Sue Grafton: V is for Vengeance

“Let go!” I broke his grip, desperate to protect Pinky if there was any way I could. In retrospect, it seems pointless, my thinking to intervene. I have no idea how I could have affected the outcome. Far from helping, I was only putting myself in harm’s way. Dante turned me with a quick yank that threw me off balance, saying, “Sorry about this.”

I stumbled, and I might have caught myself if I hadn’t been so astonished at the sight of his fist coming at my face. There was no way to avoid the impact. The blow caught me dead center and he landed a punch to my nose that dropped me to my knees. I put my arms out, tumbling forward until I supported myself on my hands and knees. My brain clanged around in my skull like the clapper in a bell. I collapsed into a sitting position and put my hands to my face. Blood gushed through my fingers, and at the sight of it I could feel my eyes roll back in my head. I heard one more shot fired, but the sound came from a long distance away, and I knew the shooter wasn’t aiming at me. I blacked out briefly and then I was dimly aware of officers swarming up the stairs.

Dante felt his way down the steep set of stairs built into his office wall. One push had activated the touch latch, and he secured the door behind him before he moved on. During Prohibition, his father built the staircase to cover emergencies. For Pop, an unexpected visit from the cops or an angry competitor was the sort of crisis that required a hasty retreat. Dante had played in the underground passages as a kid, long after Prohibition ended, and he knew how to navigate the maze of small rooms in total darkness. Originally the space housed a number of stills for the manufacture of assorted liquors and spirits that could be stored by the caseload before shipment by rail. The corridor extended for a block and a half, with a number of offshoots created to confuse those unfamiliar with the subterranean network. The hard-packed dirt path gradually climbed upward and daylighted in a culvert that skirted the now-defunct drive-in theater. When Dante exited, he was on the second of two side roads that flanked the theater. The other road ended at the warehouse. Dante was well beyond the chaos, and he imagined the raid was in its mop-up phase. On this side of the drive-in there were five three-story buildings that made up an industrial complex with sufficient traffic to make his sudden appearance seem unremarkable.

Lou Elle was waiting in her car with the engine idling. Dante approached on her right, with the big soft-sided suitcase in hand. He opened the rear door and deposited the suitcase on the backseat, then opened the passenger-side door and got in. Lou Elle shifted from park to drive and pulled onto the road, accelerating slowly to a modest twenty miles per hour. At Holloway, she turned right and drove on for a quarter of a mile. Dante glanced back, but there were no police cars in sight and no indication that an alarm had been sounded in the wake of his escape.

He massaged his right hand where the knuckles were bruised and swollen, though not as painful as they appeared.

Lou Elle glanced over at him. “What happened to you?”

“I busted a lady in the chops. I forgot what it’s like punching someone’s lights out. Hurts like a son of a bitch.”

“You hit a woman?”

“I had to stop her barging into the middle of a shoot-out.”

“A shoot-out?”

“Cappi and a guy named Pinky Ford exchanged fire while the raid was going on. Talk about a wild scene. Pinky got clipped, but he’ll survive. It’s a wonder nobody else was hurt.”

“I remember him. He came to the office once. Wasn’t he that wiry, bowlegged fellow in a satin shirt?”

“That’s him.”

“Is Cappi all right?”

“Cappi’s dead. A cop took him out with one shot to the head. The timing was close. Cappi was about to blow a hole in Pinky’s chest.”

“You’re okay with that?”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. Saved me doing it myself. It’ll break Pop’s heart and I’m fine with that too. He’s getting what he deserves. You talk to Nora?”

“Well, I called, but she didn’t seem receptive. I gave her the information, but she didn’t jump all over it.”

“You tried, at any rate.”

He reached into the inner jacket pocket of his suit coat and took out a bulky envelope with a name and address written on the front. “Couple of weeks, deliver this. Tell her to do what she wants with it. The money’s compensation for the punch.”

Dante slid the envelope into her handbag on the floor at his feet. Lou Elle turned left onto a short street that led to a small fixed-base operating terminal used by charter companies. He told her to pull up to the entrance to the field and press the call button. When the intercom came to life, she gave the name Dante was using for current travel purposes, and five seconds later the gate slid back, allowing her to pass through. On the tarmac, there was a midsized private jet, a Gulf-stream Astra, with a range of twenty-three hundred nautical miles, sufficient to deliver Dante to the second plane he’d be taking that day. There was a third flight as well before he reached his destination. Lou Elle drove within twenty feet of the plane.

Dante retrieved his suitcase from the backseat and walked around to the driver’s-side window, which Lou Elle lowered. He leaned in and kissed her lightly. “You’re a peach. Thanks for everything.”

“Good luck,” she said. “You want me to wait until takeoff?”

“I’d prefer to picture you at your desk,” he said. “Cops are gonna come down on you like a ton of bricks and I’m sorry about that.”

“What can I tell them? I don’t know anything.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“It was a pleasure working with you. Safe journey. I hope life is good to you.”

“I’ll touch base when I change planes. Nothing after that.”

“Understood.”

Dante proceeded to the aircraft where one of the pilots stood near the retractable stairs. The two shook hands and Dante offered his passport for identification purposes. The pilot glanced at it briefly and then returned it to him. The pilot had been paid well and exhibited no curiosity.

“I was hoping a lady friend would be here. Nora Vogelsang. I put her name on the manifest.”

“She hasn’t arrived. How long do you want to wait?”

“Give it fifteen minutes. She knows time’s at a premium. She doesn’t show, she doesn’t show. Have we been cleared?”

“We will be shortly. You want me to put that bag in back?”

“I’ll keep it with me in the cabin.”

The pilot boarded the plane, leaving Dante on the tarmac. Dante looked over at the gate. Lou Elle’s car was receding and the gate was sliding shut. There were cars parked outside the fence, but no cars coming in or out of the lot. He’d said his good-byes and regretted he hadn’t had the chance to say good-bye to Nora. The way things had turned out, maybe it was just as well. With Cappi dead and Lola gone, Pop would rattle around the house on his own. Alfredo might last another week to ten days and then he’d be gone as well. Dante knew his sisters would come to the old man’s aid, but he didn’t think any of the four would offer to take him in. Saul Abramson had been instructed to keep up maintenance on the estate for as long as he deemed wise. Dante had given him power of attorney with instructions that if the legal bills got out of hand, he was free to list the house for sale. If it sold, so be it. Pop could go into a nursing home and rot.

Dante checked the terminal with its small waiting room and sliding glass doors. No sign of Nora and no sign of the police, so maybe he was home free. He’d given Abbie enough misinformation to throw the cops off the scent. He knew she’d leak it all to Priddy, who no doubt prided himself on having the inside dope. In the meantime, Dante had told Lou Elle to change the first-class tickets to Manila from Nora’s name and his to her own name and her husband’s. He’d sport the couple to the trip as a reward for services rendered over the past fifteen years. If the CHP intercepted the limousine on its way to LAX, they’d discover the fish had slipped out of the net.