Charlie Opera

Chapter 61

Charlie didn’t recognize the voice that answered the phone.

“Can I speak to Sam?” he asked.

“Who’s calling?” a woman asked.

“Charlie. Charlie Pellechia.”

“Hold a second.”

Charlie could hear the woman talking with Samantha. She told Charlie, “One second.”

“I thought you might’ve lost this number,” Samantha said.

Charlie was relieved when he heard her voice. “Never,” he said. “How’s your leg?”

“All right.”

“Can you walk?”

“I can get around. I have a home attendant for the day. Part of my coverage, thank God.”

An awkward moment of silence passed. Charlie swallowed hard. “Can I see you?” he asked.

“Only if you want to.”

“I want to.”

“Would this be a quick visit on your way to the airport?” Samantha asked. “If it is, don’t bother.”

“How about I cook you dinner?”

“Eat and run?”

“Why don’t you give me a break here?” Charlie said. Another moment of silence frustrated him. “I’m on my way.”

He took a deep breath as he hung up the receiver. He was anxious all over again about seeing the woman he knew he was in love with. He looked inside the pet store window for dog cages. When he spotted them along a wall, Charlie went inside.

When the maid was tied and gagged, Cuccia had Francone help her into the bathtub face down.

“You have any money?” he asked Francone.

The look on Francone’s face was pure shock. He saw Cuccia holding a pillow in one hand and the gun in his other.

“Na-na-no,” he stuttered. “I’m ba-broke. I have a few dollars. Somebody -”

Francone started to explain why he was broke when Cuccia shot him in the chest twice through the pillow. Francone’s body slammed into the wall behind the bathtub. He was dead before he stopped sliding down the wall. His body listed to one side on top of the maid.

Cuccia fishrancone’s pockets for money. He stashed it inside his own front pants pocket. He pushed Francone onto his side and turned the hot water in the bathtub on. He could hear the maid trying to scream through her gag.

“Quit moanin’,” he told her. “I ain’t had a bath in three days.”

It had taken Gold more than twenty minutes to free himself from the traffic snarl on Las Vegas Boulevard. When he drove into the long driveway in front of Caesar’s Palace, Gold spotted Iandolli pulling in behind him.

“There was a shooting at a Super Eight Hotel,” Gold told him. “The one on Boulder Highway. The Feds are already there. Some Russian taxi driver except there’s no taxi in the lot.”

“Cuccia?” Iandolli asked.

“On his way here?” Gold said.

“Unless he’s already been,” Iandolli said.

Both detectives pushed their way through the revolving doors into the Caesar’s Palace lobby.

Nicholas Cuccia made his way through the casino to the Caesar’s Palace shopping mall. He followed the flow of the crowd heading out of the mall and rode the moving walkway to the street, where he turned left and headed into the Mirage. Cuccia used two twenty-dollar bills to move up to the front of the taxi line at the Mirage. He jumped into the next car and told the driver to take him to the MGM Grand. As the taxi headed south on Las Vegas Boulevard, Cuccia could see the flashing lights of police cars headed in the opposite direction.

He walked through the main casino of the MGM to one of the novelty stores off the front lobby. He bought himself a “Classic Films” MGM T-shirt and a baseball cap, then exited the MGM on Tropicana Boulevard. He crossed the footbridge over the busy road and entered the Tropicana Casino. He found his way to a bathroom to change into the T-shirt and wash up.

When he felt safe enough, Cuccia sat at a bar with several television screens above it. He ordered vodka rocks. His jaw was hurting, and he didn’t have painkillers. He used a straw to sip the booze. It wasn’t as strong as a painkiller, but it was better than nothing.

As both detectives ran through the casino lobby, Iandolli looked for the federal agents he thought might already be there. When he didn’t spot any, he told Gold.

“I think we’re alone, amigo.”

Iandolli drew his weapon from an ankle holster as they entered a tower elevator. A young couple gasped at the sight of the gun. Gold flashed his badge to relieve them.

“Go call security,” he told the couple. “Tell them to block this elevator bank off.”

When the elevator doors closed, Iandolli winked at Gold. “Nice try. But I don’t think the Feds will listen to six-dollar-an-hour security guards.”

“Six?” Gold joked. “Remind me to apply on our way out.”

When they reached Anthony Rizzi’s floor, Iandolli tapped Gold on the shoulder. “I got lead,” he said.

Gold pulled Iandolli back to step in front of him. “Bullshit,” he said. “You have a family.”