Hostage - Страница 27

Benza stared at the floor, ashamed of himself, thinking what a stupid idea, burn the place.

Tuzee leaned back now, crossing his arms, stared at the ceiling.

'Okay, look. Here it is the way I see it: If these kids were going to give up, they would've given up. Something's keeping them in that house, I don't know what, but they're sticking. The more cops pile up around that place, the more likely we are to have a breached entry.'

Salvetti sat forward, raising a hand like he was in class, interrupting.

'Wait. Call me crazy, but how about this? Why don't we just call'm? Talk to these dicks ourselves, cut a deal.'

Howell's voice hissed from the speaker.

'The lines are blocked. The cops did that.'

'Smith's regular lines, maybe, but not our lines. We pay extra for those lines.'

Tuzee was saying, 'What do you mean, cut a deal?'

'We lay it out for these assholes who they're dealing with, say they think they're in trouble with the cops, they haven't seen the kinda trouble we can bring down. We cut a deal, pay'm something like fifty K to give up, we'll provide the lawyers, all of that.'

'No fuckin' way. Uh-uh.'

'Why?'

'You want to tell three punk assholes our business? Jesus, Sally.'

Salvetti fell silent, embarrassed.

Benza caught Tuzee looking at him, resigned.

'What, Phil?'

Tuzee slumped in his chair, more tired now than ever.

'Talley's family.'

'We've got a lot to think about with that.'

'I know. I'm thinking about it. Once we go down that road, no turning back.'

'You know where that ends, don't you?'

'You're the guy just suggested we burn the fucking house down, six people inside, the whole world watching.'

'I know.'

'We can't just sit. We came damned close with what happened tonight, and now they're looking at the building permits and God knows what else. That's bad enough, but I'm worried about New York. I'm thinking, how long can we keep the lid on this?'

'We've got the lid on. I trust the guys we have on the scene.'

'I trust our guys, too, but old man Castellano is going to find out sooner or later. It's bound to happen.'

'It's only been a few hours.'

'However long it's been, we need to get a handle on things before they find out. By the time that old man hears, we've gotta be able to tell him that we're no longer a threat to him. We've gotta laugh about this over schnapps and cigars, else he'll hand us our asses.'

Benza felt tired in his heart, but relieved, too. Comfort came with the decision.

'Glen?'

'I'm here, Sonny.'

'If we move on Talley like this, you got a man there who can handle it?'

'Yes, Sonny.'

'He can do whatever needs to be done? All the way?'

'Yes, Sonny. Can and will. I can handle the rest.'

Benza glanced at Phil Tuzee, Tuzee nodding, then Salvetti, Salvetti ducking his head one time.

'Okay, Glen. Get it done.'

CHAPTER 11

Friday, 11:40 P.M., Eastern time

8:40 P.M., Pacific time

New York City

VIC CASTELLANO

His wife was a light sleeper, so Vittorio 'Vic' Castellano left their bedroom to take the call. He put on the thick terry-cloth bathrobe, the birthday present from his kids with Don't Bug Me embroidered on the back, and gimped alongside Jamie Beldone to the kitchen. Beldone held a cell phone. On the other end of it was a man they employed to keep an eye on things in California.

Vic, seventy-eight years old and two weeks away from a hip replacement, poured a small glass of orange juice, but couldn't bring himself to drink it. His stomach was already sour.

'You sure it's this bad?'

'The police have the house locked down with all Benza's records inside, including the books that link to us.'

'That sonofabitch. What's in his records?'

'They show how much he kicks to us. I don't know if it'll show business by business, but it's going to show something like that so he can keep track of where his money goes. If the Feds recover this, it will help them build an IRS case against you.'

Vic poured out the orange juice, then ran water in the glass. He sipped. Warm.

'It's been how long this is going on?'

'About five hours now.'

Castellano checked the time.

'Does Benza know that we know?'

'No, sir.'

'That chickenshit sonofabitch. Heaven forbid he call to warn me like a real man. He'd rather let me get caught cold than have time to fuckin' prepare.'

'He's a piece of shit, skipper. That's all there is to it.'

'What's he doing about it?'

'He sent in a team. You know Glen Howell?'

'No.'

'Benza's fixer. He's good.'

'Do we have our own guy there?'

Beldone tipped the phone, nodding.

'He's on the line now. I have to tell him what to do.'

Vic drank more of the warm water, then sighed. It was going to be a long night. He was already thinking of what he would say to his lawyers.

'Should we maybe get our own team in there?'

Beldone pursed his lips, then shook his head.

'We'd have to get the guys together, plus the five-hour plane flight; not enough time, Vic. It's Sonny's show. Sonny and Glen Howell.'

'I can't believe that chickenshit hasn't called me. What's he thinkin', back there?'

'He's thinking that if it goes south, he's going to run. He's probably more afraid of you than the Feds.'

'He should be.'

Vic sighed again, then went to the door. Forty years as the boss of the most powerful crime family on the East Coast had taught him to worry about the things he could control, and let other people worry about the things he couldn't.

He stopped in the door and turned back to Jamie Beldone.

'Sonny Benza is an incompetent asshole, and so was his fuckin' father.'

'The Mickey Mouse mob, Vic. Brain damage from all the tan.'

'If it goes south, Sonny Benza isn't goin' anywhere. You understand?'

'Yes, sir.'

'If they fuck this up, they gotta pay.'

'They'll pay for it, skipper.'

'I'm goin' to bed. You let me know if anything happens.'

'Yes, sir.'

Vic Castellano shuffled back to his bed, but could not sleep.

CHAPTER 12

Friday, 8:43 P.M.

TALLEY

Talley was in Mrs. Peña's home with the Sheriffs, sipping her coffee, rich and heavy with brown sugar and cream though none of them had asked for it that way; she told them it was the Brazilian way. They were watching the security tape.

Talley pointed at the television with his cup.

'The first one inside is Rooney, this next guy is Krupchek. Kevin comes in last.'

Martin watched with the flat, uninvolved expression of an experienced officer. Talley found himself watching her instead of the tape, curious about her background and how she'd become a SWAT captain.

Martin nodded at the screen.

'What's that on his head, a tattoo? There, on the big one.'

'That's Krupchek.'

'Right, Krupchek.'

'It says 'burn it.' We're running it through the computer.'

Talley told them what he had learned from Brad Dill about Krupchek and the Rooney brothers, then filled them in on having dispatched Mikkelson and Dreyer to locate landlords and neighbors.

Ellison said, 'These guys have any family we can bring out? We had a guy once, he backed us off for twelve hours until his mama gets there. She gets on the phone, tells him to get his ass out of that house, the guy comes out crying like a baby.'

Talley had worked with subjects like that, too.

'Rooney might have an aunt in Bakersfield, but Dill didn't know about Krupchek. If we can find their landlords or friends, we might get a line on the families. You want, I'll have Larry Anders, he's my senior officer here, put your Intelligence Officer in touch with whoever we find.'

Maddox nodded, his face creased with attention.

'I might want to talk to Dill and those people myself. You okay with that?'

'I know the job. Whatever you want. Tell Anders, and he'll arrange to bring them here.'

As the new primary negotiator, Maddox had the responsibility to form his own opinions on the behavior characteristics of a subject. Talley would have done the same thing.

Martin stepped closer to the television. They had reached the part of the tape where Krupchek leaned over the counter.

'What's he doing?'

'Watch.'

Maddox joined Martin at the TV. He crossed his arms in a way that Talley thought was protective.

'Jesus, he's watching that man die.'

Talley nodded.

'That's what I thought.'

'The sonofabitch is smiling.'

Talley finished his coffee and put down the cup. He didn't need to see it again.

'We told the Sheriff's investigators up at Kim's about the hand. See there on the counter? They should have a pretty good palm print from that, but I haven't heard.'

Martin glanced at Ellison.

'Run the prints for wants and warrants.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

Metzger came up behind Talley and touched his arm.

'Chief, see you a second?'

Talley excused himself from the Sheriffs and followed Metzger into the adjoining room. Metzger glanced back at the Sheriffs, then lowered her voice.

'Sarah wants you to call her right away. She's says it's important. She says I should knock you down and drag you to a phone, it's so important.'

'Why are you whispering?'

'She says it's important. You're supposed to call on your office line, not use a radio.'

'Why not the radio?'

'Because other people can hear on the radio. She says use the phone.'