Chapter 3
Ethan
My foot tapped madly as I waited outside the gate of the Whalen-Sorens Correctional Facility for Men, but I didn’t try to hide it. I had to play my part convincingly, hair greased back, in my shiny black pimp suit. Vincent, the guy I was for Tony Jr., would definitely be nervous right now.
The gate ground open, and there was Tony Petruzzi.
His pale blue button-down shirt strained over his belly, buttons gaping.
Little Tony had gotten big in prison. His neck and hands were dark with tattoos.
He was different from the photos I’d seen, the flashily handsome young mobster from fourteen years before.
His neck had thickened, his jaw was wider, his skin coarser, and he had a double chin.
He looked older than his forty-four years.
I got out of the gleaning black Porsche SUV, one that had belonged to Tony, Sr. I had borrowed it, to give some credence to this fiction I was putting together. Tony Jr. would at least see a familiar car, even if I wasn’t a familiar face.
Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m Vincent Lamonza.” I was careful to echo his own accent back at him. “Carmine’s cousin. Cosimina’s younger boy. You never met me because I was still in high school up in Troy when you went inside.”
“I was expecting Carmine, or Bobby,” he said, looking me up and down with undisguised disgust. “Why’d they send some dumb-ass I never even met? That’s crazy. My dad signed off on that?”
I shrugged. “Big Tony needed to deal with a thing upstate with Pavel’s boys. Bobby called me this morning, said they couldn’t get back. So they sent me.”
Tony and his men going upstate to deal with Pavel and his boys was literally true, if not temporally accurate. The massacre that had taken place last night, witnessed by three of our drones, was still very fresh. It hadn’t even hit the news yet.
No one had told Tony Jr, because anyone who could have known anything about it was now dead. Including Carmine, and Bobby…and Big Tony himself.
That was how I wanted Tony. Disoriented.
No clue. Guard down. Like those three little girls in that Jersey City apartment had been, fourteen years before, when he shot two of them to death, and wounded the third.
The youngest only seven. Kat’s little sister, Gabri.
I saw the scar from that bullet wound on Kat’s shoulder in my mind’s eye.
Tony looked around, and saw no other option for transportation near to hand. I tried to radiate sullen thuggishness.
Tony spat on the ground, and made a sharp gesture toward the SUV. “Well?” he snarled. “Get in the fuckin’ car, dickhead. You know about my requirements?”
“Yeah,” I said, as we got in. “Carmine and Bobby told me what to do. A good meal and a fuck, right away. I picked up food from Mamma Silvana’s, in Hoboken.”
“Never heard of her,” he growled. “You shoulda got it from Mario’s.”
“Yeah, well, he retired, and his sons aren’t as good of cooks as he was,” I said, as I pulled out onto the access road. “Mamma Silvana’s real good, though. I’m supposed to take you to Sable Point.”
“Why should I go to fuckin’ Sable Point? Take me to Jersey City!”
“Big Tony thought it would be more relaxing out there,” I explained. “He said—”
“I don’t care what he said! I don’t wanna relax! I want to fuck a blonde, and break some heads. Take me to fucking Jersey City, fuckface. With no backtalk.”
I shot a worried glance over my shoulder. “But the girls are waiting at Sable Point.”
“Girls?” He perked right up. “How many girls?”
“Four. Carmine and Bobby got to arguing about which ones you’d like best, so they decided to bring all of ‘em. They figured you could pick, or you could just fuck ‘em all, if you wanted. But if you don’t want to go to Sable Point, I’ll just call someone to take those girls home, and we’ll call Marianna at the escort service when we get to Jersey City, have her find someone for you.
I just thought you’d want some action right away.
The Sable Point girls are all lubed up and waiting for you already. ”
Tony looked intrigued. “Are they blonde?” he demanded. “I told Carmine to get a blonde. Long hair, like the bitch who put me inside the joint. I want to make some blonde bitches squeal like pigs. You got me blondes?”
“I wasn’t the one set that up, but I’m sure Carmine or Bobby handled it. It’s probably four blondes. You can take your pick. Or take ‘em all.”
“They better be good. Fourteen fuckin’ years, I been in that shithole.” Tony stretched, popped and grunted as he distributed his bulk in the back seat. “I wanta pound me some blondes. Every orifice, man. Can’t wait. Okay, fuck it, whatever. Go to Sable Point, if that’s all set up already.”
I kept my face forward. My ploy had worked, but I was glad that I had opted for sunglasses so that filthy prick couldn’t see the look in my eyes.
“You bring me my PX4 Storm?” Tony demanded.
“Yeah.” I reached into the glove box and pulled out the Beretta pistol, passing it back to him.
“Loaded?”
“Of course. Just like you asked.”
That, also, was literally true. But I’d also asked Cade to tamper with the firing mechanism so that it looked intact, was loaded with live ammo, but would not fire.
Details.
I could feel him relax as he inspected his gun, and laid it on the seat beside himself. “So, Vinny,” he said. “Who’s gonna vouch for you? Carmine, Bobby, Big Tony? They all gonna tell me you’re on the level when I call and ask them what fuckin’ rock you crawled out from under?”
“Yeah, sure. Call any of them,” I said evenly. Go on. Call them in hell.
“Give me a fuckin’ phone, dickwad. You think I got a phone on me? I just got out of the fuckin’ slammer. Man, they didn’t pick you for your brains, did they?”
I pulled a smartphone from my pocket and passed it back to him. Tony poked at it, muttering and scowling. “What the fuck is this thing?” he complained. “Where’s the fuckin’ numbers?”
“On the view screen,” I explained. “Swipe up with your finger, then hit the green phone button on the lower left. Touch the word ‘keypad’ on the bottom of that screen. Then just enter the number touching the number pad on the screen.”
“Fuck me,” he muttered darkly. “Shoulda got me a fuckin’ flip phone.”
“Yeah, phones have changed a lot,” I said.
“I know that, asswipe,” Tony snarled. “I seen ‘em on TV.”
He entered a number, and waited. Then he entered another. And another. “They’re not picking up,” he said grimly. “Is this phone fucked up?”
“No, it works,” I assured him. “I checked. And it’s all charged up.”
“Why the fuck are they not picking up?”
“Uh...maybe they’re busy up in Troy, with Pavel?” I offered.
“Shut the fuck up, asshole. You don’t know shit.” Tony dialed again, again, and again, in vain. The phone numbers of the dead men went straight to voicemail.
He tossed the phone away with an obscenity. “You said there’s food, right?”
“Just like you asked for,” I said. “There’s a thermal bag on the floor in back. Paccheri with ragu, baked ziti, parmigiana. There’s silverware, napkins, and a bottle of Nero di Troia.”
“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Tony moaned. “Finally.”
He attacked the food, and for the better part of an hour, I sped down the highway, listening to the slurps, grunts, smacks and burps of Tony Petruzzi Jr. It seemed that prison hadn’t done anything for the guy’s table manners.
He ate all the food, and guzzled the wine.
I glanced back after the gobbling sounds ceased.
His eyes were closed, head lolled to the side, double chin transformed into a triple chin, mouth gaping to show stained, yellowed teeth.
There were smears of tomato sauce on his jowly, stubbled jaw.
Ripping, snorting snores filled the car.
That was lucky. I didn’t have to converse with the guy.
Even alone, unarmed, and off his guard, it would be stupid to forget how ruthless and dangerous Tony Petruzzi was.
I just had to play the part of Vinny, Carmine’s feckless, up-and-coming cousin.
But I had to fight the urge to kill that foul piece of shit for hurting my love.
Not yet. Stick to the plan.
I could see the SUV that Amos was driving up ahead, and the one behind as well, with Darius and Remy. They’d all offered to be Vinny, in this little melodrama, but with my face and coloring, I was a more believable Italian than any of them.
I couldn’t kill Tony. A murder rap would put a big crimp in my wedding and honeymoon plans. Plus, it would put my family still more at risk. Although I was convinced that no sane person would ever criticize me for cauterizing that hot pimple right off the collective ass of humanity.
Even so. No killing. But I was so ready to teach that asshole a lesson he would never forget. All his bad karma was about to come home.
Close to an hour later, I signaled for the exit that would take me to Big Tony’s country home near Sable Point. It was the most remote house Big Tony owned, which was perfect for my purposes. We didn’t need any witnesses for what was about to happen.
Tony jerked awake with a startled grunt, pulled out the phone, and tried to call his people again, muttering and cursing as he fought with the keypad. I left him to it as I buzzed open the gate, and drove up the road through the rolling lawn and trees.
I pulled up in front of the huge, colonial style house, and killed the engine. This was where it got tricky. Tony scowled out at the house. Not liking the quietness of it. There were a couple of late model black luxury SUVs parked out front.
“Where the fuck are they?” Tony snarled. “Where’s the guard?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “All I know is that I was told to bring you here.”
Tony gave me an unfriendly look. “Know what, Vinny? I don’t like you. You’re an ass-faced pretty boy. Know what happens to ass-faced pretty boys in the joint?”
“Uh…I got an idea,” I told him, nervously.