Drink With the Devil (17 page)

“Now that is interesting,” Sollazo said. “Anything else?”

“Not really. Oh, yes, he’s going to Green Rapids General Hospital on Tuesday morning to have a heart scan. As I said, he suffers from angina. By the way, she said she was going to see him again in the morning at eleven.”

“You’ve done well, Paolo, keep up the good work. Just one thing I didn’t tell you. Liam Kelly is actually Michael Ryan, once a big activist in Irish politics on the Protestant side, and never take him for granted. He’s killed more men than he can remember.”

“Jesus!” Salamone said.

“His niece is Kathleen Ryan. She, too, has killed in her time. These aren’t ordinary crooks, Paolo, they are revolutionaries and, as we know, such people are like wild dogs, a little touched in the head. Never take them for granted.”

“I won’t, Mr. Sollazo, and you’ll do what you can for me?”

“That goes without saying.”

Sollazo put down the phone, sat there thinking about it, then buzzed his secretary. “Find Mori for me, he should be somewhere about.”

He went back to the legal brief in front of him, smiling slightly as he saw the fatal flaw in the District Attorney’s case. There was a knock at the door and Mori entered.

“Yes, Signore,” he said in Sicilian.

Sollazo sat back. “I’ve heard from Salamone, more information on Ryan and his niece. It seems she got false passports from a forger called Cassidy, who shared a cell with Ryan in Sing-Sing. Find him and bring him to me. Somebody will know him.”

“No problem,” Mori told him. “I’ll make a few calls,” and he went out.

I
T WAS ONLY
one and a half hours later that he parked his limousine outside the small photo and print shop on a Bronx side street and entered. A black youth was attending a machine that churned out holiday snaps.

He paused and came to the counter. “Yes, sir?”

“Mr. Cassidy. Tell him he’s wanted.”

“He’s in the back, I’ll get him.”

“No need, kid, I’ll handle it myself.”

Mori went behind the counter and opened the door. Cassidy, a small balding man with wire spectacles, was working on what to Mori looked like a share certificate.

Mori said, “Up to your old tricks?”

Cassidy, who knew trouble when he saw it, stood up. “What is this?” he blustered.

“I represent the Russo family, and Don Antonio’s nephew and lawyer, Mr. Marco Sollazo, would appreciate your help in a small matter.”

Cassidy went very pale and removed his spectacles with a shaking hand. “Anything I can do.”

“I thought you’d feel like that. You do a nice line in false passports, and I take it you’re the careful kind of guy who keeps records. Am I right?”

Cassidy licked his lips nervously. “That’s right. Who are we talking about?”

“A guy you shared a cell with at Ossining, Liam Kelly. His niece came to see you some time ago.”

“Sure,” Cassidy said. “I’ve got all the details.”

“Then stick them in a file and let’s go. Mr. Sollazo doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“IRISH PASSPORTS YOU say?” Sollazo said to Cassidy, who stood before his desk.

“Sure, Mr. Sollazo, in the names of Daniel and Nancy Forbes. There was no problem getting a current photo of Kelly. They have one of those photo machines at the prison. They’re always needing pictures for various security tags the cons use up there.”

“When was this?”

“Eighteen months ago. They’re current passports of the European Community variety with brown covers. Kelly’s supposed to be an artist. I thought that was good because he paints in his cell.”

“And the girl?”

“Nurse, which is what she is.”

“I know,” Sollazo said. “And this was first-class work?”

“Oh, sure, entry and exit stamps for everywhere from Hong Kong to the U.K. I even gave them visas for Egypt. Good work, I swear on my life, Mr. Sollazo.”

“I’m sure you’re telling the truth.” Sollazo turned to Mori. “If he proves false, Giovanni, you have my permission to break both his legs and arms.”

“A pleasure.” Mori didn’t even smile.

Cassidy was sweating. “Please, Mr. Sollazo, I’m an honest guy.”

Sollazo burst out laughing. “Get out of here.”

Mori saw him through the door, then returned.

“Anything else, Signore?”

“Yes, I want you to go and see Salamone. It seems Ryan is being taken to Green Rapids General Hospital on Tuesday morning for a heart scan. Find out all you can, how the system works when they take one of the inmates for that kind of check.”

“Does the Signore mean what I think he means?”

“Perhaps. Afterwards, check out the hospital. I don’t need to tell you to be discreet. You always are.”

“Thank you, Signore,” Mori said, face impassive, and went out, and Sollazo went back to work.

S
ALAMONE WAS DESPERATELY
afraid of Mori, but then most people were, for he was the Russo family’s most feared enforcer, so he received him with some trepidation. They walked over the grass toward the lake and Mori told him why he had come.

Salamone, eager to please, was more than helpful. “They use a special security ambulance to take guys down to the hospital. I’ve gone myself when they’ve had a stretcher case needing a nurse.”

“How many guards?”

“The driver and a guy riding shotgun beside him. Usually another two in the back with the cons. It depends how many, but I can tell you Tuesday morning is light, just Kelly or Ryan, or whatever they call him, and a guy called Bryant, who’s going to have a keyhole op on his prostate. I’ve seen the schedule.”

“Fine,” Mori said. “So where would they take Ryan?”

“Third floor. There’s a clinic there called General Heart Surgery.”

“So a guard takes him up there or two maybe?”

“Usually one. I mean, the guy has a heart condition. He’s handcuffed, of course.”

“At all times?”

“Not while he’s having treatment.”

“Good,” Mori said. “That’s all I need to know. You know the old saying from Sicily? ‘Keep the tongue in the mouth or it gets cut out.”’

“Jesus, Giovanni.” Paolo sounded shocked. “I mean, I love my Don.”

“Sure you do.” Mori patted his face and walked away.

T
HE HOSPITAL CAR
park was full, but someone pulled out as Mori arrived, so Mori took the space which he noted was reserved for the Chief of Surgery. He went in through the main entrance. It was very modern, lots of tiling and high technology, staff everywhere, nurses in uniform, doctors in white coats, and many people who were presumably visitors.

He strode confidently through the concourse and took a lift to the fourth floor quite deliberately. The corridor he stepped out into was very quiet. A door opposite said Storeroom, then there was an elevator with very wide doors, obviously designed to carry stretchers and trolleys. Next to it a door said Staff Rest Room. Mori opened it without hesitation and went in.

There were washbasins and toilet cubicles and a row of pegs, some of them occupied by overalls and white coats, one of which had a plastic security card pinned to it in the name of a Doctor Lynn, Radiology. Mori put it on and went out.

He took the elevator down to the third floor, exited, and strolled confidently along, looking for the clinic Salamone had described, and there it was. General Heart Surgery. He opened the swing door and went in.

There were two or three patients on the benches, a young black nurse at reception. She looked up and smiled and Mori put his hands in his pockets so that the white coat parted just in case she knew the name on the identity card.

“Can I help you, Doctor?”

“I’m new, I’m afraid, Radiology. I’ve got to see a patient up here on Tuesday morning, an inmate from Green Rapids Detention Center. I was just checking. You know, getting my bearings. A heart patient.”

“Oh, sure, Mr. Kelly. He’s been here on several occasions. Yes, you’re in the right place. Clinic Three right down the hall, that’s where he’s treated.”

“Well, thank you,” Mori told her and went down the hall. He glanced through the round window in the door of Clinic Three, saw a patient on a trolley, a nurse bending over him.

He passed on to a door marked Fire Exit, opened it, and found himself in a quiet corridor. The doors opposite were marked Freight Elevator. He called it up and when it arrived, punched the basement button. When he stepped out, he found doors standing wide to an underground car park, walked through, and found himself in the car park where he had left his limousine. He stood there smiling, then went and opened the driver’s door, took off the white coat and threw it in the back, then he got behind the wheel.

W
HEN
K
ATHLEEN
R
YAN
entered the Pharmacology Department of the hospital, the young doctor on duty was Indian, a Doctor Sieed. She wore a sari. She knew Kathleen and liked her.

“What can I do for you, nurse?”

“My uncle is an angina patient. I was just talking to him and he told me he was on new pills, something I’m not familiar with. Dazane.”

Doctor Sieed nodded. “A recent addition. It has an excellent record, but the dosage is critical. One, three times a day.”

“Yes, I noticed that.”

“Overdose can be a problem. Three at the same time would actually promote a severe angina attack.”

“Of a critical nature?”

“Probably not, but it would give the patient a bad shock for a couple of days. Tell him to be careful.”

“Thank you.”

Kathleen went along to the staff room, got her coat and shoulder bag, and left by the main entrance. As she walked across the car park, Giovanni Mori drove past her in the limousine and turned into the main road.

T
HE
D
ON WAS
in an expansive mood when Sollazo went to see him. “You look pleased with yourself, Marco.”

“I think I have a solution.”

“Good, but family business first. Anything for me to sign?”

“A couple of property deeds, a transfer. I have them here.” Sollazo opened his briefcase and took out various papers.

“Let’s get on with it.” He produced a pen and did what was necessary. “Good. Now a couple of my very special vodka martinis.”

“The best in the world.”

“Of course.” Russo went behind the bar and mixed the drinks, and Sollazo sat on a bar stool. The martini was excellent and he savored it with pleasure. The old man toasted him. “The Ryan business. Tell me.”

Which Sollazo did in finest detail. When he was finished, the Don said, “You really think Mori could manage this on his own?”

“Absolutely and so simple. No one else involved.”

“It would require Ryan’s co-operation.”

“But, of course.”

“And he’ll want his niece with him.”

“Naturally.”

“So how will you persuade him?”

“To quote your favorite film, ‘I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.”’

The old man nodded. “There must be no link between you and Ryan, no link with the Family. In the event of success, we don’t want the police tying us in.”

“No problem there. When I go to Green Rapids, it’s to see Salamone, all perfectly legitimate, but the regime there is so ridiculously liberal, prisoners walking round the park area with their families or attorneys, that it’s possible to talk to anyone. Salamone tells me the girl visits her uncle again tomorrow at eleven. I’ll see him then and take the opportunity of speaking to Ryan.”

The Don sipped his martini thoughtfully. “Tell me, Salamone’s expectations of some sort of movement as regards reducing his sentence. Have you any hopes there?”

“None at all, but I try to keep his hopes up for other reasons. He knows a great deal about Family business.”

“Too much. There is an old Sicilian saying, ‘Better to lop the branch than lose the tree.”’ The Don nodded gravely. “And there would be the point that he is the only link between us and this Ryan affair.”

“He’s entirely disposable,” Sollazo said calmly. “So he has an accident one day. We have friends in there happy to oblige.”

“Good. I’ll let you get on with it, then.”

I
T WAS A
fine bright morning just before eleven when Sollazo strolled through the park with Salamone.

“You’ve done well for us,” the lawyer said. “The Don is pleased.”

“Great.” Salamone nodded eagerly. “And how’s my case going?”

“I’m working on it, Paolo, these things take time.”

At that moment he saw Michael Ryan and Kathleen move down toward the lake and sit down in one of the rustic shelters.

K
ATHLEEN WAS SAYING
, “Dazane, that new heart pill you’re on. You have to be careful to stick to the right dosage.”

“Sure and I know that. One, three times a day.”

“I checked with Doctor Sieed. If you took three at the same time it would actually promote an angina attack.”

“And that would be curtains?”

“Let’s say you wouldn’t feel too good for a while.”

At that moment Marco Sollazo appeared before them, elegant in his dark suit and long Armani raincoat.

“Good morning, Mr. Ryan.” He smiled at Kathleen. “Miss Ryan.”

Ryan went very still. “You’ve got the wrong names, mister, you must have made a mistake.”

“I don’t think so.”

Kathleen said, “Leave off, Uncle Michael.” She looked at Sollazo grimly. “What’s it about?”

“To start with, I know all about you. Michael and Kathleen Ryan, still wanted in Ulster for a number of terrorist activities on behalf of the Loyalist cause. I suppose the British could apply for your extradition if they knew where you were, Miss Ryan.”

“Damn you,” she said. “What is it you want?”

“The gold bullion that went down ten years ago on the
Irish Rose
off the coast of County Down, and please don’t say you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

They both sat there staring at him. Finally Ryan said, “You seem to know a great deal.”

“I know everything.”