Chapter Seventeen
10:00 p.m.
The Rolls was only a couple of blocks from Aces High when the phone started ringing. Fortunato looked at Peregrine, who shrugged and picked it up. “It’s for you,” she said.
“This is Altobelli,” the voice on the phone said. “I made Hiram cough up your number, there. It’s about Kafka.”
“Fucking hell,” Fortunato said, closing his eyes. “He’s dead.”
“No,” Altobelli said. “Still alive. But it was close.”
“Tell me.”
“About fifteen minutes ago some weirdo in a white robe just appeared in the middle of the holding cell. But I believed you and I had a SWAT team there, and when he went for Kafka they opened up with everything they had.”
“And?”
“They didn’t hurt him. But the bullets kept knocking him down and each time he was a little slower getting up. Then he just disappeared again.”
“You were lucky. He’s weak right now, or nothing you threw at him would have stopped him.” Fortunato didn’t say anything about how weak he felt himself.
“This guy, whoever he was, had more than luck on his side.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not over the phone. You remember that place we met last month? Don’t say the name, just say yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“Can you meet me there? Like right away?”
“Altobelli…”
“I think we’re talking life or death here. Mine.”
“I’m on my way,” Fortunato said.
When he hung up the phone Peregrine said, “The Astronomer.”
Fortunato nodded. “I’ll take a cab. You go back to Aces High, where you’ll be safe.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m safer with you. And there’s no point in taking a cab when you can go in style in a chauffeured Rolls Royce.” She raised one eyebrow. “Right?”
After shooing out the few remaining regular customers, the Gambiones had moved their meeting into the main dining room and scooted several tables together. Guns and wariness were much in evidence. Rosemary stood at one side, watching the men argue. Bagabond saw an undecipherable smile on her face. The bag lady sat with Jack at a banquette along a side wall.
“I want to start looking for Cordelia. It’s been hours—much more time than I promised Rosemary.” Jack glared across the room at the assistant district attorney.
“Until this is finished, she can’t make the calls.” Bagabond glanced sympathetically at Jack, who was tugging at the stained sleeve of his too-small white waiter’s jacket. “Now eat.”
Squeezing the lime over his soup, Jack shook his head and picked up the chopsticks. He pulled a mass of rice noodles and shrimp out of the bowl in front of him. “What’s she going to do without the books?” He jabbed the chopsticks toward Rosemary.
“Don’t know. She’s made her choice now. She’ll manage.” Leaning her head back against the booth, Bagabond closed her eyes. “I’m going to find out if anyone has seen Cordelia. Quiet.”
Jack eavesdropped on the Mafia maneuverings as he ate and refilled his bowl.
Two men were the faction leaders. The older man, black hair slicked back and dressed in a charcoal-gray doublebreasted suit, stressed the sublime importance of continuing Don Frederico’s plans in the interest of stability. A younger man, his dark brown hair expensively trimmed in what Jack would have described as a modified punk cut with a rat tail, pointed out that the Butcher had not been particularly effective in ending encroachments on their territory. The other men listened without comment.
“Not one of the other Families has ever challenged our authority.” The older man leaned back in evident satisfaction. “Christ, Ricardo. Of course, they haven’t.” The new-wave Mafioso rolled his eyes toward heaven. “They’ve all been busy with the real threats. The Vietnamese. The Colombians. The jokers. Jesus, can’t you see that Jokertown’s turning into a nickel-plated disaster area, man?”
“Respect, Christopher, please.” Ricardo inclined his head sympathetically toward Rosemary.
“Thank you, Ricardo Domenici.” Rosemary stepped toward the tables.
“She’s heard worse, Ricardo. Even in the DA’s office, I’m sure she’s heard much worse.” Christopher Mazzuchelli shook his head exasperatedly. “The point is that we must have as a leader someone who can face the new threats. You know, evolve.”
“Mazzuchelli’s right.” The stares of all the Gambione capos pivoted toward Rosemary. “We must have new blood to lead us, or the Family will be destroyed. It’s that plain.”
The older man sounded placating. “Signorina Gambione, this is a serious issue. It is for us to decide. It would be better perhaps-“
“Yes, Ricardo, I am a Gambione. The last.” Rosemary caught each mans eyes in turn. “This is my Family. I have a right to speak.”
“Maybe she wants her father’s job.” Christopher Mazzuchelli grinned until her gaze returned to him. “Maybe I do.” Rosemary smiled a thin and enigmatic smile. “Donatello is dead, and likewise Michaelangelo, Raphael and Leonardo. Four dons. You understand what we face, but not what to do. Ricardo sees only the past.”
“Wait a minute.” Mazzuchelli’s mouth hung slightly open in surprise.
“Who better?”
“You’re a fucking district attorney!”
“Yes.” Rosemary smiled as she appeared to consider the possibilities. “I couldn’t protect us completely, but I could make a difference. And the information would be invaluable.”
“My identity as a Gambione would have to be protected. No one outside this room must know. Omerta.”
“You can hardly command the Family in secrecy.” Ricardo Domenici was obviously offended by the entire idea. “Even if we would consider such a thing.”
“True enough. Someone else would have to be my … mouthpiece.” She examined each of the capos in turn. “Mazzuchelli.”
The capos began to babble as Christopher Mazzuchelli grinned insolently back at her.
“Gentlemen, have you any objections? Ricardo?”
“He is too young, too inexperienced. His very appearance…” Ricardo threw. apart his arms at the obvious absurdity of it. “The other Families would laugh at us.”
“This is insane. A woman, a boy…” A jowly man with a five o’clock shadow, wearing a traditional black coat, shoved back his chair and stood. ” I will return when you are ready to choose a new don.”
Mazzuchelli blocked his way but, at a gesture from Rosemary, moved aside. The dissenter walked across the room in the sudden silence and threw open the door.
Rosemary called out sharply, “Morelli!”
The man who had just exited backed into the room again, eyes fixed on the muzzle of the Uzi that Morelli pointed at his chest. “Yes, Signorina?” said Morelli. “A problem?”
“I think the problem has been solved. Do you agree, DiCenzi?” Rosemary watched the man across the room closely. Under the gun, DiCenzi nodded. “Si, Signorina. There is … no problem.”
“Good.” Rosemary scanned the seated, staring men. “Does anyone else have a problem?”
Ricardo glanced quickly at the men to either side of him. They were ostentatiously ignoring him. “No, there is no problem, Dona Gambione.”
“Signorina will do nicely, I think.” She smiled a predatory smile at the capos. “Sit down, DiCenzi. Thank you, Morelli. Please have a seat.”
Mazzuchelli was eyeing Morelli as he would a bad piece of steak.
“Christopher,” Rosemary said, “you are too ambitious. I recognize it. Do not make any rash mistakes.”
Mazzuchelli returned her look with a smile as lupine as her own. “You’re the boss.”
Rosemary nodded and gazed around the restaurant. “Has anyone seen the manager?”
“You want something to eat?” Ricardo was incredulous. “I suspect Signorina would like to find out how that bastard who stole the books got in here.” Mazzuchelli stared down at Ricardo. “Don’t you think that would be an interesting question?”
Morelli stood and began walking toward the kitchen. “Signorina, he’s yours.”
While Morelli prepared the terrified Vietnamese for Rosemary’s questions, the new head of the Gambiones called her contacts at the precincts and made inquiries about Cordelia.
On the East Side, a patrolman remembered spotting someone looking a lot like the missing young woman walking downtown along one of the alphabet avenues. It hadn’t been long before.
Bagabond wanted to enter the area on foot before she began an animal-by-animal search for the girl. Jack was ready to leave instantly, but Rosemary took the pair aside for a moment.
“Listen, thanks for your help, both of you. This wasn’t exactly what I’d planned, but it wouldn’t have happened without you.” Her smile looked political.
“Wasn’t it?” Bagabond stared straight at Rosemary. “Suzanne, I had no idea…”
“Yeah. I’ll be in touch.” Bagabond started to turn away. Jack was already moving toward the door.
“Suzanne, I’ll call you later. Let me know what happens with Jack’s niece.”
Bagabond glanced at Morelli in the corner with the Vietnamese manager. In this light, the blood looked black. She shook her head slightly.
Rosemary colored and drew herself up. “I can do some good here, you know. Exert some controls.”
Bagabond kept moving.
“Suzanne, I want to talk to you later about some ideas I had about the animals.”
All the muscles of Bagabond’s shoulders and upper back tensed as she followed Jack out through the door. She tried not to listen, but thought she heard whimpered cries from behind them.
Business was still hopping at the Donut Hole across the street from the Jokertown station. The sidewalks were filled right out to the gutters and every few minutes another blackand-white would drop off the latest load of drunk-and-disorderlies on the precinct steps.
The Rolls had let Fortunato -off a block away and crawled away through the traffic in search of a place to double-park. Fortunato elbowed his way to a back table and found Altobelli wearing a Brooklyn Dodgers cap and a jogging suit. “I practically had to kill to save you that chair. Wanna doughnut?” Fortunato shook his head. “Talk to me, Altobelli. I don’t have much time.”
“You do look a bit peaked. Okay, okay. It’s Black, John F X. Black, captain of the Jokertown precinct.”
“I know the name.”
“We leave Kafka here this afternoon. About an hour later I get a call from one of my guys. Black has ordered them off the Kafka watch. I drive over here to find out why and catch Black trying to take Kafka out in a squad car. He gives me a song and dance about a prisoner transfer. I say show me the paperwork. More songs, more dances. So I take Kafka away from him and bring him back uptown myself.”
“You’re telling me Black’s dirty.”
“You haven’t heard dirty yet. Right after that guy in the robe and glasses tries for Kafka I get a call from my snitch at the Jokertown precinct. He wants to tell me he saw this weird guy in a robe and glasses in Captain Black’s office not five minutes before.”
Fortunato stood up. “Where is he?”
Altobiellii hooked a thumb at the station. “Every cop in Manhattan is working double shifts tonight. I’m supposed to be back up on Riverside myself.”
“Get on up there. And let yourself he seen.”
Altobelli had to stop for a second and think about it. Finally he nodded. “Okay.”
“Anybody else know about Black?”
“Just you and me. Fortunato?”
“Yeah? “
“Nothing, I guess. This ain’t… it ain’t the way I’m used to doin’ things. I’m used to standing up for my own.”
“He’s not one of your own anymore. He’s the Astronomer’s. And now he’s mine.”