I Come to Kill You

14

Skeets was waiting outside on the landing, close to the door so he could hear any sound of blows or erotic cries. After he let Shayne out and locked the door, Shayne picked the key out of his hand.

“I’ll take this.”

“The Don said I was supposed to—”

“Check it with him.”

Shayne found De Blasio still in the game room, studying an open ledger, his head tipped so he could look through the bottoms of his bifocals. He shut the book with a snap as Shayne came in.

“You look better. The shave and everything.”

“I’ve been thinking it over,” Shayne said, “and I think we can do business.”

De Blasio smiled happily, showing teeth too perfect to be his own. “I knew you’d see daylight, Mike, and I’m happy to hear it, believe me.”

“With a few qualifications. If I solve that problem for you, if I find out who really killed Meister, it’s worth more than five thousand. It’s worth ten now and another fifteen if I deliver.”

De Blasio threw up his hands. “Have a little pity, will you? I’m hurting for cash. What can I do, sell the island? I’ll give you ten and five. Fifteen thousand in all, for a lousy couple of weeks.”

Shayne argued briefly before accepting the Don’s second offer.

“But let’s be sure what we mean by delivery,” he said. “A couple of questions first. We’ll be getting into strategy, so if you want anybody else in on it…”

“As a matter of fact, Carlo ought to be here.”

Heaving himself up, he rapped on a windowpane with a heavy seal ring. Skeets came in from the terrace, and De Blasio sent him for Carl.

“I don’t like the way that guy looks at my chick,” Shayne said. “I’ve got the key to the apartment, and if it’s all right with you, I’d like to hang on to it.”

De Blasio assented. When Carl came in, smelling of disinfectant, his father announced, “Shayne’s working for us.”

“That’s the best news I heard all day,” Carl said enthusiastically. “How much do we have to pay him?”

“Too much,” De Blasio said, waving his cigar. “You said you had some questions, Mike.”

“Yeah. I want to know the family version of the Meister killing. What do you think happened?”

De Blasio held up a single finger. “I know one thing, of my own personal knowledge. I didn’t order the hit. I know some of my people are taking the credit. It went off very slick, the execution was perfect in every respect. Sometimes it’s a botch, a mess, you don’t want your name connected with it. But with something like this, how can you say no? Not everything we get tagged for we actually do.”

“You know that, Mike,” Carl put in.

“Which is usually all to the good,” his father continued. “With shylocking especially, you want them to figure they won’t stay alive if they don’t pay up. So some people think — Meister was saying all kinds of things about us, this and that, and we decided to show him a lesson. But that’s talking idiotic. Look what happened. Who’s been taking the heat? I’ve been through this kind of thing before. You don’t shoot a weasel like Meister. You use economics on him. And it was working. In another month he would have been down on his knees.”

“We had it all set to blow up his transmitter,” Carl said.

“That same night! Does it make sense to hit the guy before we try everything else? We could give him some labor headaches, a picket line. What I ask myself, who’s getting the benefit? Not us.”

“You mean Burns?” Shayne said. “He needed a commotion to keep you diverted?”

De Blasio nodded. “That’s what we’ve come to the conclusion. And if you can get him indicted for it, that little thing by itself will be worth the fifteen thousand.”

“Fifteen?” Carl commented. “Isn’t that pretty steep?”

“Steep, hell,” Shayne said. “It’s cut-rate. But you know as well as I do there won’t be an indictment. I’m not a magician.”

“You’ve done some hard-to-believe things, Mike…”

“This would be really hard to believe. Unless you know something I don’t?”

He looked from father to son. De Blasio continued smoking his cigar, and Carl turned his hands over on his lap.

Shayne went on, “It was a textbook job. The car was found parked at International Airport. Apparently somebody met him there in a stolen Dodge, drove five miles west on the Trail, pulled off on a side road, killed him, and transferred to another car. The number was filed off the gun. The handle was wrapped with friction tape. The cops haven’t come up with anybody who saw the transfer at the airport.”

“They didn’t look too hard,” De Blasio said. “I know you’re not trying to beat me out of that ten grand down payment, or you wouldn’t be pointing this out. What the hell, I agree with you, it’s going to be hard.”

“Even if Burns did the shooting himself, he’d need two other men. Have you picked up any rumors I could work on?”

“We’ve been handicapped,” De Blasio said. “We’ve had cops on our backs.”

“How many men did Burns bring?”

De Blasio said worriedly, “We’re in the dark about that, Mike. He’d be nuts to try anything with less than twenty.”

“Who’s backing him?”

“Who’s backing him is the question. He only started his move last week. I’ve made inquiries, but nobody gives me any satisfaction. Either they don’t know, or they don’t want to tell me, and it’s been worrying me.”

“What’s his idea, to take over?”

“No, no. God, no. A jitterbug like Burns? He doesn’t have the stature. Heisting payrolls is about all he’s good for. He’ll just try to squeeze in somewhere, and negotiate.”

“How’ve you been planning to handle it?”

“Well, Mike, I’ve been having second thoughts. What Siracusa advised may not be the right thing. We’ve got to start over and think it through again.”

“I’d like to know how we can get around it,” Carl insisted.

Shayne said impatiently, “Around what? Come on. Either I’m in or out. If I’m out, good-bye.”

De Blasio was still reluctant, but after blowing a plume of cigar smoke he said finally, “We came to the conclusion that one of his men has to be dropped.”

“How far has the preparation gone on that?”

De Blasio exchanged an uncomfortable look with his son. “You’re sure you want to know, Mike? Let’s just say it’s on the calendar, and for soon.”

“And then Burns will come back by killing one of your people.”

“We’ll have to try and be careful. But the only way he can get in is by shooting his way in, and if you think we’re going to move over and invite him politely, you’re mistaken. This is our livelihood. I have a responsibility to my people.”

“Whatever way you want to look at it,” Shayne said, “he’s out of line. Isn’t there some kind of commission you can appeal to?”

De Blasio shook his head and said mournfully, “There is, Mike, but they don’t care to get involved anymore. They’ve been burned too often.”

“I know of at least three of them who are here for the winter. I see them all the time. Then, there’s Dino. I know he retired, but his money must still carry some weight.”

De Blasio shifted uneasily. “Mike, as somebody from the other side of the street, you don’t understand. They get together and take a vote, and then how do they enforce it? It’s not their fight, so why should they commit their own people?”

“Burns could be hurt by that kind of vote,” Shayne said, “even with no pistols behind it. It depends on whose money he’s using, who’s behind him. If you invited these four men to a meeting to discuss it, would they come?”

De Blasio continued to move about in his chair. “For a plate of spaghetti, a glass of wine, why not, but they know I wouldn’t take advantage and use the hospitality to embarrass them. How can I explain it to you? This kind of trouble they expect me to handle. I’m recognized already. How can they add?”

“Mike has an idea,” Carl said. “Let’s hear what it is.”

“They come to Miami to get away from trouble,” Shayne said. “If you and Burns get into an all-out war, bang, bang, bang, every Cosa Nostra guy in town will feel the heat, no matter whether he’s personally mixed up in it or not. You know the routine. He’ll be flashbulbed and tailed and bothered and hauled in for questioning. What’s wrong with talking about ways to avoid it? I said you couldn’t get a grand-jury indictment against Burns. But you might be able to get a verdict of guilty from these people. If I can bring in some kind of proof that Burns barged into somebody else’s town and murdered an important TV man to create a panic — that’s dirty football. It’s not the way to do things. It endangers everybody.”

De Blasio studied the end of his cigar. “Could you get proof?”

“If you cooperate, maybe.”

“If it was open-and-shut, if they were unanimous on it…” De Blasio said. “Mike, I think you’re onto something. They’ll put the word around that Burns is a real crazy—”

“From what I hear,” Carl said, “that word’s around already.”

“No, Mike’s right, he’d lose support. Whoever invested. They could find out who’s with him, where they’re connected, and yank some of them out by the thumbs. It smells good to me. You’re going to move in on him, Mike?”

“It won’t be easy. Where do I find him?”

“In a place called the Rivage, in Normandy Shores. A condominium, and it’s buttoned up tight. Carlo looked it over. Tell him, Carlo.”

“It’s this building with four separate apartments, and Bobby’s people are in all four. Cyclone fence. Closed-circuit TV. An alarm system. He doesn’t go out. That’s why we thought the only way was to pick off one of his button men, a runner.”

“Let’s get back to that,” Shayne said.

“Mike, if there’s any way of canceling—”

“No, you’ve got to do something to show everybody it’s serious. Who’s the target?”

“And this is really something you want to know?”

“It really is. I may be able to use it to make contact.”

De Blasio said softly, with a shrug, “A nobody named Marcello Marti. He went into shylock on the Beach without authorization.”

“When’s it going to happen?”

“Today. Why put it off, was the idea.”

“Do you have somebody you’d be able to live without?”

De Blasio was puzzled. “I don’t get what you’re driving at.”

“Somebody you’d just as soon lose,” Shayne said impatiently. “Give him the hit. I’ll go along and chaperone. Then I’ll sell him to Burns. That way we’ll make friends.”

De Blasio nodded as he listened, liking the simplicity of the idea. Carl was more agitated. He broke a cigarette between his fingers and shredded the tobacco.

“Don’t keep doing that, Carlo,” his father said.

“I just think it’s too — I don’t know what. I think we ought to go with the first idea, and wait and see what Bobby comes back with.”

“No,” his father said. “It’s a fine proposal. Because he might hit some good man, and we’d feel it. It’s going to be one-for-one, whichever. We have to, and he has to, and then we talk. Like with a union, the real talking starts when they see the pickets on the bricks. This way we have control. Why not select? Mike’s the one who’s going to stick his head in the lion’s den. If it don’t work out, we’re no worse off than now.”

“Except that Burns will know you tried to con him.”

“That don’t matter. What matters is the commission, call it a commission. Mike’s right on that. If they clamp all the way down, we won’t have to worry. And if the decision’s to give him part of the business to stop the bloodshed, we’ll keep the bastard surrounded and eat him later. Mike, go ahead.”

“Who are you going to give me?”

De Blasio pursed his lips and looked at his son for suggestions. “What do you say about Skeets?”

“You choose,” Carl said angrily.

“Skeets wouldn’t be bad. He was close to Musso.” He explained to Shayne, “The kid don’t know what the word ‘discipline’ means. We had him on collections, and he did away with somebody he was only supposed to break his head a little. He started and couldn’t stop. I protected him on that. Did he show any gratitude? Not a bit. Another plus, he’s not related to anybody.”

Shayne shrugged. “It makes no difference to me.”