Judy stilled him with her hands. They were back to square uno. “No, you don’t say anything. Listen to me. In the law, the prosecutor, or the district attorney, has to prove you intended, or wanted, to kill Coluzzi when you pushed him. In fact, they have to prove you were lying in wait to kill him, for murder in the first degree. They can’t prove you meant to kill him from the facts they have. And they can’t prove it from the physical evidence.” Judy touched Pigeon Tony’s skinny shoulder, her excitement growing. “It may be manslaughter, but they didn’t charge you with manslaughter. They overcharged, like they always do. They charged you with murder. We’re gonna win! You’ll go free.”
Pigeon Tony looked at her in wonderment. “But, Judy, I want to kill him. Is truth.”
The simple words stung, and Judy felt her face flush. It was the truth, and she was preparing to hide it, to get her client off. How do you explain that to someone like Pigeon Tony? Whose morals were supposedly inferior to hers? Was he guilty or not? What had she decided? They didn’t agree on the rationale, but they both thought it wasn’t murder. Did it matter? Judy couldn’t wrap her mind around it.
But Pigeon Tony was shaking his head. “When I run to him, I say to him, ‘I kill you, I kill you, you pig!’”
“What?”
“I say this when I push him. I run at him and say it.”
Judy cut him off with a wave. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“I forget.”
“How loud did you say that?”
“Loud. I scream. How you say ‘scream’?”
“We say ‘scream.’” Judy’s heart sank. There could be witnesses who heard it through the door, but then again, maybe there weren’t. “Who exactly was there that morning? Tony, Feet, who else from your club?”
“Nobody.”
“Good.” Judy hoped they didn’t hear it. “Who from Coluzzi’s club?”
Pigeon Tony shook his head. “Only Fat Jimmy. He always with Angelo Coluzzi.”
“Fat Jimmy. What’s his last name again?”
“Bello.”
Suddenly there was a knock, and Frank peeked through the open door. His mouth looked tight. “We need to go!”
“For real?”Judy asked.
“John Coluzzi’s on his way.”
Chapter 17
“You want me to leave my car, in this neighborhood?” Judy asked. She hadn’t counted on that. Her little bug beckoned from its parking space. Fahrvergnügen, it said to her, which she had learned was Italian for high monthly payments.
“Go, go, go! Judy, get in the truck.” Frank was hoisting his grandfather into the backseat of his big F-250, his eyes riveted down the street. “Coluzzi’s man made a cell call two minutes ago and just got picked up in a black Caddy. My guess is Coluzzi, he’ll show up any minute.”
Judy looked down the street, too. There was nobody in sight except a boxy SEPTA bus. Gray clouds gathered overhead and a young woman smoking a cigarette hurried along, pushing a baby in a plaid umbrella stroller. “Okay, but why can’t I take my car?”
“I want you with me. Get in the truck.” Frank turned to her and grabbed her arm. His grip was strong, his expression worried. “We’ll come back for the goddamn car.”
“Promise?”
“No.” Suddenly Frank lifted Judy by the waist and hoisted her into the front seat before she could protest. “Any other questions?” he asked, but Judy gathered it was rhetorical, since he slammed the door behind her. She sat slightly stunned. Nobody had ever picked her up before; she didn’t know it was possible. She half liked the idea. And half hated it.
“He’s bossy, isn’t he?” Judy said with an embarrassed laugh, and Pigeon Tony cackled from the backseat.
“My Frankie, he likes you,” he said, and Judy couldn’t help but blush, wondering if it was true. And surprised that she cared enough to wonder.
Frank jumped into the truck, cranked the ignition, and hit the gas. “Let’s get outta here,” he said, and the huge engine roared into action. They took off, the truck’s wide tires screeching.
Judy’s face was still warm as she glanced in the large side mirror mounted outside her window. The SEPTA bus disappeared into the distance. “Nobody back there.”
Frank glanced at the rearview mirror. “Not yet.” He looked over his shoulder. “Pop, do me a favor and lie down.”
“Here?” Pigeon Tony asked. “Inna seat?”
“Yes, just do it, okay? Judy, you, too.” Frank’s eyes glittered as they accelerated around the corner, whizzing by rowhouse after rowhouse. People on the street turned and stared. A woman walking her poodle shook her fist. Frank gripped the wheel, controlling the truck with grim determination. Rocks thundered in the back bed, rolling back and forth. “Both of you, lie down!”
Pigeon Tony obeyed in silence but Judy had never obeyed anything, in silence or otherwise. She gripped the handrail in front of her window, steadying herself as the pickup squealed around the corner. She was starting to believe that Italians shouldn’t be issued driver’s licenses. Next thing they’d want the vote. “Watch out, Frank! Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”
“Lie down!” he shouted, just as an earsplitting crack sounded behind them.
Judy jumped. Was that a gunshot? It wasn’t possible. It was broad daylight. “What was that?” she said, turning reflexively.
A black sedan was bearing down on them. A man hung out of the passenger window with a handgun. Holy God. Judy stiffened with fright. Where had the car come from?
Crak! Another shot rang out, louder than the first. People on the street were throwing themselves onto the sidewalk.
“Get down!” Frank yelled. He palmed Judy’s head, shoved it into her lap, and held it there. The truck surged forward. “Pop, stay down! They’re shooting at us!”
“They’re shooting at us?” Judy’s voice got lost in her skirt. She couldn’t believe it. Adrenaline dumped into her system. She tried to stay calm and think. She had no idea where her seat belt was.
This was attempted murder. She should call the police. Her cell phone was in her backpack, jostling near her feet on the carpeted floor of the truck. She reached for it with a trembling hand.
Crak! Another blast went off, closer this time. The sound shot through her body, shocking her senses. Her backpack slid out of reach when the truck careened around another corner. Her heart pumped wildly. People on the street shouted and cursed them.
“Goddamn it! I can’t lose these assholes!” Frank said through gritted teeth. “Hold on!” He wrenched the steering wheel to the right. The tires squealed hideously. Rocks slammed against the truck bed. The truck swerved around the next corner.
Judy was thrown against Frank’s side, jolting her upright. She grabbed the console for support. The truck scraped a line of parked cars as it barreled forward. Sparks flew past the truck window like firecracker debris.
Judy glanced back at the dark car. It was only a block away. Close enough for a good shot. “No!” she heard herself screaming. She twisted forward. The truck was racing toward the intersection straight ahead. The traffic light was red. A Mayflower moving van was already nosing into the grid. In a second they would get trapped between the Coluzzis and the van. They would die unless they could beat the van. In a split second Judy read Frank’s mind. “Do it!” she hollered, and Frank floored the gas.
The truck leaped forward like a runaway bull and thundered toward the intersection. Frank threw an arm over Judy’s body, holding her back like a seat belt. “I got you,” he said, but his words vanished in the blare of the van’s horn, blowing like a Klaxon.