Чарли Стелла - Johnny Porno

Aside from the retirement community it had become since the sixties, Louis still had fond memories of the female talent available on Miami beach and throughout the sunshine state. Young women in bikinis were what he was thinking about as he drove across the Williamsburg Bridge. A Manhattan bound train on the same bridge brought him back. He glanced to his left and realized how close he was to Fast Eddie’s bar, the joint run by the same mob guy John Albano had been working for. He wondered what was going on with Albano and whether or not Nancy had fallen apart and confessed yet. He hoped not, but it would be her own problem if she did. Until Louis was positive he was safe, he wasn’t going anywhere near his ex-wife.

He glanced at his watch and saw it was close to three o’clock. If things went right, he could be on the road heading south within a day or two.

Louis turned on the radio hoping to hear a few baseball scores, but the rock-and-roll station Holly had switched to was promoting an upcoming concert by the Allman Brothers and playing their music. Louis sang along with “Ramblin’ Man,” making up the words when he didn’t know them.

Kelly had been giving him shit about having to meet him so close to the address he’d provided over the phone because, he’d said, “How the hell would it look for me if some Organized Crime unit is there to bust you?”

Eddie Vento had to reassure the dirty cop he’d fatten his monthly envelope. Then the cops showed up alright, except it appeared they were there to get Kelly.

It’s what Vento feared dealing with the dirty cop, that he’d get cocky and sloppy and it would come back to haunt everybody else, which was why he’d made a follow-up call to the Irish kid, Tommy Burns, when he stopped for gas.

He didn’t see where the gunfire had come from, but when he pulled away from the curb, he saw Kelly was on the ground and he wondered if the cop had been shot. He didn’t stick around to find out. He took off instead and managed to get away because the police hadn’t bothered to seal off potential escape routes.

Still, he couldn’t be sure the men he sent to grab Albano hadn’t been caught. Their original plan was to meet at a car wash on Rockaway Boulevard after the Marquis took a detoured route to make sure it wasn’t being followed. There would be a few extra men and a third car waiting for them.

After speeding away from the scene outside John Albano’s mother’s home, Vento pulled up at the curb a block from the car wash and waited for the Marquis. Two minutes passed before he saw it approaching from 101st Avenue. A few minutes later he saw Albano being moved from the Marquis to an Oldsmobile Delta 88. When he saw one of his men drive the Marquis into the car wash, Vento made his way to the Oldsmobile. He quickly scanned the street for police pursuit, saw none and sat up front in the Delta 88. The two men who had abducted Albano sat in the back. Both men put on baseball caps.

“Nice of you to join us,” said Vento over his left shoulder. “And don’t think I forgot how you hung up on me.” He tapped the driver on the leg and said, “Let’s go.”

“This is bullshit,” Albano said once the car was moving.

“You know anything about the cop they just pinched outside your mother’s place?” Vento asked.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“I don’t know anything about any cops.”

“Because he’s probably throwing up his guts right now,” Vento said. “Which means they’re gonna come knocking on my door before the end of the day and I don’t need the extra exposure.”

“Which is probably why you shouldn’t kill me,” Albano said.

One of the two men in the back kicked him. Albano grunted.

“Easy, fellas,” Vento said. “He’s right about not killing him. At least not until I know what the hell all the cops were doing at his mother’s place. You wouldn’t have gone running to your mother, John, would you?”

Albano grunted again. “I get a shot at you later, I’ll break that foot,” he said to the guy kicking him.

A loud thump followed. This time Albano remained quiet.

“Warehouse, Eddie?” the driver asked.

“The bar,” Vento said. “Use Third Street. We’ll go in the back so’s I never left. They’re gonna come for me sooner or later. This way it don’t look like I had something to hide.”

“And this piece of shit?” the driver asked.

“He don’t talk to me at the bar,” Vento said, “yous can take him the warehouse after you remove that other package from upstairs in the apartment.”

Angela had dropped him off at the bar half an hour ago. In the time since John Albano had attacked him, the bruises on Nick’s face had turned a nasty shade of purple. It still hurt him to do more than sit still, which is what he was trying to do outside Eddie’s office.

The bar noise had hurt his headache too much to stay upstairs. Between the stares from some of the crew and customers, Nick figured he was better off waiting for Vento alone. He had brought the gun just in case the wiseguy went crazy. It was wrapped in a towel inside the small gym bag he had brought with him. Nick believed in loyalty up to a point. He wasn’t about to take any more abuse than he’d already taken at the hands of John Albano.

It was close to three o’clock when Nick heard the back basement door open. Eddie led the way, followed by John Albano and two husky guys he knew were with another Brooklyn crew.

“I forgot about you,” Vento told Nick. “Wait there.”

Albano was shoved inside Eddie’s office, Nick noticed his hands had been tied behind his back. The husky guys went inside the office and the door closed a second later.

There was some laughing before the door opened and the two husky guys stepped outside. One of them was holding a fresh fifty-dollar bill. The other looked at Nick and said, “Gotta learn to duck, buddy.”

Nick was too embarrassed to reply.

“Get in here,” Vento yelled.

Nick nearly stumbled getting up from the folding chair. He squinted from the overhead light inside the office.

“Si’down,” Vento said.

Nick sat in the chair alongside the one Albano was sitting in. He saw Vento was holding a handgun. Nick dropped his right hand to the gym bag.

“What’d you bring your lunch?” Vento said.

Nick started pulling the zipper.

Vento tossed him a pocketknife. “Untie his hands.”

Nick dropped the pocketknife, but used the opportunity to finish opening the bag. Albano leaned forward to give him easy access to his bound wrists. Nick made sure to nick Albano’s back after cutting through what looked like shoelaces.

“Fuck,” Albano said.

Nick slashed sideways to get him again. He drew blood the second time, but then Albano snapped his head back and Nick thought he heard a gunshot before everything went dark.

Brice had made sure the old lady wasn’t hit before escorting her to the curb behind the Dodge. She had been frightened more than anything and insisted he take her car. Brice took her keys and used the six-year-old Rambler to pursue the men who had taken her son. He drove less than a few feet when he realized the front left tire was flat. He fed the engine gas anyway.

If not for the white car, he might’ve missed seeing John Albano being hustled from one car to another. Brice pulled into an open spot on the street about ten cars behind the Valiant. He could see two people inside the car, the driver and a woman.

He removed his service revolver, set it on the passenger seat and waited.

The Mercury Marquis had gone around the Cemetery before it turned left on Pitkin Avenue, then right on 80th Street, then right again on Liberty Avenue. It turned left on 84th Street and then right onto 101st Avenue.