“Where’s Francone?” Cuccia asked. He had to push the words from his mouth.
“Let’s go,” Thomas said. “Up and in the bathroom. Wash yourself and put your clothes on. We’re out of here in ten minutes.”
“Where’s Francone?”
“I have no clue. Probably in Singapore somewhere.”
Cuccia wasn’t moving yet. “Where -”
“Get dressed,” Thomas said. “I’m serious, we don’t have time to play around here. Not if you don’t want the FBI to take over.”
Cuccia slid off the edge of his bed. He winced from the pain in his jaw when his feet touched the floor. He pointed to the envelope on the table. “What’s that?”
“If you don’t already know, you don’t wanna know.”
Cuccia took slow, deliate steps to the bathroom. Thomas handed him his pants and shirt. “You have maybe a one-in-ten-million shot of keeping half your deal with us,” Thomas said. “Maybe, if you can get your uncle to move that heroin from here, over the phone. If not, you’re looking at life plus twenty or thirty years.”
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”
“Just get dressed.”
On the drive to the Bellagio, Charlie wanted to know why the hell Detective Iandolli had introduced him to Jerry Lercasi and why the hell he had brought up Beau Curitan.
“What was the point?” Charlie asked. “I don’t understand what you two were talking about back there. Except for Beau Curitan. And I didn’t appreciate the game going on with that. The woman he tried to rape was my girlfriend.”
“I took a shot,” Iandolli said.
“Took a shot at what?”
“Finding Mr. Curitan. If he drove straight through the state, it won’t make a difference, he’s gone by now. Sometimes guys like that panic and think they have to maneuver. They assume we have the jump on them. They get nervous and make mistakes.”
“What you said about the car dealers.”
“That and the junkyards. If this clown didn’t drive out of Nevada last night, he’s probably waiting to change his transportation. Lercasi has a long reach inside this state. The guy tries to do something with the car, there’s a chance he’ll get caught.”
“And why the fuck would Jerry Lercasi do that?”
“I offered him a carrot,” Iandolli said. “The DEA and Cuccia.”
“I don’t get it,” Charlie said.
“It has to do with mob protocol and leverage Lercasi might exert on his own behalf when the shit hits the fan,” Iandolli said. “And it will, the shit will hit the fan, sooner or later. The kind of action this town has seen the past few nights is off-putting to the average Joe, but it’s deadly to the casinos. If Lercasi can wave a deal Cuccia made with the DEA under New York’s nose, it’s a major coup for him. He’ll be owed on a pretty grand scale.”
Charlie shook his head. “I still don’t trust the guy,” he said. “What’ll he do, turn Beau Curitan over if he finds him?”
Iandolli winked at Charlie. “Beau wishes,” he said.
Charlie was still confused. “What?”
“Let’s put it this way: Beau probably won’t be going home for the holidays.”
“That wouldn’t upset me.”
“Me either. Then hopefully Lercasi calls New York and gets you a pass while he’s spilling his guts on Cuccia.”
Charlie wasn’t in the mood to hear about the virtues of wiseguys then. “A pass means I get to live?” he asked.
“Lercasi has the clout.”
“And what would happen to Cuccia? Isn’t that a little dangerous for your career, what you told this guy?”
“Only if I run for office.”
Chapter 54
Minh was upset at seeing the detective and Charlie Pellecchia visiting with Jerry Lercasi. He wondered what their conversation had been about at the construction site. He wondered if the Italians were giving him up.
He let off the gas pedal as he followed the cop and Pellecchia back to the Bellagio. He called one of his men and instructed him to drive another car to meet him. He would exchange cars and retreat to a hidout for the rest of the day. He would leave one of his men behind to follow Pellecchia.
When his cell phone rang, Minh was surprised to hear Jerry Lercasi’s voice.
“Time to back down,” the Italian gangster said. “I don’t need -”
“Fuck you,” Minh said.
“Hey!” Lercasi yelled, but Minh killed the connection.
Beau knew he was a fugitive. Now he had to think like one.
He brought his car to an auto body shop in Laughlin. He asked for the car to be painted bright yellow over the original navy blue. He paid an extra hundred dollars for the garage to forget about the paperwork.
The big man behind the counter joked with Beau. “You rob a bank or something?”
Beau shook his head. “I got a wife chasing me for back alimony,” he said. “Crazy woman left me for another man and wants me to pay for it. Put a damn private dick on my ass. They chasin’ me from Alabama, if you can believe it.”
The man grunted. “How much you owe?”
“Six months,” Beau said. “But it’s not like she’s a cripple or nothin’. Damn woman works. So does her boyfriend. I don’t see why the hell I have to pay them.”
“I feel your pain, buddy. I’m paying alimony, it has to be eight years now.”
“Yeah, well, I’m hoping the new color will throw her off the chase.”
The big man nodded. “I hear ya.”
Beau counted the money in his wallet. After the paint job, he would be down to fewer than seven hundred dollars. The last few weeks had been expensive. Beau had a credit card with him, but he was afraid to use the card while he was in Nevada.
Beau guessed he had more than enough cash to make it out of the state. He figured Canada was the best place to hide for a while. At least they could speak English in Canada.
“I’ll still need the registration,” the big man said. “I’ll leave it off the receipt, but I’ll need it for our records.”
“What, your boss against makin’ cash or somethin’?”
“I gotta have it. It won’t show on your paperwork, but I can lose my job, I don’t take it down for our records.”
Beau handed the big man his registration. “How long you think this’ll take? The paint job, to dry and all?”
“End of day,” the big man said. He copied the registration number onto an order form and handed the card back to Beau.
Cuccia examined his bruises in the mirror. He was a mess all over again. He touched his swollen lips with his fingertips. He touched his mouth where he felt the gap in his teeth. He sucked air from the pain.
He was obsessed with rage for Charlie Pellecchia. He remembered how Pellecchia had pushed his way into the hotel suite. He remembered how Pellecchia had spoken to him. He remembered how Pellecchia had kicked him in the face.
And now his jaw was broken again.
Cuccia splashed water on his face around his bruises. He combed his hair with his hands. He figured he had one last chance to kill Pellecchia, and he knew he would have to do it himself.
First he would have to escape the DEA agent on the other side of the bathroom door. Then he would have to
