Death Benefit

53.

BELMONT SECTION OF THE BRONX NEW YORK CITY MARCH 25, 2011, 8:05 P.M.

Aleksander Buda had been happy to get the text from Prek. He’d been mildly concerned about the operation even though it was a relatively simple job. But he knew from sore experience that “shit could happen.” Be that as it may, the pesky girl was unconscious in the back of the van, and they were on their way to the agreed-upon location, Buda’s summer home, and the boyfriend was dead. The white van they had used had been abandoned. Now the only suspense that remained was the fate of the girl.

Buda was confident Pia Grazdani wasn’t connected with any of the prominent Albanian mafia crews in the immediate area; he would have heard the name, which he knew was undoubtedly Albanian. The problem was that if she was related to anyone in a crew, anywhere up and down the East Coast and as far west as Detroit, custom dictated that she be accorded a degree of protection. Even so, Buda had debated with himself whether or not he would have been justified in simply disposing of the girl at the same time as her friend. It would have been neat and efficient. She’d certainly become a serious pain in the ass, especially having somehow, on her own, figured out the polonium issue. But Albanian mob bloodbaths had been fought over even less of a provocation. Buda had decided he had to be sure.

A cautious man, Buda had made it a point to investigate Pia Grazdani in a discreet manner. He was known to the FBI, of course, and he knew how the FBI loved patterns and didn’t believe in coincidences. If the head of one Albanian crew, like himself, suddenly called all the other local heads in quick succession, Buda knew there was a good chance the feds would find out about it and come snooping around.

So Buda had sent live emissaries to crews in Queens and Staten Island and asked one associate to call a crew in Pennsylvania just in case. Manhattan and Brooklyn had also been dealt with, and since he controlled the Bronx, that was covered. He’d received negative reports all the way around, even from Detroit. There was no connected Grazdani. The future was not looking promising for the girl.

But there was one unit left unchecked: Berti Ristani’s crew based in Weehawken, New Jersey. Ristani was a particularly nasty customer, willing to do just about anything to make a name for himself. Buda realized he hadn’t seen the guy in a year. He thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to make the visit himself for political reasons in addition to providing an alibi for tonight, just in case. Buda grabbed his car keys and set out for Weehawken. He knew he didn’t need to call ahead. Ristani could always be found in the same place.