Double Jeopardy

30

2:00 P.M.

ANOTHER OFFICE, IN ANOTHER high-rise, on the opposite side of town. Shadows masking the grim faces of the participants.

Mario pressed a hand wearily to his forehead. “Can someone please explain what is going on? How did this simple plan for the elimination of one penny-ante pissant turn into a major disaster?”

Kramer’s face became taut, distending his long, gruesome facial scar. He spoke in measured tones that in no way prevented Mario from realizing Kramer would like to set his face on fire. “That ain’t fair. Most of this operation has been flawless.”

“One of your own men was killed!” Mario shouted. From the safety of the sofa, Donny smirked. “What the hell is so flawless about that?”

“That was a mistake,” Kramer admitted. “Hardcastle fucked up and he paid the price. Still, most of our goals have been achieved. Such as watchin’ the phone lines and locations connected to Byrne. That’s how we got our first lead to Moroconi. That’s how we learned he had the list. That’s how we interrupted their little rendezvous at the West End.”

Yes, Mario thought, that was Kramer—quick to bulldoze over this gaping hole in his heretofore unblemished record of stylized sadism. Why had the family endured him for so long? Sure, he was proficient, but he was unpredictable. And expensive. At least fifty thousand dollars a hit. Hell, the Outfit was teeming with poor slobs desperate to finish a hit so they could become made men. And Mario never paid them more than ten thousand a shot. Sure, there were risks, but anytime a murder was actually planned—wasn’t executed in the heat of the moment by an enraged spouse or jealous boyfriend—the chances of the police ever figuring out who did it decreased dramatically. All in all, Kramer was convenient, but unnecessary. So why the hell were they still using him?

“Yes, you discovered the rendezvous at the West End, but once you arrived, what did you do?” Mario demanded. “You screwed up!”

“There was … some confusion. I dunno why Hardcastle identified himself as a cop.”

“The police line was a great idea,” Donny said. “In fact, I suggested it.”

“That figures,” Kramer said with disgust.

“I thought that if Byrne took us for police, he’d surrender quietly.”

“Brilliant.” Kramer pulled out his lighter. “Unfortunately, Moroconi, who had busted out of jail a few hours before, had a slightly different reaction.”

“I couldn’t predict that!” Donny screamed. “He always blames me, Uncle Mario. It’s not my fault.”

“Of course it’s your fault, you little shit!” Kramer shouted back. “Your stupidity got one of my men killed!”

“Uncle Mario, make him stop!”

Mario covered his face with his hands. “Please, gentlemen. Must we always have this squabbling? No wonder we can’t accomplish anything. We’re our own worst enemy.”

“Our worst enemy is our blood relations,” Kramer muttered.

“Have there been any traces of Byrne since the West End incident?”

“Yes,” Kramer answered. “My agents have confirmed that he didn’t go to his apartment or his office, or the courthouse, or any of his other usual haunts. He’s on the run, probably feeling like a cat in a Doberman cage. He finally turned up at a shopping mall.”

Mario looked incredulous. “A shopping mall?”

“Yes. Northpark Mall. One of my contacts reported the incident.”

It was Donny’s turn to snicker. “Yeah, an hour after Byrne left.”

Kramer fired up his lighter and held it about an inch from Donny’s nose. The message was unmistakable.

“Look,” Kramer said, “I planted all the right info with my boys at the police station, and they fed it to those unquestioning vultures at the press. Byrne is a wanted man. He’s got nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, and he can’t run forever. Just gimme some more time. I’ll give you his fat ass on a silver platter.”

“Any thoughts on what this wanted man was doing at a public mall?” Mario asked.

“My source tells me he was running, like he was being chased. He thought there mighta been some gunplay.”

“The police?”

“So soon? Fat chance.”

“Then we must assume that the people who lost the list are now attempting to reclaim it.”

“I’d say that’s a fair conclusion.”

Mario spread his hands across his desk. “Mr. Kramer, I want that list. Bring it to me.”

“A tall order,” Kramer said.

“But one I feel confident you can fill.”

“It won’t be enough to just find Byrne, men. We have to find him before anyone else does.”

Mario nodded. “I concur. Do it.”

“And when I find him? What then?”

“You may do whatever you like with him, Mr. Kramer. Indulge yourself. Just bring me the list.”

“And what if he’s with Al when I find him?”

Mario smiled. “All the better. Shoot to kill.”