The Proposal

Chapter 6 Chapter 6 "I doubt it," was Roger’s assessment of that theory as he drove the BMW aggressively through the Brooklyn traffic. "They are not the forgiving type. While Rudy backs you, you’re a major threat to them. And Rudy isn’t likely to step away from you till he’s got what he wants." Vince sighed. "Yeah, but it was the only thing I could think of at the time." "Hey, for whatever it’s worth, it may buy you some breathing room once we’ve got Grecco," Lococco conceded. "If Aiuppo manages to persuade them that you are the one to run Brooklyn, you’re already on record as an independent." Roger shifted the BMW Z3 into a lower gear as he rounded a corner at speed. "In the meantime, Buckwheat, we need to find out where they’re holding Grecco. Without him, you are toast." Vince directed Roger to the tiny single story house that had been his mother’s, that was now his. "I’d better check in with the Lifeguard," he said as they walked up the front steps. "Think McPike will help us locate the weasel?" Roger asked as Vince unlocked the front door. They stepped over the threshold and into wholesale destruction. Wordlessly, they drew their guns. Roger motioned Vince to the side and took point, creeping room by room through the little house, Terranova on his heels, ensuring that whoever had turned the place over longlong gone. "Shit," Vince muttered under his breath as he kicked his way through drifts of furniture and papers. "They went through here with a fine tooth comb." "What’s missing?" Lococco asked, surveying the damage. "Not much. I’m not dumb enough to keep anything here that’d connect me to the OCB. The only thing I’m sure they took is my laptop," Vince replied. "Thonnaonna be a problem?" Roger wanted to know. "They’ll be able to pick its brain like a cheap lock if they’ve got anyone under twenty with a halfway decent I.Q. on the payroll." "Everything was password-protected, and I didn’t store anything on it anyway. I accessed the DoJ mail drop through a front account on AOL There’s no way they can trace my activity past the ISP. I’m not real worried about it. I wipe my received messages as soon as I’ve read them and I never keep copies of the sent mail," Vince said. "I guess if they really want to, they can reconstruct the last couple of messages, but it won’t tell them much. They were to Trace, and she’s not at risk from whoever did this, not as long as Rudy has her." "Maybe not, but you’d still better give the old man a heads-up that an unfriendly may be able to link you to the Steelgrave woman." "Her name is Tracy," Vince made no effort to conceal his annoyance at the dismissal in Lococco’s voice. "Yeah. So you’ve said," Roger’s cynical opinion of the situation was crystal clear. Vince debated the merits of arguing about it and elected to let it drop with a final shot. "You haven’t even met her." "Let’s just say I don’t have a lotta confidence in your choice of lovers. You have dangerous tastes," Roger pointed out. "Grab some clothes. We’re getting outta h&quo" Vince rummaged through the debris of his bedroom and collected a change of clothes, sparing the time to change out of his suit and into faded black jeans and a T-shirt. "Where we going?" he asked Lococco. "To buy ourselves some artillery, then to a hotel. There’s no point in letting yourself be a sitting duck for a repeat visit from your decorators," he swept a hand through the air, indicating the mess. "Bring your cell phone. You can call Lifeguard from the car." Vince finished cramming a scant handful of personal possessions into a gym bag and followed Lococco out to the car. He tossed the bag into the back of the convertible and climbed into the passenger seat. "What kind of hardware are you looking for?" he asked as Roger pulled away from the curb. "Something with a little more range than my H&K," Lococco informed him. "If I need to do a little hunting, I’m gonna need more firepower." "We need Grecco alive, Rog. He’s no use to me in a body bag." "If he’s in lockup, we’ll need to be able to get at him. A long range sniper shot to some extremity will get him outta jail and into the secure wing of the county hospital. Breaking into a hospital is a lot easier than breaking into jail," Roger pointed out. "Ang ang as he doesn’t wind up in the county morgue instead of the hospital," Vince muttered under his breath. "I heard that," Roger said. "You’re forgetting who you’re talking to, Buckwheat. You never lose the eye. Not when you’ve spent ten years perfecting it. It’s kinda like riding a bike." Vince’s expression was skeptical as he pulled his cell phone off his belt and dialed Lifeguard. Dan answered on the second ring. "Mike Terranova, that you, Vince?" "Good guess," Vince answered, smiling faintly. "Where the hell are you?" came the imperative question. "Brooklyn," Vince said flatly. "I need to know where they’ve got Grecco stashed." "McPike is working on it, but getting the information on a weekend is a major hassle. We still haven’t found Tracy," Lifeguard added reluctantly. "Rudy’s got her stashed somewhere," Vince informed him shortly. "He’s using her as leverage to get me to play ball." "What?!" The disbelief was unmistakable. "What’s he up to?" "He brought me to a council meeting this morning. Capuzi’s given me three days to find out where Grecco hid the money he skimmed from Sonny before he sends the hitters after me." "Geezus, Vince! You walked into a council meeting and you’re still standing? Rudy must have been outta his fucking mind! You coulda been killed! You stupid sonovabitch, why the hell did you go along with him?" "Rudy’s got Tracy. I don’t have a lotta choices, here, Uncle Mike. If he decides to connect her name with mine to the rest of the outfit, she’s dead unless I maintain my cover." "The old guy loves you like a son, Vinnie. Why the hell would he put you — or her — in that kind of jeopardy?" Lifeguard’s consternation was eloquent. "He’s playing hardball. He wants to put nto nto his operation as cappo. He’ll do whatever he has to to get his way, Mike." "Shit! You know how to pick ’em, kid. You couldn’t fall for some nice neighborhood girl, no. You have to pick a Steelgrave. McPike is gonna freak. What’s your twenty?" "We’re mobile. I don’t know where we’ll hole up yet." "We?" Dan demanded. "I brought help," Vince admitted, glancing at Roger’s profile as the older man drove. "It had better be an army," Lifeguard snapped, completely serious. "Almost." Terranova paused, then came clean. "Tell Frank Roger’s with me." "Lococco? He’s supposed to be dead!" "Yeah, well the rumors were greatly exaggerated," Vince said cynically. "I’ve been in touch with him since he disappeared." "Frank’s gonna flip." "He knows. Roger shortstopped him in Lynchboro seven years ago, when I went section eight." "And neither of you told me? You assholes.&quoAngeAnger mingled with discernable hurt crackled over the phone. "It was Roger’s call, Mike. The CIA still has assassins after him. He’s not exactly hiding out, but he’s not broadcasting his whereabouts, either. The deal Lococco made with Frank when I called him in was that he couldn’t tell anyone who was helping him. He couldn’t lie about it if they asked, either. Rog won’t disappear for anyone again, not ever. Not for any reason. He’s outta the shadows." Vince attempted to soften the blow. There was momentary silence as this was digested. "OK. So where do I tell McPike to find you?" "You don’t. We’ll contact him when we can. But I gotta get to Grecco. I need proof. A half hour frame job isn’t gonna fool them — they are going to pull it apart this time. I told Capuzi that I held notes on the bank manager, so you’d better put together a paper trail to back me up. And I want transcripts of Grecco’s testimony. I need to know exactly what he told the Grand Jury." "Will do. I’ll e-mail ‘em to you." "My place got turned over today. Probably by one of Castellano’s guys. They got word before the council today about Tony’s solo performance in court and they’re looking for anything they can find to corroborate his story. They took my laptop." "OK." Lifeguard took an audible breath. "I’ll get a replacement and the transcripts to Frank. When you have a location, he can bring it to you." "Thanks, man." Vince let his genuine gratitude show in his voice. "You’re welcome. And Vince," Dan hesitated a moment, "tell Lococco I’m glad they didn’t get him ten years ago." "I’ll tell him." Vince disconnected and folded the mouthpiece back against the little phone’s body, hanging it back on his belt. "Uncle Mike says welcome back to the land of the living," he told Roger. Lococco grinned and shot a humor-laden glance at his passenger. The passage of a short fifteen minutes found them in a dingy neighborhood, parking in front of a watering hole with the unlikely name of Gabriel’s Horn. "A gunrunner I know keeps informal office hours upstairs. He doesn’t too too fine a point on the waiting period for handguns," Lococco announced to the skepticism on Terranova’s face. Vince, holding the locked metal suitcase that held Roger’s ready cash, followed him into the bar, waiting as Lococco bribed a down-on-his-luck patron to keep an eye on the convertible outside, then climbed the greasy stairwell on his heels. Roger conducted his purchases with rapid professionalism, refusing to be tempted by the glittering array of the newest and deadliest paramilitary weaponry the dealer insisted on showing him. He selected a silenced sniper’s rifle and the latest in night-vision, laser-targeted telescopic sights to go with it, followed in short order by two machine pistols, a semiautomatic rifle that looked like Vietnam era surplus ordinance, another Heckler & Koche automatic, a .357 Magnum revolver, a wrist mounted knife sheath with a four inch blade, an ankle holster and the four-shot snub-nosed revolver that went with it, and a pair of switchblades. He followed this with ammunition for all the weapons and a ten thousand dollar bonus to get it delivered. "The Waldorf Astoria," he told the man with a feral grin. "You joking me? I can’t bring this stuff to a hotel!" "For this kind of bread, you can bring it anywhere I want it," Lococco corrected him. There was no mistaking the unyielding will in his pack-ice eyes as he met and held the man’s gaze. Terranova eyed the heaped weapons warily. "Don’t you think this is overkill, Rog? If you were planning re-staging ‘Escape From New York’, you’re gonna need an army. If you’re just gunning for Grecco, you don’t need all this stuff." "I like having options, Buckwheat. You never know what opportunity will present itself. And ‘fortune favors the prepared mind’, or in this case, triggerman." Lococco removed his suit coat and strapped on the knife sheath, then stooped to fasten the ankle holster on before he re-donned his jacket. "We out outta here. I expect this stuff at the hotel before midnight," he added to the dealer. They exited through the bar, Roger snagging a newly opened long necked beer bottle from in front of one of the patrons and flicking a twenty onto the wet bar top on his way past. He handed the beer and a hundred dollar bill to the battered looking young man who had been leaning on the hood of the BMW "Thanks, man," Lococco dismissed him. "Any time, brother,"e the the reply as the hundred disappeared into a pocket in kid’s denim jacket and the beer disappeared down his throat. ÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅ The desk clerk at the Waldorf Astoria didn’t so much as bat an eye at the oddly matched pair who stood before him as he checked them into a twelve-hundred-dollar-a-night back corner suite near the top floor. Apparently, as far as he was concerned, anyone wearing a three thousand dollar suit and paying for a week’s lodgings — in cash — in advance, was entitled to as many thugs in his entourage as he cared to have. Both Vince and Roger struggled to suppress grins at the desk clerk’s studious efforts to ignore Terranova’s scruffy attire and the canvas bag slung over one shoulder. "I’m going to be having some things delivered to the hotel some time this evening," Roger informed him. "Make sure it gets to me without any hitches." He tucked another hundred into the clerks’ breast pocket. Taking their key cards and picking up the metal suitcase he had been schlepping all afternoon, he and Vince headed for the elevators. "Heel," Roger deadpanned. In typical paranoid fashion, Lococco inspected all three rooms of the suite carefully, checking windows and doors for security. Satisfied, he picked up the phone and dialed the front desk. "Yeah, this is suite 2742. I need someone in your men’s shop to bring up a couple of suits, shirts, shoes, the whole nine yards. Forty four long and size eleven. The best you got." He listened for a moment. "20 minutes is fine," he said and hung up. "What’s with the clothes?" Vince asked warily. "I know you swore off custom tailoring, Vinnie, and I hate to be the one to break it to you, but clothes make the man. At least in the places you’re likely to wind up in the next few days. If you’re gonna walk away from a potential mob business partnership with the excuse that you’ve got your own interests to look after, then it had better be damn clear that those interests are more lucrative than any carrot they’re holding up." He met Vince’s reluctant look firmly. "And it’s not like I can’t afford it." 45 minutes later, Vince stood in sartorial splendor as Lococco shelled out for the wardrobe upgrade. "It’s is a little steep, Rog," he observed as the wad of hundreds changed hands. "Now is not the time to be going cheap, Vince." He turned to the shop clerk. "I want the other two ready by tomorrow, noon," he added. "Certainly, sir. I don’t imagine that it should be any later than ten a.m." He took the three rejected suits and the two that had been fitted for alteration, four pairs of shoes and the various remaining miscellany back to the bell cart, loading it up. "It’s been a pleasure, sir." Roger opened the door for him, then closed it after him. "I love New York," he grinned at Vince. "You can get virtually anything you want, any time of the day or night, any day of the week. Delivered." He returned to the sitting area, walking around Terranova, evaluating the suit he wore. "Not bad. Beats the off-the-rack look, anyway." The midnight blue Italian wool single breasted jacket fell from Vince’s broad shoulders as though it had been fitted for him. The trousers, with their knife-edged creases, broke over the instep of the seven-hundred dollar kidskin loafers two inches above the hem. The whole thing could not have fit better if it had been made for him. He recognized the discomfort in the way Vince shifted restlessly under his scrutiny. "So what’s the problem?" he inquired, able to guess. "You shouldn’t be bankrolling this, Roger." Vince tugged at the knot of the striped silk tie, loosening it and unbuttoning the suit coat. "So who else is gonna? The OCB? I don’t seem to remember you having a problem with Susan stocking your closet." "That was different," Terranova retorted. "How?" Lococco crossed his arms over his chest, cocking his head, feeling his temper rising. "‘Cuz I’m not asking you to sleep with me?" he asked, feigning calm. Vince caught the edge in his voice and met it with anger of his own. "Fuck you, Roger." "Is that what the difference is? You can accept gifts from someone you sleep with but not a friend? There’s a word for that, Buckwheat." Roger didn’t pull the punch. Vince was brought up short by the observation. He looked at Lococco for a long nt, nt, then took a deep breath. Roger saw him hesitate, watched the anger fade out of blue eyes. "Stop being a jerk, Vince." He straightened, slapping Terranova on the arm. "And get used to it. I&;m n;m not leaving until you’re clear of both the outfit and the OCB If that means I bankroll the takeover of New York, then I bankroll the takeover of New York." "You are a nut case," Vince said with a ghost of a smile. "If you think I won’t spend every dime I’ve got keeping you alive, you’re wrong," Lococco told him, perfectly serious. He didn’t break eye contact with Vince until the younger man looked away, embarrassed. "Call McPike," he told Vince. ÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅÅ McPike cursed Terranova’s choice of meeting places. Battery Park was far too public for comfort, much less safety. He surveyed the late afternoon inhabitants foolish enough to brave the sleety drizzle of an early February Sunday in New York for an outing, wishing he were not among them. Vince was nowhere in sight as Frank wandered along an asphalt path toward a lone — and clearly freezing — hotdog vendor and purchased a carton of stale popcorn, juggling his briefcase and umbrella to try to hold all three. Taking his snack, he headed toward the broad path along the waterfront. Resting his elbows on the wet railing and standing the case on the pavement between his feet, he looked out across the misty harbor at the statue of Liberty, eating the popcorn. He amused himself by tossing a few kernels at the time into the air and watching the aerial acrobatics of the gulls as they dove, squawking, for them, snatching the food out of midair. "Waste of good popcorn," came the wry observation from McPike’s left some five minutes later. Without a word, Frank offered the popcorn to Vince, who took a handful, sampled it, then frowned and joined McPike in tossing it into the smudgy sky, where it disappeared into the maws of the hungry birds. "I don’t suppose it matters, but I’ve spent the last 48 hours wondering how many pieces we’d find your body in," the OCB Regional Director stated resignedly. "Instead, I see you standing here looking like an ad for G.Q. in your spiffy new clothes. Uncle told me Lococco’s in town babysitting you while you try and get yourself killed." "I’m not trying to get myself killed, Frank. I’m trying to prop up my cover story long enough to ask a girl to marry me." Vince’s voice was weary. "For the record, I tried to keep Roger out of this." "Well I’m glad, for once, that you ran into someone even more mule-headed than you are. I may not like him much, but if anyone can keep you alive, it’s gonna be him." Vince glanced at McPike, surprised by the comment. "So tell me how the council meeting went down." Frank changed the subject. "Let’s just say it wasn’t an experience I’d care to repeat," Vince said dryly. "I’m definitely getting too old for the adrenaline rush." "I know that feeling," McPike agreed, "Working with you for the last ten years has cured any addiction to it I may once have had." Vince grinned. "You blaming me for your gray hairs?" "What’s left of ‘em," Frank confirmed. "Do me favor and actually quit this gig so I can enjoy my old age." "As soon as I can, Frank. As soon as I can." Terranova was suddenly serious again. "You know where they’re keeping Grecco yet?" "County lock-up," McPike informed him. "You know you’re on your own with this. I can’t get you in to him, not without blowing your cover completely." "Yeah. Don’t worry about it, Frank. Rog has an angle." Vince’s tone was grim. "Just don’t plan on letting Tony make any deals for witness protection when we’re through with him." "You’d better keep the rest of that thought to yourself, Vince. I do not need to know what that crazy bastard, Lococco, has in mind for our friend Tony." McPike stated, throwing up a cautionary hand. "It’s Grecco, or it’s me. I don’t have to tell you which one I’m more partial to," Vince replied. "Yeah, well, you’re not alone. But last I checked, I was still supposed to be reporting assassination plots to the police. So just let’s keep this under your hat, will you?" Terranova stuffed his hands into the pockets of the black wool greatcoat Roger had added to his wardrobe on the way out of the hotel an hour before. "I wish I knew what the hell Rudy was planing," he mused. "I threw as much of a monkey wrench into it as I could at the council this morning, but my gut tells me I’m gonna be playing his game whether I want to or not." McPike nodded. "Provided you live through the next three days, I don’t see much in the way of alternatives. Not as long as you refuse witness protection, anyway." "And I’m not disappearing without at least talking to Tracy, first. I can’t do that as long as Rudy has her. And he’s not gonna let her go till he’s got me where he wants me." McPike sighed. "You’re sure you know what you’re doing, setting your cap for her? You don’t even know her, Vince." "I can’t even explain it to myself, Frank. But I’ve never been as sure of anything in my life. I want her. If she’ll have me. There are no lies between us, Frank, and I can’t even start to tell you how good that feels." McPike dribbled a handful of popcorn over the water without responding immediately. "Just be careful, will you?" he upended the last of the popcorn into the oily waves. "What did you mean when you said you’d monkey-wrenched things this morning?" he changed the subject. Vince went with it, relieved. "Basically, I told the council I’d give them Grecco, but that I didn’t need or want their action. I kinda implied that I had business of my own to handle. I don’t think Brod and Calanolano are gonna let it go, though. Rudy made it pretty clear they were pissing him off." "You steer clear of those two, Vince. They are bad to the bone and if they can find a way to screw you — or even kill you — they will. Just deal with the Grecco problem and get Capuzi to clear you so you can get the hell out of New York." Vince nodded. "That’s the plan," he agreed. "Let’s just hope it comes together the way we want it to." McPike nodded and bent to hand the briefcase at his feet to Terranova. "Uncle Mike told me to tell you he up-graded your laptop and cleared out all the front accounts that the old one had access to. There won’t be any way they’ll be able to do more than reconstruct what was on the drive when they took it. If they’re lucky. He left your passwords the same and just switched ISP fronts. He said to call him when you’re ready and he’ll walk you through the new security protocol." "The transcripts in here, too?" Vince asked. "Yup. All three 340 pages," McPike said smugly. "It makes for great bed-time reading… At least till you get to Grecco’s testimony. That’s on page 283." "Thanks." Vince took a firmer grip on the wet briefcase. "I’m gonna getta tta here. Give me a few minutes, just in case." McPike nodded. "Take care of yourself. And make your call-in schedule!" "You got it." McPike watched Terranova walk away into the drizzle and saw a trench-coated figure detach itself from the lee of a notice kiosk, falling into step with the agent. Lococco, he surmised, relieved that Vince was not on his own.   "You get Grecco’s location?" Roger inquired, unlocking the BMW with the remote as they approached. "Yeah. You were right. He’s in county lock-up. We aren’t going to get a chance at him until they trot him out for the Grand Jury on Monday morning. In the meantime, I want to hit the neighborhood, shake a few trees, see what sort of rumors are floating around. I have some contacts that may know something useful." He got into the passenger seat of the convertible, slamming the door shut after him, Lococco sliding into the driver’s seat a second behind him. "We should see what we can dig up on the Junior Achievers," Roger suggested. "I have a feeling we are gonna be locking horns with those bastards any time, now. "You mean Brod and Castellano?" Vince said with a nod, "Count on it. They’re gonna be looking for any opening we give them." At this confirmation, a contemplative look came over Roger’s face. "There must be a way to control theuatiuation. Make them come to us, on our terms, when we’re ready." "I’m open to suggestions," Vince agreed. Lococco considered this as he put the car into gear and pulled into traffic, heading for Brooklyn.   Roger pulled up to the curb in front of a run-down laundromat half a mile from Vince’s house. "You want me in there with you?" he asked as Vince opened the car door. "Nah, Manny is an old friend. He kept an eye on my mom while I was in the slam. He’s gonna take one look at you and think I’ve come gunning for him. He’ll rabbit." Roger grinned, his maniac smile sparking in his eyes for the barest moment. "OK," he said. "Yell if you want me to break any legs," he added sarcastically as Vince climbed out of the car. Vince raised a cynical eyebrow by way of rejoinder and walked into the laundry. Manny was arguing with an elderly woman who ranted in mingled Italian and English that the dryer was broken and had eaten her coins without drying her clothes. Manny, grayer, paunchier and wearier then ever, finally relented, as he had every Sunday afternoon for thirteen years, and fed his own quarters into the dryer. He didn’t notice Terranova standing by the door until he was half way to the little office in the back. His double-take was comic. The fear on his face wasn’t. "Vinnie!" he approached Vince, anxiety writ large on his features. "What are you doing here?" Vince’s internal alarm system went off with a vengeance. "I live here, Manny. What the hell is wrong?" "Come on in back, Vinnie. We can talk there." With a furtive and clearly frightened glance out the front windows of his business, he caught Terranova by the arm and hustled him into the dingy little office. "There’s a bounty on you, Vinnie. Brod and Castellano are willing to pay ten large to anyone who can tell them where to find you — a hundred large to anyone who drills you." "What?! Why?" he exclaimed, astounded at the temerity of Aiuppo’s lieutenants to flout a grace given by one of the ranking mobsters in the city. Manny sank into the rickety wooden chair at his desk. "They say you’re a cop," he said, face gray. "They say that one of Sonny Steelgrave’s wiseguys testified in front of a Grand Jury that you’re a Federal agent, Vince." Vince let his anger show, snarling. "Tony Grecco. The weasel was skimming from Sonny’s dock operations in Atlantic City. I fingered him and he headed straight for witness protection. Only when the Feds found out he’d iced some guy on the docks, they threw him in the slammer, instead. So now he’s found a way to get some payback and maybe finally make it into witness protection with the cash he stole from Sonny. Brod and Castellano want me outta the way ‘cuz Rudy is considering putting me into his old territory to ride herd on the bastards. He thinks they’ve been bleeding him like Grecco bled Sonny. Capuzi’s given me till noon on Tuesday to get him proof that Grecco was a thief. They’re risking a war if they break his grace!" "The hit is on, Vince. And I don’t think that you’re the only one on the list. I think they’re gonna go gunning for don Aiuppo as soon as they’ve whacked you. They want the whole ball of wax, and they don’t want to wait any longer for it. They been taking 20, 30% outta the neighborhood for years, now. The old don, he don’t see so good no more, so they been getting’ away with skimmin’ the cream right off the top." Vince began pacing the confines of the narrow room, thinking hard. "You got any proof? Any way to back up your story?" "I’m strictly small time, Vinnie," Manny protested. "What I know is street gossip. There’s no way of proving anything! And the guys who complained are all renting space at the cemetery. There’s no way I’m gonna go up against those two. I’ve got a family!" Vince nodded sharply. "OK, Manny, I’ll see if I can get thisRudyRudy. If they’re looking to kill him, I’ve gotta let him know." "Just don’t tell him where you got it," Manny pleaded. "If Brod and Castellano win this one, I don’t wanna be on record as a squealer." "OK," Vince agreed reluctantly, and headed for the door into the laundry. "Vinnie -", Manny said sharply. "Use the back way, man. If they’re watching the place, they may hit you on your way out the front door." Terranova nodded. "Thanks," he said gravely as he let himself out into the grubby alley behind the laundromat. Lococco had watched Vince enter the laundromat and then began a scan of the neighborhood, watching as the local inhabitants went about the mundane business of their lives. He spotted the hardware store across from his parking spot and considered a moment, then got out of the car and jogged across the wet street to the opposite sidewalk, entering the shabby little storefront. It took him less than five minutes to find what he was looking for and make his purchases, tucking the two fist-sized boxes and a plastic pouch about a foot long into the large pockets of his cashmere overcoat as he exited the shop and headed back toward the car. To his surprise, he saw Terranova approaching from the end of the block and he started the car and pulled out to meet him, ignoring the liberal use of car horns as he blocked traffic for the ten seconds that it took Vince to climb into the vehicle. "What’s up?" he asked, alerted by the grim expression on Vince’s face. "Brod and Castellano are defying Capuzi’s orders. They’ve got a hit out on me and probably on Rudy, too. According to Manny, they’re about to stage a palace revolt. If they kill Rudy and me, they’ve got clear title to Brooklyn. I guess they figure they’d better move now, before Aiuppo can come outta retirement again and cement an alliance with Capuzi and his boys." "I knew we’d be having to deal with those two sooner rather than later," Lococco said. "You’d better let your stepfather know what’s going on. His security is gonna have to double-time it. And we wouldn’t want anyone capping him till you’ve goe pre princess back, now would we?" In answer, Vince was already dialing Aiuppo’s private line. He got Rudy on the second ring. Vince told him, briefly, about the break-in at his house and the missing lap-top, and then related the news that Aiuppo’s lieutenants were about to go independent by way of an assassination attempt. His parting words made his priority in relaying this news unmistakably clear to Aiuppo. "And you’d better make damn sure that those bastards can’t get anywhere near Tracy. Because if they track her to you and your guys let them hurt so much as a hair on her head, I’ll kill you myself." He hung up and tucked the phone into the pocket of his greatcoat. "Shit," he muttered to himself, frustrated anger radiating from him. Lococco glanced at him, waiting for the rest of the imminent outburst. "God damn him," Vince spat. "I swear, I’ll kill him for this." "All in good time, Buckwheat." Lococco said laconically. "Let’s deal with Popeye and Bluto, first, OK? What did your contact say, exactly?" Vince rubbed the back of his neck, working his shoulders to relieve the tension there. "It looks like they’ve been planning this for a while," he began. "They’ve been pulling an extra 10, 15% out of the neighborhoods for the last few years, probably to finance their little coup. I guess that’s what Rudy suspected and why he’s been trying to drag me into this whole thing for the last two months." Lococco mused on this. "So what’s the likely reaction when Capuzi and the other honchos find out they’ve iced Aiuppo?" "Depends," Vince said. "If the boys handle it smooth enough, the rest of the dons will pretty much acceptas aas a done deal — as long as none of their territories or deals get cut into. If they make a mess, though, they’re looking at a war." "Define ‘mess’," Roger requested, tersely. "Anything that means getting Federal heat turned on. If they’re quiet about this and can make it look like a simple hit, they’re off the hook, especially considering what Tony’s been blabbing about me. And I guarantee no one is gonna be celebrating idy ddy decides to take back control.... Too many new deals will get scrapped if that happens. But if it turns into a shooting war, the dons are gonna shoot back." Roger pondered this for a moment. "So, what would happen, theoretically, if you show up Tuesday with not only proof that Grecco was a thief, but that the wünderkind are, too?" "They’re looking at screwing up everyianciance they’ve got. If they break faith with Aiuppo — and get caught with their hands in the cookie jar before they can waste him — what’s to say they won’t try the same thing with their business associates?" Vince explained. "Theoretically, why do you want to know?" "Can we make a deal with them? Get the heat off you in exchange for our silence?" Lococco asked, with the tone in his voice that signaled a plan in formation. "Silence about what, Rog? We don’t have a thing on them except rumor and hearsay. They’ve been real careful to ‘discourage’ vocal opposition. No one from the neighborhoods is gonna risk getting killed to help us outta a jam." Lococco considered this as he drove, heading back downtown toward their hotel. "How ‘bout McPike? He got any guys under in the Hardy boys’ organization?" "Not that he’s ever let slip to me," Vince said, suspiciously. "Why?" "‘Cuz we gonna up the ante on those boys, my friend," Roger assumed his ironic drawl. "Get in touch with Frank and see if he can dig anything up for us." "Roger, he’s not gonna give up another agent just so we can pull Brod and Castellano’s tails!" Vince protested. "Not even to keep you alive? Besides, I’m not suggesting that he blow an agent’s cover, just see if there’s any solid proof you can go to Capuzi with. Or that can be used as leverage with the ‘girls’," Roger said. "It’s worth a shot, unless you’re real fond of the idea of getting blown away before we can get to Grecco," he added. "I thought that’s what you were here to prevent," Vince muttered, sotto voce. Lococco wrenched the steering wheel hard over and swung the little sports car to the side of the road in a smoking arc and turned to glare at Terranova. "Exactly, Buckwheat, but if you think I’m just gonna stand by and let you play the target, you’ve got a seriously over-inflated idea of what I can do. I can’t keep you alive if you really don’t care about staying that way! I can’t do this alone, Vince! I’m not the suicide prevention hot line!" Lococco’s grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled, ly cly controlled rage blazing in his eyes. "I’m not suicidal, Roger," Vince said quietly. "That’s not what it looks like from where I’m sitting, Vince," Lococco retorted, bitingly. "From here, it looks like you got shit for brains, falling for some mob diva and making an heroic stand for love, honor and ‘famiglia’. Gonna go out with all your guns blazing? If that’s the way you want it, go for it. But don’t expect me to like it!" Terranova staat Lat Lococco, dumbfounded at this tirade. Slowly, it began to dawn on him that there was more here than just frustration at their current circumstances. It seemed Lococco was jealous, though of what exactly, Vince was at a loss to say. That realization stunned him momentarily speechless as he stared into Roger’s January gaze. "I don’t expect you to understand why, or even care, but I love this woman, Rog. She sees me the way I am. No apologies, no excuses. I like the man I see in her eyes when she looks at me… I’m not walking away fthisthis situation, any more than I walked away from you ten years ago, just because I’m being manipulated by a master con-man. It’s not just my life on the line anymore, don’t you get it?" "No, it’s mine, too," Lococco snapped. Vince didn’t break eye contact. "That was your choice, Roger. You can walk away any time you want and I wouldn’t blame you. This is not the way a member of the Billionaire Boy’s Club should bendiending his vacation," Vince told him, gently. "You have no reason to stay, except to help a friend outta a big-time mess. And because I’m asking you to." Lococco froze, then closed his eyes. Vince saw the fight drain out of him as he shook his head self-mockingly. "Stop me if I’m wrong, Buckwheat, but I think we just had our first lover’s quarrel." He turned to meet Vince’s gaze. "She’d better be worth it, ‘cuz I wouldn’t do this for anyone but you."   It was nearly midnight before Vince finally got through to McPike in person. "Frank, we got trouble." There would be no breaking it gently. "What — something else has gone to hell? Cut to the chase, kid. What now?" McPike’s voice was colored with exhaustion. Vince could hear it in every slurred syllable. "Brod and Castellano have a contract out on me’n Rudy," he stated simply. "Wait-a-minute, wait a minute! I thought you told me that Capuzi’s given you till Tuesday, noon, to get Grecco. Are they crazy?" McPike’s frustrated outrage was unmistakable. "No, but they’re starting to get a little desperate. I was out on the streets looking for information this afternoon, and that interesting little item came my way. Seems like Brod and Castellano are planning on taking over Aiuppo’s territory. And the46;r46;re plannin’ on nailing us to do it. If they can keep it quiet, they step into Brooklyn as top dogs and the other dons’ll stand back and let them." "Not on my watch, they won’t!" McPike snarled. "They’re gonna have a war on their hands, even if I have to call in the National Guard!" "Frank, that’s not the way to play this!" Vince hastily replied, not liking the ragged quality in Frank’s voice. "If you can get me any kind of proof that they’ve been skimming from Rudy, I can go to them and get them to back down." "Wrong, Vince, you can go to them and get yourself killed!" Frank roared. "Even if I could fsomesomething, all it would do is confirm you as a threat to them!" "They’re already pretty clear on that, Frank," Vince said, unable to restrain his cynicism. "But if I can bring Capuzi proof that they have every intention of hitting Rudy ankingking over the party, I can make their lives the same shade of hell they’ve made mine in the last coupla days!" McPike’s sigh was eloquent. "Vinnie, I’ve got maybe three agents in their organization. Only one of them is in any position to corroborate any of this. I #146#146;t ask an agent to blow his own cover!" "He doesn’t have to blow his cover, Frank, all he has to do is come up with hard evidence that the kids are plannin’ a hostile take-over," Vince wheedled. "That’s the problem, Vince, there is no hard evidence! All we’ve got are vague suspicions and some very creative bookkeeping in Brooklyn, none of which gets us anywhere." McPike was grim. "I’ve been reviewing his reports for the last six months, trying to piece together what the hell is going on, and there’s nothing! Those two jackals have covered their tracks very carefully." Vince sighed. "Frank, I’ve gotta find something. Anything. And it’s gotta be legit. No one is gonna be takin’ anything I say on Tuesday on faith." "Well I can’t do anything about it now, Vince. Let me talk to his field supervisor tomorrow and see if anything new is shaking loose with you parading around the city," McPike agreed reluctantly. "Maybe we’ll get y. y. We’re sure as hell about due!" Lococco sat sprawled in the sitting room of the suite in a large wingback chair, feet on the ottoman, nursing a scotch and waiting for Terranova to finish his phone call to McPike. From Vince’s half of the conversation, the possibility of hard evidence of plots to overthrow on the part of Aiuppo’s lieutenants was not looking very good. Roger mused on this, considering various scenarios and their relative workability, as well as their likelihood of producing the desired results. He also braced himself for the likely argument he was going to get from Vince when he announced his intention of doing a solo recon of the area around the county lock-up, as well as the Federal Circuit Court buildings where the Grand Jury was to meet on Monday morning. He would be much happier working alone, given the fact that Vince had a sign saying ‘hit me’ stuck to his back. Vince finished his conversation and collapsed onto the couch across the coffee tablom Rom Roger. "Frank’s going to check with the field supervisors who have agents in place inside Brod and Castellano’s business tomorrow and see what he can find out. But that doesn’t leave us much time to do anything with it, if he finds it." "Well, we could try a little poker," Roger proposed. "Are you up for a bluff?" "Roger, you don’t walk into their office in broad daylight,l thl them you know they’ve got their fingers in Aiuppo’s till and expect to walk out again without provoking a reaction!" Vince sat upright, leaning forward slightly, his doubts clear on his face. "On the contrary, Buckwheat, A reaction is exactly what I hope to provoke," Roger smiled, the expression feral. "If they make a move on the spot, there’s gonna be a whole office-full of eyewitnesses. That means they’ll come after us outside, in short order. If we make ourselves look like targets, we may be able to expose them to Capuzi. He should be able to rein them in long enough for us to deal with Grecco and get you out of town." Vince considered this, clearly not liking the idea, but not seeing an alternative. "Don’t underestimate them, Rog. They are smart, and they are mean, and if we aren’t real, real careful, we’ll wind up dead in their lobby on our way out of the building." r shr shrugged. "It’s one way of pulling their fangs," he said. "Yeah, but to do it, we gotta stick our heads in their damn mouths! The odds are real good that they’ll bite ’em off for us!" Roger didn’t reply, staring into his glass as he swirled the contents absently. "I’m going out in a couple of hours to get the lay of the land along the route they’ll be taking Grecco tomorrow," he changed the subject. "I’m coming with you," Vince stated, as Lococco had expected he would. "No, my friend, you are not." He put the glass down on the coffee table and met Terranova’s angry look. "You are a target. They know you’re going after Grecco. They undoubtedly know where Grecco is. Therefore, it’s safe to assume that they’ll have their guys looking for an easy kill shot in his vicinity. You show up there, and there’s a high probability you won’t make it to breakfast." "And what about you, huh? They’re not gonna ask you for an I.D. before they open fire on you, Roger. They’ll gun you down and then figure out they got the wrong guy. You are not going out there without back-up!" "Vinnie, Vinnie, give me credit for a few brain cells!" his smile was cynical. "Taking them out is part of my objective, here. I have no objection to thinning the ranks of the Mafia goons waiting in the wings for a shot at you on my way to getting Grecco outta jail." Vince stared at Roger, his expression saying he’d just abruptly — and uneasily — been reminded how dangerous Lococco truly was. "You’re not an assassin any more, Rog. Mu is is a capital offence, in case it slipped your mind." "Self defense isn’t," Roger replied without heat. Vince’s eyes widened as comprehension dawned. "You’rnna nna draw their fire? Deliberately? Rog, I’m not the one with the death wish here, you are! You cannot go out there without back-up!" All humor fled from Lococco’s face. "I was doing whole squads of V.C., solo, in the ‘Nam while you were in grade school, Vince. Believe me, I know what I’m doing. I know exactly what I’m doing. They won’t know what hit them. Literally." "This isn’t the jungle, Roger," Vince aimeaimed, clearly horrified by the turn the conversation had taken. "You’re wrong, Vince. It’s just made outta concrete." Lococco said with finality as he picked up his glass. "‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death, I will fear no evil — ‘cuz I’m the meanest sonovabitch in the place,’" he quipped. "It’s not funny, Roger." Vince’s voice was strangled. "It wasn’t meant to be, Buckwheat." Lococco stared over the rim of his glass across the coffee table at his friend, letting the killer show in his eyes. "I did this for almost fifteen years. This is why I came along. I don’t have the burden of scruples to deal with, Vince. I have one goal, and one goal only. That is to keep you alive. Anyway I can. So you are going to sit here, like a good little Federal Agent, and come up with some way to get those rat-bastards off your ass tomorrow. Because we’re gonna need a clear field to get at Grecco and get any information outta him. I’d rather not be doing a re-enactment of the shoot-out at the O.K. Corral in a hospital corridor tomorrow night. A whole lot of civilians stand to get hurt if we play it that way." He watched Terranova swallow hard, and handed him the glass of scotch. "Drink this. Drink a lot of this. You’ll feel like hell in the morning either way, but at least you’ll get some sleep," he told the haggard man on the couch. Any reply Vince was about to make was interrupted by the polite knock on the door. "Ah," Roger sighed, as he rose to open it. "The toys have arrived. I hope Delaney put the extra goodies in the box. "What goodies?" Vince asked, dazedly. Roger held up a hand to forestall further questions as he op the the door to the suite. The bell captain stood outside with a heavily laden baggage cart, and Roger moved out of his way, allowing him entrance. The cart was quickly unloaded and the bellman left with a hefty tip in his uniform pocket. Roger pulled open the first of the boxes and began emptying it onto the floor and Vince took the weapons as he unpacked them, laying them on an Edwardian settee to get them out of the way. "Ah, good. He got the message," Roger said to himself as he pulled a set of binoculars from the packing material, followed by a pair of night-vision goggles. "This should make any hidden agendas pretty visible," he added, and noted the slight lessening of the worry in Vince’s face. He finished opening all the boxes, pleased that the rifles had all come disassembled, in well-padded carrying cases. They would be considerably less conspicuous that way. No sense in terrorizing the hapless hotel housekeepers. Vince had taken possession of the .357 and turned the heavy pistol over in his ha adm admiring the finish of the polished stainless steel. Roger joined him beside the settee and glanced at the gun in Vince’s hands. "I never have understood why you would rather lug around a six pound hunk of iron than a little baby like this," he said, snagging the H&K automatic for himself. "Must be remnants of your cowboy days. Me, I grew outta six-shooters when I figured out I’d be humping that iron all over the ‘Nam — on foot." Vince shrugged. "Most of the automatics are a little small for my taste. Someone points a revolver at you, and you’re gonna notice. Real fast." "A taste for the flamboyant," Lococco grinned. They stowed all but the sniper rifle under the beds quietly, Roger ignoring the brooding nature of the silence. "Get some sleep, Vince. I’ll be back before noon." "I don’t like this, Roger. At least let me get McPike to send out some troops," Vince pleaded, knowing it was futile. "I don’t work by committee, Vince," Roger said dismissively. "And besides, it’d be a cold day in hell before McPike would sanction the kind of job I’m planning on doing tonight." Vince couldn’t argue with this, knowing Frank was none too happy with what he had been told. "Just… watch your back, man. I don’t want to be hearing about your dead body being found on a rooftop across from the county jail." "Stop worrying, Buckwheat. It won’t be my body you’ll be seeing on the morning news. I’m gonna grab a few zees before I hit the dance floor." Vince watched Roger disappear into his room, nudging the door shut behind himself, and returned to the sofa and the scotch that stood on the coffee table in front of it. It was well over half an hour later before he picked up the glass and began working on emptying the bottle.   Lococco woke at two forty, within five minutes of the time he set his internal alarm for, rising and donning black jeans, black T-shirt, shoes and raincoat. Light was leaking in around the doorframe, signaling Vince’s presence in the sitting room. He hoped the agent had drunk enough to put him to sleep, but he wasn’t counting on it. Picking up the case that held the broken-down sniper rifle, as well as the binoculars and the infrared goggles, he stepped out of his room. Vince was sprawled on the couch, glass balanced on his chest, unfocused blue eyes fixed on some unseen thing. He had made a sizable dent in the contents of the bottle, Roger noted. Wordlessly, he found Vince’s now empty canvas gym bag and put the goggles and binoculars inside. He could feel the weight of Terrranova’s gaze as it settled on him. He ignored it. Ready, he straightened and met dark blue eyes. "Get some sleep, Vincuot;uot; he said again, knowing it was probably pointless. Vince was a brooder, and the burden of a Catholic guilt complex provided ample fodder for worrying. He paused long enough to cap the scotch bottle and return it to the bar area across the room. "I think you’ve had about enough," he said wryly. "I need you on the vertical tomorrow, Buckwheat." He headed for the door with his equipment and let himself out into the corridor without a backward glance. He could feel Vince watch him go, knowing the agent hated the uselessness he felt at having someone else fight his battles for him. Hr only hoped that Vince, with what little rational thought remained to him in his current drunken state, knew Lococco could handle himself in most situations. "Be careful, Rog," Terranova said softly to the closing door.