“You’re the boss,” Tony said. He took his gun out and attached the silencer.
They parked almost a block away and walked back. Angelo carried a small flight bag full of tools. When they got to the house, Angelo told Tony to wait on the sidewalk and let him know if anyone was coming. Angelo descended the few steps to the service entrance door.
Tony kept an eye out, but the street was quiet. No one was in sight. What Tony didn’t see was Franco Ponti parked only a few doors down, blocking a driveway.
“All right,” Angelo whispered from the shadows of the service entrance. “Come on.”
They entered a long hallway, moving quickly to the stairs. There was an elevator but they knew better than to use it. Taking two steps at a time, they climbed to the first floor and listened. Save for a large antique clock ticking loudly in the dark, the house was quiet.
“Can you imagine living in a place like this?” Tony whispered. “It’s like a palace.”
“Shut up,” Angelo snapped.
They continued upstairs, climbing a curving, double staircase that circled a chandelier Tony guessed was six feet across. On the second floor they peered into a series of sitting rooms, a library, and a den. On the third floor they hit pay dirt: the master bedroom.
Angelo stood to one side of the double doors that no doubt led to the master suite. Tony took the other side. Both men had their guns drawn. Their silencers were attached.
Angelo slowly turned the door handle and pushed the door in. The room was larger than any bedroom either of them had ever seen. On the far wall-which seemed very far to Angelo-stood a massive canopied bed.
Angelo stepped into the room, motioning for Tony to follow. He went to the right side of the bed, where the man was sleeping. Tony went to the other side. Angelo nodded. Tony extended his gun while Angelo did the same.
Tony’s gun went off with its familiar hissing thump and the woman recoiled. The man must have been a light sleeper. No sooner had the shot gone off than he sat bolt upright, eyes wide. Angelo shot him before he had a chance to say a word. He toppled over toward his wife.
“Oh, no!” Angelo said out loud.
“What’s the matter?” Tony questioned.
Using the tip of the silencer, Angelo reached over and separated the fingers of the dying man. Clutched in his hand was a small plastic device with a button.
“He had a goddamn alarm,” Angelo said.
“What does that mean?” Tony asked.
“It means we have to get the hell out of here,” Angelo said. “Come on.”
Moving as quickly as they could in the semidarkness, they ran down the stairs. Rounding the bend onto the first floor, they practically ran into a housekeeper who was on her way up.
The housekeeper screamed, turned, and fled back down the way she’d come. Tony fired his Bantam, but at distances greater than six feet, his gun wasn’t accurate. The slug missed the housekeeper, shattering a large gold-framed mirror instead.
“We have to get her,” Angelo said, knowing that the woman had gotten a good look at them. He threw himself down the stairs, the flight bag bouncing its shoulder straps.
Reaching the bottom, he skidded on the marble strewn with shards of mirror. Regaining his footing, he hurled himself down the first-floor hallway toward the back of the house. Ahead he could see the woman struggling to open a pair of French doors leading to the backyard.
Before he could catch her, she was out the door, pulling it closed behind her. Angelo got there just seconds behind her. Tony was right behind him. They ran out after her only to trip on a pair of garden chairs they couldn’t see in the dark.
Angelo peered into the darkness. The backyard could have passed for a public park. There was a rectangular reflecting pool in the center of the space. To the right was an ivy-covered gazebo that was lost in shadow. A thick oak had a swing hanging from a broad branch. Nowhere could Angelo spot the woman.
“Where did she go?” Tony whispered.
“If I knew would I be standing here?” Angelo said. “You go that way and I’ll go this way.” He pointed to either side of the pool.
The two men groped their way around the garden. They strained to look into the dark recesses of the ferns and shrubbery.
“There she is!” Tony said, pointing back at the house.
Angelo fired two shots at the fleeing woman. The first bullet shattered the glass of the French doors. After the second, he saw the woman stumble and fall.
“You got her!” Tony cried.
“Let’s get out of here,” Angelo said. He could hear sirens in the distance. It was hard to be sure, but they seemed to be approaching.
Not wanting to risk coming out of the front of the house, Angelo turned to the back wall of the garden. Spotting a door on the far side of the pond, he yelled, “Come on!” to Tony. Angelo reached the door first. He unbolted the dead bolt securing the door and rushed into a debris-strewn alleyway. They made their way down the darkened path, trying each garden door they passed. Tony finally found one with nearly rotten planking and broke through.
The garden they found themselves in seemed as neglected as the door.
“Now what?” Tony said.
“That way,” Angelo said. He pointed to a dark passageway leading toward the front of the house. At the end of the passageway they came to a bolted door, but it was bolted from the inside. Passing through it, they found themselves on Eighty-fifth Street.
Angelo brushed off his clothes. Tony followed his example. “Okay,” said Angelo. “Now be cool, confident, relaxed.”
The pair walked slowly down the street and around the corner as if they called the neighborhood home. Slowly they made their way to Angelo’s car. The sirens had indeed been heading for the brownstone they’d just left. Ahead they could see three squad cars with emergency lights flashing, blocking the street in front of the house where they’d made the hit.
Angelo unlocked his car doors with a remote control and the two men climbed in.
“That was awesome!” Tony said excitedly once they were a half dozen blocks away. “That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Angelo scowled at him. “It was a disaster,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Tony questioned. “We got away. No problem. And you got the housekeeper. You dropped her right in her tracks.”
“But we didn’t check her,” Angelo said. “How do I know if I really got her or just winged her? We should have checked her. She looked directly at both of us.”
“She dropped quickly,” Tony said. “I think you hit her real good.”
“This is what I mean: screw-ups happen. How would we have guessed the guy would sleep holding a panic-button alarm?” Angelo was glad he had the wheel to grip; his hands were shaking.
“Okay, so we got the “bad luck’ hit out of the way,” Tony said. “Now you can’t say that things are going too well. What’s next?”
“I’m not sure,” Angelo said. “Maybe we should call it a night.”
“What for?” Tony questioned. “The night is young. Come on! Let’s at least do one more. We can’t pass up this kind of money.”
Angelo thought for a minute. Intuition told him to call it a night, but Tony was right. The money was good. Besides, hits were like riding horses: you fall off, you get back on. Otherwise you may never ride again.
“All right,” he said finally. “We’ll do one more.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Tony said. “Where to?”
“Down in the Village. Another town house.”
Angelo took the Ninety-seventh Street transverse across Central Park and got on the Henry Hudson Parkway.
For a while they didn’t talk. Each was recovering from the opposite ends of the emotional spectrum: Angelo from fear and anxiety and Tony from pure exhilaration. Neither noticed the black Cadillac in the distance.