“Her vehicle’s outside.”
“I borrowed it.”
“She’s not in any danger?”
“No.”
Norton nodded. Susie wasn’t here. Neither, it seemed, was the man in red. But what was going on?
That didn’t matter for now. First he had to arrest the three who’d held up Mr. Ash. He only had one pair of cuffs, and he still had to disarm the second gangster.
“Step back,” he told the first one, and the man moved away from his dropped weapon.
“We can talk,” said Carlo. “However much they’re paying you, I’ll double it.”
What Norton needed was someone to keep the three men covered.
“Can you handle a gun, Mr. Ash?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Norton kicked the fallen automatic across the ground.
“No!” yelled Carlo.
Mr. Ash picked up the weapon.
The second gunman reached into his holster.
Mr. Ash shot him.
Then he shot the first gunman.
“Ciao, Carlo,” he said. “See you in hell.”
And then he shot the old man.
Norton stared at him in amazement, before bending down to examine the three fallen men. None of them needed handcuffs. Each one had hole in the centre of his forehead.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Mr. Ash,” he said. “I was going to arrest them.”
Mr. Ash walked toward Norton.
“Sorry, Wayne,” he said.
Then came the pain. It hurt. It hurt so bad. But it lasted only a moment. Then it was gone. And so was Norton. The whole universe opened up and he dropped down down down into the infinite void.
“Is he one of your men?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you kill him?”
“He’s my daughter’s boyfriend.”
“Great! I wish I’d killed my daughters’ boyfriends when I had the chance. It’s too late after the wedding because by then the bastards are family. Take my advice, Mario, finish him off while you can.”
Mario Catania, alias Mark Ash, glanced down at Wayne Norton’s crumpled body. He’d be unconscious for about an hour, have a headache for a day or two, and be bruised for over a week.
“I can’t kill him,” he said. “He’s just saved our lives.”
“You’re getting sentimental in your old age,” said Luigi Sciacca, and he kicked Carlo Menfi’s dead body.
Ash looked at the pistol. It had been a long time since he’d even held a gun, but pulling a trigger was something you never forgot.
Three shots, three kills.
He felt quite pleased with himself. Because it was a lot better than what might have happened.
Slipping the automatic into his jacket pocket, Ash frowned, not liking the way it spoiled the line of his suit. He’d have to get rid of the weapon. As well as the three bodies. Or four, including Sciacca’s torpedo.
But the biggest problem was what to do with Wayne.
“It’s my daughter’s birthday in a couple of days,” he said. “She’d be upset if he wasn’t there.”
Sciacca took Menfi’s billfold, unstrapped the watch from his wrist, and tore the rings from his fingers. He’d started his career as a pickpocket, stealing from the living. Now he robbed the dead.
“What was he doing here?” asked Sciacca.
“He must have seen my daughter’s car and thought she was here.”
“You came in her car in case you were followed?”
“No. Because mine was stolen.”
“Stolen? Some people got no respect.” Sciacca undid Menfi’s silk tie, holding it against his own shirt to see if it would go with his suit. Then he ripped the silver cross from the corpse’s neck. “Can’t trust nobody these days.”
Ash nodded, realising that the biggest problem was what to do with Sciacca.
“How did he see the car?” asked Sciacca, as he moved over to the first bodyguard. “The parking lot is out of sight from the road.”
“He must have been on patrol and—”
“On patrol?” Sciacca found a pack of cigarettes in the corpse’s pocket, stuck one between his lips, lit it with the dead man’s lighter. “He really is a cop?”
“Sure.”
“So that’s why you don’t want to kill him.” Sciacca pocketed the cigarettes and the lighter. “You always thought ahead, Mario. It’s going to be useful having a cop in the family.”
And Sciacca never thought ahead, not even as far as opening his mouth. Although it might be useful having a police commissioner or a district attorney in the family, Wayne was only a rookie cop. But whoever he was, he wasn’t good enough to marry Susie.
“He’s not going to be part of the family,” said Ash. “I don’t like him.”
“Then kill him.”
“I can’t kill him just because I don’t like him.”
“Why not?” Sciacca went to the second bodyguard. “In the old days, you used to kill people who you did like.”
“Things don’t happen like that anymore.”
“Don’t they?” Sciacca glanced at the three dead bodies. “This reminds me of the old days, Mario.” He counted out the change from the guard’s pocket. A nickel fell between his fingers and rolled away. It didn’t get far. He flattened it with his shoe and picked it up. “The good old days.”
Although he took everything he could find, he was careful to leave the bodyguard’s gun in its holster.
“The good old days were never good at the time, Luigi. Forget the past, like I’ve done. This is now, and my name is Mark Ash.”
“Carlo calls you Mario.”
“Not anymore.”
Sciacca laughed. He looked at the tip of his cigarette, at the ash.
Ash guessed they were both thinking the same thing: There were now only two of them left alive who knew his real identity.
He’d chosen Mark because it wasn’t very different from Mario, and Ash by going through the telephone book until he found a surname he liked.
“You know something?” said Sciacca. “A few minutes ago they were bodyguards. But they ain’t guards anymore, they’re just bodies!” He glanced over toward the entrance, where the other hoodlum lay. “A pity about Piccolo, I’ll miss him. Great sense of humour.”
“Sure,” said Ash, “I nearly died laughing. What was the idea of getting him to pull a gun on Carlo?”
“The idea was to kill him.”
“Luigi, you came here for a conference.”
“With Carlo dead, who needs to talk? It’s all worked out well.”
Only thanks to Wayne, thought Ash. He watched as Sciacca dropped his cigarette to the floor and stepped on it. On the paper, on the tobacco, on the ash. That was when he knew what had to be done with Luigi Sciacca.
“What did Carlo say?” added Sciacca. “Being immortal, was it? Ha!”
Ash looked at Carlo Menfi, who was dead. He looked at Wayne, who wasn’t. He realised what he could do with him.
“We’ve got to freeze him,” he said.
“Who?”
“The cop.”
“Ice him, you mean?”
“No, we freeze him. That’s what Carlo meant when he said he was immortal. Give me a hand.”
Sciacca held out his left hand.
“Two hands,” said Ash, as he slid his arms under Wayne’s shoulders, raising him off the ground.
Reluctantly, Sciacca took hold of Wayne’s legs. They carried him down to the lowest level, hidden deep below the casino, but had to stop and rest a few times on the way.
“No more,” panted Sciacca once they reached the lowest level. “I’m not carrying any of the stiffs. Your boys can get rid of Carlo and the others.”
“My boys?” said Ash. “They take groceries out to customers’ cars. You want them to hide dismembered bodies in paper bags?”
“I forgot,” said Sciacca, lighting a cigarette. “You’re just a supermarket owner.”
“Sure. It’s all legit, Luigi. I’m respectable. I’m honest.”