Hard Freeze

CHAPTER FIVE

Angelina Farino Ferrara jogged every morning at 6:00 A.M., even though 6:00 a.m. at this time of the winter in Buffalo meant she jogged in the dark. Most of her jogging route was lighted with streetlights or pedestrian-walkway streetlamps, but for the dark patches near the river she wore a backpacking headlamp held in place by elastic straps. It did not look all that elegant, Angelina supposed, but she didn't give a flying fuck how she looked when she ran.

Upon her return from Sicily in December, Angelina had sold the old Farino estate in Orchard Park and moved what was left of the Family operation to a penthouse condo overlooking the Buffalo Marina. Ribbons of expressways and an expanse of park separated the marina area from the city, but at night she could look east and north to what little skyline Buffalo offered, while the river and lake guarded her eastern flank. Since she had bought the place, the view westward was mostly of the ice and gray clouds above the river, although there was a glimpse of Canada, that Promised Land to her grandfather during Prohibition days and the earliest source of the family revenue. Staring at the ice and the dreary Buffalo skyline day after day, Angelina Farino Ferrara looked forward to spring, although she knew that summer would bring her brother Stephen's parole and the end of her days of being acting don.

Her jogging route took her a mile and a half north along the pathway following the marina parkway, down through a pedestrian tunnel to the frozen riverside—one could not call it a beach—for another half mile before looping around and returning along the Riverside Drive walkway. Even from behind bars in Attica, her brother Stevie—Angelina knew that everyone else thought of him as little Skag—refused to allow her to go out alone, but although she was importing good talent from New Jersey and Brooklyn to replace the idiots her father had kept on retainer, none of these lasagna-fed mama's boys were in good enough shape to keep up with her when she ran. Angelina envied the new President of the United States; even though he didn't jog much, when he did, he had Secret Service men who could run with him.

For a few days, she had suffered the indignities of having Marco and Leo—the Boys, as she thought of them—follow along behind her on bicycles. Marco and Leo weren't very happy with that situation either, since neither had ridden a bike even when he was a kid and their fat asses hung over the saddles like so much unleavened dough. But in recent weeks, they had compromised: Angelina jogging along the plowed walking path while Leo and Marco trolled alongside on the usually empty Riverside Drive in their Lincoln Town Car. Of course, after jogging through the pedestrian underpass, there were three or four minutes when she was technically out of sight of the Boys—who waited at a turnout eating their doughnuts until she reappeared through the trees, now heading south—but Angelina figured she had those few minutes of privacy covered with the little Italian-made.45-caliber Compact Witness semiauto she carried in a quick-release holster clipped to the waist of her jogging suit, under her loose sweatshirt. She also carried a tiny cell phone with the Boys' mobile number on speed-dial, but she knew she would reach for the Compact Witness before the phone.

This morning she was thinking about the ongoing discussions with the Gonzagas and did not even flick a see-you-later wave at the Boys when she followed the footpath west, away from the street, and jogged down through the underpass, careful as always not to slip on any ice there.

A man with a pistol was waiting for her at the far end of the underpass. It was a serious-caliber semiauto and he had it aimed right at her chest. He held the gun in one hand, the way her father and uncles used to do before an entire generation was trained to carry handguns two-handed, as if they weighed thirty pounds.

Angelina slid to a stop and raised her hands. She could always hope that it was just a robbery. If it was, she'd blow the motherfucker's head off as soon as he turned to go.

"Good morning, Signorita Farino," said the man in the peacoat. "Or is it Signora Ferrara?"

All right, she thought So much for the robbery hope. But if it was a hit, it was the slowest goddamned hit in Mafia memory. This guy could have popped her and been gone by now. He must know about the Boys waiting just a few hundred meters away. Angelina caught her breath and looked at the man's face.

"Kurtz," she said. They'd never met, but she had studied the photograph Stevie had sent her to give to the Stooges.

The man neither smiled nor nodded. Nor did he lower s aim. "I know you're carrying," he said. "Keep your hands there and nothing dramatic's going to happen. Yet."

"You cannot imagine what a mistake you're making," Angelina Farino Ferrara said slowly and carefully.

"What are you going to do?" said Kurtz. "Put a contract out on me?"

Angelina had never met this man, but she knew enough about his history not to be coy with him. "That was Stevie's call," she said. "I was just the messenger."

"Why the Stooges?" asked Kurtz.

Angelina was surprised by the question, but only for a second. "Consider them an entrance exam," she said. She debated lowering her hands, looked at Kurtz's eyes, and kept them where they were.

"An exam for what?" asked Kurtz.

Keep talking, thought Angelina. Another two or three minutes and the Boys would come looking for her when she didn't appear on the return leg of the jog. Or will they? It's cold this morning. The Lincoln is warm. Perhaps four minutes. She kept herself from checking her big digital watch. "I thought you might be useful to us," she said. "Useful to me. Stevie ordered the contract, but I chose the idiots to see if you were any good."

"Why does Little Skag want me dead?" asked Kurtz. Angelina realized that the man must be very strong, since the.40-caliber pistol he was aiming was not light but his extended arm never wavered for a second.

"Stevie thinks you had something to do with my father and sister's deaths," she said.

"No he doesn't." Kurtz's voice was absolutely flat.

Knowing that if she argued witch him, she might gain more time—or might just get shot in the heart more quickly—she decided to tell the truth. "He thinks you're dangerous, Kurtz. You know too much." Such as the fact that he hired you to hire the Dane to kill Maria and Pop, she thought, but did not say aloud.

"What's your angle?"

"My arms are getting tired. Can I just—"

"No," said Kurtz. The pistol's muzzle still did not waver.

"I want some leverage when Stevie gets out," she said, amazed to hear herself telling this ex-con what she would tell no one else in the world. "I thought you would be useful to me."

"How?"

"By killing Emilio Gonzaga and his top people."

"Why the hell would I do that?" asked Kurtz. His voice did not even sound curious to Angelina, just mildly bemused.

She took a breath. Now it was all or nothing. She hadn't planned it this way. Actually, she'd planned to have Kurtz on his knees in a few weeks, his hands restraint-taped behind his back, and perhaps missing a few teeth when she got to this part. Now all she could do was go ahead and watch his face, his eyes, the muscles around his mouth, and his swallowing reflex—those parts of a person that could not not react.

"Emilio Gonzaga ordered your little pal Samantha killed twelve years ago," she said.

For a second, Angelina felt exactly like a duelist whose only pistol shot has misfired. Nothing about Joe Kurtz's hard face changed one iota—nothing. Looking into his eyes was like looking at some Hieronymus Bosch painting of a medieval executioner—if such a painting existed, which she knew it did not. For a wild instant, she considered throwing herself to the ground, rolling, and pulling the.45 Compact Witness from her belt, but the unwavering black muzzle aborted that thought.

Another minute and the Boys will—She knew she did not have another minute. Angelina Farino Ferrara did not go in for self-delusion.

"No," Kurtz said at last.

"Yes," said Angelina. "I know you took care of Eddie Falco and Manny Levine twelve years ago, but they were on Gonzaga's leash at the time. He gave the word."

"I would have known that."

"No one knew that."

"Falco and Levine were small-time drug pushers," said Kurtz. "They were too stupid to…" He stopped, as if thinking of something.

"Yeah," said Angelina. "The little girl. The missing teenage girl—Elizabeth Connors—that your partner Samantha was hunting for. The high-school girl who later turned up dead. The trail led through Falco and Levine because the kidnapping was a Gonzaga gig; Connors owed him almost a quarter of a million dollars and the girl was leverage—just leverage—and those two idiots had been Elizabeth's friendly schoolyard pushers. After your partner stumbled across the connection, Emilio gave the word to Eddie and Manny to get rid of her and then he got rid of the kid. And then you got rid of Falco and Levine for him."

Kurtz shook his head slightly, but his gaze never left Angelina. The gun was still aimed at her chest. Angelina knew that the.40-caliber slug would smash her heart to a pulp before blasting it out through her spine.

"You were stupid, Kurtz," she said. "You even did time to help throw investigators off Gonzaga's track. It must amuse the shit out of him."

"I would have heard," said Kurtz.

"You didn't," said Angelina, knowing that time was up now—his and hers. It had to go one way or the other. "No one heard. But I can prove it. Give me a chance. Call me and we'll set up a meeting. I'll show you the proof and tell you how I can buy you indemnity from Stevie. And more important, how you can get to the Gonzagas."

There was a long pause of silence, broken only by the wind blowing in from the lake. It was very cold. Angelina felt her legs threatening to quiver—from the cold, she hoped—and forced them not to. Finally, Joe Kurtz said, "Take that top off."

She had to raise her eyebrows at that. "Not getting enough, Joe? Been hard to score since you screwed my sister?"

Kurtz said nothing, but gestured with the muzzle of the pistol.

Keeping her hands in sight, she tugged off the straps of the tiny headlamp and pulled the loose sweatshirt over her head, dropping it on the black pavement. She stood there only in her jogging bra, knowing that her nipples were more than visible as they pressed through the thin cotton. She hoped it distracted the hell out of Kurtz.

It didn't. With his free hand, Kurtz pointed to the wall of the underpass. "Assume the position." When she spreadeagled against the wall with her hands on the cold concrete, he approached warily and kicked her feet farmer apart. He tugged her Compact Witness.45 out of its holster and ran his hands quickly, professionally, down her front and thighs, pulling the cell phone from her pocket. He smashed the phone and put the Compact Witness in his peacoat pocket.

"I want that forty-five back," she said, speaking to the cold breath of the wall. "It has sentimental value. I shot my first husband in Sicily with it."

For the first time, there came something that might have been a human sound—a dry chuckle? — from Kurtz. Or maybe he was just clearing his throat. He handed her a cell phone over her shoulder. "Keep this. If I want to talk to you, I'll call you."

"Can I turn around?" said Angelina.

"No."

She heard him backing away and then there came the sound of a car starting. Angelina rushed to the opening of the tunnel in time to see an old Volvo disappearing along the footpath into the trees to the north.

She had time to put on her sweatshirt, tug on her headlamp, and slip the cell phone under her shirt before Marco and Leo came panting down the path, pistols drawn.

"What? What? Why'd you stop?" wheezed Leo while Marco swept the area with his pistol.

I should fire these shitheads, thought Angelina. She said, "Charley horse."

"We heard a car," panted Leo.

"Yeah, me too," said Angelina. "Big help you two would've been if it had been an assassin."

Leo blanched. Marco shot her a pissed look. Maybe I'll just fire Leo, she thought.

"You want a ride back?" asked Leo. "Or you gonna keep running?"

"With a charley horse?" said Angelina. "I'll be lucky to hobble to the car."