Night Work (29 page)

    "Gus and that slut he was hanging out with were into some bad shit. She was a junkie; did you know that? When they find the bodies they'll also find drugs. Just another dope deal gone wrong, Frank."

    "And Charlie?"

    "It's the strangest thing. He vanished. Happens all the time. Guy gets tired of the old lady, goes down to the corner store for a pack of butts and never comes back." Vincent stretched casually, as if his back was bothering him. "Nobody is ever gonna see Charlie Rain's ugly ass again. By the time they get done spreading what's left of him around, people in every restaurant in New York'll be eating the sonofabitch for dinner." Vincent winked. "Never order red meat out."

    "What if the cops don't buy it?"

    "The cops Michael pays to look the other way? Those cops?"

    Frank leaned back in his chair and crushed his cigarette out in an ashtray on the desk.

    "Turano's gone and his federation no longer exists," Vincent said. "I'd say my profits just tripled, wouldn't you? And with Charlie and Gus out of the picture, I should be making some serious coin in no time at all. Now this whole part of the country belongs to me. Hell, I know it's only the independent circuit and the big boys still run the game in all the big-time circles, but a guy has to start somewhere, right?"

    "What about Luther?" Frank asked. "He and Charlie were close."

    Vincent's eyes narrowed. "Luther's a whore. I'm his new pimp. That simple."

    "And me? You gonna kill me too?"

    "What am I, some whacked out psycho?" Vincent laughed. "We're friends, for Christ's sake, how could you ask me something like that?" He stood, wandered toward the door. "No, you're just out, Frank. Out of the business. I don't need you. I'm the man now. My brother's money paid for it anyway, right? I sat Benny Dunn down and had a little chat with him. He's a good guy, real trustworthy. I offered him a limited partnership but he decided to bow out. I got no hard feelings toward him. He handles himself like a man. As for you, you got to realize this is strictly a business move on my part, and as far as the business goes, Frank Ponte don't exist no more. You're gone, and if you got any brains left in your head you'll stay that way."

    Frank felt his nerves begin to settle. "Not a problem."

    "With what you know, I'm giving you a break, Frank, because we got a history and we're friends. I'm banking on you still having some brains left in your fucking head, you with me? You can't prove shit anyway, but still, the safest move was to take you out too, and I didn't. I could've at any time, and as much as I'd hate to do something like that, I still can. Remember that, because if I so much as hear your name again - if you ever decide to play hero and make this a personal thing," Vincent said, "believe me when I tell you that I won't hesitate to protect myself and my business interests with extreme prejudice. Are we clear?"

    "We're clear," Frank said. "Only there's one thing I want to make clear too."

    Vincent looked at him. "Okay."

    "I don't intend to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, Vin. I don't want you near me, or my family, either. So if all of this is just more of your bullshit you better save yourself the time and take me out right here and now."

    "Don't sweat it, Frank." Vincent grinned. "If that's how I wanted to play it you'd already be dead."

    Frank watched him closely. "It'll be better for both of us if that's true."

    "I've had a tough week," Vincent said. "I'm gonna take the rest of the day off, but it's an exciting time for me so I'll be in bright and early tomorrow morning. When I get here, you be gone, okay?"

    Frank gave a slow nod.

    He stepped through the doorway then quickly looked back at Frank. "Believe it or not, I really am sorry things had to turn out like this. Fucking sucks, but, you know how it goes, man."

    "Yeah," Frank said softly. "I know how it goes."

    Vincent stuffed the gun back into his jacket and left the office.

    Frank opened the blinds, watched Vincent get into his Corvette and speed away, then went to his file cabinet and pulled out a bottle of vodka. His hands still shaking, he managed to pour a glass and drink it down.

    He flopped down into his chair and let his eyes wander across the office. It had all happened so fast, it seemed, but had fallen apart even faster.

    After two more drinks he picked up the phone and dialed Benny's home number. With his connections in the city the requests Frank planned to make would stand a good chance of being granted. The phone was answered on the third ring.

    "Benny?"

    "Frank, how are you?"

    "Alive. Got a minute?"

    "Got lots of them."

    "I heard you don't work for Vincent anymore."

    "I heard the same thing about you."

    "Do you still work for me?"

    There was a lengthy pause before he answered. "Depends."

    "I've got one more job I need your help with."

    "I'm listening."

    "I need you to find out whatever you can on an Arthur Bertalia. B-e-r-t-a-l-i-a. I think he's somewhere in Vermont. If he's not, keep looking until you find him. I want a full rundown on him. I want to know how many times he scratches his balls in the morning before he hangs a piss."

    "I understand."

    Frank gulped the remainder of his drink. "There's more. I need a piece, Ben. Something that can't be traced and works good up close. And see if you can get a hold of a pair of lead gloves. I'm also gonna need a car."

    "No problem. When do you need all this?"

    "In the morning."

    "Jesus, Frank. That's awful soon."

    "Can you do it or not?"

    Benny sighed into the phone. "I can do it."

    "Meet me at my apartment tomorrow at nine." Frank hung up the phone and poured himself another drink.

    The way he felt, he was sure he couldn't get drunk fast enough.

    

    

    Frank staggered into his apartment well after night had fallen. He put a bag containing two bottles of vodka on the table and got himself a glass from the cupboard. He drank quietly for a while before stumbling into the bedroom.

    On the bureau was a large frame containing a picture of him and Sandy on their wedding day. He picked it up, squinted in an attempt to focus.

    "This isn't the way I wanted it," he mumbled, and hurled it across the room. In a rage he cleared everything from the top of the dresser with a wild backhand, then spun around and punched the wall. His hand broke through up to the elbow and pain shot from the tips of his fingers to the top of his shoulder. Afraid that he'd broken his hand he yanked it free, lost his balance and fell back onto the kitchen floor.

    Eventually Frank regained his footing. He checked his hand, clenching and releasing it until he was certain there were no serious injuries, and had himself another drink.

    He stared at the wall phone. If something went wrong in Vermont he might never see Sandy again.

    "Hello?"

    Despite his condition Frank recognized his father-in-law's voice instantly. They had never been close, and Frank always referred to him by his first name. "Phil, it's Frank. Is Sandy there?"

    "I suppose."

    After a moment Sandy came on the line. "Frank?"

    "Yeah. Hi."

    "Are you all right?"

    "Yeah," he said hesitantly. "It's almost over, honey. I just need you to stay there for one more day, okay?"

    "What's happening? I'm scared to death. You never told me what was - "

    "Just one more day," he said again. "It'll all be over by then and I'll be able to come and pick you up." He could hear her breathing into the phone, nothing else. "Okay?"

    "Okay," she sighed. "Have you been drinking?"

    "A little."

    "It doesn't sound like a little."

    "I guess it doesn't feel like a little either."

    It was a long time before either spoke again, but it was Sandy who finally broke the silence. "Are we safe?"

    "Yes."

    "Are you?"

    "Yes," he told her. "I'll come by and get you probably sometime during the afternoon. Late afternoon."

    "All right."

    "I love you," he said, voice breaking.

    "I know you do."

    The line went dead, and Frank stared into what was left of his drink.

    

    

    A light drizzle had begun to fall when Benny pulled into the parking lot. He saw Frank standing in the doorway to the apartment building, saw him motion to the far end of the lot, and parked there. Frank followed, dashing through the rain.

    "All set," Benny said as Frank hopped into the seat next to him.

    "Everything cool?"

    "No troubles." Benny handed him a small canvas bag. Inside, Frank found a pair of gloves he'd requested and a snub-nose.38 revolver wrapped in a small cloth. He pulled the gun free, surprised by its weight. "Be careful," Benny warned. "It's loaded."

    "Is it clean?"

    "As clean as they come. No serial numbers."

    "Good," Frank muttered.

    "Just be sure you're right on top of the target if and when you fire it. It's a good piece but it's very loud, and about as accurate as a phone psychic. You probably couldn't hit a bull in the ass with the thing from twenty paces."

    Frank nodded, put the gun away and glanced around the unfamiliar car. "What's the deal with the wheels?"

    "Legit papers and ready to burn as soon as we're through."

    "And Bertalia?"

    Benny gazed through the rain-blurred windshield. "I got a buddy who does computer hacking. It's amazing how much shit you can dig up with only a name these days."

    "What do you need, Ben?"

    "Five bills should do it."

    "Here's a thousand."

    Smiling, Benny revealed a set of large teeth. "You don't have to do that, man."

    "Just take the fucking money, Benny," Frank said, holding out the wad of cash. "Please."

    Benny scratched his chin, stuffed the money into his coat pocket. "Thanks."

    "Where is the sonofabitch?"

    "Richland," Benny told him. "Little town about ten minutes over the border. He runs a little tire shop, gas station - some shit like that - it's perfect. Shouldn't take us more than a few hours."

    Frank looked at him. "Us?"

    "I got nothing else to do."

    "I didn't expect you to come, Benny."

    "I know," he said quietly.

    Frank cracked the window; felt splinters of rain hit his face like little pins and needles. "You could've had a piece of the business. Why did you side with me over Vincent?"

    "I didn't. I sided with me."

    "But Vincent's offer was the better deal. It was the logical business move."

    Benny shrugged. "Maybe."

    "I'm talking strictly from a business angle," Frank told him. "Most guys would've jumped at the chance."

    "There's more to life than business, Frank." Benny took a chocolate bar from his coat and unwrapped it. "This was a hell of a ride while it lasted, but I'm not cut out for all the rest. I'm just a petty criminal, Frank, and that's the way I like it. Petty criminals live longer. Besides, Vin's fucking nuts. He's a good guy and all, but he's nuts. I made a couple dollars, saw a couple places, met some cool people, did my job and didn't make my exit feet first. You got to know when to fold up your tent and go home, Frank. I'm not saying I didn't think about Vin's offer, but Christ, I got a wife and two babies at home. I don't need that shit, you know what I'm saying?"

    Frank lit a cigarette, exhaled through the opening in the window. "I know exactly what you're saying."

    "You always treated me with respect," Benny said, chomping the candy bar. "If you've got some business to take care of, I want to help you out. I figure I owe you that much."

    "You don't owe me a thing, Ben."

    "I'm glad you feel that way." Benny crumpled the wrapper, tossed it on the floor. "Because after today, I'm done."

    "So am I."

    Benny nodded. "Then let's go."

    

    

    The snow, it seemed, had gotten heavier since Frank had gone inside. Benny continued to watch the mirrors, hoping that the road would remain clear.

    He jumped; the sound of the.38 was unmistakable. The blast must have been deafening in such a small place, he thought.

    "Come on, Frank," he said aloud, looking to see if the boom had caused suspicion at the convenience store across the street. "Come on."

    Frank stepped back. The gun was still smoking, and he looked down at Artie Bertalia through the quickly dissipating cloud. He had plastered himself against the wall where he'd fallen, and once he realized Frank had shot a hole in the wall behind him instead of directly into his mouth, he began to cry again.

    "Oh, Jesus Christ," he sobbed, his hands running over his plump bloodied face as if to make certain everything was still intact. "Jesus Christ, sweet, sweet Jesus Christ." He adjusted his glasses, peered through them at Frank. "Please, I didn't - I did some things I shouldn't have done to your mother, but - I'm very ashamed of those things, really, I - please, I - I didn't kill anyone - I didn't kill anyone. It was a long time ago, I - I was just a kid myself."

    Frank ran a hand through his damp hair. His ears were still ringing. "Shut up, asshole."