Again and again Al struck the gangster in the face and neck. But he was growing weak; there was no strength in his punches. He concentrated on the gun wrist, slamming it uselessly against the snow. Acasano was not idle. He kept pounding Al in the sides and chest, trying to get a clear blow to the stomach. And the punches were beginning to tell.
Then Al, with all the strength he had left, sank his teeth into the gun wrist. Acasano cried out in agonizing pain and the.38 dropped to the bloodstained snow bank. Al scrambled for it and got it in his hand just as Acasano kicked him in the stomach.
There had been little sound other than the panting of both men and the crunch of snow as they rolled back and forth in it. Since the hour was late and the street infrequently used, no cars came by the parked Continental.
Al Emmet was on his back, swinging the.38 around. Acasano scrambled to his feet and stumbled toward the agent, hovering above him like a huge bear. Al fired once, then again. Both slugs tore into the hood’s chest. He stood with mouth and eyes open, not believing what had just happened. Then his eyes glazed over and he fell back.
Al pushed his painful, bleeding body to his feet. He dropped the.38 in his overcoat pocket. By grabbing the hood’s arms, he managed to drag him to the back seat of the Continental. He shoved Acasano inside, then shut the trunk lid and stumbled to the driver’s seat.
He knew he was dying. The slugs were accurately placed inside him. And there had been too much blood lost. He managed to get the Continental started, and drove straight to an AXE branch office in New Jersey.
Acasano was dead before Al got there. They had to drag Al from the car where he was slumped over the wheel. Nobody would have known he was there if he hadn’t smashed into the steps to the building and slumped over the horn ring. He was immediately rushed to the nearest hospital.
Even then he wouldn’t allow them to give him a sedative or take him to the operating room. In a mumbling voice he told them to keep him alive until he could speak to Hawk. A phone call was made, and Hawk was on a special chartered jet out of Washington, D.C. When he reached the hospital he was rushed to Al Emmet’s bedside.
In gasping breaths Al said this was the first real break in the case. He told Hawk of the two telegrams and how the code had to be broken. Then he lapsed into silence.
Hawk stood and read the telegrams. Later, when the code was finally deciphered, he would learn that there was much more than access to a code in one of those telegrams. Rozano Nicoli had given definite instructions to Acasano. He was to draw up a list of those family heads who would side with Nicoli and a list of those who wouldn’t. Since this would be a very secret list, Acasano would deliver it personally in Palermo.
Hawk was standing over Al Emmet as the agent gathered strength. Then Al motioned for Hawk to bend closer.
“T-there is... a girl,” Al said in a very weak voice. “She is far too young... for Acasano, barely over nineteen. He... tried to impress her with her own apartment. Paid for by him. She... refused. Already had a boyfriend. Then... boyfriend in auto accident. Both legs broken. Acasano moved in on... girl. Showered her with candy and flowers. Took her... best places. She’s not... very bright. Easily impressed. Liked the apartment Acasano had for her. Six weeks... moved in.” Al Emmet fell silent again.
“What was her name, Emmet?” Hawk asked softly. “Give us her name.”
In a still weaker voice, Al said, “Sandee... Catron... flashy blonde. Padded bra. Lot of make-up. Keeps hair up to look older. Chews gum. Likes to...” Al Emmet died before he could finish the sentence.
Hawk and I had finished the pot of coffee. He held up his hand, and a pretty girl in green, with red hair and sparkling blue eyes, came to get us a refill.
“So what did AXE do about this Sandee Catron?” I asked. “It seems to me she would have been the first one to miss Acasano, being his girl and all.”
The cigar had gone out. It rested in the ash tray looking cold and distasteful. “We kidnapped her,” Hawk said. “Right now she’s in northern Nevada. We have her on ice in a remote cabin along the shores of Lake Tahoe.”
I smiled as the redhead brought over our fresh pot of coffee. She set the pot down, returned my smile, and moved away with a lot of hip action.
“That isn’t all we did, Carter,” Hawk went on. “Using Acasano’s name, we sent another telegram to Palermo telling Rozano Nicoli that the snooping agent had been dealt with.”
“In the code, of course.”
“Yes. We broke the code. We also asked Nicoli when he wanted Acasano to fly to Palermo with the list.”
“And?”
He shook his head. “There hasn’t been a reply yet.”
We sipped our coffee silently for a few moments. I thought I had been told just about everything. My assignment was pretty clear. Using the cover of Acasano, I would fly to Palermo and try to get next to Nicoli. Then I had to stop him. And this Tai Sheng.
“We know very little about Acasano,” Hawk said. “He has no police record; he was never in any trouble that could be proved. You are going to have to play it by ear, Carter.”
I nodded. But one thing still puzzled me. Where was Tanya going to fit in all this?
“Make no mistake, Carter,” Hawk said pointing a finger at me. “Even though Nicoli and Acasano are close, Nicoli trusts absolutely no one. The two men have not actually seen each other in almost ten years. AXE has photos of Rozano Nicoli taken ten years ago, but no photos have been taken of him recently. He keeps himself completely surrounded by bodyguards. And except for those regular flights to Istanbul with that Turkish Communist, Konya, he rarely leaves his villa. Even then he takes a private plane, a Lear jet belonging to and piloted by none other than Tai Sheng. There is a winged tiger painted on the tail, and it is always landed on a grassy field just outside Istanbul.”
“Could a woman get to Nicoli?” I asked.
Hawk gave me a meaningless smile. “Rozano Nicoli has been married to the same woman for thirty-one years. To our knowledge, he has never once been unfaithful.”
“Well, I guess that just about...” I stopped as I saw her coming through the door of the commissary toward us.
It was Tanya, and yet it wasn’t. She smiled as she approached our table. All innocence was gone. She looked brassy with flashy blond hair, a padded bra, a lot of make-up, her hair piled on top of her head to make herself look older, and she was chewing gum. The skirt and blouse were almost too tight for her.
As she stepped up to the table, I smiled at her and said, “Sandee Catron, I presume?”
Five
The next day at seven in the evening Tanya and I were climbing into a taxi in front of Kennedy International Airport in New York. I gave the driver the address of Thomas Acasano’s apartment, the one he maintained for Sandee Catron.
It was snowing, and we rode in silence, lost in our own thoughts. There was no way of knowing what Tanya was thinking. But I looked outside the cab window at falling snowflakes, and visions of a bloodstained snowbank and two men struggling for a gun came to mind.
Tanya looked back at Kennedy International as we pulled away. “Every time I come here I’ll think of how the Mafia has all the cargo tied up.”
“Not all,” I said. “There’s no telling how much they actually control.”
I looked at her, with her thick pancake make-up and false eyelashes. The eyelids were a light blue, and she was getting very good at popping that gum.
The flight from Flagstaff had been uneventful. We traveled as Thomas Acasano and Sandee Catron. And we watched a spy movie featuring Dean Martin.
I had a phony list AXE had researched and made up for me to deliver to Rozano Nicoli. It was probably very close to what the real Acasano might have delivered. Our instructions were simple. We were to wait in Acasano’s apartment for a reply to Hawk’s telegram.