Echoes of a Distant Summer (81 page)

Mickey Vazzi sounded winded and a little frantic and when DiMarco heard his news he understood why. Two hours earlier Joe Bones’s penthouse apartment had been bombed with him in it. Joe Bones had been whacked two days before he had planned to come to San Francisco. Mickey didn’t have to say any more. A hit on Bones was a hit on the Las Vegas Mob; there would be retribution exacted. Bones held such a high position that all the likely suspects might just get whacked to send a message.

Vazzi’s voice dropped to a whisper. He asked, “You didn’t have nothing to do with it, did you?”

Paul exclaimed, “Are you crazy? Never! Why would you ask a fool question like that?”

“People are going to think it’s you because I just left there, after delivering the jet. Everybody knows you weren’t happy about giving up the jet. I’m worried somebody is going to come looking for me to answer questions and I ain’t got no answers!”

“Me either! I don’t know who did it. This is really fucked! Thanks for calling me and telling me, Mickey. You’re a friend.” Paul was about to set the phone softly back on its cradle when Mickey said, “That ain’t all the news either.”

“What the fuck more can there be?” Paul demanded.

“There’s lots more. Somebody burned down part of the restaurant.”

“What? When?”

“Sometime this morning. They must’ve come in after we closed. They left gas cans everywhere. Whoever did it wanted it to look like arson.”

Paul exploded. “Goddamn it!” This was all he needed. More complications. He figured that the fire must’ve been set by Tremain. Still, it was not the end of the world. He calmed himself with an effort and asked, “How did you hear about all this?”

“Langella called me around midnight. He needed a place to take an injured man and a place to dump a body. I was going to go by the restaurant and get the keys for the apartment we keep for out-of-town visitors when I saw the fire department and the police picking through the wreckage of the fire.”

Paul looked around at his wife and saw that she was watching him and listening. He asked, “So at least everything went well with Asti, huh?”

“No, she got away.”

Paul couldn’t believe it. “What? Then who’s the stiff?”

“One of Langella’s men. That bitch led them into an ambush. Langella would’ve been killed if the car hadn’t had bulletproof glass.”

Paul almost dropped the phone. It seemed that his whole world was on the verge of crashing around his ears. All semblance of a normal life for him was over. He had the Mob on one side and a freelance assassin on the other. He tried to gather his thoughts. He needed money. A lot of money. “Listen, Mickey, I need you to go back to the restaurant and get into the safe—”

“I can’t!”

“Listen, damn it! I’m going to give you the combination!”

“I’m trying to tell you the safe was already open when I got there.
The police department was taking stuff out of it as evidence. They found three kilos of heroin in it.”

“What heroin?” Paul was nearly apoplectic. “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know. I guess somebody set you up.”

DiMarco was stunned. “How did the safe get opened? Did the police take the money as evidence?”

Mickey’s voice dropped. “I couldn’t get real close, but I don’t think there was any money in there. I think all they got was the heroin and your books.”

Paul put the phone back on the hook. There was nothing more to say. He had underestimated both Asti and Tremain and now he had to pay the piper. He felt hollow, slack, like a sail without wind. The fact that Joe Bones had been hit at the same time that the arson was committed was an extremely crafty move. Somebody had made a trap for him and it looked airtight. The legal case against him was open and shut. The heroin combined with the fact his two sets of accounting books were in the hands of the authorities would give them all they needed. There would be a trail of millions of dollars for which his restaurant could not account. He would be charged with drug dealing and it would make the papers. The DiMarcos would be publicly forced to repudiate any connection or link with him and organized crime, but behind the scenes they would expend every effort to show the Mob that they were in control of their city. No stone would be left unturned in rooting out the perpetrators of the hit on Bones. Paul, the rogue DiMarco, was expendable. He would be thrown on the sacrificial altar to show that the DiMarcos were sincere and thorough even if it meant one of their own family was involved.

Paul couldn’t go back to sleep now. He had to make plans or he would never see another sunrise. First thing was he needed money. He was walking out of the bedroom when his wife’s voice interrupted him.

“What the hell is Mickey Vazzi doing calling here at this time of the night? I thought you were warned to stop all business until after the election!”

Paul’s initial reaction was to ignore her, but he thought better of it. He answered simply, “Someone whacked Joe Bones!”

“Oh my God!” Camille sat up. She knew what his news meant. “You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?” Paul shook his head.
Camille’s hand trembled a bit as she took a cigarette from a pack on the bedside table and lit it. She inhaled deeply then asked, “But you’re a suspect, aren’t you?”

“Yep. But that ain’t all. Somebody burned down part of the restaurant and left three kilos of heroin in my office. I’ve been framed like a picture. Set up like quail under glass.”

“Oh God!” Camille stood up and put on her robe. “They’ll be coming here!” Paul knew that she wasn’t referring to the police when he nodded in agreement. Camille puffed her cigarette nervously as she continued, “I’ve got to get the children up! If I go to my mother’s will I be endangering her?”

Paul shrugged and replied, “I don’t know.”

“Will they … will they kill all of us?”

“Fuck if I know! It might be best if you and the kids went up to my sister’s in Reno. She ain’t part of the life. It’ll take ’em a month to find you there, by that time—”

“Can’t you do something? Can’t you find who did this?” Camille’s voice was pleading. Gone was her indignation. She was a mother begging for the lives of her two male sons. She knew all too well the consequences of a hit on one of the bosses. Her own father and two brothers had been killed after just such a hit. Tears had now joined her words. “Can’t you do something?”

Paul started to say “Everything’s going to be all right!,” but he couldn’t bring himself to lie. He shook his head and left the bedroom.

P
ug DuMont’s party was well under way when Elroy pulled up to the mansion gates with his van filled with trays of pastries. He straightened his uniform and reviewed his cover story as he waited for the gate to open. Elroy wanted to enter, take care of his business, and leave with the least commotion and fuss. He didn’t want to hurt anyone unnecessarily. Therefore, his disguise had to be good enough to pass a close inspection. He had rented a third van and had assembled the metal racks
upon which the trays of pastries were loaded himself. He had fastened new signs to its sides which read
ROYALE BAKERIE
. He prepared his own employee identification card and had it laminated with his picture. He wore a starched white apron over his white uniform and even wore a chef’s hat. Then, after all his preparation, the man guarding the gate didn’t even ask for identification, just waved Elroy inside.

Elroy drove the van around to the side entrance and parked next to a large catering truck. He got out and went to the back of the van and unloaded a metal cart. He slipped on some latex gloves and slid three pastry trays into grooves on the cart’s legs. There was a metal drawer in the top of the cart that Elroy covered with white linen and placed a fourth tray on top of it. He made sure that he could access the drawer. Inside the drawer were three pairs of handcuffs, a coil of rope, an unregistered .357 Magnum revolver, and a hypodermic needle filled with a fast-acting poison. Before he had left San Francisco, he had reconciled himself to the prospect of death. He wheeled his cart into the house. He was going to cast his lot with fate and let the devil take the hindmost.

He knew that the party was being held in the main wing of the house, but he had heard over his receiver that Pug had left the party and had gone to the sitting room, where they were keeping Serena. It seemed that Pug took unusual pleasure in taunting her with threats of the things he was going to do to her. Although he had little sympathy for Serena, Elroy respected her for not breaking down or acting frightened. It was obvious that the old girl had some grit. Elroy rolled his cart past the hallway that led to the sitting room, but there were two bodyguards lounging by the door. Elroy didn’t want to go into the kitchen; the possibility that he would be challenged by one of the catering staff or, at the minimum, be put to work, was too great. He rolled his cart into an alcove and slid out a tray and carried it down the corridor into the main ballroom. He saw a group of waiters in white coats conferring near the door and asked where he should leave the tray of pastries.

“You way too late,” drawled a lanky, dark-skinned man. “I’m bussing dishes now!”

“You ain’t too late!” countered another man. He pointed to the far side of the room. “None of the people at table fifteen got any dessert. Take the tray over there.”

Elroy followed the man’s direction and walked around the room crowded with people sitting at round tables. There was a convivial din
as people laughed and conversed between tables. There was an eight-piece swing band tuning their instruments and checking microphones on a small temporary stage. Elroy dutifully set the tray on a sideboard and made his exit. When he returned to the alcove, he noticed that the bodyguards were still in the hall leading to the sitting room. He sighed and took another tray of pastries into the dining room. At the door, the same waiter who had told him that he was too late took the tray and hurried to a nearby table to serve its occupants. The band began to play “Stardust” and the sound of the brass reverberated through the room. Before he could turn and leave, two other waiters asked him to bring more trays of pastry. Elroy went back to the alcove and saw that Xavier DuMont was leaving the sitting room followed by his bodyguards. Elroy rolled his cart out of the alcove and headed for the dining room ahead of Xavier.

Xavier’s commanding voice called out behind Elroy, “You there! Hold up! Stop!” Initially Elroy kept walking. He didn’t want to talk with Xavier and he didn’t think that Xavier was addressing him. Xavier called out again, “Goddamn it! I’m talking to you!” Elroy looked around to see if there was anyone else in the corridor and there wasn’t. He stopped and turned to see what Xavier wanted.

Xavier, followed by his bodyguards, came up and slapped Elroy across the face. “When I call you, you obey! Goddamn it! If you ever want to get another catering job in this city, you better clean out your ears! I’m going to report you to your superiors! What’s your name and who do you work for?”

Elroy covered his anger and affected a southern drawl. “My name Clarence Renfro. I work for Royale Bakerie down off of Desire.”

Xavier turned to one of his bodyguards. “Write that down! I don’t want to forget it!” The man awkwardly rummaged through his pockets looking for a pen. He found a ballpoint but didn’t have any paper. Xavier was exasperated. He looked at Elroy and demanded, “Do you have a business card?”

“Naw, suh. I ain’t got nothin’ like that.”

Xavier looked over the tray of pastries and sneered, “These look like shit! Let’s see how they taste.” He picked up an eclair and bit off the end. He chewed a few times then spit it out. “This is shit! Let’s try another.” He bit into a flan tart and shortly afterward spit it out too. “This is all shit! I won’t let you serve this to my guests!” Xavier pushed over
the cart, spilling the contents of the trays onto the floor. He pointed to the floor and ordered Elroy, “Clean all this shit off my floor! Jasper, you stay here and sees that he does it!”

As he watched Xavier walk away with the other bodyguard, Elroy was furious. The lower legs of his pants and his shoes were covered with rich pastry filling. He was not used to taking umbrage without some sort of response, but he focused on his objective and swallowed his pride. He got down on his knees and began putting the overturned pastries back on one of the trays. He then picked up his cart and set it on its wheels.

Jasper took two strides and kicked the cart over again. He pointed to the floor covered with custard, flan, and cream and said, “The boss, he say clean this shit up!” Elroy could not keep the anger off his face. Jasper saw his expression and challenged, “Whachoo gon’ do? You feel froggish? Let’s see you jump bad.”

Elroy lifted the cart again and set it upright on its wheels. He turned his back to Jasper, put his hand in the top drawer, and pulled out the gun. He backed up, rolling the cart out of the mess on the floor.

Jasper threatened, “You need another slappin’? You better get down on yo’ hands and knees and clean that crap up!”

“I don’t think I will,” Elroy retorted defiantly. He turned to face Jasper. “I think you should clean it up!”

“Well, ain’t this some shit!” Jasper exclaimed as he walked toward Elroy. “Clarence, you done fucked with the wrong man!” Jasper feinted with his left, then threw a right at Elroy’s head.

Elroy blocked the punch with his own right and then backhanded Jasper across the face with the butt of the pistol. A gash opened over Jasper’s right eye as he stumbled backward in pain. Using the butt of the pistol as his weapon, Elroy followed him and clipped the top of his head. Jasper fell back against the wall and attempted to pull out his own gun, but Elroy hit him in the mouth, knocking out a few teeth. Jasper dropped to the floor, stunned. His eyes were just focusing as Elroy bent over him with his arm raised to deliver another blow.

Jasper cried out in fear, “Don’t kill me over this shit!” He raised his arm to protect his head. It was no defense. The butt of the pistol landed on his head with a sickening thud and Jasper lost consciousness.

Elroy stood up and went back to the cart for a pair of handcuffs and the rope. He handcuffed Jasper’s hands behind him then dragged him into a side room. He deposited him behind a couch then tied his feet
together and pulled the rope taut through the handcuffs so that Jasper’s legs were curled behind him. Elroy tore a piece of curtain and made a gag, which he tied over Jasper’s mouth. He returned to the cart and after getting his hypodermic and the other two pairs of cuffs, he pushed the cart once more into the alcove. He knew there was another entrance to the sitting room through a bedroom at the end of the hall. He decided that entry better suited his purposes, because then he wouldn’t have his back to whoever came down the main hall. The bedroom door was open. Elroy entered and locked it behind him. He could hear the sound of Pug’s raspy voice coming through the partially opened sitting room door. Elroy moved quietly to the door and waited. He wanted to determine the number of people in the room before he entered.