“And how am I supposed to find this pawnshop? The name’s been scratched off.”
“Oh, has it?” Tricia said. “It’s a good thing I remember which one it is, then. Or I suppose you could try going to every pawnshop in New York one at a time asking to see every brown valise they’ve got—that shouldn’t take more than a month or two, if you work hard at it.”
She could see him struggling with conflicting emotions, the hunger to lash out warring with his own self-interest. Before he could settle the matter, Pantazonis rushed in, knocking on the doorframe as he entered. He had the beaded purse in one hand, the pink satin makeup case in the other.
“Sorry to interrupt, boss—”
“Uncle Nick,” Nicolazzo growled.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Nick.” Pantazonis started over again. “I thought you’d want to see this.”
“Why would I want to see a purse?”
“Not the purse,” Pantazonis said. “This thing. Look what I found in it.” He swung open the hinged top of the makeup kit and lifted the false panel, revealing the transistor radio inside. “It’s a radio,” he said unnecessarily. “Only when I turn it on, it doesn’t play any music. It doesn’t play anything—but the little light goes on.”
Nicolazzo snatched it out of his hands, turned it over to look at the back, then waved it in Tricia’s face. “You think I don’t know what this is? After I’ve had the federal boys on my back for seven years?” His eyes blazed. “Pawnshop, my eye. This is a set-up. They want you to lure me back to land, don’t they? And when you get me there you’re supposed to flip the switch on this thing and it’ll send out a signaclass="underline" Here’s Nicolazzo, here’s Nicolazzo. Come and get him. Well. Here’s what I think of that.” He strode to a porthole in the wall, opened it, and pitched the radio out. They could all hear the splash a moment later.
He slammed the porthole cover shut.
“Now, Miss Heverstadt, you are going to tell me where my money really is. And then you’re going to take me to it, or I swear I will kill all three of you. For now, one will do.” He turned back to Kagan. “Like I said. Kill the sister.”
“No, don’t—” Tricia said.
“You’re not taking me seriously, young lady, and you won’t unless I give you a reason to.”
Kagan pulled out a gun.
“Please,” Tricia said to Kagan, “don’t do it.”
“Oh? You’d rather he kill your boyfriend here?” Nicolazzo grabbed Charley’s chin in one hand, shook it roughly. “That’s fine with me. Your choice. Which one?”
“Neither,” Tricia said.
“That sounds good to me,” Charley said.
“You shut up,” Nicolazzo said, wheeling on him. “You, you imbroglione, with your goddamn cheating cards—you know what, I think maybe you should choose, how about that? Huh?”
“I’d rather not,” Charley said.
“Ah, but you will,” Nicolazzo said. He snapped his fingers at Pantazonis. “Get me a deck of cards. Now!” Pantazonis scurried out of the room.
“I’ve wanted to do this ever since you walked out my door,” Nicolazzo said. “A little rematch. A hand of Fifty-to-One—only with my deck this time, not yours. You want to know what the stakes are?”
“I doubt it,” Charley said.
“If I win, my man here shoots you—in the head eventually, but not right away, he’ll take his time. He’s got plenty of bullets and you’ve got plenty of other places to get shot in first. Painful places.”
“And if I win?”
“If you win, I spare your life—for now,” Nicolazzo said. “And kill her instead.” He jabbed a finger in Coral’s direction.
“You’re insane,” Charley said, and it earned him a punch in the head.
Pantazonis came back through the door, a deck of cards in his hand. Nicolazzo peeled the top card off, threw it in Charley’s face. It bounced off and landed on the floor. Eight of hearts.
“What’s the next one, Borden?” Nicolazzo said. “Think hard. There’s a lot riding on it.” He waved Kagan over. The big man positioned himself at Charley’s side and pressed the barrel of his gun against Charley’s neck.
Charley looked over at Tricia, past the gun. There was something in his eyes—sadness? Regret? Resignation? Maybe a little of all three.
“Name a card,” Nicolazzo said. “Or I tell him to start pulling the trigger right now.”
Charley closed his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “Queen of spades.”
“There you go,” Nicolazzo said. “Was that so difficult? La donna nero. Well, let’s see if this fickle lady, she comes to your rescue.”
With a nasty flourish, Nicolazzo turned over the top card. His face paled, and he looked from the card to Charley and back again. It was the queen of spades.
“What did you...?” Nicolazzo threw the cards down, scattering them everywhere. He grabbed Charley’s throat in both hands and started throttling him. “How did you do that? I demand that you tell me!”
“I didn’t do anything,” Charley croaked. “It was just a guess—”
Tricia ran to Nicolazzo, started battering his back with her fists, but it had no effect.
“You lie!” Nicolazzo roared. With one arm he swatted Tricia away from him and she went sprawling among the cards. “You,” he said to Kagan, “kill the sister—now! How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Yes, sir,” Kagan said. He crossed to the other side of the room, pointed his gun at Coral.
What happened next Tricia didn’t see clearly. There was a blur of motion as Coral stood up from the chair and slapped Kagan’s arm aside; his gunshot went wide, punching a hole in the wall. The rope that had bound her hands and legs fell to the ground, neatly sliced through.
Coral swung at the big man’s chin, a bare-knuckled uppercut that cracked, bone against bone, like a second gunshot. Kagan staggered back. Coral closed again and gave him another brutal right, then slashed at his arm with her left hand. A spray of blood shot into the air and his gun tumbled to the floor, just inches from Tricia’s face. A moment later a razor blade landed beside it—the one Tricia had passed Coral when she’d hugged her, the one Coral had just used to draw blood.
Tricia grabbed the gun and got to her feet. She also—carefully—picked up the blade. Above her, Coral was raining jabs and body blows on Kagan. He had his hands up protectively, but she kept sneaking punches in below his guard and to either side, vicious kidney punches and below-the-belt combinations.
Nicolazzo looked on, furious, shouting something in Italian to Pantazonis, who looked like he only understood every third word.
But he understood enough to whip out a gun of his own.
He leveled his at Coral and Tricia leveled Kagan’s at him. They both pulled the trigger at the same time.
49.
Gun Work
The dual explosion in the small room deafened everyone and the choking cloud of gunsmoke added to the confusion. Pantazonis lay at Charley’s feet, leaking blood like a punctured water bottle. Kagan and Coral were both upright; Pantazonis’ bullet had missed them.
Nicolazzo released Charley’s neck as Tricia swept her gun up toward him. He jumped over Pantazonis’ body and shoved her aside, continuing on through the door. Tricia heard him running down the hallway, shouting for his men.
She raced to Charley’s side. Her hands were shaking; her breath was coming rapidly. She fought the nauseous feeling rising in her gut. Had she just killed a man? She pushed the question from her mind. She could think about that later. If there was a later.