'I'm sorry, Billy,' Kaz said. 'We tried to warn you with the gun-shots-'
'You shut up,' Legs said, pulling his gun hand back as if to smack him. Kaz flinched, and Legs laughed. 'Fucking four-eyed Polack.'
'All right, let's get this over with,' Vito said, waving with his pistol for Legs to bring Kaz closer. Legs stuck his gun in Kaz's back and prodded him forward. 'I know you want to play by the rules and not tell us anything. But perhaps the rules won't mean as much when we cut your pal's hand off. For starters.'
'No!' Kaz shrieked as Howard grabbed his left hand and shoved it under the blade. He held it there while Legs walked around the cutter and grabbed his wrist from the other side. Kaz yelled and writhed in Howard's grasp.
'OK, I'll talk,' I said, blurting out the words in the hope of stemming Kaz's panic.
'What would be the fun in that?' Legs asked. The paper cutter had a large wheel on top, about five feet up. He had one hand on that, the other clasped around Kaz's wrist. Below the wheel was a curved arch above the long blade. He looked through it at Kaz, still squirming in fear.
'Take it easy, Four-Eyes, it'll be worse if you don't stay still,' Legs taunted. It was obvious he relished Kaz's fear.
'Don't! Please, don't,' I said to Vito.
'It's too late. You need to learn who is in charge here.'
'Hold onto him, Box Hook,' Legs said. 'I'm gonna enjoy this.'
Kaz kicked out and Howard's grip loosened. I saw a small pistol appear in Kaz's right hand and fly up. A flash and a loud blast and Legs's left eye disappeared in a blur of red. Kaz twisted as Howard tried to keep his grasp on him. Kaz jammed the pistol to Howard's chest, fired twice, then a third time.
I lifted my bound hands and slammed them into Vito, sending him sprawling against the stacked piles of lire. His. 45-mine, actually-slid across the floor.
Howard dropped, finally releasing Kaz from his embrace. Legs, whose bloody head had been resting against the cutter's iron plate, rolled off and thumped to the floor.
Kaz pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. 'I do not appreciate ethnic slurs,' he said, turning the pistol on Vito. 'Do you, Mr. Genovese?'
'You can't touch me, Don Calo's orders!'
'Billy, would you say Don Calo meant we could not arrest or kill this man?'
'Exactly, Kaz,' I said, trying to get my rapid heartbeat back to normal. I picked up my. 45 and held it with bound hands, trained on Genovese. 'That leaves us with a lot of latitude.'
'You can have it all, don't shoot me. Please!'
'Is it too late?' I asked Kaz. 'Does Vito need to learn who's in charge here?'
'No,' the mobster said, as if he couldn't believe what was happening. My finger closed around the trigger. It felt good. My Irish was up, and I would have no regrets about shooting this bum, who moments ago had given the go-ahead to a sadist to take Kaz's hand off. But I had made a promise, and it was a promise worth keeping. Not the one to Don Calo. The one to myself. I wasn't going to kill an unarmed man.
'Get out,' I said to Vito. Kaz nodded.
Vito got up stiffly, his eyes darting between the dead thugs and the two guns leveled at him. He made a show of brushing himself off, deciding, with the shrewdness that had kept him alive this long, that neither of our bullets had his name on it. He walked to the door, picking up two bundles of thousand-lira scrip as he did so. He looked at the corpses again and shrugged, whatever emotion he felt contained in that small gesture. He left us, a tiny fraction of the fortune he had planned on reaping tucked under his arm.
I really didn't care.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
'You had the Beretta,' I said, when I had recovered enough to notice the automatic in Kaz's hand.
'Yes, my backup gat, Billy. I had it inside my shirt, under my belt. It was uncomfortable, but it proved its value when I finally got my arm free.'
'Are you OK, Kaz?'
'Yes. Now I am.'
I clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. I seemed to be more concerned about what had almost happened to him than he did. But nonchalance was an art form with Kaz, and he was becoming tougher to read. A hard shell had formed over his soul, and I wondered if I'd ever see it revealed again.
'What were those first shots I heard?'
'Harry was trying to signal you. When I looked down at the jeep in which Lieutenant Howard had arrived-you must explain his nickname to me later-I saw a rifle partially hidden under a blanket. I thought we would have a better chance at shooting out Elliott's tires with a rifle, so I went down to look. It was a sniper rifle, with a telescopic sight. I knew he must have been the shooter. But Legs was waiting, and captured me as I ran between the buildings.'
'I'm glad he was the type to underestimate guys who wear glasses. Let's get out of here.' The flies were already gathering on the corpses. Kaz retrieved his Webley and as we left, I glanced at the stacks of bound notes. How much dough was this anyway? They were farther along than I had expected, not as far as I had feared. If we had been much later, Vito and his crew would have been busy laundering this small fortune, probably starting a major black market operation.
We walked across the space between the two buildings, and heard the distant sound of a jeep driving off. So long, Vito.
'We ought to find you an ankle holster for that Beretta,' I said.
'That would be quite excellent-'
Two shots interrupted us. Harry's carbine from the roof again.
'Elliott,' I said, and we broke into a run. Return fire echoed against the buildings, the sound of braking jeeps and squealing tires mixing with shouts and orders. It sounded like Harry had taken on an entire company.
'Up here!'
I looked up to see Harry in a second-story window. He tossed down his carbine, and I caught it, looking around for a target. Harry dangled from the windowsill and dropped, hitting the ground hard. The impact must have jarred the healing wound in his leg.
'There's half a dozen jeeps out there,' he said, limping along with us. 'Some MPs. I figured it had to be Elliott and fired above their heads to slow them down. We have to get out.'
'Come on,' I said, helping Harry along as he half ran and half hopped.
'What happened in there? Where's Howard?'
'I'll tell you when we get clear,' I said.
'Box Hook. His name was Box Hook,' Kaz said, still excited over a new bit of gangster jargon.
We ran along the edge of the building, away from the road. At the corner, we squatted low and scanned the terrain. Flat ground all around. A line of trees about fifty yards out, then an olive grove. If we could make it that far, we could vanish. I checked the clip in the carbine. Three shells left. I handed it to Harry.
'Any more ammo?'
He shook his head.
'OK. Don't shoot unless it's absolutely necessary. Three of these will only make them angry.'
'Whatever you say, Billy. Shall we run for it?'
Kaz tapped me on the shoulder. The sound of racing engines rattled against the walls, and I heard gravel spitting and gears grinding as jeeps came around both sides of the building. Clouds of dust filled the air and within seconds four jeeps had blocked our escape, while two others drove around the other buildings, checking for more of our accomplices. I wondered what Elliott would say when he found Howard and Legs stiffening up in the print shop.
'Lieutenant William Boyle?' I instantly recognized the voice. It was Elliott. I shielded my eyes against the dust settling around us where the jeeps had slammed on their brakes. I could make out several Thompsons and one
