Bedbugs (43 page)

“I could just about give two shits what they’re doing in there,” Angelo said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And if you had half an ounce of brains, you’d—”

“Keep it down, will you?” Mark said. “I’m just gonna take a look. I mean, what if they’re, like, burying the body in there or something?”

“It ain’t none of my concern,” Angelo said with a derisive snort. He stood back in the snowy darkness of the trees, slapping his arms to stay warm now that they had stopped moving.

After casting a cautious glance along either side of the barn, Mark skittered out across the open ground and flattened himself against the side of the barn to one side of the window. He edged around like he must have seen on television cop shows and, crouching low, peered in through the small opening. Angelo tried to deny his own slight stirrings of curiosity as he watched the light-trimmed edge of Mark’s face. His curiosity rose sharply when Mark’s eyes rounded in shock and his mouth opened into a wide
O
when he suddenly jerked away from the window.

“Jesus Christ!” he whispered, staggering backwards and grabbing Angelo’s arm for support. His voice was a raw, ragged gasp. “They’ve got a—Oh, my sweet Jesus! There’s a dead . . . a
dead
man in there! For real!”

Angelo smirked, only half-believing Mark as the young man gripped his wrist and tugged him in the direction of the barn.

“You’ve gotta see it!” he whispered. “I want you to verify what it is so when we go to the police, they’ll believe me.”

“We ain’t going to no police,” Angelo said firmly, but he allowed himself to be led over to the barn window. From inside the barn, they could hear the sounds of the men, moving about.

“Go on. Look,” Mark whispered. His voice assumed a deep tone of command. “See for yourself!”

Squinting one eye as though looking through a telescope, Angelo bent down and peered through the opening. The strong, musty smell of rotten hay and old manure assailed his nostrils and almost made him sneeze, but he checked himself. His heart did a cold, hard flip in his chest when he saw—and recognized—the dead man lying on the barn floor.

It was his boss, Tony Vincenza—the man he had killed less than an hour ago.

“Mother of Christ!” Angelo muttered.

His legs went rubbery on him. He turned and collapsed back against the side of the barn, gasping for breath.

“Yeah, I know,” Mark said softly. “I haven’t seen many dead people, either.” He shook his head as though mystified. “I can’t imagine that I’ll ever get used to seeing a stiff.”

Angelo opened his mouth to say something, but nothing would come out. All he could think was,
how in the hell had this happened?
Tony had hired him to kill Phil Belario because Phil was muscling in on some of Tony’s business concerns, but Angelo had cut a better deal with Phil and had taken out Tony, instead.

So what the hell was Tony’s body doing out here? How had these men found it so fast, and what the fuck were they doing with it here?

“I can’t—No!—I don’t—” but that was all Angelo managed to say before dropping to his knees in the snow and throwing up. He leaned forward, his face almost buried in the puke-stained snow as wave after violent wave squeezed his body. A thin sheen of sweat broke out across his forehead.

Mark knelt down beside him and gently placed a hand on Angelo’s shoulder.

“Hey, man. Take it easy there,” he said. “I know that seeing something like that’s gotta be pretty upsetting, but you have to keep quiet.” He hooked his thumb toward the barn and looked around cautiously. “I mean, if those guys in there hear us, we’re in deep shit.”

Angelo’s vision blurred. Strings of vomit dribbled down his chin as he looked up at Mark and stammered, “We’ve got to—to get the hell—out—out of here. Now!” He ran his forearm across his mouth, smearing the vomit across his cheek and coat sleeve as he struggled to stand up. “These guys—I don’t know how they—I’m not sure what the hell’s going on here, but we gotta get moving!”

“Come on, then,” Mark said calmly as he eased his arm around Angelo’s shoulder and directed him back into the woods. “Let’s get back to my car. We have to find someplace to call the cops—”

“
No!
” Angelo snarled. He was trembling as they walked into the deepening shadows under the pines. “No cops! Not while I’m around!”

“Why? What’s the problem?”

“Nothing. I just don’t want to—”

He cut himself short when a wash of yellow headlights swept down the driveway. Both men dropped and flattened themselves to the ground as a tow truck pulled into the dooryard. Angelo’s stomach went cold and watery when he saw his broken-down rental car attached to the back of the tow truck.

“Oh, sweet Jesus! Oh, shit!” he whispered, squinting as he watched the tow truck pull to a stop in front of the barn door. Two men got out. They were nothing more than black shadows in the gloom as they walked around to the back of the truck and lowered Angelo’s car to the ground.

“Say,” Mark said close to Angelo’s ear. “Isn’t that your car?”

His breath washed over Angelo’s face like warm water, but Angelo could barely nod agreement as he looked in amazement from his car to the dark farmhouse.

“Wait just a fucking second,” he said, easing himself up into a crouch and brushing snow from his coat. “Just what the fuck is going on here?”

“Nothing much, Angelo,” a cold voice from behind them said suddenly.

Angelo let out a startled cry as both he and Mark spun around to see who had spoken. Silent figures resolved out of the darkness as they came around the back of the barn. Angelo couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like four or five men. As soon as he realized that one of them was Phil Belario, he knew there must be at least half a dozen more staying behind cover with guns trained on him and Mark. Snow crunched underfoot as the group of men moved slowly toward them.

“Sorry ‘bout this, kid,” Angelo said to Mark, “but I tried to warn you. I think you got yourself into something you ain’t gonna like.”

“What?” Mark asked, his voice high, constricted. “How do you know these men? And why’d he call you Angelo? I thought you said your name was—”

“Shut the fuck up and let me do the talking,” Angelo said. “Maybe I can convince them to let you go.” Taking a bold step forward with his arms upraised, he called out, “Hey! Jesus Christ, Phil!” He laughed a high, dry laugh and shook his head as though dazed. “Goddamn, I got to hand it to you. You really had me going there.” He looked around casually. “So what the fuck is all this about, anyway?”

“Why Angelo, I’m surprised at you,” Phil said in a soft, grating tone of voice. “One of the best in the business, and you haven’t figured it out yet?”

 
“Whaddayah mean? Figured what out?”

“This is a hit, Angelo,” Phil said. “I’m taking you out.”

“What the fuck?”

Angelo took a few steps backward, but he knew damned well that there were several armed men behind him, ready to shoot him on the spot if he turned and ran.

“What the fuck you talking about?”

“You’re a loose end, Angelo,” Phil said. “You worked for Tony—how many years? Ten? Twelve?”

“Yeah—’bout twelve, I guess,” Angelo said, fighting back the tight trembling in his voice.

“And when he put a contract out on me, how long did it take you to cut a deal with me, huh? Not even one full day! You betrayed your boss like that!” He snapped his fingers. The sound sounded like a gunshot in the cold air.

“Well, now, wait—wait just a second there, Phil,” Angelo stammered. “You and me—we’ve known each other a long time.” His chattering teeth diced every word as he spoke. “I’ve known you almost as long as I’ve known Tony, and—to tell you the truth—I couldn’t see what he was getting all bent out of shape about. I told him I didn’t want the contract, but he insisted on using me, so I figured—you know—that I’d tip you off.”

“It didn’t take you very long to decide to double-cross your boss, now, did it?”

Finally at a loss for words, Angelo merely shrugged.

“So you must understand why I can’t trust you, Angelo,” Phil continued. “I’m taking over
all
of Tony’s interests, and I have to have people around me that I know are gonna be there for me, one hundred percent.”

“But I was there for you, Phil! I didn’t clip you even though there was a hundred large in it for me.”

“But I have to be sure no one’s gonna double-cross me at the first opportunity,” Phil said mildly. “You can appreciate my problem, can’t you? I have to make an example of you.”

Angelo was silent a moment; then he frowned deeply and said, “So what the fuck—? How’d you set this up.”

Phil snickered and smiled broadly. “A little dash of sugar in your gas tank took care of the engine,” he said. Before Angelo could say anything more, Phil reached into his coat and withdrew a pistol equipped with a silencer.

“Recognize this?” he said, holding the weapon up so Angelo could see it against the darkening sky.

“Yeah—I think so,” Angelo replied.

“It’s the gun you used to clip Tony,” Phil said with mock earnestness as he sadly shook his head. “And I’m afraid I’m going to have to use it to silence you. You must have heard of Larry Fiero.”

Angelo nodded and took one more step backwards. “Yeah, sure. One of the best. Operates out of Chicago.”

“That he does, but just this afternoon you’ve been out for a little joy-ride with him. Here yah go, Larry.” Phil held the gun out and Mark stepped forward to take it. “Angelo—I’d like to introduce you to Larry Fiero. Larry—this here’s Angelo Martelli.”

“End of the line, Frankie-boy,” Mark said as a thin, mean-looking grin spread across his face. “Or should I say
Overkill?
”

“Fiero! What the—?”

Angelo was stopped cold when Mark raised the pistol and aimed it squarely at his forehead.

“That’s right,” Phil said with a snorting laugh. “And you must know that, like you, Larry’s one of the best in the business. Matter of fact—” He sniffed with laughter. “After tonight, he’ll be the
best
.”

“You lousy mother fucker!” Angelo glared at Mark, who was bracing his right arm with his left hand and taking careful, steady aim at him.

“And that’s the last time I’ll have to hear you use that expression,” Mark said.

“Wait just a fucking minute!” Angelo said. “This is goddamned ridiculous. How’d you—why’d you go to all this trouble to get me out here like this? It don’t make sense.”

Unable to believe that any of this was really happening, Angelo stared earnestly back and forth between Mark and Phil. Mark coolly squinted at him over the circled opening of the gun. Phil had the self-satisfied expression of someone who just hit the lottery.

“Christ!” Angelo said, helplessly raising his hands. “You could have whacked me any time after I left the state. Why’d you set me up like this?”

“Yeah, you lousy mother fucker, I could have,” Mark said with a cold steeliness in his voice as he started to apply pressure to the trigger. “But don’t you think it’s been a lot more fun doing it my way?”

—for Marty Greenberg

and Ed Gorman

“...see, see! dead Henry’s wounds

Open their congealed mouths and bleed afresh.”

—
Richard III
, I. ii. 55-56.

I’
m confused, really confused.

I can see bright lights all around me.

Too bright.

I know there are people nearby, too. Sometimes it sounds as though there’s a whole crowd, milling around somewhere in the outer darkness behind the blinding lights. A faceless, nameless mass of people, like an audience, unseen, but their presence is sensed behind the glare of stage lights.

At other times, or maybe at the same time, I can tell there are a few of them—maybe three or four—standing close to me.

I think they’re doing things to me.

I don’t know where I am or what’s happening to me. Can anyone tell me?

I
try to move my arms and head, but my whole body feels like it’s a wet lump of senseless clay. There’s no sensation in my legs. Absolutely none at all. Not even the sensation of pain.

Nothing.

It’s almost like my body doesn’t even exist.

What the hell’s happening to me?

I don’t remember a thing, not since.

When was it?

Earlier tonight?

Y
es, I remember. . . . I was walking back from the Wild Horse Theater to my apartment on Irving Street, in Cambridge, when a man—hell, no! He wasn’t a man. He was just a kid, for Christ’s sake, stopped me and demanded that I give him my wallet.

At first I started to reach for it, but then in an instant I decided not to hand it over so easily. I think I might have tried to fight him, to get away from him.

Was that what happened?