After Laurie had her things ready, she and Jack took Tom’s Styrofoam casket into the backyard. In the far corner of the garden where there was loose loam, they dug a deep hole. The chance discovery of a rusted spade made the job easy, and Tom was put to rest.
“My word!” Jack complained as he hauled Laurie’s suitcase out the front door. “What did you put in here?”
“You told me to pack for several days,” Laurie said defensively.
“But you didn’t have to bring your bowling ball,” Jack quipped.
“It’s the cosmetics,” Laurie said. “They are not travel size.”
They caught a cab on First Avenue. En route to Jack’s they stopped at a bookstore on Fifth Avenue. While Jack waited in the taxi, Laurie dashed inside to get a book on Equatorial Guinea. Unfortunately, there weren’t any, and she had to settle for a guidebook for all of Central Africa.
“The clerk laughed at me when I asked for a book on Equatorial Guinea,” Laurie said, when she got back in the cab.
“That’s one more hint it’s not a top vacation destination,” Jack said.
Laurie laughed. She reached over and gave Jack’s arm a squeeze. “I haven’t thanked you yet for coming over,” she said. “I really appreciated it, and I’m feeling much better.”
“I’m glad,” Jack said.
Once in Jack’s building, Jack had to struggle with Laurie’s suitcase up the cluttered stairs. After a series of exaggerated grunts and groans, Laurie asked him if he wanted her to carry it. Jack told her that her punishment for packing such a heavy bag was to listen to him complain.
Eventually, he got it outside his door. He fumbled for his key, got it into the cylinder and turned. He heard the dead bolt snap back.
“Hmmm,” he commented. “I don’t remember double-locking the door.” He turned the key again to release the latch bolt and pushed open the door. Because of the darkness, he preceded Laurie into the apartment to flip on the light. Laurie followed and collided with him because he’d stopped suddenly.
“Go ahead, turn it on,” a voice said.
Jack complied. The silhouettes he’d glimpsed a moment before were now men dressed in long, dark coats. They were seated on Jack’s sofa, facing into the room.
“Oh my god!” Laurie said. “It’s them!”
Franco and Angelo had made themselves at home, just as they had at Laurie’s. They’d even helped themselves to beers. The half-empty bottles were on the coffee table, along with a handgun and its attached silencer. A straight-backed chair had been brought into the center of the room to face the couch.
“I assume you are Dr. Jack Stapleton,” Franco said.
Jack nodded, as his mind began to go over ways of handling the situation. He knew the front door behind him was still ajar. He berated himself for not being more suspicious to have found it double-locked. The problem was he’d gone out so quickly, he couldn’t remember which locks he’d secured.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” Franco admonished as if reading Jack’s mind. “We won’t be staying long. And if we’d known that Dr. Montgomery was going to be here, we could have saved ourselves a trip to her place, not to mention the effort of going over the same message twice.”
“What is it you people are afraid we might learn that makes you want to come and threaten us?” Jack asked.
Franco smiled and looked at Angelo. “Can you believe this guy? He thinks we made all this effort to get in here to answer questions.”
“No respect,” Angelo said.
“Doc, how about getting another chair for the lady,” Franco said to Jack. “Then we can have our little talk, and we’ll be on our way.”
Jack didn’t move. He was thinking about the gun on the coffee table and wondering which of the men was still armed. As he tried to gauge their strength, he noticed that both were on the thin side. He figured they were most likely out of shape.
“Excuse me, Doc,” Franco said. “Are you with us or what?”
Before Jack could answer, there was commotion behind him and someone roughly bumped him to the side. Another person shouted: “Nobody move!”
Jack recovered from his momentary confusion to comprehend that three African-Americans had leaped into the room, each armed with machine pistols. The guns were trained unwaveringly on Franco and Angelo. These newcomers were all dressed in basketball gear, and Jack quickly recognized them. It was Flash, David, and Spit, all of whom were still sweating from activity on the playground.
Franco and Angelo were taken completely unawares. They simply sat there, eyes wide. Since they were accustomed to being on the other side of lethal weapons, they knew enough not to move.
For a moment there was frozen silence. Then Warren strutted in. “Man, Doc, keeping you alive has become a full-time job, you know what I’m saying? And I’m going to have to tell you, you’re dragging down the neighborhood, bringing in this kind of white trash.”
Warren took the machine pistol away from Spit and told Spit to frisk the visitors. Wordlessly, Spit relieved Angelo of his Walther auto pistol. After frisking Franco, he collected the gun from the coffee table.
Jack noisily let out a breath of air. “Warren, old sport, I don’t know how you manage to drop in on such a timely basis in my life, but it’s appreciated.”
“These scumbags were seen casing this place earlier tonight,” Warren explained. “It’s as if they think they’re invisible, despite their expensive threads and that big, black, shiny Cadillac. It’s kind of a joke.”
Jack rubbed his hands together in appreciation of the sudden change of power. He asked Angelo and Franco their names but got cold stares in return.
“That one is Angelo Facciolo,” Laurie said, while pointing toward her nemesis.
“Spit, get their wallets,” Warren ordered.
Spit complied and read out their names and addresses. “Uh-oh, what’s this?” he questioned when he opened the wallet containing the Ozone Park police badge. He held it up for Warren to see.
“They’re not police officers,” Warren said with a wave of dismissal. “Don’t worry.”
“Laurie,” Jack said. “I think it’s time to give Lou a call. I’m sure he’d like nothing better than to talk with these gentlemen. And tell him to bring the paddy wagon in case he’d like to invite them to stay the night at the city’s expense.”
Laurie disappeared into the kitchen.
Jack walked over to Angelo and towered above him.
“Stand up,” Jack said.
Angelo got to his feet and glowered insolently at Jack. To everyone’s surprise, especially Angelo, Jack sucker punched him as hard as he could in the face. There was a crunching sound as Angelo was knocked backward over the sofa to land in a heap on the floor.
Jack winced, cursed, and grabbed his hand. Then he shook it up and down. “Jeez,” he complained. “I’ve never hit anybody like that. It hurts!”
“Hold up,” Warren warned Jack. “I don’t like beatin’ on these dog turds. It’s not my style.”
“I’m all done,” Jack said, still shaking his injured hand. “You see, that dog turd on the other side of the couch beat up on Laurie earlier this evening after they broke into her apartment. I’m sure you noticed her face.”
Angelo pushed himself up to a sitting position. His nose angled to the right. Jack invited him to come back around the couch and sit down. Angelo moved slowly, while cupping his hand beneath his nose to catch the dripping blood.
“Now, before the police get here,” Jack said to the two men, “I’d like to ask you guys again about what you’re afraid Laurie and I might learn. What is going on with this Franconi nonsense?”
Angelo and Franco stared at Jack as if he weren’t there. Jack persisted and asked what they knew about Franconi’s liver, but the men remained stone silent.
Laurie returned from the kitchen. “I got Lou,” she reported. “He’s on his way, and I have to say he’s excited, especially about the Vido Delbario tip.”