CAPRIATI'S BLOOD (ALTON RHODE MYSTERIES Book 1) (22 page)

CHAPTER 30 – BISMARCK

The Park Lane Hotel is on Central Park South and offers some of the best views of the park in the city. Not that I thought “Scarsdale” was there for the view. At least that view. As I headed to the elevators I passed a ballroom that was obviously set up for a conference. There was no one in the room but many of the chairs had folders on them. A table outside still had promotional material and various giveaways from the conference sponsors, which appeared to be brokerage firms. Also on the table were brass name tags, apparently no-shows. The sign on a easel next to the double door said:
Managing Risk in the Middle East
. Good luck with that. The no-shows had the right idea. From the dining sounds coming from an adjacent hall I assumed everyone was at lunch. I pinned one of the unused name tags on my jacket. Nearby was a buffet table on which sat a coffee service, bottled water, various juices and sodas, and platters of fruit and cookies. I took a chocolate chip and went to the elevator banks. 

When I got to Room 4152, I put my ear to the door. I heard giggling and a man’s voice. I knocked. Loudly.

“Who is it?”

The man’s voice, now slightly tentative. I stepped back so he could look through the peephole if he wanted. I was wearing a blazer and wearing a nameplate, which he couldn’t possibly read, so I said, “house detective.” I thought I heard him say “shit.” I gave him a little time to pee in his pants and then rapped more insistently. The door opened, with the security slide still on.

“What’s this all about?”

Fred from Scarsdale was trying to sound authoritative and annoyed, and failing.

“I think you know, sir. Please let me in and I’ll see if I can save us all some embarrassment.”

It worked. A drowning man (especially one who probably has a wife and kids in the suburbs) will grasp at any life preserver. He opened the door and I bulled my way in. He had on suit pants with red suspenders but no jacket or shirt. The suspenders probably came in handy because he had a pot belly. His undershirt was on inside out and he was barefoot. I had apparently arrived at an inopportune moment. There was an open bottle of champagne in an ice bucket on a table in the suite behind him. He instinctively looked at the badge I was wearing. His mouth dropped open. I looked at the name tag:
Doris Millbank (Certified Financial Planner)
. Before he could recover and try something stupid I opened my jacket to show him my gun.

“Grab your duds and beat it.”

The bedroom door opened. She was wearing a fluffy white bathrobe. It was apparently the uniform of the day for the “James” women. 

“Oh, Jesus God!”

“Hello, Savannah.”

The john saw a ray of hope. He didn’t know who I was, but showed a little spunk.

“Her name isn’t Savannah. You have the wrong room. Now get the hell out before I call the cops.”

“Go ahead, Fred,” I said.

The name did it. He rethought spunk and started gathering his clothes. There is no dignified way to do that, so he opted for speed. After he left, I turned to Laurene.

“Sit down.”

She walked over to a couch and sat, crossing her legs. The robe draped open. She looked more her age but was still a knockout. She bobbed a bare foot at me. Her toenails were painted red. She smiled.

“How did you find me? Never mind. Miss James said you were good.”

She saw the look on my face.

“I’m not afraid of you. That jerk can’t afford to call the cops. His cow of a wife thinks he’s at some conference. But I might. Some of my best friends are cops.” Her hand went to the robe’s belt. “But it doesn’t have to be that way. I liked you and I do feel bad about what happened. I guess I owe you something.” She undid the robe entirely and held it open, then shrugged out of it.

It took me a moment to realize that I was looking at a woman and not a 14-year-old girl. Her breasts were small but firm, with prominent pink nipples, still apparently aroused from whatever was going on when I arrived. She was thin, of course, but well-proportioned. There was a small tattoo just above her shaved pubic region. I couldn’t read what it said. I walked over to her and she gave me a look that undoubtedly launched a thousand erections. I slapped her.

“I’m not here to fuck. Or to fuck around with you. Do you understand that, Laurene?” I picked up the robe and threw it in her face. “Put it on.”

Now she was afraid of me. When she got over the shock, she put on the robe.

“Can I have a drink?”

It was the little girl voice. But I don’t think she was faking it now. She’d just realized things had gotten out of hand.

“No. And no cigarette. And no phone call. And no priest. No anything.”

I pulled up a chair and sat in front of her. She shrank from me.

“Jesus, Mr. Rhode, what the hell is the matter with you? You were scammed. So what? I don’t know what the deal was but she paid you, a lot. Who got hurt?”

“You’re quite the little actress.”

“You bet your ass. Miss James said I have real talent. And she really is an actress. Been in films and everything. She really knew her stuff. Coached me a lot. We rehearsed everything before going to meet you.”

“That day I met you for lunch in the city was also a setup.”

“Yeah. But what a rush job! I don’t know why she did that. Screwed me up. I was supposed to meet a client for the whole day. He was gonna take me to the museums, out to dinner, then a show. Spend the whole weekend, like in
Pretty Woman
, you know. Nice guy from Atlanta. I’d done him before. Not kinky, just wanted a real fantasy affair, you know. Widower. Would have been five grand! Course, Ellen gave me ten, so I told the poor schmuck I had the flu. I think the service fixed him up with someone else. Hope he doesn’t like her more. He’s one of my regulars.”

“Life’s a bitch.”

“I’ll say. I had to get into my kiddie togs and run out to meet you. No time to take the drug crap she used the first time to make me look sick. Bismarck or something.”

“Bismuth.”

“What?”

“Bismuth subgallate. It causes symtoms that temporarily mimic severe illness.”

I knew it well. Army medics and Navy Corpsmen always kept a little on hand for soldiers or marines near the breaking point after three or four deployments to Iraq or Afghanistan. Sometimes it was done with the knowledge of the men but just as often without. The resulting symptoms appeared serious enough to warrant a respite from combat and there was no stigma attached. Good officers suspected but, deferring to the wisdom of ‘Doc,” looked the other way. 

“All I know is it tasted like crap. I thought we were done for when you said I looked so healthy. That’s why Miss James came up with that transfusion bit. She’s quick.”

“What’s her real name?”

“I don’t know.”

I reached across and grabbed her by her pretty neck.

“Her real name!”

“I tell you, I don’t know. Get your fucking hands off me.” I liked her for that. I let her go. She rubbed her throat, mostly for effect. I hadn’t hurt her. “Couldn’t you find the guy? Is that why you’re pissed?” She wasn’t that good an actress. She didn’t know. 

“I found him. And so did the people who hired you. Somebody broke his neck. In fact, ever since you walked in my office people have been turning up dead. And I’m probably next in line. Unless, of course, I let it out that I found you. Then you might move ahead of me.”

That got her attention. Her hand went to her throat again.

“He’s dead?”

She folded in on herself. Now she did looked like a frightened child. I got up and walked over to the champagne bucket. I poured her a glass and gave it to her. She drank it down in one gulp.

“She always was Ellen James to me. I swear to God. I know you’re pissed. Can’t say I blame you now. But the way she waved bills around I didn’t care if she was Lady Fucking Gaga.”

She was telling the truth. 

“How were you hired?”

“Miss James called me. Said she got my name from one of my clients.”

“Which one?”

“Wouldn’t say. Said it was better that way. She needed me to play a role, but no sex, so what did I care. Nothing illegal. Took me to lunch at the Plaza and told me about it.”

“And you weren’t suspicious?”

“She gave me $10,000 up front, and promised me another ten if I could pull it off. I make my living putting my legs up in the air for hairy guys from the sticks. I’m gonna turn down twenty grand to act like I got leukemia? Give me a fucking break. Sure, maybe she’s a kook. But I liked her.” Laurene looked at me. “So did you. I know you balled her the night before we had lunch in the city. She didn’t say, but I could tell. I’m in the business, you know. So don’t get all high and mighty on me.”

She held out her glass. I got up and filled it.

“What else can you tell me about her?”

“Nothing. I swear on my mother. Only saw her when we rehearsed. And that time we winged it at lunch.” She was proud of that performance. “Miss James said I had a knack for improvisation. So do my teachers at Stella Adler. I’m taking a part-time workshop.”

“Where did you rehearse?”

“My apartment, mostly. We watched videos. It was fun.”

There wasn’t much more. Ellen James, or whatever her name was, always called Laurene directly and paid her in cash. No one else was involved. I got up to leave.

“Wait,” she said. “Who killed him? And do you really think they’ll come after me.”

I hesitated. An hour earlier I felt like wringing Laurene’s pretty little neck. Were the people who hired her, who presumably murdered Capriati, likely to silence her? I didn’t think so. Even if she knew of his death, which they wouldn’t think possible, there was no way she would go to the police. And she had no way to track down her “mother.” But there was no way to be absolutely sure. The whole case was irrational. I didn’t know enough to be giving any advice.

“These are dangerous people, Savannah.” She laughed nervously at my mistake. I had to smile. “But they got what they wanted and worked hard to keep you out of the loop. I don’t think you’re a threat to them. But keep your mouth shut and stick to your regular clients for a while. Or, better yet, take a vacation. And put an alarm system in your apartment. Security in that building is a joke. The dirty dishes in your sink are mine.”

Laurene opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it. I took a card out of my wallet.

“Don’t be afraid to call the cops if you notice anything suspicious. You don’t have to tell them about Capriati. In fact, I’d advise against it. And don’t hesitate to call me if you have to.”

She took the card and smiled.

“I already have one of your cards, remember? Did you ever get your name spelled right on the door?”

I couldn’t help it. I smiled back. I went to the door.

“Mr. Rhode?”

I turned back.

“You’re not going to the cops either, are you?”

I shook my head.

“Sorry I roughed you up, kid.”

“Don’t be. I deserved it.” She flashed her robe open and closed. “And the offer still stands.”

I took in a deep breath and went down to the lobby. I made do with another cookie.

CHAPTER 31 – AN HOUR TO KILL

I had thought that by finding Laurene I might get to “Ellen James” and whoever was behind her. Instead I quickly found out that the trail began and ended with Laurene. I was beginning to hope that someone would make a run at me. As the days passed, and no one did, I became resigned to the fact that I might never get to the truth.  

The Carlucci family hadn’t wanted me to find Capriati. That meant they suspected he could be found, which also meant that they knew where he was. Mobsters knowing where someone in witness protection is doesn’t compute. Unless he contacted them. Nando and Billy had been wrestling buddies. Old pals keeping in contact? Maybe there was a college reunion coming up. I could see Capriati at a homecoming football game at Wagner, quashing beers with former classmates.

Hey, Bill. What have you been up to?

Not much, Harry. I’m in witness protection. Just came up for the reunion, hoping not to be garroted. What about you?  

Witness protection! That’s a good one! I’m in insurance. You need any. I think we have a witness protection policy. Har, har. So, what have you really been doing?

No, if Nando and Billy were in touch it was something criminal. I decided to pay Nando Carlucci a visit the next day. That promised to be a stressful meeting. I can’t say I was looking forward to it. I called Alice Watts.

“It’s been a couple of weeks,” I said. “Are you free for dinner.”

“I’m not on Staten Island. I’m at my apartment in Manhattan.”

“I would travel to the ends of the earth to have dinner with you. Maybe even to the Bronx.”

There was a long pause.

“I have some papers to grade. But if you don’t mind eating a little later, there is a nice little French bistro in the Village I’ve been wanting to try. I can meet you there around 8. Is that all right?”

I said it was and she told me where the restaurant was. I had become less cautious with each passing day but still checked the parking lot before walking to my car. There were no ambushers lying in wait, and no one tailed me when I left. Even factoring the vagaries of traffic, I had at least an hour to kill before heading into the city. Enough time to go home, shower and change clothes.

When I got home I noticed a white “Richmond Security” van parked in front of the house next door. I recognized the corporate logo – a sturdy, stern-looking man in green uniform standing guard on the lawn in front of a house – from the company’s recent cable advertising blitz. I made a mental note to ask my neighbor what an alarm system cost. I walked into my house and turned the light on in my living room. I couldn’t see my grandmother’s Bennington Pine rocker that sat in front of the fireplace. That was because Nando Carlucci, all 350 pounds of him, was sprawled in it. Before I could react I felt a gun pressed in my back and a hand came around my waist and expertly removed my automatic. Then a hand shoved me forward.

“Sit,” Nando said.

I sat in a wing chair facing him.

“You know who I am?”

“Shamu?”

Carlucci sighed and leaned forward. The venerable rocker creaked.

“Go easy,” I said. “That a family heirloom you’re about to turn into kindling.”

“You’re about to be a fucking heirloom, you don’t stop wisin’ off.”

“You know,” I said. “I was just thinking about installing an alarm system.”

“What company?”

“Richmond Security.”

“Wouldn’t have done you any good. I own it.”

“ That’s one of your vans out front.”

“Yeah.”

“And by the time the cops respond to one of your alarms the burglars are long gone.”

Carlucci smiled.

“It’s all a matter of timing.”

“Nice business.”

“You bet. But enough chit chat. How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Don’t act dumb. I know you’re not. How did you find Capriati.”

“What difference does it make now. He’s dead.”

“Yeah. And you killed him. I’m kind of disappointed. I heard you were a stand-up guy. I never figured you’d do contract work for the Rahms.”

“The Rahms?”

I was trying to process that information when he shook his massive head and said, “Jesus, do we have to do this the hard way?” Then he began struggling out of the rocker.

“You ought to go easy on the Ben & Jerry, fatso. Speaking of which, I’m sorry about your boys. I bet they got teased a lot about their names.”

Nando hit me in the mouth. It was a good shot and I almost came off the seat. I could feel blood trickling warmly down my chin. A fat lip was assured.

“Show some goddamn respect. I know you’re a fucking war hero, and I also know you didn’t kill them. If I’d known the Rahms had your back I wouldn’t have sent them out to be slaughtered like that.” He nodded at the man behind me. “Bruce. Basement.”

Bruce hit me on the head.

***

“Bruce, I need more ice,” Nando said.

“The cooler’s full boss. It’s overflowing.”

“Not for the fucking cooler, asshole. I want another drink. You want me to use the ice in the cooler, where his feet are? Whatsa matter with you?”

Bruce took the small ice bucket and headed up the stairs. I started to laugh. It was just short of a hysterical laugh, but I couldn’t help it. I had recently regained consciousness and was strapped to a chair in my basement. I was stripped to my waist and my legs were tied to the chair in such a way I couldn’t lift my feet from the cooler. They were freezing. My ankles ached. Things didn’t look promising.

“What’s so fucking funny?”

“I’m going to be tortured by a guy named Bruce? Your organization is really going to the dogs, Nando. First Ben and Jerry, and now Bruce? Let me go now and I won’t tell anyone.”

I was slurring my words. My bottom lip had swollen from Nando’s punch.

“You ain’t gonna tell anyone shit. Except me, and I’m gonna do the torturing. Bruce ain’t got the cojones for it. I got plenty of ice and plenty of cigarettes, wise ass.”

“Cigs are bad for your health.”

He smiled.

“Not as bad as they are for yours.”

He lit a cigarette, took a drag and leaned forward. He pressed it into my chest, briefly. It didn’t hurt that much, and I merely said, “Ouch.” Then he pushed an ice cube into the burn. That hurt a bit more, but I didn’t say anything. I wanted to husband my strength. I knew we’d soon be way past the “ouch” stage.

Nando took a sip out of a glass next to his chair. There was a bottle of my Maker’s Mark bourbon on the floor. At the top of the stairs I heard Bruce working the ice machine on my refrigerator. There is something profoundly humiliating about being tortured with your own ice in your own basement by someone drinking your own bourbon. The Igloo cooler looked familiar, too.

“I didn’t kill Capriati. I found him dead. You didn’t do a great job of protecting him. If you had, you’d know I’m telling the truth.”

“We weren’t protecting him. He wouldn’t tell me where he was. I didn’t even know he was dead until I got his fucking finger UPS.”

That explained the mutilation I’d seen.

“I’m curious. How did you know it was his finger?”

“His Wagner College ring was on it. The Russians are fucking animals.”

This from a man who was sticking cigarettes in my chest while my feet were encased in ice cubes. I let it pass.

“I don’t do fingers,” I said. “I was hired to find him, period.”

“Don’t matter, much. You led them right to him.”

Bruce returned with more cubes and Nando made another drink.

“This is good bourbon,” he said.

“You’re making a big mistake, Nando. I don’t know what your play was with Capriati, but cut your losses. You don’t gain anything by working me over. I was set up.”

“Yeah, by who?”

It wasn’t the right time to correct his grammar. I decided to tell him everything, except about Mrs. Capriati. I was trying to buy time. Maybe Publishers Clearing House or the Jehovah’s Witnesses would stop by. Maybe he’d let me take my feet out of the ice. By the time I finished, my shins were numb. He just stared at me.

“Arman must have had you pegged pretty good, to use a broad and a sick kid. He couldn’t be sure you’d succeed, but what did he have to lose? He didn’t have the manpower to look for Cap on his own. I was always worried about Arman. He’s a lot brighter than his brother ever was. Ivy League prick.”

“Did you whack Stefan?”

“Yeah. But he had a lot of enemies. Arman and his old man couldn’t be sure who did it. I was afraid if I killed both of them it would lead back to us and Marat would sic that crazy Kalugin on me. Couldn’t get to Marat. He’s holed up in that castle of his on Todt Hill. Besides, we had Capriati. He was our ace in the hole against Marat until you came along. Who was the woman?”

“Believe me, if I knew, I wouldn’t be sitting here watching you drink my good bourbon. Whoever she is, she deserves an Oscar.”

Nando lit another cigarette. He blew a couple of smoke rings into my face.

“I believe you. The Rahms would hire the best.”

“What did Capriati have that you needed?”

“He saw Marat kill someone. Back when he did his own enforcing.”

“Who?”

“A jerk-off real estate lawyer who cheated him and my father.”

“Your father?”

“Yeah. Marat and my old man. Turned out that the Rahms thought they owned the same buildings we did. Fucking lawyer sold them twice. Must have had a death wish. It was Billy who figured the scam out. He had a way with numbers. Came to work for us after we graduated from Wagner.” I had begun shivering but I didn’t want Nando to wrap it up. Since then I’d probably be wrapped up. But Nando apparently liked reminiscing. “Marat lost more money in the deals so he insisted on killing the lawyer. But my father wanted me to be there, kind of an initiation. I brought Billy. Marat garroted the fucker.”

“I never knew you and the Rahms were allies once.” My teeth were chattering. “What happened?”

“The real estate thing was just business. After that, they started moving into our territory. They took advantage when Capriati sold me out and I got three years on a tax evasion rap.”

“That’s why he was in witness protection.”

“Yeah, we had a sweet thing going at Wagner, selling some dope to students and teachers. Mostly uppers, downers, that kind of shit. A little smack. My old man didn’t know about it and I didn’t report the income. But then Billy got greedy and tried to make a big score with heroin. Got nabbed with 20 pounds in his car trunk. He was facing 15 years but saw a way out. They couldn’t get me for the dope, but I couldn’t explain the income. But Billy knew where it was. I swore I’d kill him if I found him.”

“Instead, he found you.”

Nando made another drink and then poured the remaining ice from the bucket into the cooler. I couldn’t even feel my feet and the numbness had spread above my knees.

“He called me out of the blue. Said he read about Stefan Rahm and figured we were behind it. Said he had a deal I couldn’t refuse. Actually said that, can you imagine? Turned out it was.”

“He offered to testify against Marat Rahm in the lawyer killing,” I said. “Your word alone wouldn’t do. You needed a corroborating witness.”

“Yeah. No statute of limitations for murder. The D.A. was hot for the deal.”

“And you’d let bygones be bygones.”

“Yeah. Billy was tired of banging grandmothers in Naples. He said he might have preferred prison.”

“When Ben and Jerry braced me the first time, did you know what the Rahms were planning?”

“Nah. You were just a new face. It was a stupid move on their part. Put you on your guard. Made it harder to tail you when I finally found out you were looking for Billy.”

“Who told you?”

Nando laughed.

“You’re gonna love it. One of the professors me and Billy used to supply is still on my string. Fruitcake named Lancaster. Back when Billy disappeared I went to him hoping he might have some info I could use to find him. When you started asking around he came to me. He hates your fuckin’ guts, by the way. What did you do to him?”

“Told him he was a phony gasbag.”

“Ain’t they all.”

Lancaster
. I suddenly remembered I was standing up Alice Watts for dinner. Pierce would probably use that against me. Nando was saying something.

“I said, I promised the D.A. old man Rahm’s head on a silver platter in return for immunity. Opened up a can of worms. Now I got the cops and Rahm to worry about.” He got up and leaned into my face. The bourbon was good but not good enough to mask his bad breath, or the odor of sweat. “I’m gonna kill you, but it’s gonna take some time you miserable bastard.”

I had assumed that since he’d spoken so freely, my chances of surviving the evening weren’t good.

“Something happens to me will only make your problems worse, Nando. There are people who know what I’ve been doing. They’ll come after you.”

“Yeah, that fat Jew cop you hang around can be a real pain in the ass. But I don’t give a rat’s ass. You are gonna disappear. What’s left of you is going on one of those barges that ships our garbage out of state now. You’re gonna rot in a landfill in Pennsylvania. What do say to that, wiseass?”