Макс Коллинз - Road to Purgatory

Ricca, hands on hips, stood perhaps two feet from Michael and cast a hard unblinking stare at him. “Why did you come here, Michael? After what Frank Nitti did last night, this could be viewed as enemy territory.”

Michael was thrown by Ricca’s manner. The man’s voice was flat, uninflected, and the ganglord seemed unafraid, though Michael could easily have withdrawn the .45, shot Ricca, and then run out through the kitchen to the parking lot, where he could position himself behind the Ford and pick off the two Sams as they came after him...

“ Is there going to be a war, Mr. Ricca? Have the battle lines been drawn?”

“Yes to the second question. The first question I can’t answer yet.”

Michael frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Ricca smiled enigmatically. “It will.”

Frustrated, Michael snapped, “Why the hell did you bail me out?”

“Technically, I didn’t bail you out. That wasn’t necessary. Mr. Bulger merely delivered a writ of—”

“You know what I mean.”

“I had my reasons.”

“Obviously. What were they?”

Ricca sat on the edge of the desk; he folded his arms and smiled gently up at Michael. “Let me tell you why you came around here. You think I had your girlfriend killed... Well, I didn’t.”

“Really?” Michael gestured with a thumb toward the restaurant. “Your resident Frankenstein monster, Mad Sam, is known for torturing his victims before he kills them. He’s a sadistic bastard.”

“Yes. But he’s my sadistic bastard, who does what I tell him. And I didn’t tell him to kill Estelle. I liked Estelle.”

“I suppose you want me to believe Frank Nitti ordered it done.”

Ricca shook his head. “No. It’s not his style. We both know that, just as you know that I’m not a fool, and I know you’re not a fool... I’m afraid I have disappointing news for you, even though in a way it’s good news.”

“Disappointing how?”

A tiny shrug. “I know what makes you tick, Michael. It’s revenge, isn’t it? That’s your whole reason for living.”

The back of Michael’s neck tingled. “Estelle was my girl, like you said — I want to even the score.”

“Oh I know you do. I’m afraid that’s the disappointing part. You see, a couple named the Borgias were responsible.”

Michael’s eyes tightened. “I heard that from Louie Campagna. Where can I find them?”

Ricca lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, these two were freelance; just a couple of greedy lowlifes who were after Estelle’s money. You know — the money Nicky Dean embezzled and left with her? It had nothing to do with anybody Outfit making an example of her. Notice I’m not trying to pawn this off on Nitti — this is the truth, Michael.”

A sense of urgency was pumping through him, fueled by the notion of getting his hands on these murderers. “All right. Suppose it is. Where can I find them?”

An open-handed shrug now. “Somewhere under Lake Michigan.”

“You’re saying they’re... dead.”

“Well they aren’t holding their breath... I think one of Frank’s people took care of it. Oh, I can see how disappointed you are.”

“How do I know you’re—”

“Telling the truth? Not lying? Because I’m your friend. Or I’m going to be.” Ricca folded his arms again and bestowed that enigmatic smile. “Michael, I could have ruined your life months ago, had I wanted to.”

“Really.”

“Oh yes. Really . You see, William Drury is an honest cop — boringly, stupidly, pointlessly honest. You know — like your friend Ness.”

It was as if cold water had been splashed in his face. “My... what?”

“Eliot Ness, Michael. Not every cop at Town Hall Station is as honest as Bill Drury — almost none of ’em, in fact. That’s how I was able to hear a wire recording of the conversation you and Ness had there, the night the Colony Club was raided.”

Michael whipped the .45 from under his shoulder and pointed it at Ricca.

Who did not blink. Did not react an iota.

Rather, merely said, “I know who you are, Michael. You’re Michael Satariano, yes. But you’re also Michael O’Sullivan, Jr.”

The words hit him like a physical blow.

“I knew your father. He was the best soldier ever lived. What I would give for a man like that... a man like you, Michael. A clown like Mad Sam has his uses; and a cunning little shitheel like Mooney, too. But an angel of death... a demonic angel... why, they come along only once in a lifetime.”

His hand gripping the gun trembled; he tried to stop it from doing that, unsuccessfully. “You... if you know who I am... why...?”

Ricca’s smile widened and turned ghastly in the process. “Why not expose you? After all, you are, in a way, an under cover cop... or anyway, you were. Only, your loyalties shifted from Eliot Ness to Frank Nitti many months ago. That was clear in the conversation I heard, from Town Hall. Also from your conduct.”

Mind reeling, Michael managed, “Why didn’t you tell Nitti about me?”

Ricca’s eyes popped. “And have a good man killed? The son of the Angel of Death? Do I look like a fool? As I said, I know what makes you tick, son. I know that it was you — a one-man army — who rained all that blood down upon Palm Island. You discovered... and made it possible for me to discover... that for fucking years Al Capone has been a feeble-minded figurehead for Frank Nitti.”

A numb Michael asked, “You knew that... and still you didn’t... I don’t understand.”

“You will. I said, I know what makes you tick . Like any good bomb... Oh, lately you’ve lost your way, maybe more than just your way — you lost your purpose. You went to Miami to kill Al Capone. Why?”

“You seem to know everything.”

“To avenge your father’s death. Your father made a deed with the Outfit — he would stop robbing their banks, the war he waged against them would end... if they gave him the Looney kid. And they did. Connor Looney died in the street in Rock Island. I know. I was there.”

“You were there ?”

He folded his hands on his skinny belly. “I was one of the bodyguards who sent Connor out to meet his fate that rainy night. His ‘fate’ being your father... Your father kept his end of the bargain, but he was betrayed. Only... that wasn’t Al Capone’s doing.”

“What?”

“The man who made the bargain with your father was the man who broke it. Oh, I’m sure he had Al’s blessing or at least tacit approval. But your father’s betrayer, Michael... was Frank Nitti.”

Again, the words punched Michael like a fist.

“No,” Michael said, shaking his head. “I don’t believe you...”

“You don’t want to believe me... but it’s true. And when you think it through, you’ll know I’m not lying.”

Emotions, conflicting and confusing, surged through the young man; it was all he could do to steady the gun.

“And, Michael? To get back to what we were talking about, before?... There doesn’t have to be a war. Not if Frank Nitti dies.”

Michael swallowed thickly. The .45 in his hand felt so very heavy...

Ricca slid off the desk to his feet and he put a fatherly hand on Michael’s shoulder and smiled at him.

“And who better to carry out this execution, than his trusted right hand — Michael Satariano? Just as what more fitting end could there be for Frank Nitti, than at the hands of Michael O’Sullivan, Jr.?”

Two men in a green 194 °Chevy were parked outside Frank Nitti’s suburban home. Michael did not know them, other than to exchange nods with — they were bodyguards who usually worked the graveyard shift, keeping an eye on Nitti and his house after dark. That they were here in midafternoon indicated the heightened security following the disastrous counsel meeting of the night before.