Oxley went on to his desk. He sat down, lit a cigarette and toyed with a paperweight as his mind spun through the situation. What the hell was this? The guy had hitman written all over him. Surely things had not gone that sour that fast. But it was the standard hitman greeting. They hated to make mistakes. They liked to know for sure. Are you the guy I've been sent to burn?
The troubled man took a deep pull at the cigarette and cautiously replied, "I haven't used that name for a long time. You know who I am. What's the game?"
"It's called 'kiss your ass goodbye'," was the cold response.
Oxley had not been aware of a flicker of movement over there, but suddenly an ugly snubnosed pistol was yawning on him.
He froze with the cigarette pointed toward an ashtray as a million and a half thoughts careened through his mind. His heart went into triple-time. His mouth was suddenly very dry, the tongue overlarge and threatening to seal off his throat. His voice, when it came, was weak and raspy. "Now wait! This is… misunderstanding! We can straighten it out!"
"You can't raise the dead, amici," said the big frigid man.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Oxley squawked. "I'm not-I didn't-who's dead?"
"You are," said the voice of doom. "It's tit for tat, Raymond. So kiss it goodbye."
"This is a terrible mistake!" Oxley yelled. He staggered to his feet and leaned weakly back against the desk, both hands held out in a loose boxing stance at chest level. This was the most terrifying moment of his life. Things like this didn't really happen-did they? But, yes, that son of a bitch meant business for sure! "It's crazy! You got the wrong guy! I don't even know what you're talking about!"
The man at the window had not moved. He said, "We're talking about Carl Leonetti." "Who?"
"And Dandy Jack Clemenza. That was no way to honor a deal."
Oh for God's sake! Oxley giggled in near hysteria, overjoyed with a sudden understanding. It was a gruesome mistake! "Hey, buddy amici!-you got it all wrong! Clemenza's not dead! He took a fall, that's all! I had nothing to do with that, for God's sake! I thought at first you were from the other people! God! Scared the shit outta me, you did. Those people are the ones I'm worried about! They got a big investment in this. Naturally-I mean I'd expect them to be worried about their investment. I thought you were from them. Hey!-I'm with Clemenza all the way on this thing. What hurts him, hurts me. You got it all wrong."
The purple shades come away from that impassive face. Oxley felt impaled by probing blue eyes-penetrated, examined, judged and sealed. Finally: "Is that all you have to say?"
"No! I never met Leonetti. I know he's with Clemenza on this, too, but we never met. He hit town last week. We talked on the phone. I set up his contact and that's all. I never saw him."
"Who burned him, then?"
"God I didn't know he got burned. I was hoping to find him, myself. I figure he's my only out. I need the product and I need it bad. Like I said, there's this big investment. I got to deliver on that investment. Who burned him?"
The big guy seemed to be giving Oxley a second inspection. Then, that cold voice again "Send for your leg-breakers."
"What?"
"The two Swedish Angels-Jimbo and Arthur. Call them in here."
Oxley was greatly confused by the command but he gladly leaned over the intercom and obeyed it.
Thank God they were there.
The two bruisers were at the door before Oxley could straighten up. They came in cautiously and halted just inside the room, obviously sensitized by the heavy atmosphere.
The guy at the window said to them, "Let's come to an understanding, boys." He was putting the gun away. The fucking idiot! Oxley was breathing better already. "I just want one thing. I want my partner, Carl Leonetti. So let's decide where he is and let me be on my way."
Like shit!
Jimbo shot an oblique and loaded gaze at his boss while Arthur took on the cold stare of the visitor.
"Relax," said Oxley with an easy laugh. "There was a misunderstanding but it's straightened out, now. Mr. uh. mister…?"
The guy at the window supplied the name with no change in voice tones. "Lambretta. Call me Frankie."
"Oh right, sure. Frankie is worried about his partner, boys. If you know anything about a man named Carl Leonetti, now's the time to spit it out."
Arthur had no patience for games of finesse. His massive shoulders were hunched forward and the fingers of both hands were splayed and flexing. "You want me to toss this hotshot outta here, Mr. Oxley?" he rumbled.
"No no," Oxley replied grandly, enjoying the moment. "It's cool. I told you to relax. Let's give the man his answers before we throw him out."
"I got no answers," Arthur growled.
"Me neither," seconded Jimbo.
"There you go," Oxley said sweetly to his visitor. "Both of these boys are armed, of course. But I'm sure they'd rather break you open with their hands. I guess you have that much choice."
But that was a mistake. As it turned out, the big guy at the window apparently had infinite choices in the matter. Both of the bodyguards were going for their weapons when the snub-nose magically leapt into Lambretta's hand, seemingly roaring as it did so. Arthur was flung backward with a gaping well between the eyes. Jimbo's mouth exploded into a crimson fountain, the eyes twitching and rolling momentarily as he crumpled to the floor.
Oxley's ears were ringing from the twin explosions. He was stunned, ill and terrified all at once. His vision was going in and out and he could see Lambretta now as only a red-tinted shadow occupying a halo of light-still at the window. Then Oxley realized that the red tints were being produced by human blood dripping from his forehead-Jimbo's blood-and the smell of it was overpowering his senses.
He heard his own voice pleading eerily from the background of horror as the image at the window began moving closer. The dissociated groveling sickened him even further, but he could not control it.
He was on his knees, for God's sake, in Jimbo's blood, begging for mercy!
And the big man was standing over him now, the hot muzzle of the pistol at Oxley's forehead.
"You're naked now," the cold voice told him, from somewhere atop the red halo. "You're better off that way, so stay there. No more games. No more cute. We'll talk now, Raymond."
And, of course, they did. Yes. They really got down to the talking, then.
CHAPTER 6
Don't do it! Please! Anything you want whatever… just say it!"
"I told you what I want, Raymond."
"I never met the guy! I talked to him on the phone! That's all!"
"And when was that?"
"About a week ago. It was last Tuesday." "Why did you talk to him?"
"Huh? He called me."
"What about?"
"Well he was-I knew who he was. I mean I knew the name. He brought in some product for Dandy Jack. He said he was worried about that. He didn't like Dandy's operation. He said he had a fail-safe and he wanted to talk to somebody about that."
"He had a what?"
"I figured he meant another shipment, a product reserve."
"And what did you say?"
"I said it wasn't part of the deal. I told him I couldn't even talk to him about that. That wasn't my territory."
"What is your territory?"
"Uh! I'm more on the distribution side."
"Street distribution."
"No, no. National distribution."
"This is where it starts?"
"Yeah."
"How?"
"Huh?"
"How?"
"Uh… well we have a natural setup here. You know, we send people all over the country. From here. Also a lot of promo and demo material."
"Uh huh."
"Perfect setup, isn't it?"
"Yeah it's quite a setup, Raymond. So why didn't you want to deal with Carl? Product is product, isn't it?"
"Well, no. He had raw stuff. That's Dandy's territory… the raw stuff. He has to step on it before I get it. I can't handle raw product. Anyway it sounded like double dealing and it scared me. I couldn't get involved in anything like that."