“That would be our guess,” Yoshiaki said as he tried to restrain Susumu’s burst of laughter. Susumu got the message and brought himself quickly under control.
Carlo glared at the two men in turn. “What the hell’s going on here? Are you guys pulling my chain or what?”
“What is ‘pulling my chain’?” Yoshiaki asked. He’d never heard the expression.
Carlo waved the two men off and turned back around in his seat. As he did so he shared a quick glance with his partner, Brennan Monaghan. Both Brennan and Carlo were assistants to Louie Barbera and frequently operated as a team. Louie Barbera was running the Vaccarro family operation in Queens while Paulie Cerino was still doing time at Rikers Island. Brennan was driving Carlo’s car because Carlo hated to drive in traffic. He was too impatient and always ended up in some degree of road rage to the peril of everyone, including himself.
After having picked up the two Japanese men, Brennan had turned right onto Central Park West, heading north with the intent of getting to the East Side by cutting across the park. But it wasn’t going to be fast, because the driving was stop-and-go, and more stop than go.
“All right, you two,” Carlo said suddenly, while turning back around. It was clear he had become frustrated with the situation even though he wasn’t driving. “Are we finished with your doings or what?”
Yoshiaki held up his hand: “We’re trying to decide. Give us a moment!”
“Oh, for shit’s sake!” Carlo murmured, and turned back around. He actually thought about getting the hell out of the car and walking, letting Brennan pick him up when he caught up to him. He again turned back to his two wards. “You bozos are going to have to make up your minds. Otherwise I’m just going to dump your asses here and let you find a taxi. I got things to do myself.”
“Where is Fort Lee, New Jersey?” Susumu asked. He was holding a card. On his lap was Satoshi’s open wallet.
“It’s across the river,” Carlo responded with some hesitation. With the traffic as bad as it was, one of the last places he wanted to go was Fort Lee, New Jersey, which required crossing the George Washington Bridge. At that time of day, what would normally take twenty minutes or so would probably take well over an hour, maybe as much as two, and only if they were lucky and there were no accidents.
Susumu looked at his partner and said in Japanese, “Since we have the address, we should go and see if we can find the books. The
“We don’t know if the books will be there.”
“We don’t know if they’ll not be there.”
For a moment Yoshiaki stared ahead, pondering the pluses and minuses. “Okay,” he finally said in English. “We go to Fort Lee!”
Carlo exhaled loudly and spun back around to look out the windshield. Ahead all he could see was a sea of stationary cars in both directions, even though there was a string of green lights stretched out into the distance. “I guess we go to New Jersey,” he said in a tired voice.
As Carlo had feared, it did take two hours to get to Fort Lee, and then another twenty minutes to find the appropriate street. It was short and alley-like, with several deserted redbrick one-story commercial buildings covered with graffiti, as well as a number of tiny run-down houses clad in old-fashioned off-white asbestos shingles. The sun had nearly set, and with the cloudy sky, Brennan had to turn on his headlights. The lights in the small house that matched the address in Satoshi’s wallet were also on, in contrast to those of the immediate neighbors’, which were dark and looked deserted.
“Here it is,” Brennan said. “What a palace! What’s the plan?” He was looking out his window at the overgrown yard filled with all manner of rubbish, including a rusting tricycle, a broken swing set, several bald tires, and a collection of empty beer cans. “What do you want us to do?”
Susumu opened one of the rear doors, and he and Yoshiaki slid out. Yoshiaki leaned back in. “We’ll be quick. Maybe it would be best if you turn off the headlights.”
Brennan did as he was told. The scene retreated into a misty gloom, which at least eliminated most of the trash and junk strewn about all the yards. At the same time it emphasized the dead-looking, skeletonized trees silhouetted against the pale, turbulent sky. “This place gives me the creeps,” he said.
“Ditto,” Carlo said.
The two hoodlums watched as the Japanese men hastily mounted the rickety steps leading up to a small covered porch. At that point they were mere dark silhouettes against the muted incandescent light emanating through the glazed front door. Pausing, both pulled out handguns from shoulder holsters.
“Holy shit!” Brennan voiced. “What the hell are they going to do?”
The next instant one of the intruders used the butt of his gun to smash the glass in the front door, reached in, and then opened the door. In a blink of the eye, both disappeared inside with the door left swinging silently on its hinges. Brennan turned to Carlo. “I don’t like this! This is potentially turning into something that’s a lot more than I expected. Worst case, I thought these clowns were going to beat someone up.”
“I don’t like it either,” Carlo admitted. “I don’t like being any part of this.” He glanced at his watch. “Five minutes, then we’re outta here. They can find their own way back to the city.”
Both men fidgeted, keeping their eyes on the ostensibly peaceful little house. A few minutes later there was the muted sound of a gunshot followed quickly by several others. Both men jumped at each of the reports, guessing what each meant: a person was being killed in cold blood, and they, Brennan and Carlo, were accomplices.
During the next minute there were three more shots, for a total of six, causing Brennan and Carlo’s fears and anxieties to skyrocket. The problem was that neither knew what they should do, meaning exactly what would their boss, Louie Barbera, want them to do. Would he want them to stay and risk getting caught and charged as accomplices, or should they get the hell away from there to avoid putting the whole Vaccarro organization in jeopardy? Since there was no way of knowing the answer to this question, they stayed frozen in place until Carlo suddenly had the idea of putting in an emergency call to Barbera.
With the sudden movement of getting out his phone, Carlo caused Brennan to start anew. “Jesus!” Brennan complained. “Give me some warning!”
“Sorry,” Carlo said. “I’ve got to talk to Louie. He has to know what’s going down here. This is crazy.” Intent on dialing, Carlo didn’t even feel Brennan tapping on his shoulder until Brennan increased the force to a near punch.
“They’re coming out!” Brennan said anxiously, pointing out his side window.
Carlo looked. Both Susumu and Yoshiaki were charging down the porch steps and running toward the idling Denali, carrying loaded pillowcases over their shoulders. Carlo flipped his phone shut just as the men reached the vehicle and piled into the backseat. Without anyone speaking, Brennan put the SUV into gear and pulled away. He waited almost a block to turn on the headlights.
Brennan and Carlo didn’t speak for about ten minutes, whereas the two Japanese men had been carrying on a progressively animated conversation in Japanese. It was obvious they were not pleased with their accomplishments inside the house. By the time they reached the George Washington Bridge, Carlo had relaxed enough to talk.
“Did something go wrong?” Carlo questioned. He made it a point to sound disinterested.
“We were looking for some lab books, which we didn’t find,” Yoshiaki said.
“I’m sorry,” Carlo responded. “We heard what sounded like a number of gunshots. Were they?”
“Yes. There were six people in the house, more than we expected.”
Carlo and Brennan exchanged worried glances. Their intuitions told them that Louie was going to be surprised, and it wasn’t going to be in a good way.
1
MARCH 25, 2010
THURSDAY, 5:25 a.m.
Laurie Montgomery rolled over onto her side to look at her alarm clock. It wasn’t quite
