Second Skin (15 page)

Abruptly, she swerved to the curb, braked to a halt. For a moment, she sat slumped over the wheel, trying unsuccessfully to slow her breathing.
Oh my God,
she thought.
Oh my God!

She stared into her side mirror, scrutinizing the street behind her. What if she was being followed? Given the nature of the recent well-coordinated events, it was more than possible. She was driving her own dark red Lexus with gold trim and her MGDC vanity license plate. She would be all too easy to spot. She scrabbled in her handbag, extracted the .38. She opened it, thankful Dom had insisted she take lessons, and checked the cartridges. She found she had only fired one. One? It seemed as if she had emptied all the chambers at her would-be assassin. She closed it, hefted it in her palm.

Once again, she felt awash in paranoia and wondered if Dominic had lived his entire adult life in this state. But paranoid notion or not she had given it credence, because if she was being followed, she was taking them right to Francie’s doorstep. She wasn’t about to make the mistake Tony had made in underestimating Bad Clams. He was smart enough to know that Francie was Margarite’s weak spot. If he had a fallback plan now that the murder had failed, it would surely entail Francie.

If he could find her.

She was damned if she was going to give him his chance. Still scanning the street, she said, ‘Call Julie,’ and the phone dialed the number. While it rang, she prayed that Francie would answer. But, instead, her heart sank as she got the answering machine. After the beep, she said, ‘Francie, darling, it’s me. Hope you had a good time at the horse show. If you’d call me when you get home, I’d appreciate it. I’m in the car and I’ll be here till very late. Speak to you soon, baby.’ She broke the connection, hoping that her terror hadn’t been apparent in her voice. Then, she said, ‘Call Lew,’ dialing Croaker’s portable-phone number, but it just rang and rang.

Damn, now what?
Next Saturday night she was expected to be the guest of honor at the Joey Infante and Kate Dellarco wedding. She knew that, come what may, she needed to make an appearance there if she had any hope of holding on to Dominic’s domain. The Sicilian Infantes and the Neapolitan Dellarcos were two families that had been at each other’s throat, and their escalating war was destabilizing the entire East Coast operation and bringing down fleets of homicide cops to deal with the corpses piling up in East New York and Ozone Park.

How to handle this inflammable situation had been Margarite’s first test of power management. She had discovered that Joey and Kate had been seeing each other secretly, like Romeo and Juliet. But unlike Shakespeare, Margarite was determined to bring about a happy ending.

She and Tony had called a meeting with the heads of the two families and, at it, had brought in the two lovers. Vitriolic invective had almost turned to physical violence. Tony had quelled that soon enough, and then, slowly and quietly, Margarite had outlined just how the love between these members of the two families could help heal the wounds. She had given them the emotional underpinnings for a permanent truce, and then Tony, with his relentlessly logical litigator’s brain, had provided the practical framework.

Now, after months of negotiations and diplomacy the deed was about to be done. At the wedding of Joey and Kate the Infantes and Dellarcos would finally bury the vendetta that was decimating them and weakening the East Coast Families alliance.

This was why she had to be there. The wedding was the cornerstone of the new regime. If it fell apart, so would Dominic’s legacy, which he had entrusted to her. She was already at a loss as to how to operate in the male-dominated world of the Mafia without her husband as her mask. Ostensibly, he had been Dominic’s successor, but it was she who knew all of Dom’s secrets, she who made all the decisions. Now, with Tony gone, she was naked in the light. Which one of the Family heads would follow her, a woman? None. This was why her role had been such a well-kept secret. Only Tony had known, and she suspected he hated her for usurping what he saw as rightfully his.

Dominic, however, in his usual brilliant manner, had seen matters entirely differently. To this day, Margarite had no idea why he had asked her to take over his position as head of all the East Coast Families. He must have known what an impossible task he was leaving her with. And yet he had persisted. And she, partly as dutiful sister, partly as fascinated initiate, had acquiesced. But now look where it had got her, alone and exiled, betrayed from within and under attack, bereft of her power. Surely, Dom could not have envisioned this bleak future.

Putting her face in her hands, she wept, her shoulders shaking, engulfed by self-pity. When, at last, she was cried out, she turned her head, willing the phone to ring, but it remained silent as a serpent.

Francie, where are you? Please, God, keep her safe from harm.

She jumped as the phone rang. For an instant, she hesitated, then she breathed a little sigh. Francie.

She opened the line. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, sweetheart.’

Her heart constricted. ‘Who is this?’

‘They messed up, Margarite. They were supposed to take out your bodyguard and snatch you – no fuss, no muss. Oh, well, it’s getting harder to find competent help.’

‘Caesare?’

‘In another time, another place, we could have been pals,’ Caesare Leonforte said. ‘Closer even, maybe. Pity.’

She closed her eyes. ‘What do you want, Caesare, my death?’

‘Oh, no. Not only your death, Margarite. I want it
all.
Everything Dominic built, everything that is yours.’ He chuckled. ‘Not so much to covet, in the scheme of things. But I
will
have it all, Margarite.’

‘Not if I have anything to say about it.’

‘But you don’t, sweetheart. You’re nothing: a skirt, a twist, a
woman.
Now that Tony’s gone I’ve cut off the head. The Goldonis only have you.’ He laughed. ‘And I’ve put an end to you.’

Her hand tightened on the grip of the .38. ‘I put a bullet through the heart of one of your assassins. I’ll do the same to you.’

‘Oh, I believe you, sweetheart. Even though you’re a woman you’re a damn fine shot. I can’t afford to have you barreling around like a loose cannon, so I’m going to order you in from the cold.’

‘You’ll never be able to order me to do anything.’

‘Never say never, Margarite. Dominic would have told you that.’

‘Don’t use my brother’s name.’

‘Come in, Margarite. I promise you won’t be harmed. I’ll give you directions right now –’

‘Fuck you!’

‘How ladylike. Well, darling, you force me into the distasteful position of using leverage. Did you wonder why your CD player isn’t working? That’s because we outfitted your Lexus with a phone monitor. Your daughter is at Julie’s, isn’t she? We ran Julie’s number through a contact at the phone company and came up with the address. Want to hear it?’

Margarite’s blood had run cold. Francie! ‘Bastard.’

‘Thirty-eight thirty-seven Fox Hollow Lane in New Canaan.’

Margarite screamed.

‘Are you all right, sweetheart? I think I heard a noise.’

Margarite leaned over the phone. ‘Caesare, if you harm Francie in any way, I promise you I will hunt you down no matter where you are, no matter how long it takes.’

‘I don’t doubt you’d try, which is why I haven’t the slightest intention of hurting her. Assuming you give yourself up. You have an hour, Margarite.’ He gave her an address in Sheepshead Bay, off the service road of the Belt Parkway near Coney Island Avenue. ‘If you’re not at this location at that time, I’m afraid I cannot take responsibility for what happens to your daughter.’

She was weeping despite biting her lip in an effort to hold it back. ‘Oh, Caesare, she’s just an innocent child.’ There was no answer and she ground her teeth. Her eyes felt hot, stinging with tears. ‘You’ll have to bring her or I won’t come in.’

‘Forgetaboutit.’

‘I need proof.’

‘This is war, Margarite. I give no quarter.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘You fuckin’ bitch, you give me any more trouble an’ I’ll bring her fuckin’ finger to the meet, get me?’

‘You do that, Caesare, and I promise you I’ll personally gouge your eyes out and make you eat them.’

Perhaps the tone of her voice made him relent. Maybe he meant to give in all along and had just been torturing her. ‘Okay, okay. You come in an’ she’ll be there. Satisfied?’

‘In one piece?’

‘In one piece, sure.’

Her mind was awhirl in shock and grief. ‘I need more time.’

‘No, you don’t.’

‘I won’t make it, I know it. There’s traffic, the bridges, I’m almost out of gas. Plus, I have to find a pharmacy.’

‘A pharmacy? What for?’

‘What do you think, idiot. I just got my period. I need –’

‘Enough! I don’t want to hear this.’

‘For the love of God, Caesare, we’re talking about my child’s
life.’

There was a brief pause, during which Margarite just had time for a quick, silent prayer.

‘All right, sweetheart, I’ll give you three hours. But that’s all the time Francie has.’

Tokyo’s mistlike drizzle had turned into a metallic rain that bounced off vertical neon signs and Shinto shrine torii gates alike. There were plenty of the latter in the Asakusa temple district where Nicholas met Tanaka Gin. He was standing in front of a conical private residence, beneath a single cryptomeria set into a grating of concrete blocks.

Tanaka Gin was a slender, dark-faced man with the kind of laconic grace one often found in Japan’s cinema detectives or samurai heroes. He had about him an air of mystery, as if his mind were a safety deposit box filled with secrets. His hooded eyes were deceiving. He seemed half-asleep, but Nicholas felt certain that he would appear this way even if he was running full tilt after you down an alley or putting the pressure on you in an interrogation cell.

‘Linnear-san,’ Tanaka Gin said, bowing formally, ‘it is an honor to meet you.’

‘The honor is all mine, I assure you,’ Nicholas said, returning the bow. He stowed away his Kami. The ever-efficient Kanda Tōrin had digi-faxed him the information on the dozen or so members of Denwa Partners. The data had come into his Kami as a stream of ones and zeros, which the unit had translated into Japanese kanji. ‘Your reputation precedes you – especially the cases you put together against Tetsuo Akinaga and Yoshinori.’ He was referring to two men – one a prominent Yakuza
oyabun,
the head of a Japanese underworld family; the other the most influential unaligned politico with the reputation of making or breaking the last eight prime ministers. ‘Your reputation as
the
latter-day reformer is formidable.’

The success of the prosecution of Akinaga’s case was of particular importance to Nicholas. Tetsuo Akinaga was the
oyabun
of Tokyo’s powerful and murderous Shikei clan. Yakuza, who proudly considered themselves outsiders in Japanese society, preferred ironically fatalistic names for their clans. Shikei meant capital punishment. Akinaga had been a member of the Kaisho’s inner circle, a purported friend and disciple of Okami’s, but in fact his bitterest enemy. All of Okami’s other enemies were gone, washed away in a tide of blood. Only Tetsuo Akinaga remained.

‘I have an excellent and dedicated staff,’ Tanaka Gin said. He stood in the rain without the protection of an umbrella. His sole concession to the weather was the lapel of his iridescent green trench coat, which he had turned up to keep the water from running down his back. ‘It was good of you to meet me at such short notice.’

‘I am as anxious as you are to discover the identity of the people involved in the theft of the CyberNet secrets.’

Tanaka Gin used a key to open the patinaed bronze door, in the process stripping off three lines of bright orange police tape.
WARNING! POLICE CRIME SCENE! ENTRY FORBIDDEN!
they had printed on them in kanji. He stepped inside and Nicholas followed.

Nicholas found himself in an astonishing replica of a colonial-Saigon villa. Aqueous light, tinged by neon, seeped in through the jalousied windows. The smell of incense and star anise wafted in the air. But something hanging like the web of a giant spider made Nicholas start involuntarily.

Tanaka Gin closed the door behind Nicholas. ‘Let us be frank, Linnear-san. I have agreed to help your investigation because Tanzan Nangi asked it of me. He is a man for whom I have great respect.’ He went to a long side table, turned on two bronze lamps. ‘As it happens, I have much on my plate. I am investigating the murder of a German businessman, Rodney Kurtz, and the subsequent hit-and-run death of his wife, Giai, a Vietnamese national.’ He spread his hands. ‘This is where Mr Kurtz was killed.’

Nicholas nodded. ‘As long as we are being frank, Prosecutor, allow me to say that I never asked for your help and, in fact, prefer to work alone.’

‘That is a dangerous occupation in Tokyo. Officially, I would not advise it.’

‘And unofficially?’

Tanaka Gin smiled. ‘I know something about you, Linnear-san. Nangi-san speaks of you in the manner one would talk about his progeny. This I take as significant.’ He paused a beat. ‘I am willing to offer you assistance as you need it. But it would be... unfortunate if your investigation caused me or my office any embarrassment.’

‘I take your point, Prosecutor. And I appreciate the advice.’ Nicholas could sense Tanaka Gin, behind his half-lowered lids, sizing him up.

‘Yes, I believe you do.’

Nicholas watched Tanaka Gin using a pocket flashlight with a powerful beam to illuminate the walls one by one. It lingered on a section speckled with what could be dried blood. ‘Do you wish me to leave, Prosecutor?’

With the beam still full on the blood spots Tanaka Gin said, ‘I believe you knew the deceased, Linnear-san.’

So this was what he meant, Nicholas thought.
I know something about you.
‘I met him perhaps once or twice. I did not know him.’

Now Tanaka Gin turned on his heel and his hooded eyes fixed Nicholas. ‘No? But he was a partner in the TransRim CyberNet.’