I Come to Kill You

10

He entered by the terrace. Carl De Blasio’s wife, Nicola, met him in the hall and told him her father-in-law wanted to see him as soon as he came in.

“I’ll show you. I had a nice talk with Sarah.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s a very intelligent person, isn’t she? The places she’s been! I’m going to find out from my father-in-law if it would be all right to take her for a sail later. Sometimes it’s all right.”

They had gone down a half-flight. She knocked on a closed door and looked in.

Carl said angrily, “Can’t you see we’re busy?”

She stepped back, and Shayne went into a big paneled room, large enough for both a pool table and a Ping-Pong table without seeming crowded. There was also an old-fashioned pinball machine, the type that had once been one of the mainstays of the De Blasio family business, a huge television set, a stereo sound system, a fireplace, and a bar. Shayne went to the bar.

De Blasio and his son, Carl, had been conferring in an octagonal bay window looking out over the water. De Blasio’s jaws were clenched tightly on his cigar. It took him a moment to smooth the anger out of his face and say cordially to Shayne, “You’re my boy.”

While Shayne was looking for the cognac and the right kind of glass, he was also looking for the Mafia folders he had taken from Tim Rourke’s desk. He saw them on a table beyond the window. One of the folders was open, and he recognized the sheet of yellow copy paper that was uppermost. It was the message he had typed on Rourke’s machine — apparently a reminder from Rourke not to forget to call M.S., at Musso Siracusa’s number, and to be prepared to pay $250 for information.

He poured a sizable drink and drank it thirstily. “Good liquor,” he said, breathing out.

De Blasio came up to the bar and hit his shoulder with a mock punch. “You did a beautiful job, Mike. I only wish we got together years ago. Think of the time we wasted.”

“It wasn’t perfect,” Shayne said, refilling his glass. “I had to cool him. It won’t surprise me if the Miami Police Department starts talking about me on the shortwave.”

“Not yet, anyway,” De Blasio told him. “They took him to Mercy Hospital, and he’s still unconscious, according to our information. He has a jaw that somebody broke in three places.”

“Well, hell,” Shayne said defensively, “I tried to reason with the guy, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s always been a hard-nose.”

Carl guffawed. “I hear you took care of that, too, Shayne. Kaboom.”

Shayne failed to respond to the joke. “Yeah.”

“He may not realize somebody robbed his folders till he goes back to work,” De Blasio said. “We’ve got a pipeline at headquarters, and the minute the name Shayne comes into the matter, we’ll hear about it. I don’t want you to worry. We’ll take care of the whole thing.”

“You may not have quite the clout you thought you had a couple of months ago.”

“You’re not telling me anything,” De Blasio said. “With the judges especially, they’re always looking for ways to get out of their obligations. But this is only a minor assault, a little routine slapping around. That we can handle under the table.”

“I hope those folders are what you wanted. They were the only ones I could find.”

“Mike, you did a great job.”

“Then this puts us even? Tell Larry Zito.”

“As far as that goes. Can we talk?”

Shayne looked at him curiously. “Go ahead.”

“You don’t want to be in too big a hurry. The smart thing to do is stay quiet here, more or less, until we find out where we’re at with this Rourke. If he dies or anything. If he brings robbery charges. You’ve got a lady friend here, what more do you need?”

“She wasn’t too happy about coming. She won’t want to stay.”

“You can persuade her. If the lawyers say it’d be better to get out of the state temporarily, let me handle the details. You say you’re even, financially. Put it a different way, you’re back to zero. While you’re knocking around here, banging your lady, boozing it up, would you have any objections to picking up a little change?”

“Doing what?”

“A little nothing. I’ll describe it to you, and you can say yes or no, according. We’re feeling some heat, you know that. I have something moving I’d like to go ahead with, but it’s going to take a new face.”

“Not mine.”

“Yours would be ideal,” De Blasio said, “and let me tell you how simple. There’s this meet scheduled at such and such a pinpoint in the open ocean off Key Biscayne. Now, this is between you and I. Not to leave this room. Another guy made the appointment, and we want to take it over. Nothing’s going to change hands, I’ll guarantee that. It’s to sit down and talk about a deal, and the individual we want to meet is a bust-out guy, a Latino, and he gets a little excitable, you know? If he sees Carlo or somebody he knows, zzt!” He made a gesture pantomiming a rapid departure. “And at a bad time, because we need the action.”

Shayne drank. “How much choice do I have?”

“All kinds of choice. We’re not trying to force you. I don’t expect any problems, but when you’re doing business with this guy, there’s an outside chance some crazy might pull a gun, if that’s what’s on your mind. I want Carlo to go, and one other good man. Siracusa — he’s been like a rock for twenty years, and you can be assured he won’t do anything on a sudden impulse. Here’s the way I see it. You’re the only one on deck. When the guy’s boat comes alongside, you throw him a line. Then you let them look at your muscles until Carlo and Musso can make their point, the point being that we’re still in business, still the people to deal with in Miami.”

“Deal with on what?”

“No reason I shouldn’t tell you. Not narcotics.”

Shayne snorted. “That’s what it sounds like.”

“Mike,” De Blasio said with sincerity, “I’ll give you my word on this. We have an ironclad law — we don’t handle the stuff. It’s people, Mike. Italians, outside the quota. They pay five hundred a head, we get jobs for them, and after that, when we need somebody we can call on…”

“You wouldn’t be sending Carl,” Shayne conceded, “if you expected anybody to get shot. Just the three of us?”

“That’s all.”

“We go out in the ocean and meet a boat. How many people are going to be on it?”

“A couple, three at the most. But you saw the key thing right away. Any chance of blood being shed, would I include Carlo? Not to speak of Siracusa. I made him myself. He’s been like my son.”

“But I’m the one who’s not in the family.”

“Somebody in the family, there’s suspicion right away. I explained that. We wouldn’t get the chance to straighten the guy out, iron out the situation. The price is five C’s.”

“A grand.”

“Split the difference,” De Blasio said, holding out his hand. “Seven-fifty.”

Shayne gave the hand a light slap. “Funny the way things turn out. I never thought I’d be strong-arming for a dope delivery.”

De Blasio said worriedly, “I’ll say it again. Narcotics at a time like this, I’d have to have a head full of marbles. And Carlo.”

“Whatever,” Shayne said, “we’ll bring the kid back without any holes in him.”

“You sure as hell better,” Carl put in.

Shayne began filling his flask from the cognac bottle, keeping the flow steady even when Siracusa came in, in a hurry.

“Don, I just found out something about—”

He broke off, seeing Shayne at the bar. Shayne screwed the cap on his flask.

“Get your topsiders, Musso. We’re going sailing.”

Siracusa came around the Ping-Pong table to give De Blasio a look full of meaning. “Talk to you for a minute.”

“When you get back. This has precedence.”

“Don, it’s important.”

“So is this. Carlo, give him the rundown. Mike, one thing I forgot.”

He waited till the other two men had left the room. Reaching out, he touched the gun in Shayne’s belt. “Good, to be prepared. I want you to watch Musso.”

“What do you mean, watch Musso? You made him yourself, twenty years in the thing, and you don’t trust him?”

“The number of guys I can trust… Don’t keep asking questions. Everybody’s jumpy. Just play the cards you get dealt. But go a little slower on the juice, Mike…”

Shayne gave him a cold stare. “Nobody tells me how much I can drink.”

“I’m not trying,” De Blasio said hastily. “I don’t preach to people. And you’re no boy, right? The only reason I mention it, I don’t want you to doze off on me.”

“I’m O.K.”

De Blasio came outside with him. Shayne put on his dark glasses.

“This is strictly a one-shot,” he said. “Don’t start including me in the count. Because if I had to lay bets, I’d be tempted to put my money on Burns.”

“On Burns? How did you hear about him?”

“It’s around. Just that he’s here, and he’s looking for an end. Young, yeah, but he’s got desire. You’re tied down with real estate.”

“That’s laughable,” De Blasio said, though he wasn’t laughing. “You think there’s going to be war in the streets, like the old days? No. When the time comes, I’ll cut him to bits. Get this thing out of the way for me, and come back and we’ll talk.”

Shayne misjudged the first step down from the terrace, but swung his arms quickly and stayed in balance. He glanced up at the windows over the garage, and seeing the girl’s face, gave her an obscene one-finger salute.

Siracusa and the younger De Blasio were already aboard the biggest of the three boats, a forty-five-foot Pacemaker motor yacht with a rakish flying bridge. Shayne’s movements suddenly became very careful, a signal to the other two that the cognac was taking hold. Siracusa looked down from the flying bridge. “You’re going to be a big help.”

Coming aboard, Shayne’s heel caught, and he came close to falling. Three long strides took him to one of the padded chairs on the cockpit deck.

Carl cast off the lines. Siracusa, above at the wheel, backed out of the slot.

“How’re you making it?” Carl said, passing.

“Just great.” He gestured with the open flask. “Want a whiff?”

“No, thanks.”

Shayne put the flask to his mouth, stopping the flow of cognac with his tongue. Carl climbed to the flying bridge, where Shayne heard the two men talking in low tones. Shayne was far enough under the overhang so he couldn’t be seen from above. He worked his pistol out of his waistband and wedged it between his thigh and the side cushion, covering it with his right hand.

There was considerable small-boat traffic in the bay, and they moved slowly at first, the twin diesels operating at a fraction of full power. They began to pick up speed after clearing the causeway, into Government Cut between the southern tip of Miami Beach and Fisher Island.

It was a sparkling, stinging day. Shayne smoked, kept his pistol ready, and waited.

Carl checked on him from time to time, appearing briefly at the top of the ladderway to exchange a few remarks before returning to the fly bridge. A ten-knot breeze was blowing out of the east, kicking up a choppy cross-sea. The Beach shorefront structures dropped rapidly astern, to disappear in the haze.

The engines throbbed steadily. Soon they were alone on the ocean.

Suddenly, without warning, there was a heavy, shattering explosion on the flying bridge. Shayne came forward, the gun in his hand. The boat heeled over, rolling in a different way as the chop caught her on a new quarter. A long moment passed.

Carl’s voice said weakly, “Mike Shayne.”

“Right here, kid,” Shayne answered.

“I need help.”

Shayne said after a moment, “We’ll see. Your old man said to be careful. Drop two guns down the ladder, yours and Musso’s.”

A moment later one automatic fell onto the cockpit deck.

“That’s mine,” Carl said. “He didn’t have one.”

“Careless of him,” Shayne said. “Raise your hands with the palms out and turn away from the ladder.”

He kicked out of his shoes and went up fast, his gun high. Carl, his hands raised, was facing the bow.

Shayne came onto the enclosed bridge, lowering his pistol. “O.K., Carlo. Let’s check the damage.”

Siracusa, at the wheel, shifted in the rotating chair and began to slide. Carl said something deep in his throat, not quite a word. The bullet from Carl’s heavy.45 automatic had entered Siracusa’s head from behind and blown it apart. The mess on the inside of the plexiglass windshield looked like smashed tomatoes.