Hostage - Страница 59

'Who killed Howell? Talley?'

'I don't know! Yeah, I think it was Talley. I don't know. Man, I'm hearing all kinds of things.'

Sonny Benza closed his eyes. Just like that it was gone, everything was gone, three low-class assholes break into a house and everything that he had worked for his entire life was about to end.

Tuzee said, 'You sure they got the disks?'

'Talley gave the disks to the Sheriffs. That much I know for sure. Then I don't know what happened. Glen got jammed up at the motel, they had a big fuckin' firefight or somethin', and now the FBI just rolled up, the real FBI. What do you want me to do?'

Benza shook his head; there wasn't anything Ken Seymore or anyone else could do.

Tuzee said, 'Vanish. Anyone who isn't in custody, take off. You're done.'

The line went dead without another word. Ken Seymore was gone.

Benza stood without a word and went to the great glass windows overlooking Palm Springs. He was going to miss the view.

Salvetti came up behind him.

'What do you want us to do, Boss?'

'How long do you figure we have before the Feds get here?'

He had a pretty good idea, but he wanted to hear it.

Salvetti and Tuzee traded a shrug.

Tuzee said, 'Talley will tell them what's on the disks, then they'll probably talk to Smith. I don't know if he'll corroborate or not.'

'He'll talk.'

'Okay, they'll want to detain you as a flight risk to give themselves time to write the true counts, so they'll get a warrant based on our alleged involvement with the killings and kidnaps in Bristo. Say they get a telephonic warrant and coordinate with the state cops out here through the substation… I'd say two hours.'

'Two hours.'

'Yeah, I don't think they can get here before that.'

Benza sighed.

'Okay, guys. I want to be in the air in an hour.'

'You got it, Sonny.'

Salvetti said, 'You gonna tell New York?'

Benza wouldn't tell New York. He was more frightened of their reaction than he was of battling the Feds.

'Fuck'm. Go get your families. Don't bother packing, we'll buy new when we get there. Meet me at the airport as soon as you can. Forty-five minutes tops.'

The three of them stood mute for a time. They were in deep shit, and all three of them knew it. Benza shook each man's hand. They were good and dear friends. Sonny Benza loved them both.

'We had a good thing here, guys.'

Charlie Salvetti started to cry. He turned away and hurried from the office without another word.

Tuzee stared at the floor until Salvetti was gone, then offered his hand again. Benza took it.

'All this will blow over, Sonny. You'll see. We'll get this straight with New York, and we'll be fine.'

Benza knew that was bullshit, but he appreciated Tuzee trying to cheer him. He even found it within himself to smile.

'Philly, we're gonna be looking over our shoulders the rest of our lives. Fuck it. It's all part of the game.'

Tuzee smiled tiredly.

'Yeah, I guess so. See you at the airport.'

'You bet.'

Tuzee hurried away.

Sonny Benza turned back to the window. He admired the lights in the desert below, glittering like fallen dreams, and remembered how proud his father had been, how much the old man had bragged, Only in America, Sonny, only in America; right down the fuckin' street from Francis Albert!

Frank Sinatra had been dead for years.

Benza went to wake his wife.

Saturday, 7:49 A.M., Eastern time

New York City

VIC CASTELLANO

Vic Castellano sat on his terrace overlooking the Upper West Side of Manhattan. It was a beautiful morning, clear and pleasant, though it would be hotter than a sonofabitch before noon. He still wore the white terry-cloth bathrobe with Don't Bug Me on the back. He liked that sonofabitch so much he'd probably wear it until it was threads. He put down his coffee.

'I can tell by your expression it ain't good.'

Jamie Beldone had just come out to see him.

'It's not. The police have the disks. They have Benza's accountant, and several of his people. Once the Feds develop the information, we're going to have a fight on our hands.'

'But we'll survive it.'

Jamie nodded.

'We'll take a few shots, but we'll survive. Benza, that's something else.'

'That sonofabitch still hasn't had the decency to call. You imagine that?'

'It shows a lack of class.'

Castellano settled back in his chair, thinking out loud. He and Jamie had gone over this a hundred times last night, but it never hurt to go over such things again.

'We'll survive, but because of this Mickey Mouse West Coast asshole we're exposed to serious heat from the federal prosecutor. This means we've got just cause to seek redress.'

'The other families will see it that way.'

'And since the Feds are going to put Benza out of business, no one can beef if we take care of it for them.'

'It's a fair trade.'

Castellano nodded.

'All in all, it's probably good for everyone that all this happened. We can send somebody out west, take over Benza's end of things, and cut ourselves a bigger piece of the pie.'

'The silver lining that everyone will enjoy. What are you going to do, skipper?'

Castellano had known what he was going do for the past six hours. He took no pleasure in it, but he had it all arranged.

'Make the call.'

Beldone started back into the house.

'Jamie!'

'Yes, sir?'

'I want to be sure about this. That guy Clewes, Marion Clewes, he's kinda flaky. I don't want to just take his word that Benza fucked up. I want to know for sure.'

'I'm sure, Vic. I double-checked. I just hung up with Phil Tuzee.'

Castellano felt better. He knew that Phil Tuzee wouldn't steer him wrong. 'That's good enough. Make the call and finish this.'

Saturday, 4:53 A.M., Pacific time

Palm Springs, California

SONNY BENZA

Benza's wife moved so slowly that he wanted to stuff a cattle prod up her ass. The kids were even worse.

'Would ya hurry it up, for chrissakes? We gotta get outta here.'

'I can't leave my things!'

'I'll buy you new things!'

'We can't leave our pictures! What about our wedding album? How can you buy a new wedding album?'

'Five minutes, you got five minutes! Get the kids and meet me out front or I'll leave your ass here.'

Benza trotted back through the house to the garage. All he carried was a blue nylon gym bag with one hundred thousand in cash, his blood pressure meds, and his.357. Anything else he needed he could buy when they landed; Benza had over thirty million dollars stashed in foreign accounts.

Benza hit the button to open the garage door. He tossed the nylon bag into the backseat of his Mercedes, then slid behind the wheel. He started the car, threw it into reverse, then hit the gas hard, backing in a wide arc toward the front door. He was moving so fast that he almost broadsided the nondescript sedan that blocked his path.

Flashes of light speckled the air around the sedan, exploding Benza's rear window. The bullets knocked him into the steering wheel, then sideways onto the seat. Sonny Benza tried to get the.357 out of his bag, but he didn't have time. Someone pulled open the driver's-side door and shot Sonny Benza in the head.

PART FIVE. THE AVOCADO ORCHARD

CHAPTER 29

Sunday, 2:16 P.M. Two weeks later

TALLEY

The fantasy was always the same: On the days that Jeff Talley visited the avocado orchard, he imagined Brendan Malik playing in the trees. He saw the boy laughing, kicking up dust as he ran, then climbing into the branches where he swung by his knees. Brendan was always happy and laughing in these daydreams, even with his skin mottled in death and blood pulsing from his neck. Talley had never been able to imagine the boy any other way.

Jane said, 'What are you thinking?'

The two of them were slouched down in the front seat of his patrol car, watching red-tailed hawks float above the trees. Amanda had stayed in Los Angeles, but Jane had come up for the weekend.

'Brendan Malik. Remember? That boy.'

'I don't remember.'

Talley realized that he had never told her. He had not mentioned Brendan Malik to anyone after that night he left the boy's house, not even the police psychologist.

'I guess I never told you.'

'Who was he?'

'A victim in one of the negotiations. It's not important anymore.'

Jane took his hand. She turned sideways so that she faced him.

'It's important if you're thinking about it.'

Talley considered that.

'He was a little boy, nine, ten, something like that. About Thomas's age. I think about him sometimes.'

'You've never mentioned him.'

'I guess not.'

Talley found himself telling her about the night with Brendan Malik, of holding the boy's hand, of staring into his eyes as the little boy died, of the overwhelming feelings of failure and shame.

Listening, she cried, and he cried, too.

'I was trying to see his face right now, but I can't. I don't know whether to feel happy or sad about that. You think that's bad?'

Jane squeezed his hand.

'I think it's good we're talking about these things. It's a sign that you're healing.'

Talley shrugged, then smiled at her.

'About goddamned time.'

Jane smiled in that way she had, the smile that was encouraging and pleased.

'Did you find out about Thomas?'

'I tried, but they won't tell me anything. I guess it's best this way.'

Walter Smith and his family had entered the U.S. Marshals' witness protection program. They had simply vanished; one day here, the next gone, hidden by the system. Talley hoped that Thomas would one day contact him, but he didn't think it likely. It was safer that way.