Читать книгу Montesereno - Benjamin W. Farley - Страница 15

Just prior to dinner, Curly came by the Villa to bid “Good Night!” Darby answered the door. He could see Hettie in the couple’s pick-up truck. Linda and Stephanie sat in the living room in front of the fireplace. Donaldson and Dominetti had stationed themselves in the kitchen to observe Jon Paul’s culinary arts. The shadows of evening lay cold and dark across the grounds.

“Won’t you come in?” Darby asked.

“No, Sir! Ain’t necessary,” Curly addressed him. “There’s a strange car parked up at the overlook. Ain’t nobody in it, but the license plate’s marked ‘New Jersey.’ I walked up there when I seen it. I think maybe the driver was in the woods, relievin’ hisself. But that ain’t for certain. Just thought you needed to know, especially with them ‘fire fighters’ of yourn hangin’ about here. Well, you’ens come and see us.” He tipped his cap before descending the steps. “Oh!” he turned, “Hettie says to say, ‘Till next time.’”

Darby waved to her as the truck drove off. “Linda! Did you hear that?” he asked her quietly.

“Yes!”

“Better call Jon Paul. Let Donaldson know.” While she hurried to the kitchen, Darby nodded toward Stephanie. “Stephanie! You’re not to know about this. Just sit loose until we know more.”

She shook her head in approval, her eyes wide with fear.

“Gentleman!” the marshal called, as he came running from the kitchen with Dominetti and Jon Paul: “If what your Curly said is true, we might be in trouble. Do you have a gun, or weapon?”

“Of course!” replied Jon Paul. “I keep a .38 in my room at all times. Why?”

“You’re going to need it, if that car’s from New Jersey. What about you, Professor?”

“Yes. I’ve got one in the cottage. A 9 mm semi-automatic. But I’ve never used it.”

“Mr. Ruffini, are you comfortable staying here with the professor while Mr. Wagner and I look around? We’ll come back instantly. Mrs. Wagner, lock all the doors. Do you mind? Is that OK, sir?” he directed his question toward Dominetti. “Do you feel safe?”

“Holy Mary, Mother of God! Stop calling me Ruffini! Do I have a choice? I could of warned you how this would end! Just protect the girl,” he groused bitterly. He held up his hands. “I, Angelico, would love to use these again! To crush their throats!” He snapped his knuckles as he clenched his fists. “Find them. Dead or alive!”

The tall marshal unzipped his leather jacket, checked his revolver, and spun-clicked the chamber of his Colt .45. “Mr. Wagner. Please get your gun. I’ll wait for you at the back door. I’m going out the front now to look around.”

“Linda! . . . Stephanie! . . . Mr. Dominetti!” Darby quietly enunciated each name, “let’s adjourn to the living room and . . . see what happens. . . . Sì?”

“Only for the sake of the Signora and la poca raggaza, yes!” Dominetti smiled reassuringly, giving Stephanie a hug. “Come, little one. I have granddaughters older than you.”

Time passed slowly. Darby sat nervously with restless misgivings, while Stephanie fidgeted with a doily under a lamp. Linda stared restively into the flames. All four listened for sounds of the night, from the faintest stirrings of leaves against the windowpanes to the terrifying possibility of crashing glass. Their prolonged silence was about to reach the breaking point, when suddenly Dominetti pointed his index finger toward the backyard. “Shhhh! Did you hear it, that zippin’ noise? That’s a silencer! Get down!” Immediately upon his warning, Donaldson’s .45 roared—once, twice, a third time! The popping sound of Jon Paul’s .38 punctuated the ensuing clamor. Dominetti bolted up and raced toward the French doors. He flung them open to crash abruptly into the chest of a large figure in a woolen overcoat. “You!” Dominetti exclaimed. He seized the man by his throat, lifted him off his feet, and, twisting him sideways, broke his neck with a shocking snap. Darby heard the man’s upper vertebrae crack as his body collapsed on the steps. “My own kin!” the exasperated don swallowed. “May God forgive me!” he crossed himself in anger.

Darby stepped out into the cold. Dominetti had bent down. He was stroking the dead man’s cheeks. “O Frankie! Why? Why? I wasn’t gonna rat on you. O Frankie, we were friends!”

Peterson looked up. Donaldson was on his cell phone. Jon Paul’s hands were trembling. “I shot him, but I missed!” he stammered. “The marshal killed the other one. He was hiding in the Garden.”

Darby could hear Gunn’s voice over Donaldson’s cell phone. “We’ll be there within two hours!” the agent stated. “Stay indoors and keep calm. Don’t let Dominetti out of your sight!””

“Can you help me?” asked Donaldson, directing his words toward Peterson. “We’ll need to drag them out to the parking lot under some lights,” he emphasized for Jon Paul to hear. “That large one there’s going be heavy.”

Within moments, Jon Paul flipped on the outside spotlights. Linda placed her hand on Angelico’s shoulder.

“Hey, I’m all right!” he grumbled. “How’s the girl?” he turned toward Stephanie. “Are you OK, sweetie?”

The girl looked at him, her large eyes filled with shock. Her shoulders quavered from the excitement. She opened her mouth to reply, swallowed; then, without warning, she threw up.

“Ah!” groaned Dominetti. “We all puke the first time. Jesus Christ! Here!” he bent forward and mopped up the vomit with a handkerchief from his pocket.

* * *

Just prior to nine o’clock, the agents arrived in a hearse. Darby was surprised, yet fascinated. He stared down at Frankie’s body. It had already begun to bloat and ooze with stench. Gunn stepped out of the long gray vehicle and opened its rear doors. A second agent got out as well. The two men, along with Donaldson, secured the two corpses in body bags and heaved them into the back of the hearse.

“Do you have the keys to their car?” Gunn asked Donaldson.

“Yes, sir! That was the first item I removed. Neither has an iota of identification.”

“I’m not surprised. We don’t need the car. Remove its tags and obliterate the VIN. Drive it off the Parkway, if you have to. Just ditch it. I’m coming back for Ruffini,” he glanced about, using his fake name, “probably around Tuesday. Just stand guard. We still don’t know how the mob found out. My God, it was almost instant! Watch him around the clock. I’d take him with us, but we’d only have to find another place first.”

“Why can’t we just impound the car? It’d make great evidence later.”

“That’d involve the locals, the sheriff’s department. No. Just get rid of the damn thing. OK!”

“Yes, sir! I savvy.”

* * *

Not until ten o’clock did the guests finally gather about the dining room table for their evening meal. Angelico had provided the wine from his own larder upstairs.

“I’m still not hungry,” said Stephanie, “yet I want something to eat.”

“Nervous energy,” smiled Donaldson. He had seated himself across from Dominetti who sat beside the girl. The marshal’s smile warmed his otherwise grey face, framed within his neck-length cropped blond hair. His eyes could not conceal his attraction to the girl. “How old are you?” he asked.

“Seventeen! I’ll be eighteen in April. What about you?”

“Twenty-nine! My first name’s Joel. Straight out of Tulsa. With a BS in chemistry from Oral Roberts. Been a marshal since 2002. Mainly in New York.”

“That’s right!” uttered Dominetti. “That’s where babyface,” he nodded toward Joel, “infiltrated the mob. They had him selling ‘coke’ in the Bronx schools. I was his contact. He had us fooled.” Dominetti set his fork down and raised his wine glass. “Now aren’t you glad I brought this vintage!” he said, as he turned the glass of translucent vino in his hand. “You couldn’t of asked for a sweeter wine to go with this pollo e pasta. No? Sì!”

Darby raised his glass. He wished Linda had joined them, but she rarely, if ever, compromised her role as the Villa’s hostess-server. The creamy white sauce on the pasta, which Linda had ladled over the crumb-encrusted breasts, could not have been richer. “I’ve never eaten this soon after a death, or murder, I should say. Strange, but I feel no guilt.”

“Yes! It’s like a wake, a vègila!” Dominetti smiled. “Too bad for them; perfect for us.”

“If you say so,” Darby rejoined.

“It was a close one, though,” Dominetti admitted, first refilling his own glass before pouring the professor’s to the brim. “Tomorrow, we must talk,” he stated with raspy seriousness. “There is something I must tell you in secret. No offense, my pretty one, or marshal,” he deferred to the girl and Donaldson. “Somethin’ just between the Father and me. Mr. Wagner did say you were a priest? Sì?”

“Yes, and a professor!” beamed Stephanie. “All in one guy.”

“The good don here’s just being gracious,” Darby smiled. “And I’m honored, sir, with the title, but the priest part was long ago.”

“No matter. Tonight we celebrate!” Dominetti raised his glass anew. “Tomorrow is different.” He looked down at his plate. His jubilant countenance had waned. He looked up at Darby, with something of an absence of mind. “I must retire. Please excuse me!” he announced, as he slid his chair back and stood up. “Give my compliments to the chef.”

Stephanie hopped to her feet to give the Italian a hug. “I’ll be going home in the morning, in case I miss you,” she kissed his neck. “Thank you for being so sweet.”

“My dear!” Angelico croaked in his harsh voice. “You are the sweetest of all.” He hugged her tightly with a tear in his eye. “May our Savior’s Mother watch over you all your life.”