The boss wiped his mouth and Tommy couldn’t help feel like he was watching a silent film. The three men were practically breathing in unison.
“Thomas,” the boss said. “How’s your father doing?”
“He’s good, Sal.” Always the family questions first. That was Sal Demenci’s style. He could be about to whack someone and he’d ask how the guy’s sister was doing in school.
Sal dove into his mound of pasta. When he came up for air, he said, “Ever been to Payston, or Patetown?”
“Payson,” one of his men clarified.
“That’s it, Payson,” Sal said. “It’s in Arizona. You familiar with this place?”
Tommy shook his head.
“Well,” Sal said, “it’s supposed to be beautiful. Up in the mountains a couple of hours from Phoenix. Anyway, there’s a guy up there, he likes to book with a friend of ours. One day last week, the guy lays down ten large on a football game… I forget who he bet — it doesn’t matter. The thing is — this guy’s a twenty-dollar bettor. He never dropped more than a small one, not even on the Super Bowl. The guy’s name is Fred Wilson. One day he started blabbing to our friend about how he’s gonna make a killing selling some Arab a bunch of giant blasting caps. Our friend doesn’t think anything of it until Fred loses his head.”
The bookends chuckled while Sal drew a finger across his throat, “I mean literally.”
Sal twirled long strands of pasta into a spoon, the image of headless Fred Wilson unable to slow his appetite. “Anyhow, our friend gets to thinking maybe this Arab has something to do with the bombings. You know, that whole one-house-in-every-state thing.”
Sal looked Tommy in the eye, as if to say, “You see what I’m getting at here?”
Tommy nodded.
Sal waved his fork between Tommy and Silk. “You two get down there and find out what our friend knows. I want this rat bastard to pay for what he did to the Capelli’s. Capisce?”
Tommy stood and waited for his final instructions. Sal wiped his mouth. “I trust you, Thomas. I don’t need nothing from you but your word. Don’t come home until the Arab is dead.”
Tommy winked at Sal, then followed Silk out the door. It was standard procedure for Sal to request a finger or an ear as evidence that the hit was completed. But Sal had awarded Tommy with the ultimate show of respect. Trust.
Chapter 11
Rashid’s patience was reaching its limit. Both the hardware store and Target were out of the batteries he needed and he was on his way to Wal-Mart to continue the search. Something about the stores made him uneasy. They both had plenty of AA and D batteries, but no C batteries. They were conspicuous in their absence. Rashid became suspicious of everyone he saw. Every movement in the corner of his eye became a concern. There was no way anyone could recognize him in a place like Payson, Arizona, even if they knew what to look for. He’d shaved his mustache and changed the color of his hair from dark to blond. Besides, if the government knew where to look, he’d be back in custody already. He had to control his emotions and get through this last chore before the next series of bombs could be transported. He’d hoped to avoid attention by spreading out the purchases among several stores, but he was running out of options. He parked the van in an empty row of parking spaces and decided to buy only twenty batteries this trip. He would come back tonight after the employees changed shifts and purchase the remaining thirty.
He was relieved to see a full shelf of C batteries and got up the nerve to purchase twenty-five of them. When he exited the store he spotted a thin, dark-haired man wearing a navy-blue blazer, brand new blue jeans, and shiny black boots. The man was just three or four steps behind him and he made no pretense to be ignoring Rashid. The man smiled at him as if he was about to begin a conversation. Rashid picked up his pace and when he reached the van he noticed the man had stopped in the middle of the parking lot and was scanning the grounds for onlookers. Rashid was so mesmerized by the man’s actions he didn’t notice the second man approaching from his blind spot. The man waited for Rashid to open the door and sit down before he jabbed him in his side with the long barrel of a silencer and said, “Get in the back.”
Rashid froze. He knew time was critical in these situations. The element of surprise was with his attacker for a few moments, but any sudden reversal of aggression would be just as surprising to the attacker. Something in the way the man held the pistol made him hesitate. The man was maneuvering a purple toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. While Rashid contemplated his counterattack, the man glanced around the near-empty parking lot, raised the gun an inch and said, “Goodbye, Rashid. Nice knowing you.”
“Okay,” Rashid blurted. He jumped off the driver’s seat and scuttled into the windowless rear of the van. There were no seats, just a loose-fitting carpet that slid under the quick moves of the two men entering the space. Rashid sat with his back to one wall and the man sat directly across from him, pointing the gun at him as if it were part of his hand. The passenger door opened and the other man sat in the passenger seat and began reading a newspaper like he was alone.
Rashid’s knife was taped to his back and he began to creep his right hand toward the weapon.
The man across from him inspected the austere interior of the van and said, “I like what you’ve done to the place, Rashid.”
The man reached into his pocket with his free hand, unfolded an eight-by-ten photo and held it in front of him. He switched his gaze between Rashid and the photo a few times then stuffed it back into his pocket.
“It looks like you a little, but you must’ve got fancy with the hair, eh?” the man said.
Rashid had no intention of speaking. The man could guess all he wanted, but Rashid wasn’t about to give him any answers. His mind raced, working out the escape plan. His knife would take too long to retrieve, he needed another option.
The man said, “Hey, relax. My name’s Tommy and that’s Silk.” Silk waved the back of his hand without ever looking up from his newspaper.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Tommy said. “I’m just here to give you a message. If I kill you, then the message doesn’t get sent and I’ve wasted a lot of my time. Shit, a five-hour flight with headwinds and all. Just don’t give me a reason to put you down.”
Something about Tommy’s mannerism had Rashid believing him, but it didn’t prevent Rashid from running through a plan of attack. The man in the front seat wasn’t even an issue, it was down to one on one, and Rashid liked those odds, even without a weapon.
Tommy removed the purple toothpick from his mouth and pointed it at Rashid. “You Middle-Easterners think you’re real bad, don’t ya? Well, I’m not here to judge your methods. Shit, I don’t even give a crap what you’re all pissed off about. All I know is you guys killed a family in Maryland who was very dear to me and my friends. The name was Capelli and you morons killed them while they were sleeping. Cowardly, really. Anyway, I’m here to tell ya — don’t let it happen again. Don’t let any of those missile thingy’s find their way into any more Sicilian homes. Capisce?”
Rashid had read about the Capelli family and how they were considered one of the largest crime families on the East Coast. It had been a random pick, but Rashid had no regrets. Maybe that’s how these Sicilians operated? Maybe they sent messengers to protect their interests. He definitely wasn’t with the police or FBI, or Rashid would be on his way back to prison. And if he was there to kill him, why would he wait?
Something gnawed at Rashid. If these guys could find him, then someone else could too, and that would be devastating. As if Tommy could read his mind, he said, “Want to know how I found you?”