Callie's Last Dance (a Donovan Creed Novel) (13 page)

40.

I LEAN FORWARD in my chair and place the folder I’ve been holding on Sal’s desk. He opens it and looks at the thin stack of papers.

“What’s this?”

“The first page is a copy of FBI phone records documenting conversations with Frankie. The next twelve pages are certified transcripts of phone conversations between Frankie and Special Agent Robert Thorne, of the FBI. If you read those transcripts, I think you’ll be stunned to see what he’s already given the Feds.”

Sal glances at the papers and says, “What’s this last bit?”

“The evidence catalog.”

“What’s that?”

“The sheet that documents where the evidence is being held, and what type of evidence they have.”

“What type is that?”

“Audio tapes of the phone conversations, for one.”

“There are three listings for audio tapes,” he says.

“The others are recordings Frankie made of private conversations with you.”

“I don’t believe it. Anyone could type this shit up.”

“You think? Plus, why would I want to kill Frankie for free, other than to save your ungrateful ass?”

“Frankie was as loyal as they come. This here’s bullshit. Unless you’ve got proof says otherwise.”

“One of those tapes on the evidence sheet is a private discussion he claims you had in your basement last Memorial Day, when you gave him the order to whack the DiPietro brothers.”

Sal looks like he ate a bad fig. “That’s on tape?”

“It is. Apparently you also told him to torch the Jersey Icehouse restaurant, and gave him a date and time to do it. And it was, in fact torched on that day, at that time.”

“The FBI heard that?”

“They did.”

He closes his eyes. After a long time he says, “What’s the other tape?”

“A meeting he says took place here in the office ten days ago where you discussed a hostile takeover of Carmine Porello’s territory.”

“Frankie said that?”

“He did. And gave them the tape to prove it. I can’t believe you don’t strip search your people before having these meetings.”

He waves a hand, absently. In a defeated voice he says, “That would be disrespectful.”

“So is ratting you out to the Feds.”

Sal looks at me like a guy on a sinking ship, watching the last lifeboat launch without him.

“The Feds have all this?” he says.

“
Did
have all this,” I say.

“What’s that mean?”

“Permission to reach into my jacket pocket?” I say.

He nods. “You already been searched.”

I remove two microcassette tapes, and slide them across the desk.

“Happy birthday, Sal.”

“What’s this?” he asks hopefully.

“I was called to Virginia yesterday. Emergency meeting with Homeland Security. For some insane reason they made me head of the whole anti-terrorist division. While I was there I thought I’d check out the FBI files on my good friend, Sal Bonadello. Imagine my surprise when I learned they had a full-scale investigation underway, based on the tapes and testimony of Frankie De Luca.”

“These are those tapes?”

“Glance at the sheet in front of you that shows the location of the tapes”

“What about it?”

“There are tapes in those evidence cubicles. But one’s Paul Revere and the Raiders, the other’s Peter & Gordon’s Greatest Hits. You’re holding the originals.”

Sal frowns. “You like that sissy music?”

“Who doesn’t?”

Callie groans.

Sal looks at her and says, “I’m right, right?”

“You are,” she says.

“What about the phone tapes?”

“They’re in a different building. I couldn’t get to them. But I had a friend erase them.”

“How?”

“They were on magnetic tape.”

“So?”

“He put a giant magnet in an envelope and stuck it in the adjoining cubicle.”

He looks at me a long time, then calls Big Bad, his bodyguard. When Big Bad enters the room, Sal holds up the tiny tape and says, “We got anything here that can play this size tape?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Yes you do,” I say.

“What’re you talking about?”

“When you patted me down you took my microcassette player.”

“Oh yeah.”

Sal frowns. “Go get it,” he says.

When Big Bad comes back, Sal says, “Stay in here. I want you to hear this when I hear it.”

He fiddles with the recorder a minute, then gives up and says, “I don’t know how this shit works. You do it.”

He hands me the recorder and one of the tapes and we listen to Sal telling Frankie to kill the DiPietro brothers. Then we hear some small talk. Then he tells Frankie how and when to torch the Jersey Icehouse restaurant. Then I switch tapes and we listen to the meeting where Sal decided not to support Roy in his effort to kill Carmine Porello because he heard I shattered Roy’s hand and forced him to kiss Carmine’s ring in front of the entire Top Six audience and staff.

When the tape ends, Sal says, “You heard all that?”

Big Bad nods.

“That’s a tape Frankie made and gave to the FBI.”

“Frankie done that? Naw, not Frankie! I don’t believe it.”

“You were in this very room when that discussion happened!” Sal says. “And the first one was in my own
home
, in the basement!”

Big Bad stares straight ahead, as if it takes him longer to hear things than the rest of us.

“There were only two of us in the fuckin’ room,” Sal says. “Me and Frankie. Unless you think I’m stupid enough to tape my own conversations and send them to the FBI.”

“The Feds?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Maybe the Feds bugged the office and your basement.”

“Do you personally let Cheech in here twice a week to sweep my office?”

He nods.

“You ever see him find any bugs?”

He shakes his head no.

“And he sweeps my house the same days. It’s not a fuckin’ bug, it’s a wire. Frankie made these tapes, and gave them to the FBI.”

To me he says, “How much did they pay him?”

“You’re not going to like my answer.”

“Go ahead. Say it.”

I shake my head, sorrowfully.

“How much?” Sal repeats.

“He did it for free.”

“Son of a
bitch
!” Sal yells. “
Now
do you see why I told Creed to kill the bastard?”

Big Bad nods.

Sal says, “You heard the proof. Now tell the others what you know and tell them to shut their fuckin’ mouths and let me run my own business. And never speak of this again. Frankie was a rat. You wanted me to kill these two today? Well this is why I’m in charge. It’s why I make the important decisions and leave you to decide how many times you can pull your pud in the shitter while pretending to shit.”

Big Bad looks at Callie. He’s embarrassed. She shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

Sal says, “Thank God for these two. Callie and Creed saved our asses. Again.”

41.

“THANK GOD FOR these two?” Callie says.

“They saved our asses,” I say. “Again.”

“You have
got
to tell me what happened back there,” she says.

We’re in her limo, heading to her hotel so we can,
ahem
, do the deed.

She adds, “When Sal said he was in on the heroin deal I thought we were dead in the water.”

“We would have been, but you saved us.”

“How?”

“Last night you failed to create a backup plan to escape Frankie’s closet.”

“So?”

“It made me re-think our backup plan for explaining why we killed Frankie.”

“Why?”

“My real reason for killing Frankie was to protect Sal. I thought he’d be furious at Sal for ordering a hit on his wife. So that was the main reason, and you tortured Frankie so we could have a backup reason. But something you said last night made me think Frankie already knew Angie was getting whacked.”

“Something I said?”

“You said it to Frankie.”

“Tell me.”

“After torturing Frankie a long time you said, ‘You know what really pisses me off? You haven’t even asked about Angie.’”

“Ah,” she says. “He didn’t ask about her because he assumed she was already dead. Because he knew I was there to kill her.”

“That’s what it sounded like to me. Plus the fact he lingered in the garage a while when she walked in the door.”

“So the real reason was no longer a valid one.”

“Right. So now the heroin deal became our reason for whacking him.”

“Which left us without a backup reason.”

“Exactly.”

She says, “So how did you make all this happen overnight?”

“The geeks worked all morning on it. That’s the reason I was late getting to Cincy.”

“I understand that. But the geeks couldn’t manufacture the tapes out of thin air.”

“No.”

She gives me an exasperated look. “So how did you manage to get the tapes?”

“I cashed in part of my life insurance,” I say.

“Donovan.”

“Huh?”

“This business about how you tell a little at a time to build up the suspense?”

“Yeah?”

“This shit needs to stop. You make me want to shove my hand down your throat to pull out the next word. Do me a favor.”

“What’s that?”

“From now on, when I ask you something, cough out the entire hairball at once.”

“I’ve been taping Sal for years. I’ve got hundreds of them.”

“How’s that possible? You heard him. He sweeps his office for bugs twice a week.”

I laugh. “Cheech comes in, runs a fancy wand around the rooms, tells Sal everything checks out.”

“Why would he lie?”

“He’s on my payroll.”

She smiles. “You never cease to amaze me.”

“Wait till we get to your hotel room!”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“That’s mighty big talk for an older guy. Is there something I should know?”

“Like what?”

“Are you hiding a monster in your jeans?”

“It’s not the size of the sword that counts,” I say. “It’s the fury of the attack.”

42.

“THE MOMENT OF truth!” Callie says, as we enter the room. “Are you ready?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been ready for ten years!”

She laughs. “You’ve only known me for eight.”

“Yeah, but I spent two years dreaming about meeting someone like you.”

“And now you have. What’s left unsaid? Anything?”

“Just this: you’re the most beautiful, exciting woman I’ve ever met. And I adore you.”

She sits on the bed, kicks off her shoes, and suddenly suffers a sort of winking spasm in her right eye.

“You okay?”

“Of course. Why, what does it look like?”

She does it again.

“Like you’ve got an eyelash caught in your eye?”

She laughs. “I was trying to give you a come-hither look?”

“Come hither?”

“A sexual rallying cry. A call to action.”

“Do it again.”

She does.

I say, “Got it. Next time I see it, I’ll know what to do!”

“Wait,” she says. “What if we’re at a party and I actually
do
have an eyelash in my eye?”

“It would certainly liven up the party!”

“Perhaps a verbal cue would be better,” she says.

She pats the space on the bed beside her and says, “Come hither, Romeo.” Then adds, “How’s that?”

“Works for me!” I say.

I kick off my shoes.

“Enough foreplay,” she says. “Take me now!”

She lies down on her back in the center of the bed, spreads her legs, pulls up her sundress.

“What happened to your panties?”

She dangles them from her hand.

“When did you—”

“Do you really care?”

I sit on the side of the bed and lean over her, intending to plant a little kiss on her vertical smile when it suddenly happens.

An explosion.

Then a pause.

Then another explosion.

I’m so disoriented by the suddenness of the attack my brain is slow to react. But my body’s in full fighting mode, circling, looking for attackers. But I see no one. I hear a gasp and turn toward Callie. See her eyes wide open, her face a frozen mask. Except for her mouth, which is opening and closing in a frightening way, like she’s trying to get air, and can’t.

I shout her name, and drop beside her on the bed.

She’s trying to lift herself up, trying to speak.

I can’t hear. My ears are ringing, mind’s in a fog. I was so completely in the moment, and now we’re in a different moment, and she’s trying to speak. Trying to say something. I gather her in my arms and lift her up and see the blood. Not just some, but everywhere. Her back is sopping, the sheets beneath her drenched.

“Oh,
God
!” I scream. “
Callie
! Oh no!
Oh, my God, no
!”