Butcher's Road (44 page)

“Lost in thought, Mr. Cardinal?” Hayes asked.

“Sightseeing,” Butch said. “I like the snow.”

“Too cold for my old bones.”

The wheel fell into a pit in the road, casting a spray of slush over the window beside Butch, smearing the landscape with a dirty brown film. Ahead, two narrow, parallel trenches in the snow, the trails of cars that had travelled before them, were the only indication of the road.

“What’ll you do with him?” Butch asked.

“Mr. Musante? We’ll take him with us back to New York and he’ll face a tribunal.”

“Yes, you told me that. But what will you
do
with him?”

“He will be detained.”

“Will you execute him?”

“It rarely comes to that.”

Butch accepted the answer and returned his gaze to the window beside him. Dirty snow slid down the glass.

“You never answered my question.”

“What question?” Butch asked.

“Last night, I asked if you’d consider joining us. Even without the recent losses of Mr. Bell and Mr. Brand, we could use you and your skills.”

“I don’t know. Let’s get through this first.”

“Once we have the Rose, and whatever other items Mr. Musante might have acquired, this will be finished. If all goes well, we’ll be on our way back to New York this evening.”

“When has
all
ever gone
well
?” Butch asked. “Besides, there’s still Impelliteri to consider.”

“He’s not our concern. He doesn’t have any of the metals, nor does he have access to them any longer. Fortunately, Mr. Musante proved a less than reliable go-between, and the man has no other connection to our group.”

So, Impelliteri gets away with murder because he suddenly wasn’t the Alchemi’s problem? No. That wasn’t right. If anything, that was at the core of the world’s problem. How many men rose to power on a pile of corpses because those with the power to stop them turned away, closed their eyes, indulged in distractions, simply because they were not directly affected by the atrocities? How many people stood by to watch men and women die in gutters, indifferent because these were not their friends, not their families? Butch knew he could go to New York with Hayes, join the Alchemi, and likely live the rest of his life in comfort, never again having to think about Marco Impelliteri, or Angus Powell, or the City of Chicago, but who else would suffer for his sanctuary? He’d considered all of this since the night he’d carried Hollis’s body to the guest room bed, but now he was resolved.

“After Musante,” Butch said, “I’m going back for Impelliteri.”

Hayes didn’t reply. He navigated a bend in the road. He remained silent, and Butch joined him in that silence until they reached the outskirts of Merrimac, where a rotund man with a baby face lifted his pudgy hand in a wave.

Mr. Ross looked like the comedian Oliver Hardy, only with a smooth upper lip. He grinned when Butch and Mr. Hayes climbed out of the car, but as he rushed forward, eager and jovial, it was Butch who had clearly drawn his attention.

“Big fan,” Ross said, pumping Butch’s hand forcefully. “I saw you grapple Zbyszko, and I had tickets to your bout with Simm. Damn shame about what happened there. Damn shame. I heard rumors Simm rigged it up, had that Hungarian hobble you. Is that true? Did he have that Hungarian hobble you? I saw him, the Hungarian, not Simm mind you, in a bout with Jesse Petersen, and he wasn’t nothing much to see, and I couldn’t imagine him hobbling you, but who can say?”

“Mr. Ross,” Hayes said dryly.

“Sure, yeah, sorry,” Ross said, releasing Butch’s hand. “I hope we get a chance to talk later. Big fan.”

“Thanks,” Butch said. He couldn’t help but smile.

Ross’s demeanor changed instantly, though. His smile vanished and the star struck glimmer in his eyes faded. He cleared his throat and stood rigidly, facing Hayes. “Mr. Musante owns a small house on the lake. Six rooms total. No basement. There is a crawl space beneath the house, but I found no means of egress around the foundation. Two doors: front and back. Windows at points around the perimeter, eight total. He owns a small rowboat, which has been removed from the water through the winter. The lake has a frame of ice, which would make escape via water unlikely. As such, his means of transportation are limited to one car, a Ford Model T in working if not pristine condition, which he keeps parked in a detached garage.”

Ross completed his report and folded his hands behind his back, appearing quite pleased with himself.

“Thank you, Mr. Ross,” Hayes said. “You and I will enter the house and apprehend Mr. Musante. Mr. Cardinal will wait in the car and be prepared should Mr. Musante escape.”

“Wait a minute,” Butch said. “I’m not just going to sit on my ass.”

“Alchemi protocol dictates that Mr. Ross and I go in alone.” Hayes delivered the information dryly, like a beleaguered schoolmaster. “We can’t guarantee your safety in this matter.”

“Is that a joke?” Butch asked.

“Mr. Cardinal—”

“Stop calling me that,” Butch said. “And stop with the protocol horseshit. Unless you intend to tie me up, knock me out, or kill me, I’m going in.”

Mr. Ross struggled to suppress his amusement and surprise. Mr. Hayes simply looked frustrated.

“This must be done with absolute precision,” said Hayes. “If Mr. Musante incurs any injury, any at all, the Rose will absorb into his system.”

“Fine, I don’t clock the guy,” Butch said.

“It’s more delicate than that, Mr.…” Hayes shook his head. “Mr. Musante may injure himself to keep us from the Galenus Rose in the hope of escaping or perhaps negotiation.”

“If he’s wearing it,” Butch said.

“If you were in Mr. Musante’s position, would you ever take it off?”

Butch thought this over and decided Hayes was right. If he possessed the Galenus Rose, he’d wear it day and night. Musante might well feel that he’d succeeded and his old friends—mobster and Alchemi alike—were no longer a threat, but accidents happened.

“So what’s your strategy?” he asked.

• • •

Hayes and Ross circled the tree line, leaving Butch positioned behind a balsam at the back of the house. On Musante’s front stoop, Hayes tested the knob and found the door unlocked. He waved Mr. Ross to the side, on the off chance the house was protected by traps, and then he pushed open the door. No explosion of gunfire followed. No surprise or shouts from Mr. Musante. Hayes stepped into the house and Ross followed. The rotund man shut the door behind them.

Compared to the hovel Mr. Musante had kept in Chicago, this house had a cleanliness and warmth to it. Though sparsely decorated, with a simple sofa, table, console radio, and rocking chair, the home appeared comfortable. A fire burned on the hearth, sending waves of heat over them. The adjoining room, visible through a plain archway was apparently the dining room, though it remained unfurnished. Anyone might have lived in this place. No trinkets or photographs of a particular life adorned the walls or ornamented the table or mantle.

Hayes took a step into the living room and then paused when he heard a board creak at the back of the house. He lifted the iron rod to his side, ready to throw it if Musante leapt out with a weapon, but when Lonnie Musante appeared, it was clear he had not seen their approach, nor had he expected anything of this sort to happen.

Musante walked into the dining room space, rubbing a towel over his head. He wore a clean white sleeveless undershirt over tan trousers, and as he scrubbed his head, the trinket around his neck jostled noticeably. He’d bought a new chain for the Galenus Rose, a short length of gold that kept the pendant tight to his skin, just below his throat. Musante finished drying his hair and lowered the towel. Then he saw Hayes and Ross and gasped, startled. He stumbled back a step, eyes wide and mouth absently open.

“Mr. Musante,” Hayes said. “Please remain where you are.”

Except for the photographs from the Chicago morgue, Hayes had not seen Lonnie Musante in decades. His hair was black and lustrous with streaks of gray at the temples. His full face, never a handsome face nor even a pleasing one, was cocked to the side. His surprise faded, leaving behind an expression both relaxed and smug. Musante grinned, revealing rows of perfect, white teeth; he dropped his towel on the floor; and he faced off on Hayes and Ross.

“So what brings you by?” Musante asked. He drew a small knife from his belt and held it over his forearm, a move Hayes had feared from the start. “And you could have wiped your feet. For the love of fuck, look what you’re doing to my floor. That’s bad manners, right there. Your mother would have something to say about that.”

“Mr. Ross, please remain at the door,” Hayes said, ignoring Musante’s rambling. He left his colleague and crossed to the center of the room, pausing only when Musante made a show of placing the blade of his knife against the exposed skin of his arm. “Mr. Musante, we are representatives of the Alchemi. You are in possession of an item which is our responsibility, and we’ve come to—”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Musante snapped. “But you know what? You…can’t…have it.”

“It is the property of the Alchemi.”

“People help themselves,” Musante said. “Keeps the world turning. Ol’ Marco Impelliteri taught me that.” He looked up at Hayes. “Now there’s a sick fuck for you. You know why he wants the Rose? You have any idea what sickness he’s trying to cure?”

“It’s not our concern,” said Hayes.

“Me, I had the cancer real bad, not to mention a laundry list of other aches and pains and problems that needed fixing. I only had one tooth left in my mouth before I got my hands on the Rose, now look at my choppers.” Musante curled back his lips in a grotesque smile to expose his large white teeth. “But Impelliteri, his sickness goes deeper than any cancer, worms its way clean through his body and into his soul.”

“Is that so?”

“That is most certainly
so
,” Musante said, his tone mocking. He rocked the knife back and forth over his arm. “Impelliteri is a wonder, he is. He never goes for the whores, keeps himself away from all those flapper sows with their clap and syph. Keeps himself clean. He’s got himself a lovely wife and a beautiful daughter. Problem is, he gets them confused every now and then, if you see where I’m going with this? Treats his daughter like he treats his wife. Keeps his cock in the family, you know?”

Hayes nodded, disgusted by the information.

“As a Catholic boy, there’s little worse, ’less he had a son instead of a daughter.” This made Musante chuckle. “He thinks the Rose will cure him of his urges, will wipe them clean away. Oh, he’s also interested in staying alive, no doubt, but it’s this other, this living sickness inside of him, that makes him want the Rose.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Hayes asked.

“I talk,” Musante said. “It’s what I do. I wonder on things, and I talk.”

“You’re responsible for the deaths of a number of people.”

“No, I am
not
! I never killed nobody but myself,” Musante said. “Wasn’t me who told McGavin to use Cardinal for the hit. Wasn’t me telling Cardinal he needed to quit his strongman act and start busting heads for Powell. No, sir. My plan was that everyone else walk out of that house alive. I wanted Cardinal alive, needed him to get away, and he did. After that, folks did what folks always do when they want what they want.”

“I see,” Hayes said. Musante’s denial sickened him. It was like a man accusing his bullets of bad behavior. He turned to Ross who stood rigid and attentive by the front door. The man shook his head all but imperceptibly.

“And you want to make this my fault. It’s not right what you’re planning to do,” Musante said, his voice quiet and earnest. “Not right at all. You’re blaming me for what other people done, and you’re going to murder me for it.”

“You should know that’s not how we do things,” Hayes said.

“Right, you just stick a pin in my head and I go numb and blank for a few years, unless I get lucky and the petrification kills me.”

“If you injure yourself, we will take you into custody,” Hayes said. “We can be patient.”

“You’ll have to be,” Musante said, “because I will bite my fucking tongue off once a week to keep you from getting it. I’d rather turn it over to naughty papa Impelliteri than you smug fucks.”

He resents us,
Hayes realized.
He’s jealous.

Mr. Musante wanted to punish the group, wanted to shame it, because they’d once shown the good sense to keep Lonnie Musante away from the objects of power.

“What if I just give you the Rose?” Musante said. He lifted the knife to his throat and scratched beneath his chin with the blade. “No foul. You take it and leave and I go about my business.”

“If I agreed to that, you’d know I was lying,” Hayes said. “Even if we took the Galenus Rose and left, others would return. You can’t trick us again, and you know that, which makes your bargain somewhat empty.”

“You’re a smart one,” Musante said, still scraping the blade over his neck. “I know you’re right. I know how this goes. Just wasn’t quite ready to put holes in myself. Guess I’m about there now, though.”