Authors: Thomas Perry
“Good. That’s what I see, too. The VW and the Fiat are almost certainly harmless.”
“Agreed.”
“The white pickup we should keep an eye on, but usually what we have to fear from
those guys is that they’ll drive so aggressively that they’ll kill us by accident.
By the way, it’s a good idea to look for women.”
“You mean woman drivers?”
“Anywhere in the vehicle. There are a lot of bad things to be said about women, but
they don’t get into this kind of work much. If you see a woman in any of the cars,
we can pretty safely take it off the list.”
“That leaves the two SUVs.”
“Watch them for signs that we have a problem.”
“I’m watching. What am I looking for?”
“Signs that they’re trying to deceive us. Sometimes two cars will follow you by taking
turns. One drops so far behind that you forget it exists, while the other keeps you
in sight. Then they switch, so you don’t start wondering about the one you can see.
When you see the first one again, you think it’s new. Sometimes a follower will get
ahead of you for a while so you think you’re following them. Nobody who tries to fool
you has a nice reason for it.”
Jimmy looked at her for a moment, then out the back window. “Did you know these things
by instinct when you started, or have they all happened to you?”
“I’ve spent a lot of years helping people who are running away. All of them have someone
chasing them. The important thing is to learn to trust yourself. If you look at anything—a
car, a house, a person—and it seems a little off, avoid it. Simple.”
Jimmy stared out the rear window. “I brought this on by making that call home to my
mother. I’m regretting it every minute. But I’m not sure I’ll see the next mistake
before I make it.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Jane said. “The trick is to be alert. Always look for
a way to improve the odds in your favor.”
“Those two SUVs are still back there.”
“I know,” she said. “I don’t like it either.”
Jane drove on. Route 11 became less heavily traveled as the hour grew late. The road
moved away from the city into a rural landscape, and then narrowed to two lanes. When
they went through a town it was always small, with darkened business signs and traffic
signals that blinked yellow over deserted intersections. As they passed one that looked
no different from the others, things changed abruptly.
A pair of black SUVs similar to the one that had attacked them on the interstate pulled
into the road a few hundred yards ahead. One came from a driveway to Jane’s right
that ran like a bridge over a small stream in a ditch beside the road. The other emerged
from the lot in front of a gas station on the left. They met like doors closing across
the road.
“Trouble,” she said. She hit her high beam headlights, bathing the two cars in light,
and steered her car toward the spot just behind the car that had come over the ditch.
“There’s a ditch on that side,” Jimmy said. When nothing changed he said, “Jane. A
ditch.”
“I see it.”
She held the wheel in both hands, still steering straight at the rear of the car blocking
the right lane. “Make sure your seat belt is tight, but keep your head low. Remember
the other one shot at us.”
Jimmy slumped lower, so he could barely see over the dashboard.
Jane sped up slightly, aiming her car at the SUV on the right. She could see a head
in the front side window turned toward her. The man in the driver’s seat had the best
view, and he was getting frightened. His eyes were open wide and he gripped the steering
wheel tightly. Jane altered her aim slightly, just enough so her car would look to
him like a projectile streaking straight for him.
Finally, he panicked. He threw his transmission into reverse and backed up quickly.
He seemed to have forgotten how narrow the driveway was. His left set of tires found
their way onto the driveway, but the right set slipped off into the ditch, and the
vehicle tipped onto its side.
Jane swerved, but not toward the space that had opened between the two SUVs. She aimed
at the remaining vehicle and sped up again. She adjusted her aim to be sure that if
she hit anything, it would be the passenger door.
The driver blocking the left lane pulled forward to block the space that had opened
up in the middle of the road.
Jane saw a wash of white light projected onto her dashboard from behind, and didn’t
have to look into the rearview mirror to know that the SUV that had been following
her for miles was coming up fast behind her.
In another second she was at the roadblock, flashing past with two wheels on the road
and the other two on the pavement of the gas station behind the left SUV. She narrowly
missed the first gas pump and adjusted her trajectory to make it back onto the road
to avoid the telephone pole at the end of the lot.
The black SUV that had been following her shot past in the space between the two other
black SUVs that had formed the roadblock, and began to gain on her.
Jimmy turned around in his seat to watch the vehicle behind. “I can’t believe this.
Who the heck are these guys?”
“I can’t tell. They don’t seem to be good at stopping people without killing them.”
Jane was driving hard now, accelerating steadily, trying to hug the inside of each
curve and straighten to aim at the next one. Jimmy looked at the speedometer and watched
the needle climb over ninety-five miles an hour, a hundred, and still move higher.
The broken white lines on the pavement streaked toward them like tracer rounds.
“You’re going too fast. What if a cop sees us?”
“What if two carloads of armed thugs catch up with us on a deserted highway?”
“Can we ditch the car somewhere and slip off on foot?”
Jane kept glancing in the mirrors, her hands gripping the steering wheel to keep the
car from spinning out. “If I see the right place, we can try. I haven’t seen one yet.
We’d have to get far enough ahead so they can’t see us bail out, and if I can accomplish
that, we’re better off in the car.”
“But you’re going—”
“Jimmy.” She said it quietly, but he understood that she didn’t intend to argue. The
car was going so fast that when she reached a slight rise, the car rose on its springs
to be nearly airborne at the crest, and then burrowed downward into the shallow trough
beyond it. Jimmy gripped the armrest, his teeth clenched so his jaw muscles bulged
whenever he felt a bounce or a rocking of the car, but he was clearly determined not
to remind her that what she was doing was dangerous.
Jane glanced in the mirror again. She reached a long, straight stretch, and kept her
eyes on the mirror for a long time.
Jimmy turned in his seat and looked. “I don’t see them anymore.”
“Neither do I. Keep watching, in case one of them is crazy enough to follow us without
headlights.”
She kept going, but she let up on the gas pedal a bit. They hurtled through the night
for another ten minutes before she lowered her speed again, this time to only ten
miles an hour over the speed limit. “Okay,” she said. “We’re looking for Route Twenty-two
now. There should be signs.”
“Who do you think those guys are?”
“Enemies. Watch for the signs for Route Twenty-two.”
“Where will that take us?”
“Away from them.”
12
T
his is pitiful,” said Teddy Mangeoli. “Dreadful. I’ve never been so embarrassed in
my life. What am I going to say?”
“I’m sorry, Teddy,” said Donato. “I’m sorry. I sent six really good men. The idea
was to avoid shooting up the whole city and making a lot of trouble for everybody,
right?”
“Right,” said Mangeoli. “Was that too tall an order? Six picked men can’t go to a
hotel where we know some guy is staying, and put him down quietly? This was a favor
for a very important and respected man, a near neighbor we might need on our side
someday soon.”
“It wasn’t too tall an order. We just didn’t know some crucial things, and it made
all the difference. Nobody mentioned that the guy had a girlfriend with him in the
hotel. She happened to go down to the lobby while Santoro and Molinaro were talking
to the desk clerk, and made them somehow. By the time Santoro and Molinaro got upstairs
to take the guy out, the guy and the girlfriend were out and driving away in a car.”
“Michael. My very good friend. Take a step back from all these details. Think about
the magnitude of what’s happened to us. Our thing here in Cleveland was a force for
a hundred years, an organization to be admired and feared. This was where Big Joe
Lonardo put together the corn syrup monopoly. He dominated the corn liquor business
during Prohibition.”
“And lost it in the corn syrup wars.”
“I’m talking about the size, strength, and importance of the Cleveland organization.
Hell, the Statler Hotel was where the first national sit-down took place in 1928.”
“Well, it never actually took place,” said Donato. “Everybody got arrested before
it got started.”
“That doesn’t matter. They all came, didn’t they? The most powerful, important men
in La Cosa Nostra. They came here from New York, Chicago, Florida, everywhere. And
in those days, you couldn’t just hop on a plane. You had to be sincere enough to spend
a couple of days on a train. The point is the Cleveland organization was respected.
Now we can’t take out one Indian from Buffalo and his girlfriend. We can’t do a simple
favor for a very important ally. We’re a sad, diminished thing. We’ve got more guys
in jail than on the street.”
“This isn’t just some unsuspecting dope. The guys said they tried to force him to
pull over on the interstate, but he outmaneuvered them. Our guys followed the car
to Route Eleven, then called ahead to set up a roadblock. The car blew right through
before they were ready. This guy was going a hundred and ten. You can’t stop somebody
like that quietly. It’s like flagging down a suicide bomber.”
“You’re not getting my point,” said Teddy Mangeoli. “Once there was Big Joe Lonardo,
then Big Ange Lonardo. Then Big Al Polizzi. Have you ever heard anybody call me Big
Teddy Mangeoli?”
“Those were big guys, that’s all. You’re like, five foot six.”
“Eight. Five foot eight. Jesus.”
“It doesn’t mean those guys were more important. It was descriptive.”
Teddy Mangeoli held him in his stare for a moment, and then walked across the carpeted
office. He was usually happy when he was in this room. He loved being in charge of
a bank, and he loved being its biggest shareholder. This morning the luxury of the
office seemed to him to be an indictment. The man he was going to call was the head
of the Arm in Buffalo. Just the sound of it made his spine tingle—the Arm. Lorenzo
Malconi was from another generation, when men were a scarier species. Malconi had
gotten where he was because he had burned some powder and he had dug some graves.
When Teddy Mangeoli got to the cabinet, he turned to Donato. “Give me some time alone.
I don’t need anybody to watch me grovel.” He picked up the receiver of the special
telephone that was swept by the security people every day, and dialed. He fought the
feeling of shame and dread that seemed to double with each ring.
IN BUFFALO, ANDY SPATO PICKED
up the telephone and said, “Malconi residence.” He listened for a moment, then said,
“One moment please.” Then he walked out through the sliding glass door into the garden.
“Mr. Malconi?” Andy Spato stood holding the telephone with his big hand over the receiver.
“It’s Teddy Mangeoli in Cleveland. Would you like me to have him call back?”
The old man opened his eyes, but didn’t move his head even a centimeter. He was tentatively
ready for a disappointment or a new chore. Being a boss looked like being a king,
but it sometimes felt like being everybody’s servant. You couldn’t just say you didn’t
care what anybody’s problem was. He held out his hand.
Spato handed him the phone and backed away, his eyes still on Mr. Malconi, waiting
for a nod from him. That was usually the signal that he was dismissed. When he saw
the old man nod, he spun on his heel and stepped back toward the house. He went inside
and closed the sliding glass door.
He took a last look at the old man sitting on the chaise longue in the garden with
his feet up, wearing his comfortable old sport coat with the elbow patches and his
leather driving slippers. For the hundredth time, Spato thought about how much like
a kind elderly gentleman he looked. Spato could almost imagine a half dozen little
grandchildren gathering around him to listen to a story. The truth was that he was
probably surrounded by the ghosts of a few dozen people waiting for him to die so
they could tear his soul to shreds. Spato went into the kitchen and poured himself
a cup of coffee. He had promised himself he’d have one while the old man had his afternoon
nap.
In the garden, Mr. Malconi spoke into the phone. “Hello, Teddy.”
“Don Lorenzo, I’m calling you with a very difficult and humiliating piece of news.”
“What is it?”
“I would have come in person, but it would have taken longer, and I was sure you would
want to know right away. It pains me to tell you that the small favor you asked was
bungled.”
“Bungled?”
“Botched. Fumbled. I can’t think of any other way to say it. My guys failed you.”
“Should I be listening for a knock on my door, Teddy?”
“Oh, no, Don Lorenzo. Nothing like that. Six men were sent to look at the hotel registers
in the Cleveland area where that phone call originated—three teams of two men. The
target apparently had a girlfriend with him, and she accidentally saw one of the teams
by the hotel computer. She and the target drove off at over a hundred miles an hour.
Our guys had big-ass SUVs, and you know how bad those are for that kind of driving.
They’re heavy, and have a high center of gravity. Mario Andretti couldn’t hold one
of those fat pigs on a winding road at over a hundred. As it was, one of the SUVs
had to be towed out of a ditch.”
“Anybody hurt?”
“No, thank God,” said Teddy Mangeoli. “It’s a blessing things weren’t worse.”
“Driving into a ditch at a hundred miles an hour?” said Mr. Malconi. “It’s a miracle.”
Teddy Mangeoli felt a wave of heat wash over him. That wasn’t what he had meant, and
it sounded impossible, but it was too late to correct the impression. He could only
hope that Mr. Malconi didn’t consider it a lie. “Anyway, the guy and his girlfriend
are gone. We failed you, and I’m very sorry.”
“Do you know which direction they were going?”
“South on Route Eleven, toward West Virginia and Maryland.”
“Do they know who was looking for them?”
“I don’t see how they could,” said Teddy Mangeoli. “My guys were in identical black
Escalades. Since we knew this target was a wanted man, I thought that might make our
teams look like feds coming to arrest him. You remember when the FBI raided Danny
Spoccato’s office in Newark? Big black SUVs. I saw it on the television news over
and over. Now the Escalades are back where they came from, and the guys never got
close enough to get identified.”
“Where did they come from?”
“A friend of ours has a Cadillac dealership.”
“A friend of ours?”
A friend of mine
was just a friend.
A friend of ours
was a member of La Cosa Nostra.
“Yes. Mike Donato.”
“Do you think he might be able to get me a deal on a new CTS-V sedan?”
“I’ll have one sent to you tomorrow. What color do you like?”
“They have a really deep black, but I like a nice dark gray, you know—conservative,
like a good suit,” said Mr. Malconi. “But I wasn’t asking for a present.”
“It’s as good as done. It’s the least I can do to show you my regard. I know it doesn’t
make up for the mistake.”
Mr. Malconi said, “Forget that other thing. It’s just a small favor for a friend of
a friend. I’ll make another phone call or two to the people who live where the happy
couple are headed. Somebody will see them at the right time and place, and that will
be the end of it. These things can sometimes take a week or two. It’s not unusual.”
“Again, Don Lorenzo, I apologize.”
“Don’t give it another thought. I’ll talk to you after my new Cadillac arrives.”
The two men hung up. Teddy Mangeoli walked stiffly to his desk and sat down on the
top of it, his mind churning. He had made mistakes, and sounded as though he was making
excuses and lying. He had missed a chance to build a relationship with a man who had
been a power practically since the beginning of time. What the hell had he been thinking?
He should have sent a hundred men to the hotel district after this fugitive. It had
been a huge opportunity, and he had left it to underlings.
Mike Donato opened the door a crack, only an eye visible. When he saw that Teddy Mangeoli
had finished his call, he came in and shut the thick office door. “How did it go?”
“Rotten. I’m sure he thinks we’re stupid and worthless. I kind of misspoke and gave
him the impression that one of the SUVs was driven into a ditch at a hundred miles
an hour and nobody was hurt, so he thinks I’m a liar too.”
“I saw the one that they rolled over this morning, and it looks like hell. It will
cost thousands of dollars to restore that paint job.”
“That reminds me. I told him we’d send him a new Caddy tomorrow. A CTS-V. Get somebody
to drive it to Buffalo. And he’s particular about the color. He wants a nice dark
gray, like a conservative suit.”
“He means Phantom Gray Metallic,” said Donato. “A new CTS-V. Those things start at
sixty-four thousand bucks, and go up from there. I don’t even have Phantom Gray Metallic
on the lot right now. And how the hell am I going to get one there tomorrow?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” said Teddy. “If you have to get the right one from another
dealer in Cincinnati or Columbus or someplace, do it. If you don’t have anybody to
drive it to Buffalo, do it yourself. If you screw this up, we’re not going to get
another chance with him.”
IN THE GARDEN BEHIND THE
big brick house on Middlesex in Buffalo, Lorenzo Malconi closed his eyes again. He
never really slept in the afternoon, but pretending to nap made people underestimate
him and gave him a chance to think. Teddy Mangeoli was in a position that wasn’t warranted
by his talents or his character. The next strong wind would blow him away like a brown
leaf off a tree. But Lorenzo Malconi had never been an impatient man, and at this
stage of his life he valued cunning above audacity. He would not be the one to send
Teddy Mangeoli to the undertakers. Instead, he might be the one who waited until somebody
else did, and then administer justice on the culprit and exert his moral authority
over both families. That would depend on who moved first.