Warren Murphy - Mob Psychology

"Tell him no," instructed Chiun. "Inform him you wish to tender personal apologies for your slight."

Smith pecked out an answer, transmitted it, and received a prompt reply.

"He has agreed," Smith said after reading the return fax. He looked up. "I do not understand. Why would so brilliant a criminal fall for such an obvious ruse?"

"It is very simple," said the Master of Sinanju.

They looked at him expectantly. "First, he is greedy." "What's second?" asked Remo. "He is no more brilliant than Remo."

Chapter 36

Bruno the Chef was cooking a simple ravioli when Don Carmine Imbruglia barged into the LCN conference room, waving the morning edition of the Boston Herald.

"It's fuggin' on page three!" he chortled, spreading the paper on the conference table.

"What is?" asked Bruno.

"The dope on Fiavorante's gettin' whacked. They found his body last night."

"Guess that Tony pulled it off. So why ain't he back yet?"

"Don't be a mook. He clipped Fiavorante. Fiavorante's guys clipped him back. End of story. Listen, see what it says here." Don Carmine read along. "This ain't right," he muttered.

"What?"

"This can't be."

"What?"

"They say when they found Fiavorante there wasn't a mark on him. What happened to the slugs No Numbers pumped into him?"

"It say who's takin' over?"

"Hold your horses. I'm gettin' to that. Oh, Mother of God," said Don Carmine. "Something is very, very wrong. I smell a rat here. This is wrong. This is very wrong."

"What?"

"Says here that Don Pietro Scubisci has taken over."

"I heard he was in a coma."

"He's out. Maybe he got time off for good behavior. Fug! Now we gotta whack him out too."

"Why?"

"On account of he and I got history together. It's gonna be him or it's gonna be me."

"Who you gonna send? All your guys are dead."

"I'll worry about that later. We gotta protect ourselves first. Lock all the doors. Turn on all the alarms. Nobody comes in. Nobody goes out. We lay low for a while."

"Sure, boss, but what about that sixty G's you was supposed to pick up today?"

Don Carmine looked up from his newspaper.

"That's right. I almost forgot about that." His eyes narrowed craftily. "Okay, so you make the pickup instead. I'll hide out in the computertry room with all the motion alarms running. No one will touch me. I'll be safer than the fuggin' First Lady."

"What if it's a hit?"

"If it's a hit, they won't touch you. It's me they're after."

"If you say so, boss," Bruno the Chef said without enthusiasm.

" I say so," growled Don Carmine Imbruglia, wadding up the newspaper and bouncing it off the wall in frustration. "And on the way back I want you to pick up the oldest, most rotten-looking cod you can scrounge up."

"Why?"

"I'm gonna Fedex it to Don Pietro in the hope that when he gets a whiff of it, he's gonna fuggin' relapse."

Chapter 37

Bruno the Chef pulled into the Bartilucci Construction yard just after noon.

Getting out of the black Cadillac, he looked around. No one was in sight. He ambled over to the idle nibbler and climbed in. If there was trouble, he wanted to be ready for it.

When they showed up, they were driving a blue Buick. It coasted to a stop beside Bruno's Cadillac. Bruno started the nibbler engine, just in case.

The front doors of the Buick popped out like wings, and two figures emerged with the perfect timing of matched reflections.

Except that the duo bore no resemblance to one another.

Bruno recognized the passenger as the Jap computer expert, Chiun. The other seemed familiar, but the face was not.

They approached with calm assurance.

"How's tricks, Bruno?" asked the man in the silk suit.

"Do I know you?"

"You don't remember your old buddy Remo?"

"Remo!" That was all Bruno the Chef had to hear. It was a hit. He sent the nibbler rumbling forward, engaging the pneumatic chisel, which unfolded like an articulated stinger.

"Let me handle this," said Remo to the Jap. The Jap glowered. "I owe him," Remo added.

Nodding his head, the old Jap stayed by the cars. Remo advanced with an easy fearless walk that was unnerving.

Bruno the Chef maneuvered the chattering blunt chisel until it hovered before Remo's advancing chest. Then he floored the gas.

With seeming ease Remo faded back before the nibbler's angry lunge, the vibrating nib a constant inch away. Bruno sent the nibbler careening until he had Remo retreating in the direction Bruno wanted him to go. When he slammed into the brick wall behind him, he would get it.

Except that Remo didn't get it. He ducked under the nibbler a spit second before it should have turned his rib cage to blood pudding. Bricks cracked and flew. One nearly brained Bruno.

Weaving, Remo stayed one step ahead of the deadly blunt fang as Bruno worked the control levers that kept the nibbler angling from side to side like a noisy scorpion.

He could see Remo's face clearly now. It was different. Like the guy had had his face fixed. And he was smiling a cold smile that made Bruno feel a chill settle in his marrow.

The smile said that Remo could dance with the nibbler all day long without fear. Bruno cut the pneumatic power so he could hear himself talk. The jackhammer sound died.

"What do you want from me?" Bruno demanded hotly.

"Your boss."

"He couldn't make it."

"I'll settle for his mailing address."

"I don't squeal for anybody."

"Suit yourself," said Remo, his back to the well-punctured brick wall.

Bruno saw his chance. He sent the nibbler lurching ahead. The blunt point touched the man's shirt front, pinning him to the wall.

Bruno's hand swept for the on switch. It clicked. Bruno grinned with relief. He had him.

And as the electricity flowed to the jackhammer arm, Bruno the Chef felt the nibbler cab vibrate in sympathy. He closed his eyes because he wasn't interested in seeing all the blood and guts that were about to be spattered in all directions.

Because he closed his eyes, he missed the whole thing.

The pneumatic chisel started to hammer. Bruno found himself holding on to the cab for dear life. The nibbler chassis was really vibrating, like it was going to shake itself apart.

Hearing no screams, Bruno opened one eye.

He saw Remo standing there, his arms lifted, his hands actually clamped around the nibbler point, as if trying to ward it off. He looked like he was being shaken apart.

The trouble was, Remo was still grinning that cold confident grin.

Bruno the Chef experienced a moment of unreality. The nibbler began to buck and twist. Suddenly he was pitched out of the cab and onto the concrete.

After he had air in his lungs again, Bruno looked up.

His eyes no longer vibrating, he saw clearly again.

Somehow, impossible as it seemed, Remo was holding the nibbler off the ground by its wildly hammering point. He wasn't fazed by this in the least, Bruno saw. He wasn't even vibrating. It was the nibbler that was shaking like a cocktail shaker. It was shaking because Remo was holding the bit perfectly still in his two seemingly irresistible hands.

"Oh, my God," said Bruno, making the sign of the cross as Remo let the bit go. The nibbler bounced on its four fat tires and continued to chatter and smoke impotently.

Casually Remo sauntered up and dropped to one knee.

"Now, that wasn't nice, Bruno," Remo said. "I thought we were buddies."

"The money was just a story, huh?"

"And you fell for it."

"As I knew he would," added a squeaky voice. The Jap, Bruno saw. He had padded up curiously.

"You two were in it together, huh?" Bruno asked.

"All the time. Now, where can we find Carmine?"

"No offense, but I swore an oath never to rat on my don."