“What if there are still police or general public around the iPS USA building after the explosion?”
Louie thought it was a good question, and gave it a bit of thought before responding. “If there are people or cops in the immediate surroundings, then we abort. We don’t do the break-in. We postpone it until another day. There’s to be no civilian casualties whatsoever if we can possibly avoid it. This is to be a clean break-in with no violence to others, except possibly to an inside security guard if there is one. Have your guys wear masks, gloves, and nondescript dark clothing, not white shirts and sunglasses.”
Louie looked at Hideki. There was a pause. Louie couldn’t believe Hideki didn’t have more questions. Hideki was clearly inexperienced at organizing such an event and was seemingly buying into the plan even though from Louie’s perspective it was, as he would say, nuts.
“If you have no questions for me,” Louie said finally, “I have one for you. When we spoke on the phone, you assured me that Satoshi’s death would be considered natural. How was the hit done?”
“I have been open with you as you requested about the lab books,” Hideki said. “But about this special technique, I can say nothing, as my oyabun has specifically ordered. We use it rarely, but it has always worked as designed.”
“Why did you use it on this occasion?”
“Specifically, we did not want the hit to appear as a hit.”
“I appreciate that you made the effort. If it is signed out as a natural death, it won’t cause the police to become agitated. That’s important to me, but why did you care?”
“Because of the Yamaguchi-gumi’s involvement. They had made a big effort to bring Satoshi over to America after they had helped iPS USA to acquire his lab books. If his death had been an obvious hit, we were fearful they might suspect us, the Aizukotetsu-kai, as the instigators. They are our rivals, and there has been tension between us because they stole the lab books from under our noses in our home city of Kyoto. In the past, such a situation could have resulted in violence. The problem is that they have grown too large. We would be overwhelmed even if we acted preemptively.”
“My God!” Louie exclaimed. “Such intrigue.”
“It is a time of change, I am afraid. The Yakuza used to be more respectful of tradition. The Yamaguchi-gumi are mere upstarts.”
After confirming that Susumu and Yoshiaki would be waiting outside the Barnes & Noble store in Union Square at eleven p.m., the three Yakuza left, all bowing before slipping out the door.
“Weird people,” Arthur said as soon as the sound of the outer door closing slipped back through the heavy draperies.
“This whole situation is weird,” Louie responded.
12
March 25, 2010
Thursday, 3:10 p.m.
I don’t like this,” Carlo said. “I’ve never been in a morgue. How can people work in such a place day in and day out?”
“I think it’s kind of interesting,” Brennan said. He liked the forensics shows on television.
They had pulled into a no-parking zone on First Avenue at the southeastern corner of 30th Street. OCME was ahead of them on the northeast corner.
“It doesn’t bother you?” Carlo asked nervously. He was in the driver’s seat of his Denali, unconsciously gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.
Brennan shook his head. “Why? Come on, let’s get this over with. Maybe we should call this Vinnie Amendola and see if he’ll come out and meet us in a bar or something. Having worked here for so long, he undoubtedly knows the area.”
“I think Louie was pretty clear that he wanted you to talk to him face-to-face in the morgue.”
“He didn’t say specifically me,” Brennan said. “He said ‘we.’ And he didn’t say we had to talk to him in the morgue. But you’re in charge.” There were times that Carlo irritated him, especially with the fact that he was officially in charge when the two of them were on assignment, as they were at that moment. Brennan was not impressed with Carlo’s general intelligence and thought that his intelligence should trump Carlo’s seniority. Once he’d brought the issue up with Louie but had gotten reamed out for doing so, such that he’d never brought it up again. But the issue sat there in the back of his mind, like a mildly bothersome toothache.
“I am in charge,” Carlo acknowledged. “So here’s how we’re going to handle this. You are going in the morgue, make contact with the guy face-to-face, and tell him I want to talk to him wherever he wants, but I want to talk now.”
“And what are you going to do while I’m in the morgue?”
“Sit here and watch the car. It’s a no-parking zone. I don’t want to get a ticket. If I’m not here when you come out, I’ll be driving around the block.”
Brennan stared at Carlo for a beat, feeling Carlo was making him play gofer. “Suit yourself,” Brennan grumbled as he climbed from the SUV.
“I could use a beer, so suggest a bar.”
Brennan merely nodded before slamming the door harder than he needed to. He knew that it irked Carlo but didn’t care since the slacker was taking advantage of him. By the time Brennan crossed 30th Street, he’d forgotten his peevishness and was curious about what, if anything, he was going to see. When he entered the building’s foyer he recognized the reality that he probably wasn’t going to see much. All the doors into the interior of the building were tightly closed. In front of him was a pleasant-looking, grandmotherly African-American woman with sparkling eyes and a warm, accepting smile. She was sitting behind a U-shaped reception counter in a high swivel chair. According to a nameplate, her name was Marlene Wilson.
“Can I help you?” Marlene questioned, as if she was the concierge at a fine hotel.
“I’m looking for a Vinnie Amendola,” Brennan said, thrown off balance by Marlene’s pleasant appearance and demeanor. He’d prepared himself for something more intimidating or even gothic.
Marlene used an OCME directory before dialing, making several calls before she got Vinnie on the line. She then handed the phone to Brennan.
After making certain he was talking to the correct person, Brennan said he’d just come from talking with Paulie Cerino and wanted to convey a message.
“The real Paulie Cerino?” Vinnie questioned with a hesitant voice. It was, perhaps, the last person he suspected he’d be hearing from that day.
“The Paulie Cerino from Queens,” Brennan said. He knew that it was a name that used to strike terror in certain people, particularly deadbeats who had borrowed money or who had been unlucky at poker or picked the wrong horses or athletic teams.
“Is Paulie Cerino out of prison?” Vinnie questioned. Although Vinnie was not a gambler, he did not like to hear from Paulie Cerino.
“No, he is still in prison but expects an imminent parole. That’s why he sent me. Is it possible for you to come to the front reception area? We need to talk.”
“What are we going to talk about?” Vinnie said while frantically trying to figure out what to do. He intuitively knew that whoever this person was, he was not someone Vinnie should be associating with.
“Paulie has a few questions he wants me to ask.”
“Can’t he call me himself?” Vinnie questioned hesitantly. “I’ll give you my cell phone number.”
“Paulie has limited opportunity to call.”
“I see.”
“It’s just some simple questions,” Brennan explained.
“Okay, I’ll be up,” Vinnie said, and hung up.
“Are you family or just a friend of Vinnie’s?” Marlene asked, to make conversation. She’d heard Brennan’s side and wondered if something was amiss with talk about prison.