The Killing Man

'He made the streets pretty early. Pat's got his rap sheet, so skip that part and stay with the personal stuff.'

Petey hit the keys again. 'His father was killed in a holdup shortly afterward, as you see. Now, here's an excerpt from the News about the murder of a man suspected of having killed Victorio. He was even wearing Victorio's watch. Anthony was picked up and questioned, but released for lack of evidence. However, the word was that Anthony found the guy and hit him.'

'He discovered his profession, didn't he?'

'More than that,' Pete said, 'he found a patron. Juan Torres.'

I knew the name, and it hit me with force. 'Now we're into the heavy cocaine scene.'

'You'd better believe it,' he agreed. 'You know where Torres stood with the organization?'

'He was a damned lightweight for a long time, I remember that. Something happened that pushed him right up the ladder.'

Pete nodded, chewing on his lower lip. 'He'd just disappear for months at a time and when he showed up he was a little bit bigger. We finally figured out. Juan Torres was a finder. You know what that is?'

I shook my head.

'He's got family scattered all through Mexico and South America. A million cousins, you know? He's got that touch, and where there's a coke source he taps into it. He was a nobody, a nothing, but maybe that's how he made it work. The way prices are on the street, no operation was too small to tap into. Torres got the leads, made the deals and the organization moved him up. Oh, he was a damned good finder, all right. He was right inside the Medellin cartel when it first started.'

Reaching across me, Petey picked four printed photos off his desk and handed them to me. In each one Juan Torres and Anthony DiCica were in close conversation against different backgrounds, obviously very familiar with each other. Here DiCica was dressed in expensive outfits, jewelry showing on both hands.

Again Petey keyed the board and brought up bills of sale and records of deeds to two houses. 'DiCica was the sole support of his mother. She still lives in the Flatbush house enjoying an income from two dry-cleaning establishments he bought for her years ago.'

'What about the other one?'

'A two-family place. Both rentals of long standing. The house was in his name, the rentals went to his mother. In the terms of his will she inherits the houses.'

'Does Maria know what happened to her son?'

'Here's a copy of a report on her. When Anthony was in that trauma following the beating, she assumed he would die. She collected his belongings and only saw him once after that when he was released. He didn't even know her. All he remembered was something his papa had made, she said.' He erased the screen and brought up another report, a letter from the medical supervisor in the hospital that attended to Anthony. He concluded that DiCica had absolutely no memory of his previous life, his mental faculties were severely impaired in certain areas, but he was capable of leading a satisfactory, if minimal, existence.

'What are you saving for me?' I asked him.

'Somebody else was keeping a watch on both those houses,' he told me. 'Look at this.' Two minor items from the Brooklyn Eagle appeared. The home of Mrs. Maria DiCica had been burglarized, but nothing seemed to have been taken. The elderly lady and her live-in housekeeper had been locked in the pantry while the ransacking went on. The dateline was two days after Anthony had been admitted to the hospital.

One day later a minor squib reported an attempted robbery of another house, where the residents downstairs were trussed up and gagged while the robbers prowled through the premises before doing the same thing to the upstairs apartment where the residents were away.

'Both those houses belonged to DiCica,' Petey said. 'However, since nothing was reported stolen, they were after something else entirely. Now,' he said with emphasis, 'check this one out.'

The headline was bigger this time, under a partially blurred photograph of a pair of frightened old ladies. For the second time in a month their home had been entered and this time the women had been bound, their mouths taped shut, and kept unceremoniously on the kitchen floor while the intruders went about systematically tearing their house apart. Apparently they found nothing. Neighbors reported that street speculation assumed the DiCica woman to have a hoard of cash in the house since the ladies lived so frugally.

Before I could say anything, Petey keyed the console and grinned. 'Don't ask me how I got this.' It was a copy of a bank statement. The amount was over three hundred thousand dollars, all in the name of Maria DiCica. Deposits were regular and automatic from several sources. 'Our boy Anthony had set his old mother up in fine fashion. So, what were the houses being burglarized for and who did it?' He sat back and looked at me. 'Or should I ask?'

'I can give you an off-the-record opinion, Petey, but that will have to do for now.'

'Good enough.'

'DiCica had some devastating information on the mob. He hid it somewhere before he was clobbered.'

With a look of finality, Petey shut the console down. 'End of case. It died with Anthony.'

'The hell it did,' I said. 'Somebody in the organization thinks DiCica suddenly remembered and dropped his secret on me.'

'Brother!'

'So if it dies, it'll die with me.'

'Only you're not dead yet?'

'Not by a long damn sight.'

'But they got pressure on you, I take it?'

I nodded. 'The bastards as much as said it was my ass if I don't produce.'

'Shake you up?'

'I've been in the business too long, kiddo. I just get more cautious and keep my .45 on half cock.'

He watched me frowning, grouping his thoughts. 'That mutilation of DiCica could have been a message to you then.'

'It's beginning to look like it,' I said.

'What do you do now?'

'See how far I can go before I touch a tripwire.'

'You don't give a damn, do you?' he said.

'About what?'

'Anything at all. You don't want any backup, no protection . . . you want to be out there all alone like a first- class idiotic target.'

I shrugged.

'There's a lot more of them than there are of you, kiddo,' I watched him and waited. He finally said, 'They know how you are, Mike. You're leaving yourself wide open.'

I felt that tight grin stretch my lips and said, 'That's the tripwire I set out.'

When she answered the phone, I said, 'Would you really like to be president?'

There were three seconds of quiet and I knew she was studying the way I had said every word.

'There are a lot of obstacles on that road.'

'I think I can clear a few of them out.'

'How?'

I looked at my watch. 'I'll be at your place in fifteen minutes.'

All I had to do was walk around the corner and I made it in five. The doorman nodded, called Candace's apartment, then told me to go up. As I expected, I caught her in the middle of getting ready, obviously flustered at being half-dressed.

'You're a real bastard,' she said. 'Come on in.'

I tossed my hat on a chair and followed her into the living room. She walked against the light and for a brief moment her naked body was silhouetted through the fabric of her housecoat and she did a half turn, looking back at me impishly, and I knew she was well aware of what she was doing.

'Like?' she asked.

'Cute.'