Walk on the Wild Side Page 6

  She heard the door open behind her. “I’m glad you’re safe, Will.” She turned her chair and froze.

  Yazzie’s tall, lean body filled the door frame. “Is he safe?”

  Toni forced herself to take a sip of her drink. “Are you here to kill me?”

  Yazzie took a few steps into the office, closing the door behind. “Why would I do that?”

  “My father. Your father. This whole fucking mess with Damon.”

  “My father bears you no ill will,” Yazzie said. “You were an unwitting accomplice in events. Have you heard from Kane?”

  “Not since yesterday.” She gestured with the glass toward the windows. “He doesn’t tend to fill me in after he’s done things. After the Blackout I didn’t hear from him for days. After his son, Joe, died, he disappeared for almost five years.”

  “He sounds rather unreliable,” Yazzie noted.

  “He’s very reliable,” Toni said. “When he’s around.”

  Yazzie walked toward her desk and stopped on the other side. “We just buried one of my brothers. Kane killed him. There is a demand for vengeance.”

  “The man who killed Selkis?” Toni said, not really a question. “That was self-defense.” She shook her head. “When will it stop?”

  Yazzie indicated the folders and papers. “That was in the footlocker, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You anticipated my arrival the other day. Is some of it about Boss Crawford?”

  “There’s information about quite a few people. My father spent years on both sides of the law. I haven’t gone through all of it.”

  “A ledger?”

  Toni frowned. “What?”

  “Did Boss Crawford finance Selkis’ special movies?” Yazzie asked.

  “You watched them?”

  “I watched part of one,” Yazzie said. He walked to the bar and filled a glass.

  “Yes. He financed them.”

  “Why?” Yazzie asked, a genuine question. He sat in the chair facing her desk. “To sell? To make money?”

  “For his own pleasure. What did my father tell you?”

  “He told us about these other files. He said things about Boss. My brothers are convinced he was lying. There is a point where people say anything.”

  “A point in what?” Toni asked.

  “Interrogation. I had to know. The others didn’t believe it, except perhaps Bluehorse. And even with proof, it won’t matter. They will stand with Boss.”

  Toni closed her eyes briefly. “We were both betrayed by our fathers.”

  “Kane must have been successful last night because he killed another of my brothers this morning.”

  Toni’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “Boss sent him to kill Kane. Blood for blood. It is our way. He didn’t come back, but Kane is still alive. We must assume Dale is dead.”

  “Are you still going after Kane?” Toni asked.

  Yazzie shook his head. “I need to take care of Dale. We believe that when a warrior dies, they go to the underworld. The body must be buried to ensure their spirit doesn’t return to haunt us. A minimum number of people are allowed to look at the deceased in order to inter it. They must do so naked and covered in ash, which protects one from evil spirits.” Yazzie paused and looked at her, to gauge her response.

  “Every culture has its customs,” Toni said, but she appeared confused.

  Yazzie continued. “The body must be washed and then dressed. Normally someone else, who never sees the body, digs the grave while this is happening. The ones who are handling the body carry it to the grave and put it, along with all the deceased’s belongings, in it. Then they bury it. Once that’s done, the tracks leading to the grave are erased to make sure the spirit of the dead does not follow.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Toni asked.

  “One person can do all of it,” Yazzie said. “But, first, the body must be recovered.”

  “Do you know where Dale’s body is?” Toni asked.

  “Where Kane lives.” Yazzie downed the drink. “I have not had alcohol in many years.”

  “Some say I’m a bad influence,” Toni said.

  Yazzie put the empty glass on his side of her desk. He indicated the cocaine. “That’s not good for you.”

  “No, it isn’t. Are you bad for me too?”

  Yazzie stood up and walked around the desk, looming over her. “We can talk about that later. Among other things.”

  Toni stood and looked up into his eyes.

  MEATPACKING DISTRICT,

  MANHATTAN

  Kane got in Sofia Cappucci’s limousine before her bodyguard, Matteo, could drag him in. He pushed past the hulking man dressed in a black suit and sat on the same side seat with Sofia facing rearward. Matteo still had the cast on his arm, a result of a previous run-in with Kane. The familiar cloying perfume permeated the interior and the air was freezing as the daughter of the head of the Cappucci family was wearing her ever-present fur coat over her Rubenesque figure.

  “What half don’t I know?” Kane asked as Sofia rapped on the window separating them from the driver. The limo headed south down Washington Street. Matteo was the only other person in the passenger compartment and he was in his standard mode when Kane was around: angry and glaring.

  Thick eyelashes were pointed at him above her dark eyes as she regarded him. “I like that. Right to business.”

  “I learned from the best,” Kane said, nodding his head toward her.

  “I enjoy the flattery but it will get you nowhere with me,” Sofia said. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it, though.” Her face was heavily caked with makeup, a mask, much like the coat was a shield. “You look like shit.”

  “Thank you,” Kane said. “I had a long night.”

  “Is the Irish problem resolved?”

  “It is, but now I have a Navajo problem.”

  “The Indians that were looking for Marcelle?”

  Kane nodded. “I, uh, well what’s the term? Retired one, well, actually two. Now the rest are after me.”

  “The entire tribe? That’s a lot of enemies, even for you.”

  “The brothers of the man I retired. The adopted brothers.” Kane frowned. “What does that make them? Step-brothers? A second came for me early this morning.”

  “Two down,” Sofia summarized. “How many are left?”

  “Five.”

  “Not good odds.”

  “They have a code,” Kane said. “They have to come at me individually and the fight has to be with a knife.”

  “You got guns,” Sofia said. “Advantage yours. Hell, use a hand grenade. I’m sure you got one or two.”

  Kane didn’t reply. The limo took a turn. The windows were heavily tinted so it was difficult to tell where they were.

  Sofia Cappucci shook her head. “Oh, Kane. You are something else. You fought the guy this morning with a knife?”

  “I didn’t have access to my gun at the moment,” Kane acknowledged.

  “But if you had, would you have shot him?”

  “I didn’t need to. He ended up falling on his own knife.” He didn’t add Pope’s minor involvement. “What was the other half I don’t know?”

  “There’s a contract out on you. The Genovese family is hiring.”

  “The Gentleman Bankers,” Kane said, not having to reach very far to figure out the source. They were a network of rich homosexuals who were part of the upper crust of the city who banded together to trade favors and to cover their proclivities. Thomas Marcelle had been one of them. Kane saw a familiar landmark through the dark windows. “Are we heading to Roy Cohn’s?”

  “Yeah.” Sofia tapped a suitcase next to her. “We have to give him the money for the convention center and his fee.”

  “He’s one of these Gentleman Bankers that put out the contract.”

  “Well, isn’t that kind of awkward,” Sofia said.

  Kane indicated the door. “Therefore, it’s probably best if I’m not involved
any more in—”

  “Shut up,” Sofia said, but without any anger. “Why do they want you dead or to use your fancy vernacular, retired?”

  Kane explained Yazzie and his brothers kidnapping one of their members, Judge Clark, interrogating him, and then trading him for Marcelle.

  “And Marcelle?” Sofia asked.

  “I wasn’t there at the end of the interrogation,” Kane said. “I imagine they served him some tea and crumpets and wished him all the best in his retirement.”

  Sofia was quiet for a few minutes as they drove up Park Avenue.

  “Do you want me to sign the cast?” Kane asked Matteo as the mob princess pondered.

  The answer was a low growl.

  “When the cast comes off,” Kane said, “make sure you work the joint and muscles, right away. Otherwise you’re going to lose range of movement.”

  “You a fucking doctor?” Matteo demanded.

  “I’ve spent enough time in hospitals to have learned a bit,” Kane said.

  Sofia rendered her verdict. “Normally, I’d advise you to get out of town and never come back. Then I could probably talk Vinny into believing my family fulfilled the contract, but let him keep the money.” She was referring to Vinny ‘the Chin’ Gigante, current head of the Genovese family. “But I don’t think you’re willing to get out of town. You ain’t that type of guy. Plus, I’d lose your services, therefore you’re not gonna get out of town.”

  “You’re going to lose my services if I’m dead,” Kane pointed out. The limo did the diversion of Park Avenue around Grand Central, the driver heavy on the horn. Past the Pan Am Building, the eyesore of mid-town Manhattan.

  “I said normally,” Sofia said. “You’re not normal, Kane.” She nodded. “You’ll figure out what to say to Cohn to get the contract withdrawn. After you pay him for my deal.”

  “Yeah, see, that’s the part I’m not good at,” Kane said. “Negotiating. That’s why I’m not the right man to front for—”

  She held up a hand, gold rings glittering. “Shut up. It’s a contract. It’s not personal for the Genovese. It’s financial. For these finocchi Gentleman Bankers footing the bill it’s about sending a message that their members aren’t to be trifled with.”

  “I think Yazzie did more than trifle with Thomas Marcelle.” The Park Avenue Armory passed by on the right side of the car, indicating they were close to the destination.

  “Are you gonna listen, or you gonna be a smart mouth?” Sofia demanded.

  “Sorry. I’m a little tired and not on my best behavior,” Kane said. He remembered something. “By the way, while I was out sailing last night to get rid of some trash, my mind was wandering. I was thinking about Quinn. He did the Rosado hit that got your grandfather, the then-Don, exiled to Arizona, didn’t he?”

  Sofia’s eyes narrowed. Her Brooklyn accent disappeared and Princeton took its place. “You’re dangerously off topic, Kane.”

  Kane held her gaze for a moment, felt Matteo’s presence, then nodded. “You’re right. Apologies. I’m listening.”

  “You didn’t kidnap Clark or kill Marcelle, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  Brooklyn was back. “Work with what you got, then. You’ll figure it out.”

  The limo halted in front of Roy Cohn’s limestone-faced town house on East 68th.

  “Is he expecting me?” Kane asked.

  “His car is there,” Sofia said, indicating the black Rolls Royce with Jersey plates boasting ROY C. Parked in the same, illegal spot in front of a hydrant as the last time Kane had visited. “How do I know what the fuck he’s expecting?”

  “You know, if there is a fire around here,” Kane said, “FDNY will break his windows and run the hoses through the car. They like doing shit like that. Especially to a car like that.”

  “Something we can hope for,” Sofia said. “Are you planning on starting a fire?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Good. I need him unroasted. For the time being.”

  Kane indicated a limousine idling next to the Roll Royce. “Looks like he has company. We should probably come back when--”

  “Check the plates,” Sofia said.

  They were New York State Clergy license plates.

  “Maybe he’s getting Extreme Unction,” Kane said.

  “We should be so lucky,” Sofia said. “I told you. Lots of weird connections in this city, Kane. Here.” She shoved the briefcase along the seat to him.

  Kane got out and walked up the steps to the front door. As he did so he tried to calculate how many hours of sleep he’d accumulated in the last 72 hours, but the number eluded him although it was definitely in the low single digits.

  Before he got to the bottom step the front door opened and a man dressed in the red cloak of a cardinal of the Catholic Church exited. He had a large gold cross hung around his neck and moved slowly on the steps.

  Kane forced himself not to genuflect or bow his head. He met the cardinal’s eyes as the older man went by, but they didn’t exchange pleasantries as Cardinal Cooke appeared as happy at being here as Kane felt.

  The Cardinal got in his limo and it drove off. Kane went up the stairs. His knock was answered by a young man in jeans, no shirt, no shoes. “What?”

  “Mister Cohn is expecting me,” Kane said.

  The guy frowned. “Who are you?”

  Kane held up the briefcase. “Money.” He pushed past the door opener. “He upstairs?”

  “Wait a second,” the guy said, hustling past Kane and taking the steps two at a time. Kane followed at half speed, taking them singly. He arrived just as the guy was exiting Cohn’s office/bedroom.

  The youngster was startled as Kane approached. He held up a hand. “You have to wait—”

  Kane shoved him out of the way and entered Cohn’s private domain. The lawyer was shoveling some food in his mouth as Kane came in. He wore pajama bottoms and a flannel shirt, mostly unbuttoned.

  “What the fuck!” Cohn exploded, spitting half chewed food. “Get outta here.”

  Kane tossed the suitcase on the desk, which was covered with file folders, a fat rolodex, take out boxes, and the sort of crap an unorganized person accumulated.

  “Money for the convention center and your cut,” Kane said.

  Cohn glared at Kane with his deep-set eyes from a face the looked like it had been stepped on, except for the bulbous nose. “I remember you.”

  “You should. You just put out a contract on me.”

  “Got no idea what you’re talking about,” Cohn said as he opened the case. “You been listening to the wrong people.”

  For a brief moment Kane wondered if there was money in it or if this was Sofia Cappucci setting him up for the hit.

  Cohn slammed the case shut and took it off the desk, putting it to the side. “You wearing a fucking wire?”

  “Was Cardinal Cooke?” Kane asked about the previous visitor.

  Cohn gave an evil smile. “You Catholic?”

  “Born into it,” Kane said.

  “Even Cardinals need favors,” Cohn said. “I preferred his predecessor, Spellman. He knew how to play and certainly liked to. Most enjoy chorus girls. He enjoyed the boys. You wearing a fucking wire?”

  “No. I didn’t kill Thomas Marcelle. I didn’t kidnap Judge Clark. If you remember rightly, and it was only yesterday, I arranged for Clark to be freed.”

  “In exchange for Marcelle, who you killed.”

  “I didn’t kill him. As a matter of fact, the guys who did kill him and kidnapped the judge, are trying to kill me. They sent a guy this morning to do that. You know. Crawford’s little Indians.”

  Cohn glowered, which Kane was beginning to think was his default face. Cohn probably looked like that when he was asleep. “So?”

  Kane noticed that Cohn’s eyes were pale blue and as dead as any he’d ever encountered; actually, beyond dead, they emanated pure malevolence.

  “We have the same enemy,” Kane said. “Why don’t you give me the contrac
t to avenge Marcelle? I’ve already taken care of two of them.”

  Cohn laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You want to get the contract that’s out on you, which I know nothing about, so you can kill someone else who is trying to kill you?”

  “Just trying to sort out the confusion,” Kane said. “You gave up Marcelle because he was a liability. I got you an asset, Judge Clark, returned. Plus, as you said, I owe you a favor. I can’t do that if I’m dead. And this convention center deal from my client will end without me. I’m the cut out on it. I disappear, no more briefcases of cash.”

  “You got a lot of fucking nerve. How’d the fucking Indians know to snatch Clark?”

  Kane shrugged. “Above my pay grade.”

  “What you’re talking about is none of my business.”

  “You’re a big man in town, Mister Cohn,” Kane said. “The Gentleman Bankers had you handle this deal. A lot of people trust you.” He put his fists on the desk and leaned forward, staring into Cohn’s dead eyes. “You want me owing you a favor, don’t you?”

  The tongue darted in and out, like a snake sensing a kill. “I don’t know anything about any sort of contract. What I hear, though, is that maybe someone doesn’t like you. Perhaps enough to want you dead. Maybe that’s true. Maybe it’s not. Perhaps I could check around on it.”

  Kane tried to sort through the double-speak. “That would be appreciated.”

  “Tell you what,” Cohn said. “Even better. I don’t owe you nothing. I don’t got to check nothing. Why don’t you take care of this with the guy who would know?”

  Kane waited for the name.

  “Fat Tony Salerno,” Cohn said. “I hear people say he’s the guy to talk to about something like this. If it were true.”