House of the Rising Sun (30 page)

From the top of the driveway Ray stepped onto the railed porch and walked past a couple of wooden rockers sitting in front of three big windows. He knocked on the door.

No answer. He knocked again. The light shining behind the curtains of the three big windows suddenly went out. Usually when you knocked on someone's door the lights came on. Maybe Charlie was just extra cautious, but maybe something else was going—

The door flew open. A dark shadow loomed there for just a second; then hands grabbed Ray and yanked him through the door. He stumbled over the threshold and almost fell, but
the hands held him up. Something hit him in the ribs. Then something else cracked against his left ear. Inside his head, Ray heard something go
pop
. Then he felt a piercing pain, like an ice pick shoved into his ear. Behind him the door slammed shut. Hands pulled him up straight. Then someone slugged him in the stomach.

The Smith & Wesson thunked against the hard tile floor of the foyer.

“He's got a gun,” someone shouted.

“Pick it up.” It was Tony Zello's voice.

Metal scraped against the tile. “I got it.”

“Get the light.”

“Huh?”

“The fucking light, you moron. Turn it on.”

From behind, an arm clamped around Ray's neck, pulling him backward, arching his spine.

The lights came on.

Ray blinked as he found himself looking at Tony Zello and Joey. Tony held a bloody towel to the side of his head. Ray clawed at the arm around his throat, the arm that was squeezing off his air supply. It was thick and hard, hairless like a bodybuilder's. A bodybuilder like Rocco.

Tony grinned. “I been looking for you, Ray.” He held up the stainless-steel pistol. “What were you going to do with this?”

Ray wheezed as his vision started to fade.

“Don't kill him,” Tony said. “Not yet.”

The pressure on Ray's windpipe eased, and he managed to suck in some air. Tony Z. stepped aside, then turned and pointed with the gun to the living room floor. Ray looked down and his stomach heaved, kicking up bile into the back of his throat. Charlie was on the floor, taped to an overturned chair, his face a lump of hamburger. The side of his skull was cracked enough so that through the bloody hair Ray could see the soft pink of Charlie's brain.

Tony turned back to Ray. “I was just talking to your friend Charlie. He said he didn't know where you were.”

Ray wasn't looking at Tony. He couldn't take his eyes off the bloody thing on the floor. Charlie's head rested on the carpet, his face white with that pasty look of death that Ray had seen so many times before, on the street and at autopsies, but it was different when it was someone you knew. The carpet had soaked up most of the blood, leaving a red halo around Charlie's head.

Joey held out a roll of duct tape to Tony. “We need to get out of here.”

Tony stuffed the pistol into the back of his pants, then grabbed the roll of tape. “Get the car.”

Jenny parked three houses down from Charlie Liuzza's, on the opposite side of the street. From there she had a clear view of the house. Two cars sat in the driveway, and no one was out front. Ray had disappeared through the door while she was moving her car.

She looked down at her phone, checking to make sure it was on. She hoped Ray called before he came out. That would give her time to move. He would be pissed if he came out and found her parked so close.

When she looked up again, she saw Joey—the same Joey who worked for Vinnie and Tony—step out the front door of Charlie's house. Not that unusual since all these wiseguys hung out together, but for some reason it gave her a bad feeling. She thought that Ray was meeting with just Charlie. As Joey neared the end of the driveway, Jenny scrunched down in her seat, afraid he would see her. At the sidewalk he turned right, heading up the street and away from her. Charlie's was the fourth house down from the next street. At the corner, Joey turned right again and disappeared.

Not more than two minutes later, Jenny heard a car start and saw the spill of headlights from around the intersection, then a dark green Lincoln—Tony's dark green Lincoln—whipped around the corner and nosed into Charlie's driveway.

Tony Zello stepped out the front door. Jenny sunk lower in her seat as her heart started to pound inside her chest. From the top of the driveway Tony gestured toward the Lincoln, holding one hand in the air and spinning it in a circle. His other hand
looked like it was holding something to his ear. The Lincoln's reverse lights came on. The driver backed out into the street, turned around, then pulled tail first into the driveway. Tony gave one-arm hand signals until the Lincoln stopped just inches from him. He pounded on the trunk until the driver popped it open.

Peering just over her dashboard, Jenny watched as Joey climbed out of the Lincoln and ambled back toward Tony. They talked for a few seconds. Then Tony looked up and down the street, like he was about to do something he didn't want anyone to see.

“Come out of the house, Ray,” Jenny whispered. “Come out and I'll pick you up.” Her heart was doing the talking because in her mind she knew it wasn't going to happen.

Then Ray came out, right through the front door just like Jenny had hoped, but he was with Rocco. The big goon was at Ray's side, his right arm locked around Ray's neck and his left hand gripping Ray's arm. With just the light from a street lamp illuminating the scene, she couldn't tell for sure but it looked like Ray had something wrapped around his mouth, something that went all the way around the back of his head. His hands were behind his back and he was walking funny. He looked hurt. Rocco was walking funny, too, like he had a stick up his ass.

Tony said something, and Rocco hurried the last few steps, practically dragging Ray to the car. There was no hesitation and no discussion as the two muscled apes hoisted Ray up and tossed him into the trunk. Tony slammed it closed and looked around once more. Then all three of them got into the car. Joey driving again, Tony in the front seat beside him, and Rocco in the back behind Tony.

They turned left out of the driveway, the headlights sweeping past Jenny's Firebird and for a second the whole interior of her car was lit up. Even all the way down, lying across the console
with her head in the passenger seat, she was still terrified Tony would see her.

As soon as they passed her she grabbed her cell phone, intending to call the police. But what would she say? Where could she send them? Not to Charlie's house. They were already gone, but where were they going? She had to find out. She sat up, cranked the Firebird, and whipped it through a tight U-turn.

The Lincoln's taillights were two blocks up, just making a right turn. Six-lane Williams Boulevard was just a couple of blocks in front of Tony's car. If they got into heavy traffic before she caught up, she'd lose them for sure. Jenny made an instant decision, something she'd seen on TV. She spun the wheel and turned right at the first cross street, two blocks over from the one the Lincoln was on, but she'd get to Williams just a few seconds behind them.

She blew through two stop signs and reached the crowded boulevard at the same time as the Lincoln. They were two blocks to her left, and Jenny could see the Lincoln was held up, waiting for an opening in the traffic. The way the car was angled she knew Joey was going to turn right. Waiting, waiting, waiting, then the big green mobster-mobile turned. As it went past her, Jenny turned her face, praying to God Tony didn't recognize her car.

Two more cars went by. Then she pulled into traffic behind the Lincoln. They were going to kill Ray, of that she was sure. But where? And how? Shoot him, strangle him, toss him off the bridge into the Atchafalaya swamp doing seventy miles an hour?

The Lincoln busted a light just as it turned red, and both cars in front of Jenny stopped. She jumped on the brakes, heard her tires squeal as she skidded to a stop just a foot shy of crashing into the bumper of the car in front of her. The smell of burned rubber stung her nostrils as she pounded her palm on top of the steering wheel. “Fuck!”

In the rearview mirror she saw at least a car length of distance between her and the guy behind her. She slammed the gearshift into reverse, stepped on the gas, then jammed on the brakes. With the wheel cut to the right, she shifted into drive. The tires let out another squeal as she stomped down on the pedal, powering through the empty right-turn lane and past the two cars stuck at the light.

For just a second she had to stop for traffic crossing through the intersection, and then the V-8 roared as she shot through a slender gap between a couple of cars. Ignoring the blare of horns behind her, Jenny put her foot on the floor and raced to catch up to the Lincoln.

Headed south on Williams she followed Tony's car under the interstate overpass, then for another mile through heavy congestion until Joey made a left turn into a subdivision. Without other cars to cover her, Jenny had to back off and give the Lincoln more of a lead, but she still had to stay close enough to see where it went. She had expected them to jump up on the I-10 and head toward the swamp, out past the airport. What they were doing in a residential neighborhood, holding a man captive in the trunk, Jenny had no idea.

Through a couple more turns, she slowly closed the gap with the Lincoln, every second afraid she was going to lose them. Fifty yards ahead of her, Joey turned left. When she got to the street, she made the turn behind them. Too late she saw the yellow diamond of the dead-end sign. The street was only a block long and ended in a cul-de-sac. The Lincoln was stopped a quarter of the way around the circle, on the right-hand side.

Near panic, Jenny whipped into the first driveway and killed the lights. There were already two cars in the driveway, and the lights were on in the house. Even if Tony hadn't noticed her car pulling into the driveway, or if he did and thought it belonged there, the people inside were going to want to know who was sitting in their front yard.

The Lincoln sat in the street in front of a two-story brick house. Jenny saw the automatic garage door start to rise. Joey threw the Lincoln into reverse and backed partway into the garage. When the car stopped, both right-side doors opened and out popped Tony and Rocco. Rocco was still moving slowly, as if he were in pain, and Tony still held something pressed against his ear. What the hell happened to these guys?

From the driveway where she was parked, Jenny couldn't see into the garage, but she saw the Lincoln's trunk open. Tony and Rocco, both already standing at the back of the car, reached into the trunk, then jerked around like they were having trouble, like Ray was putting up a fight. Rocco threw a punch into the open trunk, and the struggle ended. Through a narrow slice of space between the back of the car and the garage, Jenny caught the briefest glimpse of Rocco dragging Ray out of the trunk.

Joey climbed out of the driver's seat and slammed the trunk closed. He got back behind the wheel and eased the car forward enough to clear the garage. As the automatic door slid down, Joey jumped out of the car and ducked under it.

Ray was in there with three mobsters, and if he wasn't dead already, he soon would be. Jenny
had
to think of a way to get him out. But what could she do? One woman, alone and unarmed, against three killers.

Then she had an idea. What if she wasn't alone, what if she got help? Maybe some guys who weren't afraid of mob assholes. Jenny reached for her cell phone.

Tony didn't keep cars in his garage. He kept them parked in the driveway. The house might belong to his wife, she could put up all the frilly shit she wanted to in there, but the garage was his and it was off limits to her.

He wasn't into woodworking or fixing cars, but Tony had a workbench stretching the length of one wall and a four-foot-by-eight-foot sheet of Peg-Board nailed to another wall, the holes filled with steel hooks hung with yard and patio tools: a broom, a rake, clippers, sheers, a hose, and extension cords. A door in one corner led into the laundry room, which connected to the kitchen by another door.

The rest of the garage was set up as a den and game room. The floor was unfinished cement, but Tony kept it clean enough to eat off. In the middle of the room, facing the back wall, sat a sofa and coffee table. Beside the sofa was a leather recliner. Mounted on the back wall was a sixty-inch flat screen, and to the right of that stood a cherrywood cabinet with etched glass doors.

Johnny Four-Fingers had built the cabinet for Tony. Johnny had been a hell of a carpenter but a piss-poor gambler. That's why he was dead. The cabinet was stacked with a multidisk CD/DVD player and a ton of stereo equipment. To the left of the TV was a stand with a smaller television. Sometimes Tony had to watch more than one game at a time. In two of the corners were a pool table and Ping-Pong table.

This is where Tony got away from
the bitch
. Where he could watch anything he wanted without his wife nagging the shit out of him. Like Asian lesbo porn. He loved to watch those chink chicks do each other.