Fearless knew where I kept my guns because he’d come to my house to look out for the kids more than once.
“I don’t know if we should take the elevator or maybe try and climb down,” he said. “That glass box is a natural target.”
“Climb is too steep and, anyway, the shootin’ has stopped.”
“They could be reloadin’ or circlin’ around.”
There was a phone in the funicular car, put there in case there was any problem with the mechanism. It buzzed loudly.
Crouching low, I picked up the microphone and said, “Rawlins.”
A voice came through the speaker embedded in the car wall.
“They shot my boy!” Erculi cried. “They killed Cosmo!”
By the time Fearless and I got to the base, the entire Longo clan had gathered around the sentry hut. Cosmo was laid up against his father, blood seeping from three gunshot wounds to his chest. Agosto, Matteo, and Gaetano stood around father and son, high-powered rifles clutched in their angry fists. Gaetano was bleeding from his left shoulder, showing no sign of pain. In the distance there could be heard multiple sirens, heading for our once-peaceful home.
“Agosto,” I said. He was wearing dark clothes like all the other Longos. “Did you call for an ambulance?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes.”
Fearless was already on his knees next to the grieving father.
“He’s still alive, Erculi,” my friend was saying. “The blood still comin’ means his heart still beatin’.”
Five men were in the dirt before the entrance to the gate that barred access to the funicular. They had come in two cars that had all their doors open. Each dead man had multiple gunshot wounds. None of them were still bleeding.
30
Orchestra Solomon and Reynard came down to the base a few minutes before the official procession of flashing lights arrived. She took the time to try to understand what had happened. I did my best to orient her.
Then came the onslaught of ambulances, police squad cars, unmarked cars that brought a few detectives, and even a police helicopter that passed overhead.
The police captain in charge of the small army was tall and ruddy. His hair was cut in short military fashion and his face looked as if it had been chiseled from granite by an artist that wasn’t quite up to the task. He started his inquiry with me.
“What’s your name, son?” he asked, none too fatherly.
“Um,” I said.
“What’s your name, Captain?” Orchestra cut in.
For maybe three seconds the good captain reacted with silent offense at her aggression. But then he remembered who he was in the great scheme of things.
“Lonigan, ma’am, Captain Frederic Lonigan.”
“Well, Captain, I’ve never met you, but your precinct should have made you aware that I have bodyguards who protect the entry point to the residences above. Today a group of armed men tried to shoot their way to the funicular. They shot two of my people and then were shot themselves.” You could tell that Orchestra was feeling emotional, but she was still in charge, had been trained to be so since she was a small child.
“Um, well, yes, ma’am,” the captain uttered reverentially. “But you understand that we’ll have to question those who participated in the action. And also the witnesses.”
“I suppose,” she said, accepting his words with a touch of disdain. “Cosmo Longo has been seriously wounded and will be brought to the hospital with his brother Gaetano. Erculi, the father of the two, will go with them. You can talk to Agosto and Matteo under my supervision.”
The good captain’s face reddened but he didn’t argue.
Orchestra invited him along with one detective to ride up to her house, where the interrogation could begin.
Erculi climbed into the ambulance that took his comatose son.
Other ambulances took Gaetano and the dead.
Fearless and I went back to my place, where we explained what had happened. I told Hannibal and Violet to stay upstairs.
“Don’t want to get your names in their records,” I told my son.
After that I made coffee and served it around the big table that was still set up on the first floor.
“That crazy man sent his people to do what?” Anger/Lutisha asked.
“He’s after you and your boy,” I said. “Before they killed him, Sasha must’a told his people that he gave the deed to Hannibal and maybe that included Santangelo too. I don’t really know how your name got in the mix.”
“That’s crazy,” my onetime lover said. “He already rich, now he gonna kill innocent people for a little more?”
I had no answer, but, then again, she didn’t expect one.
“You think those killers still out there, Easy?” Paris asked nervously.
“Naw, man. Cops got helicopters lookin’ all over. And you don’t have to worry because once you outta here they won’t be thinkin’ about ya.”
“Yeah, yeah, um, maybe me and Fearless should make our exit,” Paris said, letting this suggestion hang in the air.
“We got to stay here, Paris,” Fearless said. “Cops wanna talk to me and they prob’ly gonna ask you if you heard the shots.”
“I didn’t hear a gottdamned thing!” Paris protested, preparing his defense beforehand.
Maybe forty-five minutes later the doorbell rang.
It was my front door, so I opened it.
Standing there was a forty-something man wearing an olive-green suit. He was five seven at most, exuding an aura of steadfast confidence.
“Mr. Rawlins?” he asked.
“That’s me.”
“Detective Brian Kitagawa,” he said, “here to talk to you and your family.”
“Come on in. You might as well start with me.”
My guests went upstairs to their various rooms and the roof. I set up two chairs next to the terrace. Kitagawa took out a notebook and a black mechanical pencil.
“You stationed in West LA, Detective?” I asked once we were seated.
“No. The Valley.”
“Oh, that’s why we never met before.”
“You know many policemen?”
“My fair share.”
“Why is that?”
“I’m a private detective, have been for twenty-three years. A lot of the cases I get involve working for criminal lawyers and those clients who don’t think they’ve been given a fair break.”
“I see,” he said, giving the impression of keen objectivity. “And you were downstairs when the shooting started?”
“No. I heard the shots, but by the time I got down the hill the shootin’ was over.”
“But... you were armed.”
“I’m a vet, Mr. Kitagawa. If I hear shooting, I pick up a gun. Your men took my weapons. So I think you’ll see that they weren’t fired.”
“Did you recognize the men that attacked?”
“No, sir.”
That answer, combined with the tone of my voice, called something up in the detective’s flat expression.
“Was the attack a surprise?” he asked.
“If it wasn’t, I don’t think Cosmo or Gaetano would be in the hospital right now.”
“I’m not asking about them.”
“Maybe not, but I’m tellin’ you that if I knew, I would have told them.”
We parried back and forth like that for nearly half an hour. During that time the detective didn’t take down one note.
While Kitagawa was questioning Fearless, the house phone rang. I ran up the stairs to the second floor and plucked the receiver from our wall phone.
“Hello?”
“How’s it goin’, Easy?” Melvin Suggs asked.
“Same old, same old.”
The seasoned cop issued a harsh laugh that reminded me of sheet metal tearing.
“You know,” he said. “That’s what I always liked about you, Rawlins.”