CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Robby Yale was on the tail of the yellow Ferrari, driving as fast as his SUV would allow, until they hit an incline. The Ferrari was able to climb that hill easily and was nearly out of sight by the time Robby’s big SUV reached the peak, and then it had to work overtime just to stay in eyeshot of the sportscar.
“Don’t you lose him, Robby!” Sal Gabrini yelled out at his underboss. Sal was on the passenger seat and Robby was behind the wheel. They had been on the chase since downtown Vegas, where the traffic allowed them to keep pace with the Ferrari. But now they were on the backroads and all bets were off.
“If we lose that bastard, we lose the only good lead we’ve had so far. Don’t you dare lose him!”
Robby was sweating bullets as his boss was down his throat. He was driving as fast as he could without killing both of them, but when Boss was in that zone there was no reasoning with him.
They were chasing Billy “The Ax” Axelrod and Sal wanted Ax’s ass no matter what it took. Word on the street was that he was there the night the PaLargio was hit. Sal wanted to drag Ax out of that Ferrari to get the answers they needed, and he wasn’t going to rest until it was done. But a big SUV against a sportscar was challenging on a normal day. Ever since Paulie Bernardi’s killing and that hit on the PaLargio, nothing had been normal. It was all hands on deck, and Sal’s outfit was the ringleader.
“What the fuck?” Sal yelled out when a big, black Cadillac Escalade seemingly came from behind them, flew past Robby’s SUV as if they were standing still, and took off after the Ferrari.
“Is that Mick Sinatra?” an astonished Robby Yale asked in shock.
“Damn right it’s him,” said Sal. “Where did he come from? He wasn’t in on this chase. How did he even find out about it?”
“And how in the world can that big tank of his go that fast?” Robby asked. Mick was already closing in on the Ferrari. “It’s not possible!”
“Uncle Mick rebuild every one of those big Cadillacs he drives. No telling what’s under that hood. But can’t this bucket of yours go any faster? He left us in the got damn dust.”
But Robby was going as fast as he could.
“Wish I was driving my Bugatti,” Sal said competitively. “Bet his ass won’t be leaving me in the dust then, I don’t care what he got under that hood. Don’t lose them!” Sal yelled again when the Ferrari and Mick’s Escalade turned a corner, while they were still trying to get to the corner.
When they finally turned the corner, too, they saw the Ferrari swerve to avoid a PIT maneuver by Mick, and then the Ferrari seemed to get a second speed and took off again. But Mick was right behind it.
“Ah shit,” Sal said when he and Robby saw that a train was speeding toward a railroad intersection that Mick and that Ferrari were speeding toward. “A got damn train! Ax’s ass getting away again!”
And Sal was right. The Ferrari crossed those railroad tracks easily. But there was no way Mick and Robby’s SUVs were going to make it across.
But when they saw Mick seem to keep speeding as if he was going to try his luck, Sal’s heart dropped. “Don’t do it, Uncle Mick,” he was saying as Robby was slamming on brakes. “Mick, don’t do it!” Even the train was blowing its horn.
But when it was clear that Mick wasn’t stopping and was going full steam ahead, Sal cried out God help him , did the sign of the cross over his chest, and covered his face with his suitcoat. He couldn’t even watch it. Robby was unable to believe the nerve of Mick Sinatra either.
But Mick didn’t slow down, not even for a second. He flew across those tracks so fast that his Escalade lost traction and went airborne just as the train was entering that same intersection.
“ Nooo !” yelled Robby when that train flew past with that loud engine and horn blowing that drowned out any sounds of anything else. Sal peeped out of his enclosed suit coat certain that his beloved uncle was a goner as sure as the night was long.
They waited unable to breathe again until that fast but long-ass train had passed on by. And that was when they saw the truth. But instead of seeing Mick’s Escalade mangled and wrapped around a pole, they saw Mick’s Escalade flying down that street still on the chase after that Ferrari.
They both cheered and Robby took off after them too.
“I’ll be got damned!” Sal said happily.
“Mick Sinatra ain’t no joke!” cried out a relieved Robby Yale.
And when Robby said Mick was no joke, he wasn’t kidding. Because within seconds of him saying it, Mick stopped the nonsense and did a hard PIT on that Ferrari that caused that Ferrari to spin out so rapidly that it went from one side of the road to the other side, over and over like a bumper car as it kept spinning, and then it crashed into a tree: splitting the tree in half.
By the time Robby’s SUV made it to the crash site, Mick had already gotten out of his Escalade, grabbed Ax out of that Ferrari, and was slamming him, back first, against the hood of the car.
Sal and Robby jumped out and ran to Ax’s aid before Mick killed him out of anger. It was already a wonder Ax had survived that wreck. They needed answers!
But Mick was already on level ten and climbing. “Having me chase your ass through these backroads as if this shit all I got to do!” Mick was yelling at Ax. “Motherfucker!” he yelled and slammed him against that mangled hood again. Ax cried out in pain when a piece of protruded metal cut into his back.
“We need answers, Uncle Mick,” Sal reminded his uncle as he and Robby pulled Mick back.
Then Sal took his Magnum, forced open Ax’s mouth, and put the barrel of that gun inside his mouth. “I’m trigger happy today, asshole,” Sal said. “Unless you answer my questions, I’ll pull it.”
Ax was trying to speak, but the gun muffled him. Sal pulled it out. And then Ax spoke rapidly, as if he knew Sal Gabrini didn’t sling around idle threats. “I wasn’t there, Sal, I declare I wasn’t there.”
Sal was about to put that gun in his mouth again.
“But I know who drove the getaway car,” Ax said quickly.
“What news is that?” asked Sal. “One of B.B.’s men drove the getaway car that nobody got away in. What the fuck I care who drove it?”
“It wasn’t one of Brocco’s men,” Ax said, his voice betraying his agony.
But when he said those words, Sal and Mick looked at each other as if they wanted to see if the other one had heard that somebody other than Bernardi’s men were there.
When it was obvious that it was news to both of them, they looked at Ax again. “Who was the driver?” Mick asked him.
Ax could feel life seeping out of him as the pain in his damaged back was unbearable. “I’m dying here,” he said. “You gotta help me!”
Mick reached over and grabbed Ax again, slamming his back against that same piece of metal again, causing an even deeper cut and even more bleeding.
“Ken!” Ax yelled out in pure pain. “The driver was Ken Partanna.”
Robby looked at the two mob bosses and both of them were stunned.
“You’re lying,” said Sal. “You’re a motherfucking liar!”
“I’m telling you the truth,” Ax said as tears poured down his face from the pain. “Ken Partanna was the getaway driver.” Then he screamed out in even more pain. It felt as if he was being operated on and wide awake.
The pain was so unbearable to Ax that when he screamed out it was just enough distraction for him to pull out his gun and take out one of those motherfuckers so that one of them could take him out of his misery.
He was about to fire on Mick Sinatra, which he knew would make him a legend, but Sal saw the gun as Ax was aiming it at Mick, and Sal, the fastest gun in the west, fired first. It was one shot, but it was enough. Billy Axelrod slumped over dead, and then he slid on to the ground.
Stunned because he didn’t see Ax’s gun at all, Robby leaned over, his hands on his knees. He was just that relieved that it didn’t go sideways. That his distracted ass wasn’t the one responsible for the fall of Mick Sinatra.
But Sal and Mick were too disturbed by what Ax had told them to worry about what almost was. They looked at each other.
Then Robby regained his composure and looked at the two most powerful bosses in the world standing right in front of him. And he knew he had to keep his shit together the way they had. “He says somebody name Ken Partanna was the driver. Nobody by that name worked for Brocco Bernardi. Which means somebody other than his crew was there. You believe him, Boss?”
“I don’t know what to believe. Why would Kenny Partanna team up with B.B.? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Who’s Kenny Partanna anyway?” Robby asked. “I’ve never heard that name before.” Then he realized he had heard that last name before. “Wait a minute,” he said.
But Sal and Mick were ten miles ahead of him. “Doesn’t make sense,” Sal said again. “He’s bush league at best.”
“But that doesn’t negate the fact,” Mick said, “that he’s Frank Partanna’s grandson.”
“Frank Partanna?” When Robby heard that name, he was shocked. “He’s the grandson of the man that killed Reno’s father? He’s the grandson of that Frank Partanna?”
“That’s what we said,” Sal said, unable to shield his deep concern. “ That Frank Partanna. That’s why this shit just got scarier.”
Mick opened his long, white coat and placed his hands on his hips. The very expression on his usually expressionless face made clear to Robby that he agreed with Sal. That even Mick the Tick knew that Sal’s assessment wasn’t wrong.