Stark returned to his seat, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his legs. “Is it?”
Mortimer took another sip from the glass.
“You know where she is, don’t you?” Stark asked.
Mortimer looked up from the glass.
“I want to see her,” Stark said sternly.
Mortimer stared at Stark silently, helpless against the fierce nature of his purpose, the odd nobility he added to every word he said.
“Where is she?” Stark asked.
Mortimer put down his glass. “She’s working at a bar in the Village.”
“Who else knows this?”
“The guy, the one who works for Labriola.”
“How does he know?”
“I told him.”
“Why?”
“To get you out of the deal,” Mortimer said. “He wouldn’t do it otherwise. But he won’t tell Labriola where she is.”
“What makes you think he won’t tell Labriola?”
“He won’t,” Mortimer said. Suddenly he heard Caruso’s voice, the tone of finality within it, the sense that something had changed. “I mean, he told me he wouldn’t let Labriola… hurt her.”
Stark’s gaze would not be turned aside. “Hurt her?” He leaned forward. “Mortimer, is this woman in danger?”
Mortimer saw Sara as she made her way down the block, toward the florist shop on the corner, so utterly exposed. He knew how it would go down, that Caruso would watch her in the rearview mirror of his car, wait until she reached a predetermined distance, then fall in behind her, steadily increasing his pace, reaching for his pistol as he did so, finally pressing the barrel so close to the back of Sara’s head that a wisp of her hair actually touched it.
“Mortimer, is this woman in danger?” Stark’s eyes bore into him.
Mortimer shuddered with the vision of what happened after that, Sara Labriola stumbling forward, a geyser of blood shooting from the back of her skull.
“Is this woman in danger?” Stark repeated.
Mortimer could scarcely imagine how badly things had gone or how out of control they’d now become. He took a moment to retrace the steps that had gotten him to this place. A death sentence from a doctor, a need to leave Dottie a few bucks, then a ridiculous bullshit scheme to cheat Stark, all of it finally leading to the terrifying truth that Sara Labriola, his best friend’s woman, was in dire peril.
“Yes,” Mortimer answered softly.
Stark grabbed the telephone and thrust it toward Mortimer. “Call Labriola, or whoever this guy is who works for him,” he said. “Tell him I want to have a meeting with the two of them.”
“I ain’t got a piece,” Mortimer said weakly.
Stark looked at him darkly. “I do,” he said.
CARUSO
Caruso glanced back to where Labriola sat sprawled in the backseat of the car. “Batman wants to have a meeting,” Caruso said, the cell phone held a couple of inches from his right ear. “Wants us to come over to his place.”
Labriola laughed. “You hear that, Tony? The guy I hired to find your wife, he wants to have a meeting. Ain’t that interesting?”
Tony said nothing, but merely sat, tense and agitated, like someone who’d set upon a course he now doubted.
Labriola chuckled. “What’s the matter, Tony? You don’t look all that sociable.”
“I just want to talk to Sara,” Tony answered weakly.
“Sure you do.” Labriola laughed. “But first I want to see the guy I forked all that cash over to.” He turned to Caruso. “Tell him okay. Tell him we’re on our way.”
Minutes later they were rumbling over the Brooklyn Bridge, the skyline of Manhattan a glittering wall before them.
Labriola drew in a long breath. “I hate Brooklyn,” he said quietly. He leaned forward and squeezed Caruso’s shoulders. “I hate Brooklyn, Vinnie.”
“Yes, sir,” Caruso told him.
Labriola dropped back in the seat, his gaze curiously lost and bleary. “Tremont was nice,” he added.
Ten minutes later, Caruso guided the Lincoln over to the curb on West 19 Street.
Labriola rolled down the window, thrust his huge head out into the night, and glared at the building, his anger returning suddenly, burning off the oddly meditative mood that had briefly settled over him. “I ain’t walking up five fucking flights to meet this asshole,” he snarled.
“He lives on the first floor,” Caruso told him quietly.
Tony jerked open the back door. “Come on, let’s get this over with. I just want to talk to Sara.”
“Talk to her,” Labriola laughed, his great bulk still slouched in the backseat. “You need to fuck her is what you need.”
Tony whirled around. “Why do you talk like that?” he asked fiercely. “Why do you say things like that to me?”
Labriola’s eyes caught fire. “What a worthless piece of shit you are, Tony,” he sneered.
Tony’s face stiffened, and for a moment the two men stared silently at each other. Then Tony turned around and headed up the stairs.
Labriola watched him briefly, then turned to Caruso, grasped his shoulder and gave it a painful squeeze. “Don’t fuck up.”
“I won’t,” Caruso promised.
Labriola jerked open the door and surged out into the night, his heavy bulk lumbering up the stairs.
Caruso sucked in a troubled breath, pulled himself from behind the wheel, and headed up the stairs behind Labriola. The buzzer was already ringing by the time he joined him on the landing.
The door opened and a tall man in a dark suit appeared, his blue eyes ghostly in their icy glint.
“You Batman?” Labriola laughed.
“What?”
Caruso released a nervous little chuckle. “That’s what I called you,” he explained. “Mr. Labriola don’t know you by no other name.”
The man’s eyes shifted over to Labriola. “Leo Labriola,” he said.
“Yeah, that’s me,” Labriola said gruffly. “And this is my son, Tony. It’s his wife that’s missing.”
The man in the dark suit nodded. “Stark,” he said.
“So,” Labriola said, slapping his hands together. “We gonna stand in the fucking street all night, or what?”
Stark smiled quietly. “Please come in,” he said.
Caruso trailed along, following Labriola and Tony into the shadowy interior of Stark’s apartment, where Mortimer stood silently in a far corner of the room.
“Would anyone like a drink?” Stark asked.
“We ain’t here to socialize,” Labriola said. He stepped forward, leaving a space between Caruso and Tony. “I paid you a lot of money, but you didn’t find my son’s wife.”
“No, I didn’t,” Stark replied evenly. He nodded toward Mortimer. “But my assistant, Mr. Dodge, did.”
“Mr. Dodge,” Labriola bellowed. “You trust your… assistant?”
“Yes.”
“You trust him like I trust Vinnie?”
“I would trust him with my life,” Stark said.
Labriola laughed. “Okay, so this fucking guy… Mr. Dodge… he wouldn’t short you, would he?”
Stark smiled. “I said I’d trust him with my life. Not my money.”
Labriola’s eyes seemed to leap with canine joy. “So you already know about this fucking guy? How he was gonna short you?”
“I know that he found the woman you’re looking for,” Stark said. “And I know that you’re going to forget that he found her.”
Labriola seemed unable to process Stark’s response. He glanced back and forth between Caruso and his son, then leveled his eyes on Stark. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about a woman,” Stark said coolly. “Her name is Sara, I believe. And she no longer exists for any of you.”
Tony stepped forward slightly. “I’m not looking for her,” he said. “You see her, you can tell her I’m not looking.” He turned to Labriola. “Let’s go, Dad.”
Labriola didn’t move. His eyes remained on Stark. “Who the fuck you think you’re talking to, asshole?” he sneered.
Stark’s voice turned steely. “Here’s what’s you do,” he said. “You. Leave. Sara. Labriola. Alone.”
Labriola squinted hard, as if trying to bring something very small into focus. Then he glanced unbelievingly at Caruso. “You hear this fucking guy?” he bellowed. “You hear how he talks to me?” He laughed, but edgily, as his gaze shot from Caruso to Tony, then back to Stark. “You a fag?”