5 Bad Moon (26 page)

Juicy Vacarini’s voice rose from the pews. “Get outta here, Tozzi. Leave. Let us take care of this.”

He looked at Stacy. “I’m not leaving without her.”

Stacy’s face was as white as the marble altar. She was terrified, too scared to move. Tozzi prayed that she’d faint. She’d make a lousy hostage if she were unconscious. But her eyes were wide open and she was breathing fast, panting. She wasn’t gonna faint. Maybe she’d hyperventilate and pass out. He wished she would.

Juicy called out again. “I said, let us take care of this, Tozzi. It’s a family matter.”

Tozzi looked out at the pews. Juicy was on his feet, four or five rows back. A few other guys were standing with him, guys from his crew. Across the aisle, Frank Bartolo’s son, Junior, was standing, too. His hand was inside his jacket.

Tozzi looked past them. Shit. Where the hell was Gibbons?

He looked back at Sal. “Let her go, Sal. It’s the only way I can get you outta here alive.”

Emerick was still on his belly, sobbing into the carpet. “There’s too much sinning
…
too much sinning.”

“Let her go, Sal.”

“No fucking way, Tozzi. You’re gonna get us outta here all right. You and me and her.” His eyes were darting all around the church. He knew he was a dead man if he stayed here. He yelled out to the crowd. “Anybody comes near me, I shoot her first, then I start shooting at you. I got thirteen fucking bullets in this mother, and I swear to Christ I’ll use every goddamn one before I go down. Every one.”

Tozzi’s breathing was shallow. All they needed was a firefight in church. They could have a great big funeral for all the victims, right here, right away. Tozzi scanned the side aisles. Where the hell was Gibbons?

“Wake up, Tozzi.” Sal nodded at the center aisle. “Start walking. Nice and slow. We’re getting outta here.”

“Sal, listen to me—”

“Move! I’m gone. I’m gonna disappear.”

“Listen. You surrender to me now, you can go back to Trenton. We—”

“Fuck that. I ain’t going back there. Not me. Send Donnie boy back to Trenton. He likes it there. I ain’t no fuckin’ nut case. Now, get moving. Go.”

Stacy squealed as Sal cranked her arm again. “Tozzi, please! Do what he wants.” The gun was irritating the skin under her chin. Her neck was red and blotchy.

Tozzi’s heart was thumping. They couldn’t stay here. Sal was desperate, and he couldn’t trust these wiseguys. Who knew how many guns they had out there? They could start a shoot-out any second. People would get killed, and Stacy would be the first. No. He had to take this outside. At least if it was just him and Sal, it would be a little saner, the odds a little more even. Sort of.

Sal kneed Stacy in the backside to make her walk. “Get going, Tozzi.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” Tozzi kept his hands up as he turned to go down the aisle. Mistretta’s casket was in the aisle at the other end of the church. No one else was back there. As he stepped down from the altar, he glanced back at Sal and Stacy, then looked up at the plaster Jesus bleeding on the cross. He let out a long sigh.

You got any good ideas?

“Just stay put, all of you. You keep walking, Tozzi.” Sal moved down the aisle, holding Stacy close, the barrel of that gun right up under her chin. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her jaw was clenched, either in pain or fear, probably both. She was up on her toes, Sal had her jacked up so high. He was practically carrying her.

Tozzi walked backward down the aisle, facing them, ten feet away. He glanced right and left, hoping to God none of these idiot wiseguys decided to pull a gun. Sal was desperate—you could see it in his face—and he wasn’t kidding about emptying his clip and taking people down with him. Tozzi didn’t give a shit if Sal took down any of his goombahs. It was Stacy he was worried about. She was gonna be the first casualty if they started shooting. Tozzi scanned the pews, but it was impossible to tell if anybody out there was holding a gun.

Sal’s eyes shot around the church, but they kept coming back to Tozzi. “Don’t get any ideas, Tozzi. Just be cool. Everybody be cool. We won’t have no problems that way. I’ll be gone and you can have your funeral. Okay?”

“What about her, Sal?” Tozzi stopped walking.

“Keep moving!”

Stacy groaned as Sal twisted her arm.

“Just keep going, Tozzi. You hear me? I’m not fooling around.”

Hands in the air, Tozzi stepped back a little quicker to placate Sal. “Take it easy, Sal. I’m going, I’m—”

Tozzi’s heart jumped as he bumped into something. He looked over his shoulder. It was Mistretta’s casket in the middle of the aisle. He shoved it to the side with his hip to make room, banging it against a wooden pew. The collision boomed through the church like a bomb going off.

Tozzi’s heart was pounding as he backed around the casket. There were too many goddamn variables here. Sal was fucked—there was no way he was gonna get out of here alive. These people were not about to let him live, not after what Emerick said about him. If Tozzi had some backups here, at least Gibbons, maybe—just maybe—they could apprehend Sal and cool things down. But Tozzi was all alone here, and Sal was focused on him, which meant he wasn’t focused on that one wiseguy in the crowd who was gonna start the shooting. Sal was a dead man, he was history, that was definite. But what about Stacy? How was he gonna save her? Sal wasn’t the issue anymore. Stacy was. Just Stacy. Tozzi could forget about taking Sal in and having him prosecuted. He could forget about testifying against Sal, assuring the court that the guy was really sane and that he always had been. He could forget about
…

Something suddenly occurred to Tozzi. Everyone in this place knows Sal’s fucked, except Sal. He still thinks he’s got a chance. He thinks he can make it out of here. He’s got hope. And if he’s got hope, Tozzi’s got something he’s gonna want.

“Hey, Sal. Hold it a minute.”

“Screw you, Tozzi. Just keep walking.”

“No, wait. I got something for you. No tricks. I swear to God. It’s under my shirt. Okay? I wanna get it for you.”

“Don’t fuck around, Tozzi. I’ll kill her. I swear I will.”

“I’m just gonna take off my jacket and put it down right here. Okay?” Tozzi started taking it off as he asked for permission.

“Don’t get wise, Tozzi. I’ll make you sorry for the rest of your fucking life.”

“I’m gonna unbutton my shirt now.” Tozzi loosened his tie and started unbuttoning his shirt. He tossed the tie aside and opened his shirtfront. “Can you see what I got?”

He ripped the tape off the wire on his chest, wincing against the sting. He pulled off the strips of tape on his side. “See what it is, Sal?” He took off his shirt and let it drop to the floor, turning to the side so that Sal could see the Nagra tape recorder on his back. “You see what it is, Sal? A tape recorder. It’s all on tape, Sal. You talking just now. Loud and clear, you talking natural. It proves you’re not nuts.”

“You little fuck. I’m gonna—”

“I’ll make you a trade, Sal.” Tozzi ripped the strips of tape off his back and held the tape recorder over his head. “Stacy for the tape recorder. An even trade. The girl for the tape recorder.” He shivered, bare-chested in the cold, damp church.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tozzi spotted a statue of St. Sebastian on the side altar. The saint was wearing nothing but a dirty loincloth with about a million arrows sticking out of him. St. Sebastian, the martyr. Tozzi’s throat ached.

“So whattaya say, Sal? I give you the tape recorder, you let her go.”

Sal didn’t answer. He was thinking about it.

“C’mon, Sal, whattaya say? It’s the only hard evidence we’ve got that proves you’re not insane. It’s the only recording in existence of you talking normal, carrying on a real conversation. Without it, we can’t put you away. We wouldn’t be able to touch you.”

“That’s bullshit, Tozzi.
You
can testify against me. Whattaya think I am, stupid?”

“Yeah, but I
won’t
testify. I promise you. If you don’t hurt her, I won’t testify.”

“You’re fulla shit.”

“No, for real. Let her go and I will not testify against you.” Tozzi swallowed hard. “I swear to Christ I won’t.”

“You’re bad, Tozzi. Shouldn’t swear like that in church when you don’t mean it.”

“I do mean it. I’m telling you. Let her go and I won’t testify.”

“Why?”

“Because I love her. I want to marry her.” Tozzi’s heart was thumping like crazy.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. Now, c’mon. Take the damn tape recorder. Here.” He set the Nagra down on top of Mistretta’s casket and stepped back, showing Sal his empty palms. “Take it, Sal. It’s your ticket to freedom. Take the tape recorder, let her go, and just get outta here.”

Sal inched forward, pushing Stacy with him. His face was a tight fist, eyes burning. “If this is a trick, Tozzi, you’re gonna be fucking sorry.”

“Please.” Stacy’s voice was small and pathetic. She was at the other end of the casket, less than ten feet away. But he couldn’t see her face very well. Her head was tipped back against Sal’s shoulder, pinned there by the gun.

“C’mon, Sal. Please. I’m begging you. Please. Take it and let her go.”

“Yeah. Break my fucking heart, Tozzi. You lie like a rug. You don’t love this girl.”

“I’m telling you, Sal, I do.”

“Yeah, sure. You don’t give a shit about her. You’re just trying to—”

“Salvatore!”

The shriek echoed through the church. Sal turned around fast, whipping Stacy around with him. Tozzi’s eyes shot open. His gut bottomed out, certain that Sal was gonna blow her head off. Then he saw who it was—Sister Cil standing in the aisle, a tight frown on her face, mad as a hornet.

“Salvatore, let go of that girl and get down on your knees this instant.”

“Get away, Cil.”

She stomped toward her brother, eyeglasses flashing thunderbolts. “Salvatore, get down on your knees and pray to God for forgiveness for all the lies you’ve told me.”

“Get away, Cil. I’m telling you now.”

Sal looked frantic. Tozzi started to move around the casket.

“Get back, Tozzi!” He dug the gun into Stacy’s neck. His face was dripping, his hand shaking.

Tozzi froze, pulse racing, fingers numb. Shit!

“Look at me, Salvatore. Look at me. You lied to me. For years you lied to me. You swore to me that you were innocent, that you never killed or stole or cheated, that other people tried to blame you for their sins and make you suffer their punishments. But that isn’t true, is it? You are what the papers say you are. You’re worse because you lied about it. Lied to your own family. Lied about not having any money when you knew how badly my girls and their babies needed things. Lied to me time and time again, and after all that I did for you.” Tears emerged from the bottom rims of the nun’s glasses. “You killed Mr. Mistretta, didn’t you? You killed Frank Bartolo. And Jerry. And Mr. Tate. Didn’t you? And you took advantage of Donald. And—”

“Shut up, Cil!”
Sal pointed the gun in his sister’s face.
“Shut up! Shut up!”

This was Tozzi’s chance. The gun wasn’t on Stacy. They were just eight feet away, the other side of the casket. He had to make his move right now!

But as he lunged for Sal’s outstretched arm, the lid of the casket suddenly flew open and scared the living shit out of him. The tape recorder flew into the air, sailing past the chandeliers and dropping into the crowd of mourners.

“Freeze, Immordino. FBI.”

Gibbons was inside the casket, sitting up in a bed of ivory satin, both hands on Excalibur, his trusty .38. It was leveled at Sal’s head.

Sister Cil screamed and staggered back in horror, her hand over her mouth. Screams and shouts rattled the organ pipes in the choir loft. Sal was shaking all over. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost. Tozzi held his chest. He knew how Sal felt. Fucking Gibbons.

Gibbons didn’t take his eyes off Sal. “Take his gun, Tozzi. And don’t get funny, Immordino. You twitch the wrong way, and I’ll drop you where you stand.” Even the silence was scared of Gibbons.

Tozzi approached Sal with caution and put his hand on the gun, but Sal wasn’t letting go. Sal was staring at Gibbons, mesmerized, dumbfounded, but furious, breathing hard, his chest heaving.

Tozzi spoke softly. “Leggo, Sal. C’mon, leggo.” He twisted the gun back and Sal finally let him take it.

He did a quick check of the weapon, then stuck the muzzle in Sal’s neck. “Now, let her go.”

Sal didn’t respond. He still had Stacy’s arm pinned behind her back.

Tozzi stuck the gun right in his ear and racked the slide. Sal winced. “I said let her go.”

Sal dropped his arms to his side, and Stacy stumbled away from him, retreating into a pew.

Tozzi glanced at her. She sat down and curled up with her head in her lap. Tozzi sighed. Shit. She was gonna be a mess.

Gibbons hauled himself out of the casket and pulled out his handcuffs. Sal didn’t put up any resistance as Gibbons cuffed him. He was doing his dummy act again. The son of a bitch.

“C’mon, let’s go, Immordino.” Gibbons started to march Sal down the aisle toward the vestibule.

Tozzi noticed Madeleine Cummings on the other side of the casket then. She was holding his shirt and jacket. In the pew, Stacy was sobbing into her hands. He wondered what the hell he was gonna say to her now.

“Here,” Cummings said, handing him his clothes. “Go take care of Emerick. I’ll stay with Stacy.”

Tozzi looked at her and nodded. “Thanks,” he whispered. She understood what was going on.

But as Tozzi started putting on his shirt, a loud thud and a terrified yell echoed through the church. He wheeled around, braced the gun with both hands, and aimed down the aisle toward the vestibule.

A body was sprawled on the floor, covering the threshold between the church and the vestibule, blocking the way for Gibbons and Sal. Tozzi recognized the lifeless frog face on the chunky corpse in the black suit. It was Mistretta. A string of rosary beads was clamped into his waxy hands.

Sal was staring down at the corpse. He was white, in a cold sweat.

Sister Cil, who’d been holding herself up on the edge of a pew, wobbled, then fell backward and made her own thud as she fainted and crashed onto the wooden bench.

Gibbons turned around and glared at Tozzi. He was pissed. “I told this son of a bitch to stay put where I left him. You friggin’ guineas can never listen, can you?”

Tozzi just stared at him. He couldn’t believe this guy. “Jesus, Gib. This is a church, for chrissake. It’s the man’s funeral.”

Gibbons shrugged. “I had to put him somewhere.”

Wiseguys started moving toward the back of the church to see what was going on. Sal mumbled something to Gibbons, then stepped over Mistretta’s body.

Gibbons glanced back at Tozzi. He was smiling like a crocodile. “Later, Toz. Sal’s anxious to go.”