’s got more degrees than a rectal thermometer.” He chuckled at his own joke.
“Can I get a sit down with him?”
“Not in a million years. He wants you dead, he might agree to a sit down but it won’t be one you walk away from. Not like the old days, when I was coming up we had honor. You went for a sit down, you went in light and came out alive. Sure they might clip you the next day, but the tradition of the sit down was respected. You hungry, you want a slice of pie?”
“I’m fine, sir, thanks.”
“First time in thirty years.”
“What is?”
“First time you ever refused a slice,” he said, like it almost hurt him more than my threats.
“Times change. You got an address on this guy?”
“I know, you didn’t hear any of this from me, ah fuck ‘em, he lives on a big horse ranch up in Silicon Valley. “
“Gino Torelli?”
“Never heard of him, truth. If he was one of the boys I’d know. You know if Eddie’s still breathing, he’ll need to square this with you, sooner or later.”
“He knows where to find me. I’ll see you around, Sir.”
“Sure, kid.” He shot me a sad smile and went back to his racing form. I dropped Gregor off in Glendale with a hundred dollars and a promise to call if I had any more fun gigs coming up. I jumped on the 5 and headed north, to the land of microchips and cyber porn kings. But it was about to become the land of blood and retribution or my unmarked grave.
CHAPTER 14
Mediocre scotch and bad speed tilted on the balance beam of my brain as I cruised up the hills, past Magic Mountain amusement park over the Cajon pass and down into the endless straight strip of the central valley. I tried not to think of Cass and was successful for about a hundred miles, but just past Button Willow I tasted her lips on mine. Was she playing me? When this was done if I was alive would she still want to be with me? Then again, what were the odds I’d live to see her again? All my life I’d been used and played by one person or another, that was the way the world worked. Isn’t that what love is, two people with mutual need, two people playing each other and through some scam called romance they believe it’s selfless?
At midnight, I passed a VW van full of college kids. A bumper sticker in their rear window read WAR IS NOT THE ANSWER. That all depends on the question. But I didn’t have to tell them, they were young, with any luck the world wouldn’t come along and smash their illusions.
At four AM I hit Palo Alto, I had crunched enough whites to know sleep was a distant dream. I parked on Hamilton and walked up to the Tudor. Moving down the driveway I noticed that the Volvo was gone. I let myself in the back door, the house was dark. At the top of the stairs I opened a door into a kid’s room, all the toys were gone the beds had been stripped. In the beam of my Maglite the walls glowed with a bright field of sunflowers. Stars and a smiling moon were painted on the ceiling, it was every child’s dream bedroom, but it was lacking any sign of children. Closing the door I tried not to think about the kids who had slept in that room. The master bedroom was large, in a carved oak bed the ponytail prick was sleeping, his face bruised and scabbed from our last meeting. I clamped my hand over his nose and mouth, cutting off his air.
He woke choking, his arms flailing. My grip was steel, his eyes bulged. He could feel the end coming near.
“Tell me about Jeffery Sabatini,” I said, taking my hand off his face. He gasped for air, clutching his chest. “Whatever patience I had was lost a long way back down the road so start talking.”
“I don’t know what you want.”
“Goodbye,” I said and clamped my hand back over his airway. His eyes bugged wildly. “Jeffery Sabatini?” I said, letting him breath.
“I don’t know him. Really, I don’t.”
“Good. Now where is Gino’s cut for the last months?”
“No, he’ll kill me,” he said. My hand hovered over his face. He lost all will to fight. “It’s in a safe down in the den. But if you take it, you might as well kill me.”
“I care as much about you, as you cared for those little girls, now move.” I pulled him out of bed by his ponytail. He had on a pair of Ward Cleaver PJ bottoms that his wife probably bought him for Father’s Day.
At the wall safe, he turned to me, for a moment he thought about trying to talk me out of it but one look into my eyes made him turn back to the dial. The steel door opened with a solid chunk. I pushed him out of the way and reached inside, pulling out stacks of banded hundreds.
“Half of that’s mine,” he said.
“And it’s damn nice of you to donate it to a dead girl’s sister,” I said, and walked out. I knew if I stayed any longer, I might wind up killing the worthless piece of human flesh. I walked out the front door, then moved around the corner of the house and stood outside the den. Through the window the skinny punk slumped down into a leather club chair, he wiped sweat off his pale face. Moving to an ornate roll top desk he unlocked a small drawer and took out a piece of paper, he typed a number into the phone. I moved silently back into the house, hiding in the hall I could hear him. “…yes, it’s late! Look, he was just here… yes in my house… No, I did not keep him here, he tried to kill me. I need traveling money and I need it fast…You promised… Screw you… You want me to go public is that what you want? No don’t hang up, please I’m dying here… ok… two days, fine.” I slipped back into the living room and hid in the shadows. I could hear the clink of a decanter against a glass then a long gulp. The skinny punk plodded upstairs with heavy footsteps. He was at the helm of a fast sinking ship, sharks were circling and I was sprinkling blood into the water. Slipping into the den I used a silver letter opener to jimmy open the small drawer, the phone number was missing but I did find a passbook to a savings account. It held a hundred and fifty grand plus change, it was in his name alone. Searching the desk I found a letter from his wife asking him not to contact her or the children. I was sure she would love to know about his hidden assets. I wrote her address on an envelope, slipped the passbook in, stole a stamp and put it in my pocket. The phone was very sleek and hi-tech, I hit redial
