and night.”
“If he ain’t dead, he will be. That’s yours. Soon as we locate him, get our money back, you can take him out.”
Francone grinned.
“I may have something else for you,” Cuccia continued. He watched as a tall blonde man joined the woman in the pink thong. “Tony Rizzi is coming out to join us. He thinks he’s ready to make his bones. I think he’s starting to pull back on his money. If I don’t read where this cocksucker Pellecchia is found dead by tomorrow morning, maybe you take Rizzi and take care of everything before we leave.”
Francone looked puzzled. “Rizzi?”
Cuccia frowned through the pain in his jaw. A large man blocked his view of the woman he was watching. “You set Rizzi up. You make him feel good about himself. Like he’s in, you know. Bring him along, pump him up. Then you can whack Rizzi when we get back to New York. He’s starting to hold back his cash anyway. What good is he without that? We’re better off we get rid of him instead of squeeze him. We squeeze him, he might talk. He was a score. The score’s over. We’ll see what he brings out here with him. You bring him with you to get Pellecchia. Let him do it, you think he’s got the balls, except I wouldn’t count on it.”
Cuccia wiped drool from the corners of his mouth. “Hey, you pull it off, this Pellecchia prick and Rizzi when we get back home, I’ll bring it to my uncle. I’ll see I can’t get you made without waiting around the rest of your life.”
A smile crossed Francone’s face. Cuccia shot him a wink before he looked down at the pool again. The big man had moved. Cuccia could see the woman in the pink thong again.
“The things I could do with that,”he said.
Francone scouted the men at the pool for muscle competition. He focused on one guy who was huge. “Steroid freak,” he said.
“Huh?”
“The guy down there. He’s juiced.”
Cuccia furrowed his eyebrows. “Oh, Joey, you got nothin’ better to look at down there?”
Chapter 20
Jerry Lercasi fixed his grip on an Olympic bar as he lay on the bench under the weight. He sucked in air as he tightened his grip. He gasped loudly and pushed the bar off the rack. He steadied the weight before lowering it and blew out air as he pushed the bar from his chest. He did it again and again, in slow, measured repetitions, before reracking the bar.
“Morning, Hercules,” Detective Albert Iandolli said.
Lercasi was wiping sweat from his forehead with a Vive la Body hand towel. He looked up from the bench to frown at the organized crime detective.
“The steroids do anything for your dick?” Iandolli asked.
Lercasi stood up from the bench. He was a few inches shorter than the detective. His body was well defined with muscle. He made a point of flexing his biceps as he wiped sweat from his neck with the hand towel.
Iandolli pointed at the Olympic bar. “How much is on there?”
“Three-fifteen,” Lercasi said. His voice was rough. “You wanna give it a try?”
Iandolli shrugged. “What’s the point, Jerr? You get all beefed up like that and somebody puts two behind your ear someday, like Benny Bensognio. You’re as dead as a ninety-pound weakling would be, no?”
“You got a point,” Lercasi said. “This a social call, or you want to join? We’re running a special for city employees this month. A third off on a year.”
Iandolli sat on the bench as Lercasi added weight to the bar. “Cute, Jerr. You’re a funny guy. Except I have a situation came up the past few days I’m concerned about.”
“My attorney already spoke to the police about Mr. Bensognio,” Lercasi said. “I knew the man casually. I had no idea he was a bookmaker. I never placed a bet in my life. In fact, I was at a private dinner last night with two City Council members. If I’m not mistaken, some snoopy reporter was there and took pictures. I live in Las Vegas because of a respiratory condition. I have no idea why anyone would want to kill Mr. Bensognio. I sent flowers to his funeral out of respect for his wife and children. I’m sure this is a terrible time for them.”
“He was probably skimming off your book operation,” Iandolli said. “But Benny isn’t why I’m here. Some guy and his wife were assaulted. They’re from New York. Know anything about it?”
“Why would I know something about that?”
“I don’t know. Except the guy was assaulted at the Palermo construction site. One of the workers there found him behind the model.”
Lercasi stopped adding weight. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack. That’s your turf, Jerr, the Palermo. And that’s a big no-no, assaulting tourists on their vacation. Even if it is mob-related.”
“What’s mob-related? What the hell does that mean?”
“Right. Anyway, just so happens, a couple of the boys are in from New York the same day the unlucky couple were assaulted.”
“Couple of the boys? I don’t know any boys.”
“You know, Jerr. That dumb-ass fraternity you’re involved in that don’t exist? The one where they rat on each other every time one of them gets busted? The one they made all those movies about?”
Lercasi continued adding weight to the Olympic bar.
“How much you got on there now?” Iandolli asked.
“Three-thirty.”
“I wanna watch. You mind?”
Lercasi lay on the bench, took his grip, took a few deep breaths, and grunted as he lifted the bar from the rack. He brought the bar down to his chest slowly. He set the bar on his chest, held it a split second, then grunted as he pushed the bar up. He lifted the weight two more times before reracking the weights. When he sat back up on the bench, he was breathing hard.
“That really give you a woody?”
“You made your point,” Lercasi said through gasps of breath.
“Good. Because if this Palermo thing comes back to you, my friend, you’ll be lifting your weights inside the joint.”
Lercasi wiped himself with the towel. “I don’t know nothin’ about it.”
Iandolli mocked gasping for breath, as if he were about to lift the bar himself. “But I bet you’ll ask around now, won’t you,” he said, squeezing the words from his lungs.
Lercasi picked up a ten-pound plate to add to one end of the bar.
Iandolli let out a long mock exhale of breath.
Charlie decided to tell Samantha what was going on. He told her about the fight in the New York nightclub and about his wife being mugged. Samantha flinched when Charlie described what had happened to Lisa.
“My God,” she said.
“She’s been in and out of surgery.”
They were sitting at the kitchen table. Samantha was wearing white shorts and a navy blue blouse. Charlie wore gray Dockers and a maroon polo shirt. He had brought a navy sports jacket for dinner later. The roommate, Carol, was taking a shower.
“What does the DEA want?” Samantha asked.
“Who knows? Except I don’t trust them. Not their motives. The guy I met was making a deal for the creep who assaulted Lisa.” He lit a cigarette. “I wasn’t sure if I should come here. I’m still not sure I should stay.”
“Are you feeling guilty about your wife? Be honest.”
He took one of Samantha’s hands. “It’s not about Lisa.”
She tried to smile. “I like you, Charlie. But I don’t want to get involved where I don’t belong.”
“It’s not about Lisa.”
