Bad Apple (19 page)

Freshy whipped around in his seat again. He looked like someone had just told him his mother had died. “The Belfry! Why there? Bells wouldn't go there unless—”

“Shut up.” Stanley cut him short.

“But, Stanley—”

“Drive. We'll just cruise by and see if they're there.”

Freshy turned back around and gave it some gas. “Bells wouldn't take them there,” he fretted under his breath. “Not there.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Gibbons's voice croaked from nonuse. “What's the Belfry?”

Lorraine and Stanley looked at him as if he'd just risen from the dead. Freshy was going bug-eyed in the rearview mirror.

“Freshy, what's the Belfry?”

Stanley answered. “It's nothin'.”

“Gibbons, are you all right?” Lorraine asked.

“I'm fine. Freshy, what's the Belfry?”

Freshy's googly eyes were rolling all over the mirror. “Ah . . . it's, ah . . . nothing really.”

Gibbons wished the little shit would watch the goddamn road. Freshy made a sharp turn onto an old cobblestone road with a steep decline, and the tires thumped like crazy on the cobblestones. They were heading down into Hoboken. When the street leveled out and the pavement went back to blacktop, Freshy hung a left onto one of the narrow one-way streets that make up Hoboken's grid. They sailed past run-down tenements and burnt-out brick buildings, seedy-looking corner bodegas, dangerous-looking bars, and car repair shops housed in cramped little garages where half the work was done out on the curb. This was the other side of Hoboken, not the gentrified part near the river, where all the brownstones had been renovated and the kids from the suburbs had fistfights with the locals on Saturday nights for parking spaces near the rock clubs and upscale gin mills. This was the tough part of town, the real part of town, the part where the guy who steals your Lexus goes to find a chop shop so he can score some crack.

Tozzi lived in Hoboken, right on the borderline between the two sections. That figured. The guy never could make up his mind about where he belonged. Gibbons knew where he belonged, though. A padded cell, that's where.

As Freshy headed north, he passed a housing project where young mothers watched their preschoolers in a fenced-off playground while young bums hung out in the asphalt courtyard looking for trouble. Gibbons noticed that the hissing had stopped coming out of the speaker. He knew it hadn't gone dead, though. The static would've been deafening if it had. Nobody was saying anything. Tozzi and Gina were being quiet, as hard as that was to believe.

“C'mon, don't take it off. Leave it on,”
Tozzi said. The transmission was very clear now.

“I don't want it. I told you, it itches,”
Gina said.
“You wear it.”

“What the—?” Freshy caught Gibbons's eye in the rearview mirror.

“Wear it, I'm telling you. You've got a hard head just like your brother.”

“Screw you, Tozzi!”

“Shhh.” Lorraine scowled at Freshy.

“Don't talk about my brother. You used him. You took advantage of my brother.”

“That's right. You tell him, Gina.”

“Shut up!” Stanley yelled.

“No, no, no, no, no. You've got it all wrong. Freshy's the one who takes advantage. Freshy watches out for Freshy first. That's why he decided to work with us in the first place.”

“I don't believe that.”

“We gave him a choice. Either he could help us catch his friends, or he could face charges and probably end up serving some serious time. Freshy decided to save his own ass.”

Stanley was glaring at Freshy. He looked like he was going to eat him.

Freshy kept glancing in the rearview mirror as he drove. “That's not exactly true, Stanley. You don't understand. They forced me. Tell him, Gib. I didn't have a choice.”

Gibbons smiled like a crocodile. Frig him. Freshy could take care of his own problems.

“C'mon, Gib. Tell him.”

“Will you please shut up,” Lorraine yelled. “I can't hear what they're saying.”

Stanley roared. “The both of youse shut up.”

Gibbons just smiled.

“I don't want your goddamn coat. Take it back.”

“No. Don't be stupid. Wear it.”

“Did she say ‘coat'?” Lorraine looked puzzled.

“What're they talking about?” Freshy took his foot off the accelerator, and the van slowed down.

Stanley's big jaw was tight. “I told you to go to the Belfry, didn't I?”

“Yeah, but, Stanley, lemme explain something to you—”

Stanley aimed the gun at Freshy's head. “Go. Hurry up.”

“I'm going, I'm going, I'm going.”

Freshy stepped on it, and they started whizzing down the blocks. The rundown tenements gave way to factories and block-long warehouses. The streets were fairly deserted up here, and half the cars on the street were abandoned wrecks. Gibbons had to brace himself for the ride as Freshy gunned the engine and jolted through the intersections, speeding toward this place they called the Belfry. Gibbons lowered his head so he could see out the windshield, wanting to know exactly what street they were on. But as they came up to the next intersection, a long black Lincoln Continental suddenly backed out of the side street, spinning its tires.

Freshy hit the brakes. Then the sound of someone else's screeching tires came from behind. “What the—?” He was looking into the side mirror.

Gibbons got off his seat and squinted into a peephole in the rear of the van. A smoke-gray Lincoln was blocking the way from behind, parked diagonally in the middle of the street. Three doors swung open almost simultaneously, and two double-knit bruisers jumped out, followed by a small man wearing a yellow cardigan sweater under a camel hair overcoat. The little guy was Buddha Stanzione. Gibbons expected steam to be coming out of his ears, but instead he just looked bored.

“You got company,” Gibbons said.

Stanley's eyes were bulging. “Who?”

“You'll see.”

More wiseguys poured out of the black Lincoln up ahead, and they all converged on the cab of the van.

Buddha's face appeared in the driver's window. He was so short, the doorframe cut him off at the neck and made him look like a severed head.

His eyes roamed around the inside of the van. “Where the fuck is Bells?”

The speaker crackled.
“Will you leave the friggin' coat on, for chrissake?”

The head's eyebrows furrowed. “What's that?”

Gibbons crossed his arms and leaned his head back against the wall of the van. His tooth was beginning to throb again, but that didn't matter. He was enjoying this.

Buddha Stanzione had one eyebrow cocked as he peered into the van. “I said, where the fuck is Bells?” He looked like a bored little monkey who couldn't care less, but that was what made him so scary. His four double-knit gorillas were staring in through the windshield, waiting for the nod from the bored little monkey to attack, and Buddha was the type who'd set them loose just for the hell of it.

Freshy was shitting his pants behind the wheel. “H-how, did you know it was us, Mr. Stanzione?”

Buddha glared at him for a moment, then nodded at the closest gorilla. “Big Dom spotted you barrel-assing down the street.”

Big Dom put his big face up to the windshield, and Freshy leaned back.

Gibbons glanced at Stanley, who was wearing that blank, washed-out expression that people put on when they're trying to figure out how big a lie they can get away with. He was always amazed to see tough guys like Stanley bowing and scraping in front of scumbags like Stanzione. Of course, this was a very
awkward situation for Stanley. According to Mafia protocol, he would never be talking directly to a capo. Associates only deal with the soldiers they answer to, and in Stanley's case, that was Bells. But Buddha wanted Bells's head on a platter, and now Stanley's loyalties were divided. After the boss of the family, Stanley's ultimate allegiance should be to the capo of the crew he worked for, Buddha, but Stanley must've been thinking about what that psycho Bells would do to him if he ever found out that he'd been betrayed by one of his own people. Gibbons couldn't wait to hear how Stanley was gonna try to worm his way out of this one.

Buddha cocked the other eyebrow and looked at Lorraine. “Whatta'ya doing over there?”

“Me?” Lorraine pulled her hand back and put it in her lap. She'd been reaching over to turn down the volume on the speaker. “I'm not doing anything.”

The monkey glared at her. Gibbons flared his nostrils and tucked his feet under, ready to spring. Go 'head, try something. Gorillas or no gorillas, if any of them so much as looked at Lorraine cross-eyed, he'd rip the guy's spine out and beat him to death with it.

Buddha seemed baffled by her presence. “Who are you? What're you doing here?”

But before Lorraine could answer, Stanley cut in. “She's with him.” He pointed to Gibbons.

“And who the hell is he?”

“He's, ah—”

“Special Agent Gibbons, FBI.” Gibbons dared Stanley to deal with that revelation.

Buddha just stared at Stanley. He was waiting for an explanation. The apes on the other side of the glass were waiting, too.

Stanley wet his lips. “He's helping us find Bells, Mr. Stanzione.”

Then Freshy chimed in. “Yeah, he's helping us, Mr. Stanzione.” Stupidity times two.

Buddha looked at him as if he were a bug. The balding gorilla who was standing right behind the capo shook his head at Freshy. “You do not talk to Mr. Stanzione. You understand? You do not exist.”

Freshy nodded. “You're right, you're right. I do not exist.”

The speaker crackled to life again.

“Don't touch me!”

“Will you leave the goddamn coat on, Gina? You're gonna catch pneumonia.”

“Leave me alone.”

Lorraine was as pale as a clam.

Buddha glared at Freshy. “Gina? Is that your sister Gina?”

Freshy shrugged and wouldn't look at the capo. He did not exist.

Buddha nodded at the speaker. “Is that Bells with this guy's sister?”

Stanley answered. “No, Mr. Stanzione. That's some other guy. But yes, yes, that is Freshy's sister.”

“So is that the other FBI guy with her?”

Stanley looked like the deer caught in the headlights. “Excuse me, Mr. Stanzione?”

“Cut the shit. It's all over the news. Bells shot some undercover guy last night, then he shot another one in Macy's this morning and took Gina DeFresco and a third FBI guy hostage. He's really working overtime, this guy.”

One of the gorillas started to chuckle, but the bored little monkey's stare silenced him.

“So what's the story?”

Stanley cleared his throat. “Well, you see, Mr. Stanzione, it's like this. That other FBI guy? The one Bells kidnapped with Gina? He's wearing this thing, this, ah—” He looked to Gibbons. “What's it called?”

“A transmitter.”

“Yeah, a transmitter. It's like a wire, but it doesn't have a tape recorder. It's more like a radio, you know? We're listening to them from in here, trying to figure out where they are.”

“Did you check the Belfry?”

Stanley glanced at Gibbons. “We just checked there, but they ain't there.” He glanced at Gibbons again.

Gibbons knew Stanley was shitting bricks, praying that nobody would contradict him and tell Buddha the truth. The gorillas were getting itchy to break some heads.

Buddha cocked his eyebrow again. “So where were you going now?”

“There's this bar up on the Heights that Bells goes to sometimes, Mr. Stanzione. We were gonna go check over there.” Stanley glanced at Gibbons again, begging him to keep his mouth shut.

“Did you look down in Bayonne? This Gina girl's got him crazy. Maybe they went down to her place.”

Freshy shifted in his seat, bristling at the suggestion that his sister and Bells were an item, but he didn't say a word. He did not exist.

“Yeah, Bayonne,” Stanley said. “We haven't looked down there yet. That's a good idea, though.” Stanley was being a stand-up guy, lying through his teeth to a capo to protect his man. Either that, or he was more scared of Bells than Buddha.

“Whatta'ya looking for him for, Mr. Stanzione?”

Buddha just stared at Stanley and let the stupidity of his question sink in. “Are you supposed to be funny or what?”

“No, Mr. Stanzione. I only—I just thought if we found him and you wanted me to tell him something . . . you know. I could give him a message.”

Buddha nodded slowly. “Okay. You tell him to make out his will. Fast. That's the message. Okay?” He kept nodding.

Stanley's eyes were bugging out of his head again. “Seriously, Mr. Stanzione?”

“You think I'm kidding? After all the shit he pulled today, tell me he doesn't deserve a”—Buddha looked at Gibbons—“a serious accident. Tell me.”

“Well, gee, I dunno, Mr. Stanzione.”

“You dunno, huh? Well, if you don't know, I'm gonna tell you.” The little monkey stuck out his thumb. “For one thing, the stupid fuck shot that FBI guy up on the Turnpike last night. You never kill a cop. Never. It makes things very messy.

“Reason number two.” He stuck out his index finger. “He got on TV. We don't need that kind of publicity. We get enough without even trying.

“Number three.” The middle finger sprang up. “He kidnapped another FBI guy. That made things twice as messy as they already were.

“And reason number four.” The ring finger joined the others. “He thinks he can screw me. But he can't. You know why? 'Cause I'm not gonna let him.”

Stanley furrowed his brows. He was the confused baboon in this ape house. “I don't understand, Mr. Stanzione.”