William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

“That would be the Elcon Corporation.”

“Right. The hell of it was, the stuff we did in the corporation wasn’t any different from the stuff we did in the mob. Hell, some of it was worse, if you ask me. We still stole money and used whores and shit. Now all our new made men have MBAs and law degrees. And we get away with it!”

“Maybe they got away with it,” Travis said, “but I notice Moroconi is still on the outside, and Mario said you turned state’s evidence. What happened?”

“Al got greedy. He wanted a bigger cut—and threatened to screw the merger if he didn’t get it. Basically, he was trying to steal money that wasn’t his. The mob doesn’t put up with that. Al already had a huge private slush fund he’d squirreled away over the years. And now he wanted more. We had to do something. I wanted to turn him in to the feds, but Mario was afraid he’d squeal on us. We had to destroy his credibility—fix it so no one would believe anything he said.”

“Why not just rub him out?” Travis asked.

“Believe me, it was considered. But we came up with something sweeter. We were concerned that the FBI was still snooping around for the kingpin. But they didn’t know who he was. So I turned state’s evidence.”

“Why?”

“So I could tell the feebees—after a big show of not telling them—that the godfather was Alberto Moroconi.”

Travis slapped his forehead. “No wonder the FBI wanted to talk to him.”

Jack grinned. “It was perfect. The heat was off Mario, and Moroconi had to go deep undercover just to keep his butt out of jail. Killed two birds with one stone. I let the feds relocate me, and about a year after that, I let Mario—excuse me, Elcon —re-relocate me, so I’d be free of the feds and could cut myself back into the corporation.”

“Which you did.”

“True. A few months ago I got a tip from one of the boys about where Moroconi was hiding out. I spread some money around the police station and arranged for him to be hauled in on the first available major felony. Which turned out to be your rape case.”

“Son of a bitch,” Moroconi muttered.

“The mob shafted one of its own?” Travis said. “Whatever happened to loyalty for life? Family ties?”

“Horseshit,” Jack said. “Maybe you think the mob is about blood oaths and ring kissing, all that Hollywood shit. Let me tell you—in the real mob, the bottom line is always, ‘Where’s the money?’ When Al wasn’t profitable anymore, they cut him loose.”

“So that’s why Moroconi was out to get you,” Travis said.

“Well … that and—”

“He stole my fuckin’ money!” Moroconi shouted from the back of the room. Curran had tied him to a closet door.

Jack didn’t deny it. “Before I went to the feds, I liberated Al’s slush fund. Just to tide me over.”

“I had six hundred thousand dollars,” Moroconi yelled. “And he stole it!”

“It wasn’t half enough,” Jack said. “Pissant.”

“If you were fixed for money,” Travis said, “I’m surprised you didn’t stay with the feds longer.”

“Those assholes were totally incompetent. They couldn’t protect their own dicks. This list crap is proof. Thank God they didn’t have my address—I would’ve been dead days ago. I can take care of myself a hell of a lot better than they could.”

Travis thought over everything Jack had told him. The jigsaw pieces were finally beginning to come together in his mind. And he didn’t like the looks of the completed picture. “So when Moroconi broke out of prison, he came looking for you. Because you squealed on him.”

Jack snorted. “Don’t make him sound so noble. All he wanted was the money.”

“And your butt,” Moroconi added.

“In your dreams,” Jack replied.

“Mario wrote to me a couple days ago,” Moroconi said. “On his corporate stationery, no less. Threatening me, telling me to keep the hell away. I showed him.”

Travis decided not to give him the bad news—that Mario was still alive.

“Anyway,” Jack continued, “my men grabbed Moroconi when he burst in here, and I had some fun with him. When you fools burst in, I sent the boys downstairs. I heard the gunshots—I guess that explains how you got past them. Of course, this piece of shit Moroconi used that opportunity to take out his knife and rough me up a bit. Till he heard you three coming upstairs. That’s when he hit the lights. He was scared shitless.”

Travis noticed that Curran was peering out the corner of the window. “Has he just about brought this fascinating story up-to-date?” Curran asked.

“I think so,” Travis replied. “Why?”

Curran removed his gun from its holster. “We’re about to have company.”

73

10:11 P.M.

TRAVIS PRESSED CLOSE TO Curran and tried to look over his shoulder. “Who is it?”

“I can’t tell. But it’s a man, and he’s alone.” They both heard the sound of the front door opening. “He’s in the house.”

Travis held his breath and listened to the soft footsteps crossing the living room downstairs. The intruder was undoubtedly surveying the scene, examining the dead men. Slowly, the footsteps moved toward the staircase.

Curran pressed himself flat against the wall beside the door. He raised his gun and held it suspended in the air.

“Is anyone up there?” The voice seemed harsh, authoritative.

“Who wants to know?” Curran fired back.

“I do. My name is Janicek. I’m with the FBI.”

“Let him in,” Travis advised Curran.

Curran frowned but obeyed. “All right,” he shouted, “you can come up. But keep your hands in the air. If you go for a weapon, I’ll shoot you dead.”

Travis listened as the soft footsteps floated up the stairs. He pulled Cavanaugh closer to him. They both held their breath.

Travis recognized the man who stepped through the doorway, arms raised in the air. “I’ve met this man before,” he said. “He visited my office and scared the hell out of me. He’s FBI.”

Curran slowly lowered his gun.

Janicek smiled. “I’m glad you remembered, Byrne. Your pal looks like he has an itchy trigger finger.”

“Just cautious,” Curran murmured.

“Why the hell did the FBI try to kill me at the shopping mall?” Travis demanded.

“We were acting on some … confused intelligence,” Janicek said.

Travis noticed Moroconi, still tied to the closet door. He was being strangely silent. For the first time his obnoxious overconfidence seemed to have drained away. He almost looked scared.

“You’ve caught Moroconi. That’s great,” Janicek said.

“Yeah. And we recovered your goddamn list.”

“That’s wonderful. Can I see it?”

Travis hesitated. There was no reason not to hand the list back to the people who lost it, but something about this situation struck him as … odd. What was it?

Paranoia, he told himself. It’s finally getting to me. He shrugged and handed over the list.

“Thank God it’s safe again,” Janicek said, shoving it into his pocket. “For all we know, Moroconi may have been planning to knock each witness off one by one.”

“I suspect blackmail was more what he had in mind,” Travis replied. “I have a lot of questions—”

“There’ll be time for that later. I need to take this man into custody.”

Janicek advanced toward Moroconi. Moroconi immediately moved away from him, as far as he could go while tied to the closet. “Don’t let him near me,” he said. “Please. Keep him offa me!”

Travis was puzzled. He hadn’t expected Moroconi to go willingly, but he hadn’t expected this reaction either. There was pure fear in Moroconi’s eyes.