Charlie Opera (21 page)

“Fuck,” Iandolli said.

“I’m sure you already know about the wife,” the surgeon continued. “DOA. Four shots in the chest.”

Gold stared blankly at the emergency room doors.

“What happened?” the surgeon asked.

Iandolli motioned at the surgeon to leave.

“If you need me, I’ll be around,” the surgeon said. He apologized and headed back inside the emergency room.

“There was nothing anybody could do,” Iandolli told Gold. “You have to know that.”

“I could’ve told her to leave town,” Gold said. “I could’ve told Wilkes to run off with her. I could’ve suggested the department put Gentry on leave.”

“And Mrs. Gentry could’ve went home nights to her husband instead of screwing around with Michael Wilkes,” Iandolli said. “It’s not your fault, Abe. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Poor bastard will be on a suicide watch the rest of his life.”

“Probably.”

“They pick up Wilkes yet?”

“The highway patrol did. He was on his way out of town. At least he was heading that way. His car was packed with his stuff. He had more than ten grand on him.”

“Who has him?” Gold asked.

“Us, right now,” Iandolli said. “But the Feds’ll put up a fight over him soon enough.”

Gold shook his head. “What a joke. We can’t get out of our own way, the good guys.”

“It’s a self-fulfilling nightmare.”

Gold motioned toward the hospital exit. “Why don’t you take off,” he said. “I want to hang around here a while.”

“You gonna be all right?”

“Nothing happened to me.”

“You sure? I can stay, Abe. Talking with these clowns from New York can wait.”

“Go,” Gold said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

Charlie decided to take the taxi drive to the hospital with John Denton before heading back to Samantha’s apartment. He tried to call the apartment from a pay phone at the Bellagio but there was no answer.

Denton was quiet during the taxi ride back to the hospital. Charlie found himself feeling sorry for his wife’s lover.

“I’ll deny you were there if you want,” he told Denton. “If you’re worried about your law license.”

“I’m on camera in the hallways same as you,” Denton said. “Besides, I think that guy was right. I don’t think they’ll do anything while we have pictures.”

“Why don’t you two get the hell out of Las Vegas tonight?” Charlie asked.

“I don’t know if she can yet,” Denton said. “Besides, I think she’ll want to know you’re safe.”

“What makes you think that?”

“She doesn’t hate you, Charlie.”

Charlie nodded, then glanced at his watch. “They must have hospitals in California,” he said.

The taxi pulled into the Valley Hospital parking lot.

“You coming in?” Denton asked.

“She doesn’t want to see me,” Charlie said.

“You’re wrong. She did want to see you. To apologize, I think.”

Charlie rubbed his bruised knuckles. “This wasn’t anybody’s fault,” he said. “Look, I know better. Shit happens.”

Denton extended a hand to Charlie. Charlie looked at it a few seconds before taking it.

“Don’t forget to get those developed,” he told Denton. He was pointing at the plastic bag holding the disposable camera. “No matter what that other guy does, it’s all we have.”

Charlie gave the driver Samantha’s address, then sat back in the seat to close his eyes. He pictured his wife upstairs in her hospital room and the smile she would greet her lover with. He felt a pang of jealousy for a smile that was no longer his.

Charlie thought about the new smile in his life and how grateful he would be to see Samantha again. He hoped she was home when the taxi dropped him off. He would hug and kiss her tight. He wouldn’t let go.

Minh had delegated a second contract for the Italian mob to his wife back at the restaurant. He had stayed in touch with his men following Charlie Pellechia and immediately raced to the hospital after his sit-down with Lercasi.

Now Minh sat low behind a steering wheel as he observed a taxi from the edge of a hospital parking lot. A man got out of the cab and headed inside the hospital. Two of Minh’s soldiers were in a car farther up the street. They called to confirm the man still sitting in the taxi to be Charlie Pellecchia.

Minh lit a cigarette as he waited for the taxi to turn up the street. He watched intently as the car passed. He could see the stocky man in the back clearly. Charlie Pellecchia seemed oblivious to his surroundings.

Minh took a few drags on the cigarette before shifting gears and following at a safe distance. When his men asked if they should cut the taxi off, Minh answered in French: “
Non. Revenez au restaurant. Aidez couper celui-là. Je me charge celui-ci.”

“No,” he had told them. “Get back to the restaurant. Help cut up that one. I’ll take care of this one.”

“Tu sûr?” one of his men asked.

“
Ne t’inquiéte pas de moi, huh
,” Minh said in French, then translated to English, “No worrey.”

Once Beau removed the belt from Samantha’s ankles, he pulled her pants down. Samantha knew she had to let him get closer.

He started to kiss her feet as she faked a moan for him.

“You do like that, don’t you?” Beau whispered.

Samantha forced herself to open her legs a little.

“Yeah, baby, you do like it,” he said. He kissed up the insides of her legs until he reached her knees. Then he flattened out on his stomach to kiss up the insides of her thighs.

She could kick him in the face right then, but she didn’t think she could stun him long enough to escape the apartment. Samantha had to lie still and fake more moans of pleasure as the wife-beater crawled his way toward her crotch.

She still seemed groggy from the chloroform, but Beau guessed the anesthetic was making it easier. He licked and kissed the insides of her thighs as she continued to respond.

He could see some of her pubic hair underneath the navy blue underwear she was wearing. The sight of her pubic hair turned Beau on. He bit at his lower lip as he felt himself grow hard.

He looked to her face and saw her eyes slowly open. He paused a moment, then continued again as she closed her eyes and licked her lips.

“You are liking this, baby, ain’t you?” Beau said.

He thought she said, “Yes” as he got up off his stomach and onto his knees to get closer to her crotch.

Samantha couldn’t bear the thought of him touching her there. It looked as though he would use his mouth first. She forced herself to lick her lips when he saw she was awake. Then she arched her back just enough to bring her legs up and lay her feet flat on the floor.

He straddled her right leg as his head ducked down toward her crotch. She lowered her right leg just enough to create distance between his crotch and her right knee.

Beau’s mouth touched Samantha through her panties a split second before he gagged hard as the wind was knocked from his lungs. His face turned to a grimace of pain. She tried to kick him again as he rolled off and smacked her foot against his knee. She winced from the bruise she gave herself.

Samantha was rolling away from Beau when she felt his hand weakly grab at one of her feet. She stood up and saw he was still trying to catch his breath in a half fetal position on the floor. She kicked at his face with her free foot and smashed his nose hard. Blood splattered across his face and T-shirt.

When she was free again, Samantha ran toward the front door. Her wrists were bound tightly but her hands were free enough to turn the doorknob. She heard Beau moaning in pain behind her as she struggled to open the door. She tried turning the knob a few times before she realized the dead bolt was locked. She reached up to turn the lock as Beau yelled, “You fuckin’ bitch!”

The door was open, and she glanced back before stepping outside. Beau was leaning against the television, pointing something at her. Samantha was on the stoop when she heard the loud pop. She felt a burning pain in her left leg as she spun off balance.

She fell forward down the short flight of stairs. Her head struck something hard, and everything turned black.

A car raced in the opposite direction as the taxi turned up Samantha’s street. The taxi driver jerked his wheel to the right to avoid the speeding car.

“Some people,” he said.

Charlie turned in his seat to see the tail end of a small dark coupe heading around the corner behind them. The taxi driver pulled up in front of Samantha’s house when Charlie noticed the front door was open. He was about to pay the driver when he saw someone lying at the foot of the stairs.

“Oh, God!” he yelled. “Oh, God!”

A minivan pulling out of a driveway blocked the street. As soon as Minh Quan started cursing at the woman driving the minivan, a small crowd of people on a nearby lawn started yelling at him.

“Fuck me,” Minh said as he slammed his dashboard.

“Call the police!” he heard someone yell.

“Fuck you!” Minh yelled at them.

“Hey, you watch your mouth,” Minh heard someone else say, but he was backing up on the street. He gave them the finger as he spun into a driveway to make a quick U-turn.

Agent Thomas didn’t know what to expect as he searched Cuccia’s suite at the Bellagio. He was assuming he’d find Charlie Pellecchia’s body in one of the closets or maybe inside the shower or the tub. Unless they had already cut Pellecchia up and were taking him out of the Bellagio a plastic bag at a time.

When he didn’t find a body, Thomas scanned the floor from the doorway. The bloodstains were trailing exactly the way hotel security had described them. One trail headed toward the bathroom. The other trail led back to the door. Thomas stepped back out into the hallway and kneeled to check the rug for more blood.

“Fuck,” he said when he spotted the stains. He stood up and started for the elevators.

“Where to now?” the hotel security supervisor asked.

“He has two friends on another floor,” Thomas said. “Francone and Lano.”

As he drove north on the Strip toward the desert, Vincent Lano thought about what might have been.

His remorse was palpable. Las Vegas had become Lano’s final act of contrition. He had lived his entire life in the service of other men whose self-interest had always preceded his own. He had robbed, assaulted, killed, and spent seven years of his life in prison for those men.

He had been a good soldier in an army he was no longer proud to be associated with. He had come to Las Vegas on orders to do something he knew was wrong.

When he was far enough out in the desert, Lano pulled the car off the highway.

He lit a cigarette and set the grenade on the dashboard as he watched the traffic pass behind him in the rearview mirror. He wasn’t sure whether the pictures he had left at the Bellagio would ever find their way back to his New York crew. He liked to believe they would. He liked to believe that Cuccia and Francone would be executed for the embarrassment they had brought on their crime family. He liked to believe something good would come from what had happened in Las Vegas.

Lano was nearly finished with his cigarette when he pulled the pin on the grenade. He dropped the explosive over his right shoulder into the back of the car and took his time inhaling a last drag on the cigarette. He coughed, and the grenade exploded.

When Anthony Rizzi finally awoke, he was cold and groggy. He shivered as he pushed himself off the bed and searched for signs of the woman he had brought up to his room. She was an Oriental woman, he remembered, a real looker.

He half-dressed in the bathroom as he tried to remember what had happened. He could see her face. He could still smell her. He checked his watch for the time and suddenly realized what had happened.

His Rolex was missing from his wrist. Rizzi slapped at his pants pockets for his wallet, but it was gone, too. He started going through drawers when he noticed his room had been tossed.

“Fuck!” he yelled.

He went through the room trying to take an inventory of what was stolen. He opened the closet door and found that his suitcase was already opened. He checked to see if the gold chains and gold Movado watch were in the zippered pocket inside the flap of the suitcase. He cursed again when he saw they also were missing.

He started to phone the front desk but stopped as he realized his predicament. How was he supposed to tell anyone about this? He had brought a hooker up to his room and was rolled for all his cash, credit cards, and jewelry. A quick estimate brought the figure to more than twenty thousand dollars.

Rizzi remembered why he was there, and it gave him an uneasy feeling. His relationship with Nicholas Cuccia had once offered the respect he had always assumed most men craved. The power over life and death was an ultimate power. Becoming a made man in a New York crime family would have reasserted his manhood in a way no one could ever deny or defy.

Except now his stomach was nervous from the thought of Nicholas Cuccia. Rizzi had been told that Las Vegas was where he would be tested as a man. He had been told that if he did what was expected of him, he would go home a made man.

Now the thought terrified him. Rizzi wanted out.

Detective Iandolli stopped when he saw the maids giggling in the hallway on the twenty-second floor. Two of the hotel security guards stood outside room 2232. Both of the guards smiled at Iandolli when he approached the door.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“You’ll see,” one of the guards said as he opened the door. He let Iandolli pass into the room and quickly shut the door when the maids tried to peek inside.

Iandolli stopped dead in his tracks. Two men were tied together on a double bed. One man appeared to be unconscious. He lay on his back with his two legs wrapped and tied around the other man. Both men were dressed in Bellagio T-shirts and hats.

“Jesus Christ,” Iandolli said as he shook his head.

The man who was still conscious was tied on his knees between the unconscious man’s legs. A pair of white sweat socks had been jammed inside his mouth for a gag. A flesh-colored dildo jutted from his rectum.