Dan Simmons - Hard Freeze

Kurtz went out into the tiny living room, retrieved his peacoat and the S&W.40 from where he'd left them and went down the stairs and out of the house. It was dark out and it had begun to snow again.

"I was just about to call and report a stolen Porsche," said Angelina Farino Ferrara.

"That little electronic-card thing is handy," said Kurtz. "It lets you into both the parking garage and the elevator. Useful."

"I hope you put the Boxster back in the same slot. And there had better not be any scratches."

Kurtz ignored her and walked over to the center of the penthouse's living room. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling window on the east side, the lights of downtown Buffalo glowed through the falling snow. To the west was the darkness of the river and lake, with only a few distant ship lights blinking against blackness.

"We have to get rid of Leo," said Angelina.

"I know. Any problems with Marco?"

"Not a peep. He's handcuffed in the bathroom. Seems to be mildly amused by all this. Marco may be smarter than I thought."

"Maybe so. You have anyone on the floor below us?"

"Five people work there—no muscle, just bookkeeper types—but they went home at six. Marco and Leo were the only ones using the living quarters there."

"I thought Little Skag brought in new muscle from the east."

"He did. Eight other new guys besides Marco and Leo. But they're all out doing what they do—running what's left of Stevie's crews, handling the whores and gambling. Day-to-day stuff. They don't come by here that much."

"Who does?"

"Albert Bell is the lawyer who acts as liaison between Little Stevie and me. I usually see Mr. Bell on Saturdays."

"But Marco and Leo check in with Little Skag by phone every Wednesday?"

"Right. Stevie calls his lawyer. The call is forwarded. I don't know where the Boys take the call."

"Marco will tell us," said Kurtz. He felt very tired. "You ready to transport the frozen goods?"

"I'll go down and back the Town Car right up to the elevator."

"I'll need a big garment bag, sheet, something."

"Shower curtain," said Angelina. "Little blue fish on it. I took care of it."

Angelina drove. They took the Buffalo Skyway south along the lake. It was snowing very hard now, visibility was limited to the two cones of headlights filled with flurries, and the elevated highway was treacherous with black ice. Only the Lincoln Town Car's massive weight kept them moving as the rear-wheel drive slipped and then gripped for pavement. Kurtz had the clear image of them getting stuck and a friendly patrolman stopping to help them out, a need to look in the trunk for the chains or somesuch…

"We going far?" he asked.

"Not far. Near Hamburg."

"What's near Hamburg?"

"My father and older brother used to keep an ice-fishing shack just offshore in February. Sometimes they'd drag Little Stevie along, whining and pouting. I went a few times. If there's anything more stupid than sitting in a freezing shack staring at a hole in the ice, I don't what it might be. But some of the old capos still set up the shack even though there are no Farinos around to use it."

"I didn't know that people ice-fished on Lake Erie. Is the ice thick enough to walk on?"

"We're going to drive this car out onto it."

"But aren't there big ships still moving out there?"

"Yeah."

That was all Kurtz wanted to know about that subject. He concentrated on staying awake while the big car crept along through blowing snow. Once off the Skyway and moving along Highway 5 through little shoreline communities like Locksley Park and Mount Vernon, the black ice was less frequent but the snow was worse.

"Are you still with me on this, Kurtz?"

The woman's voice made him blink awake. "With you on what?"

"You know. Gonzaga."

"I don't know."

Angelina drove in silence for a few minutes.

"Why don't you tell me what your real plan is," Kurtz said. "What your objectives are, long term goals. So far you've just tried to use me like some damned Hamas suicide bomber."

"And you used me," she said. "You were ready to get me killed today just so you could get to Emilio."

Kurtz shrugged at that. He waited.

"If Little Skag gets out of Attica this spring, it's too late," Angelina said at last. "I'm screwed. The Farino Family is finished. Stevie thinks he can ride this tiger, but Emilio will gobble him up in six weeks. Less."

"So? You can always go back to Italy or something. Can't you?"

"No," said Angelina, throwing the word like a javelin. "Fuck that. The Gonzagas have been planning this… this extermination… of the Farinos for a long, long time. It was Emilio's father who had my father ambushed and crippled sixteen years ago. Emilio raped me seven years ago as much out of Gonzaga contempt as anything else. There's no way on earth that I'm going to let them destroy the family without a fight." She slowed, hunted for a street sign in the blizzard, and turned right toward the lake.

"So say I'd killed Gonzaga for you," said Kurtz. "Either you or one of the New York families would have had me killed, but then where are you? Little Skag is still running things from Attica."

"But he can't get out without the judges and parole-board people on the Gonzaga payroll," said Angelina. "It buys me time to try to consolidate things. If the rebuilt Farino Family is earning money for them, the New York bosses won't care who's actually running the action here in Buffalo."

"But Little Skag still has the leverage and control of the money," said Kurtz. "In a vacuum, he'll just find a way to buy the Gonzaga judges and parole-board people."

"Yes." The asphalt road ended at a snowy boat ramp dropping down onto the lake. Two rows of red flares were dimly visible stretching across the snowy ice, marking a makeshift road onto Lake Erie. A few truck and snowmobile tracks were gradually being erased by the wind. "The goddamned Gonzagas," muttered Angelina as she slowly descended the boat ramp. She was talking without thinking about it, just to relieve the tension of the driving. "While Papa and my family were consolidating gambling and prostitution and paying off just a few tame judges, the Gonzagas spent their money to buy top officials. Hell, most of the top cops in the Buffalo P.D. are on their pad."

"Stop!" said Kurtz.

The big Lincoln slewed to a stop with only its front wheels on the ice. "What?" snapped Angelina. "Goddammit, Kurtz. I told you, the ice is thick enough now to hold ten, Town Cars. Quit being so fucking nervous."

"No," said Kurtz. The windshield wipers pounded wildly, trying to knock away the blowing snow. "Say that again… about the cops."

"Say what? The Gonzagas have been paying the top cops for years. It's how Emilio's family gets away with moving the huge volume of drugs it does."

"Do you have a list of those cops?"

"Sure. So what?"

Kurtz was too busy thinking to answer.

The Farino ice-fishing shack was only a few hundred yards out on the ice, but in the dark and the snow and the howling wind, it seemed like miles from shore. A few other shacks were visible in the headlights, but there were no vehicles. Even idiots who thought ice fishing was a sport weren't out tonight.

Kurtz and Angelina Farino Ferrara wrestled the stiffened bundle out of the trunk and carried it into the shack. There was a large hole centered where men could sit on plywood seats on either side and watch their lines—the whole building reminded Kurtz of an oversized outhouse—but a film of new ice had grown over the hole.

Angelina took a long-handled shovel from the corner and bashed away the scrim of ice. The wind literally howled, and icy pellets pounded the north wall of the shack.

Angelina had added some chains to the package so there was no need to hunt for additional weights. They lowered Leo through the hole, his shoulders barely squeezing through and bunching up the plastic shower curtain, and watched the last bubbles rise in the middle of the black circle.