“He don’t even know Charlie Rabbit.” For a few seconds Vinnie furrowed his forehead like he was trying to remember something. “Right in my office, I think that was the first time they ever said one word to each other.”
Tony shrugged. “Then it’s funny them two being together, huh?”
Vinnie picked up his fresh napkin and wiped his face. “Maybe they were just having a drink.”
“Think about it. Shane talks to Charlie, convinces Charlie to go back and tell your brother he thinks you might have robbed the place yourself.”
Vinnie actually shook with rage. “He’s trying to backdoor me with my own fucking brother?”
Tony nodded. “That’s what I’m worried about. Way this went down. .. with nothing like this ever having happened before, and coming on our watch, so to speak, some people could say this makes us look bad. Some people might even lay the blame on us.”
Vinnie looked down at the table. “But if Shane set it up from the inside…” Vinnie was starting to warm to the idea. “There’s no way we could have known about it. There’s no way anybody could blame us. What we need to do-”
Tony raised a hand. “We’ve got to be careful. You don’t want to make another mistake.” Wondering how that line was going to fly. But Vinnie didn’t seem to notice. Tony pressed on. “Let’s wait, just a little while, so I can check out some things.”
Vinnie sat hunched over, staring at the checkerboard pattern on the tablecloth. He was lost in his own thoughts, mumbling to himself. “I was good to him. It was me gave him a job, and this is how he repays me. It’s always the ones you trust the most. He’s a fucking Brutus.”
“Vinnie,” Tony said, his voice soft, almost a whisper.
The chair creaked as Vinnie looked up and shifted his weight. “You really think he’s setting me up?”
Tony nodded.
The older man’s lips compressed into a thin line. “I want you to find Shane and bring him to me.” He pointed toward the bar. “Take Rocco and Joey with you.”
Again, Tony raised the hand of patience. “Vinnie, I really think we should-”
Vinnie pounded the table again with his pudgy fist, this time toppling his own glass and spilling wine onto the tablecloth. “You bring that traitorous bastard to the House.”
Tony watched the red stain of Vinnie’s wine spread out across the table as he thought about what Vinnie had just said. When his boss said things like that, it made Tony wonder if Vinnie had ever actually done any work when he was coming up, or if he had just ridden his brother’s coattails. “Bringing him in ain’t going to be that easy.”
“Why not?”
Tony cleared his throat. Like explaining something to a kid. “The guy’s dumb, but he’s not that dumb. When we find him, he’s not going to jump in the car with us and go for a ride. Not voluntarily. You’re talking about stuffing him in the trunk, driving him through the city, then sneaking him into the House-all without attracting attention.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying what if the feds are watching the House? What if they have it under surveillance or something? If we bring Shane in and he never comes out, next thing we know we got them going over the whole place with those black lights you see on TV, looking for traces of blood, matching DNA, all that shit.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Once we find him, it’d be easier if you came to us, instead of me bringing him to you.”
“How are you going to find him?”
“I’ll wait for him at his place. Eventually everybody goes home.”
Vinnie nodded. “Call me as soon as you have him. I don’t want you talking to him until I get there. I want to hear everything he has to say.”
Tony stood up. He was smiling.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Just past 11:00 PM, Ray wobbled up the flight of wooden steps that led to his apartment above the boathouse. At the top of the stairs he was a little unsteady on his feet and breathing hard, so he lingered on his deck, one hand on the rail.
After almost a full day of driving through parking lots in New Orleans East-and not finding the blue Buick he was looking for-Ray had stopped uptown at Cooter Brown’s to have a drink. One drink had turned into two, then three. There might have been a fourth.
Standing on his deck, Ray let go of the railing and dug out a cigarette and his Zippo. It took half a dozen flicks to get enough of a flame to light a Lucky Strike. As he took a long drag, a slight breeze drifted off the lake behind him. There was a chill in the air. The sky was clear. The stars were out.
Ray decided to grab a bottle of Jameson and a glass from inside. He would pour some whiskey over a couple of cubes of ice and sit on the deck and enjoy the night air.
A glass-top patio table stood on the porch with three plastic chairs around it. Ray grabbed the back of one of the chairs and tilted it forward, dumping the puddle of rainwater out of the seat. He would need to bring a towel out with him to dry it before he sat down.
Ray flicked his cigarette butt over the railing and into the lake. Then he dug his keys out of his pocket and walked across the deck. The inside of his apartment was dark. With his keys in one hand, Ray stood in the doorway and slid his other hand against the wall, feeling for the light switch.
Something heavy smashed against his head.
The blow sent a bolt of blinding white light through Ray’s skull. The thunderous clap of pain that exploded inside his head an instant later dropped him to his knees. Somewhere in the distance he heard his keys clatter to the ground. Then he pitched forward, facedown on the wooden floor.
The sound of voices came to him. At least two people. They sounded far away, too far away for him to understand the words, but he understood their menace. Someone grabbed his wrists and dragged him all the way into the apartment. The door slammed shut behind him.
A foot cracked against his ribs.
“Roll him over,” a voice commanded.
Someone kicked him over onto his back. The room was still dark. The shadow of a man stood near the door. “Get him up,” the shadow said. “He tries anything, crack him with that steel pot again.”
Two guys, one on each arm, pulled Ray to his feet. At least three of them in the apartment. Still he couldn’t make out any faces. His ribs felt like they were on fire. The pain sucked the air out of his lungs. With his head spinning and his lungs unable to draw a breath, Ray’s knees turned to jelly. The hands clutching his arms were all that held him up.
“He’s too heavy,” the one on the right said.
“I think we hurt him,” the one on the left said.
The shadow in front of Ray let out a sigh. He walked away from the door and dragged a chair over from Ray’s garage-sale dinette set. The two guys on either side dropped him into the chair.
The dark image walked back to the door and flicked on the light switch. As the light seared into Ray’s head, doubling his pain, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block it out. Something trickled down the side of his head and dripped into his ear.
After a couple seconds he opened his eyes, blinked them clear, then found himself looking at Tony Zello. Tony was leaning against the door, ten feet away, hands in his pants pockets, looking cool in a charcoal gray suit with blue pinstripes, a maroon handkerchief folded in the breast pocket, and a green paisley tie. “How you doing, Ray?”
“What the fuck do you want?” Ray croaked, his tongue thick in his mouth. When he glanced up to his right, he saw Rocco looming over him. Another big steroid guzzler named Joey stood to his left. Both of them were pushing down on his shoulders to keep him in the chair. On the floor lay a two-quart steel cooking pot. When he left this morning, it had been on the stove.
