Natasha eyes near bulged out of her face as she did a quick two-step away from the stiff. “That’s what the smell is? Who…who was he?”
“Hell if I know.” I gestured around. “This whole deal is gonzo. Look, I’m a bit outa sorts right now. Blame it on the booze. Stuff’s laced with nanomachines that reboot my healing system, only with hallucinogenic side effects. Not to mention a trip down memory lane with my old self downloaded into a synoid body. He’s not physically here, of course. He tricked out the stiff there with a microphone and camera ‘cause he’s scared stiff of my ex-girlfriend.”
“Uh… ok. Sorry we asked.” Benny glanced at me from the corner of his eyes. “You feeling all right? You look different for some reason.”
“Better, actually.” Natasha stepped closer and peered into my face. “You look like you got a good night’s sleep. And a decent meal.”
“I’m aces. Feeling great.” All the soreness had vanished from my muscles and I was sure if I lifted my shirt I’d see the recent gunshot wounds had faded as if months old. It was almost worth the acid trip into temporary insanity.
“So can we get the hell outta here, then? My uncle just buzzed again. Says you gotta come in.”
“I told you I’m not one of his soldatis, Benny. I’m doing important work here.”
“Important work like downing some booze and squeezing off on a mook who’s already dead?
“Touché. What’s Flacco got his panties all in a bunch over, anyhow?”
Benny winced at my disrespect. “Says he found something you’d like to see.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
“A Secret Service agent.”
Chapter 14: The Easy Way Out
Moe Flacco was holed up in a ratty little warehouse not too far from Hunter’s place. The Docks were a regular stomping ground for Mafia executions, so just about every self-respecting Capo owned some real estate out there. We pulled up to a district nicknamed Grindhouse Alley on account of all the Mob interrogations that took place in its number of grimy, rusted out warehouses conveniently constructed right at the edge of the West River. Once the wetwork was done it was no problem to chuck the remains in stinking, black waters of the West.
No-Nose Nate admitted us inside one of Flacco’s grisly estates. His candy apple red pinstriped suit was tempered only by the black shirt and Trilby hat that sat cocked on his narrow head. He greeted me with a smirk. “Mick. Word on the streets is you’d been zotzed.”
“I was. But I got over it.”
He snorted, turning his attention to Benny. “Still alive, kid? I thought you might be pushing daisies by now. Either that or drooling in your sleep somewhere.”
Benny’s face turned crimson. “I’m on the job, Nicky.”
“That’s good, kid. C’mon, your uncle’s already hot about you keeping him waiting.”
The warehouse was mostly empty and mostly dark. Only the central line of overhead lights were on, highlighting Moe’s crew of soldatis lounging on stacked crates and barrels of lye or against the chrome bumpers of the gleaming wheelers pulled inside. Moe was decked out in a charcoal tweed overcoat over his three-piece and Bogart to match. He chatted amiably with Electra, who was dressed in a slinking black lace-grilled gown and gloves as though out to a swanky nightclub. Her scarlet bob was encircled by a bejeweled fascinator that winked in the dim light. She laughed behind her hand as if Moe had just told her a whopper of a joke.
You would’ve thought it just another night out if it weren’t for the locale, or the blood-spattered mess that sat in the center of it all. Mafia interrogations are never pretty sights, and that one was no exception. The unlucky recipient had been stripped to his boxers and sat on a stool with his feet and hands duct taped. Not only was he covered in bruises, cuts and contusions, but his face had been beaten so badly it was unrecognizable.
Moe Flacco greeted his nephew with a smile and outstretched arms. “Benny, you goomba. Why didn’t you check in like I asked? Had me worried about you. What would I tell my sister if I lost her firstborn, eh?”
Benny dipped his head respectfully. “Zio. My apologies. I was busy watching Mr. Trubble’s back like you told me.”
“Look at the kid. One day with the Troubleshooter and he’s talking like a man grown.” Flacco gave Benny’s face an affectionate pat before turning to me. “Thank you for letting my nephew tag along, Mick. I hope he hasn’t caused you too much trouble.”
“Not at all. Like the kid said, he’s the one who’s been watching my back.”
That seemed to please the old mobster. Rubbing his hands, he nodded the direction of his crew. “These are some of my boys: James and Henry. The short one is Tommy. I’ve been doing a little investigation of my own. Anytime you get hit you have to do a little house cleaning. And when you clean up, you start with the inside. So I checked on everyone that personally works for me. You know — tightened the screws on some of the new help.” He jerked a thumb at the misfortunate meat wad in the chair. “Turns out one of my drivers wasn’t who we thought he was. Recognize him?”
“How can I? He looks like he’s been tossed in a meat grinder.”
“No kidding. Point is, he says he knows you. Told us a lot of things. He’s been singing like a bird every since we convinced him to cooperate. His name’s Nelson. Or at least that’s the name we’ve known him as. I’m sure it’s a cover. He’s Secret Service, after all.”
I lit a gasper and sucked nicotine. “He’s not Service.”
“You saying he’s lying?” Moe nodded to Tommy, who seized Nelson by his hair and yanked his head up.
The unlucky stooge managed to open the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. He licked his bloody, puffy lips. “Water.”
Moe’s eyes were so cold they glinted. “You hear that? The man is thirsty. Electra, why don’t you give him a drink?”
“No problem.” She picked up a two-gallon can of gasoline by her feet. Tommy forced Nelson’s mouth open and shoved a corroded funnel down his throat. Despite gagging on rusty metal, Nelson only had eyes for Electra as she approached. She smiled as he frantically shook his head and made muffled sounds of panic.
“Aw — looks like he’s not so thirsty after all.” Electra pursed her lips in a pouty manner and lowered the gas can.
I exhaled a cloud of smoke. “I’m saying he’s no agent. He might work for the Service, but he’s outsourced. A contractor. Just a bottom scraper trying to get ahead.”
“How do you know?”
I glanced at Nelson. His small, tubby frame was drenched in sweat. The distinct stink of urine wafted from his vicinity, verifying the dark stain on the front of his boxers.
“If he were an agent, you’d never have broken him like this.”
Moe gestured. Tommy yanked the funnel out of Nelson’s mouth, grimacing at the layer of bloody phlegm that coated the stem. Nelson erupted in a coughing fit and would have fallen off the stool if not for James’ hand on the back of his neck.
Moe casually stepped up and backhanded Nelson across the face with a sound like a meat tenderizer slamming into a thick wad of ground beef.
I felt my hands tighten into fists. It took a mental reminder to keep me from saying anything stupid. I remembered Nelson was allied with the same people who had no problem slicing up innocent women. When it came to organizations with a history of dirty deeds, I had already chosen sides with the lesser of two evils.
Nelson lolled back, tilting on the edge of consciousness. The second time Moe slapped him it was almost gentle. “You know this man, Nelson?” He pointed my direction. “You told us you did. Don’t wanna flip on that story now, do you?”
Nelson gazed at me with a glazed expression for a long moment before recognition finally dawned in his eye. “I told you. I don’t know him… personally. I just know… of him.”