Deadly Diamonds (26 page)

I just waved him to go on.

“But the timing was funny. I was in Sally's office when he left word with O'Byrne's people to meet so's he could deliver the stones and get the cash. They had it set up for a place on them Irish bums' turf. Some beach in Southie.”

He paused as if he were pulling it all back in his memory.

“And?”

“I'm gettin' there. Hold your horses. That's where it went screwy. The next thing I know, I'm having a few drinks in Collini's in the North End. This kid, Franzone, he drives up in Sally's Cadillac and Sally ain't nowhere in sight.”

“Go ahead.”

“Then it really gets nuts. Franzone comes in. He leaves the car runnin'. All of a sudden, the car's movin' down the street. Franzone runs out screamin', but it's gone. Next day the police find it somewheres in Roxbury.”

Now the pieces are going together. I had a flashback of the night I told O'Byrne to have his man drop the car off at the Community College lot in Roxbury.

“And do you know who stole the car?”

“I heard it was O'Byrne's kid. I think his name's Kevin.”

“And now for the mother of all questions. Who has those damn diamonds now?”

He looked at me with his hands up. “The hell should I know? Franzone did the deed on Sally Barone. He brought him back to Collini's in the trunk of his Cadillac. No one had a chance to search Sally or his car for the diamonds before this O'Byrne kid boosts the car.”

“Any ideas about where the diamonds are now?”

He shrugged. “I figure the O'Byrne kid found 'em in the car. I'll tell you this. I get my hands on that little crapper, I'll know where they are in five minutes.”

“Have you ever talked to Frank O'Byrne about it? He was apparently working with Barone on the deal.”

“Oh, yeah. I'm sure he'd be glad to help. Think about it. If they got the diamonds and never had to pay for them, what the hell're they gonna do with me I walk into O'Byrne's joint in Southie for a chat about him payin' up. Damn, I'll be on the menu for dinner. It'll be my ass on toast.”

A thought came to mind. If I walked into O'Byrne's myself after the New Hampshire episode, I'd probably be the hors d'oeuvre.

I figured I'd gotten all of the gold out of that mine. I hit the stop button on the recorder and put it back in my pocket. If I could guess at the expression on Packy's face, I would have called it depleted, empty, now that his moment of importance had expired.

One more question occurred. I clicked on the recorder. “Where can I find this kid, Franzone?”

Packy gave a half grin. “You do have a death wish, don't ya?”

“No, Packy. No death wish. Just a few loose ends left. Does he hang around Collini's?”

“Hell, no. That's for the guys at the top. If you still want to get yourself whacked, he's most times around Maria's in East Boston.”

We both stood up. I turned off the recorder and poured the last two glasses of Chianti.

“One last question, Packy. You don't have to answer this one. Where do you stand in all this? Are you with Pesta? Or are you in it for yourself like Barone? This'll go no further.”

He looked up at me, and our eyes met for the first time like two human beings communicating with each other. “What do you think?”

“I think you play it as safe as you can. I don't see you leading any rebellions. I could be wrong.”

He looked back down at the table. “I do whatever the hell I gotta do to stay alive. Right now that's finding them diamonds for Pesta.”

I actually felt an emotion I never would have connected with Packy Salviti. Pity. This time I held out my glass of wine. He did the same. We touched the glasses before drinking.

I walked to the door first and opened it. I was about to walk out when his voice caught me. “Hey, lawyer. It ever comes to that. You know, in court. Would you represent me?”

“Packy, you are one of the saddest pieces of human flotsam I've ever met. I could drown in pity for you. But the day I get into bed with you as your lawyer is the day they build snowmen in hell.”

I could have said that to him when we first began our conversation. But I couldn't bring myself to say it now. Given what I'd come to know of his life circumstances, it seemed unlikely he'd ever live to stand trial anyway.

I just said, “We'll see when the day comes. Take care of yourself, Mr. Salviti.”

I walked out through the main dining area. Seamus Burke fell in step beside me. I paused at the table of Packy's crack team of bodyguards. “Gentlemen. I hope you've enjoyed the ambiance and the fine cuisine. You must come back Thursday for the lobster thermidor. George will be delighted to handle your reservations.”

The expressions said I could have been speaking Swahili.

Seamus and I stopped in the bar area before leaving. The best way to fill him in was to play the recording. He looked over when it clicked off. “What about this kid, Tommy Franzone? Anything there?”

“Maybe. Right now we've got a gap. Barone goes to meet Frank O'Byrne to do the diamond deal. Franzone goes about the same time to whack Barone in a very specific way. He does that and brings the body back in the trunk to Collini's, I assume that's to prove to Pesta that he's carried out the assignment. Then Kevin steals the car. I know that Kevin moved the body before he brought the car to Frank O'Byrne's. There was a gap in the bloodline.”

“All right, so?”

“It's like a three-card monte game in Times Square. Which one of those clowns came out with the diamonds? Maybe this kid, Franzone, can give us that piece.”

Burke just shook his head.

“What?”

“According to this recording, we can find Franzone at Maria's Bar in East Boston. That's another Italian Mafia fort like the North End. This Irish Catholic would get a better welcome on Shankill Road in Belfast.”

“No problem, Seamus. Take the day off. I'll handle this one myself.”

That was a hook in the water baited with a young, tender worm, and a prayer that he'd bite. Burke gave me a look.

“I'll be at your office at nine tomorrow morning. Be ready to move, lawyer.”

“That's ‘Michael.' Remember?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

We were about to split up when I remembered the two thuggish members of Frank O'Byrne's mob who had tailed us when Terry and I left the Molly Waldo. I called the police station in Marblehead to see if they were still in custody. I was delighted to hear that they were still guests of the town. At my request, as an implied wealthy resident of their fair city, they agreed to hold them for another hour.

I drove to the Marblehead jail, passing the Molly Waldo, and basking in the memory of that brief respite of pure joy the previous evening. I logged a mental promise to make up for lost dates with Terry if this thing reached a conclusion during our lifetime.

Seamus had been kind enough to accept my invitation to follow in his rental car for a drive along the north shore. I had something in mind that could call for two cars if it worked out.

I approached the officer at the desk with a request to get an identifying look at the two thugs for purposes of future reference. In their continuing desire to please a propertied and voting local citizen, they hauled the two into a line-up room. I was able to fix a good image of each of them in my memory bank without being seen by them. The line-up also happily served to impress on the two goons that they could be up to their pink Irish ears in deep legal crap.

The next move was to declare to the Marblehead officers that I was clearly mistaken the night before. It was simply a case of mistaken identity. The two should be released immediately. After a bit of paperwork, the release was imminent. This is when I withdrew from the scene, and Seamus took the stage.

He accompanied the officer with the keys to the holding cell.
Needless to say, the two inmates were happily surprised to be sprung from their overnight accommodations.

Seamus did all the talking. His babble in his best Irish accent deliberately gave them the distinct impression that Seamus was sent by O'Byrne to bail them out. He implied full knowledge of the orders O'Byrne had given them to pick me up for whatever despicable purpose the night before. All of it, plus Seamus's commanding demeanor, put the two goons into Seamus's car with the firm belief that Seamus was carrying out Frank O'Byrne's orders, and that they were under his orders to assist in every way possible.

Seamus followed the directions I gave him directly to Maria's Bar on Chelsea Street in East Boston. Packy Salviti had been kind enough to tell me in our Parker House rendezvous that this was where Barone's killer, young Tommy Franzone, hung out. I figured that if I could talk to him alone, Tommy could fill in one of the gaps.

I followed and parked across the street out of sight. I saw Seamus tell his two new assistants to wait in his car. He walked into Maria's like any other customer. Thirty seconds later he walked out.

He casually walked up the street to where I was parked. I rolled down the window.

“What do you think, Seamus?”

“Typical bar. Couple of pool tables. There are six stout lads in there that look like they could be soldiers in Pesta's army.”

“How about Tommy Franzone?”

“Bartender pointed him out. Asked why I wanted to know. I ordered a beer and told him I'd be right back. I don't want to keep him waiting.”

“Wait a minute, Seamus. If there are six of them, to hell with it. We'll think of something else.”

He stood back and straightened the tie he wore to the Parker House. “Listen, Michael. You brought me this far. The plan is you want a quiet word with Franzone without interruption from the other five. Simple enough. Having O'Byrne's goons along for help was your idea. I could have handled it alone. I'm not over the hill yet.”

“At least take O'Byrne's guys with you. They'll help even the odds.”

“They'll be a bloody nuisance. But I'll grant your wish. You stay out of there till I come to get you. I'll be busy enough without worrying about you.”

“I don't like it, Seamus.”

“Take a nap. Read a book. Just stay out of the way for two minutes.”

He strode off before I could finish the argument. I saw him walk to his car and pick up O'Byrne's two goons. The three of them marched like a resolute army straight through the door of Maria's.

I was jumping out of my skin. I ran to a position outside the door of the bar. I knew my presence inside would just give Seamus one thing too many to think about.

The place went stone silent the minute the three walked through the door. I could hear Seamus just inside the door quietly parceling off targets to each of the soldiers with him. I heard him bark the command, “Now!” And all hell broke loose.

I heard furniture smashing against bodies to the tune of grunts and cries, and air being driven out of lungs. I could hear pool cues splintering in rhythm with bones snapping. The unmistakable sound of pool balls hitting soft objects and rolling across the barroom floor was followed by the sound of bodies dropping full weight to the floor. The splintering of beer bottles barely drowned out the concussive sound of glass on skulls.

And two minutes later, as suddenly as it began, there was dead silence. I held my breath and pushed through the door. Thank God, Seamus and his two Irish companions were the only ones standing, including the bartender.

The scene was right out of a western movie. There were horizontal bodies strewn across the floor, bent over pool tables, and hanging across the bar. The two Irish soldiers of O'Byrne were leaning over a table, panting from the exertion.

At the far end of the room, Seamus had lifted a tall, skinny man of about my age by the back of the neck and plunked him in a chair.
Seamus stood over him with his hand on his neck, holding him upright in the chair.

“Michael, I thought I told you to wait in the car.”

I was still gaping at the scene. Words failed me.

“No matter. Come over here. Let me introduce you to Tommy Franzone. I believe you wanted a word with him.”

My legs carried me over to the seated man, but my mind was still in disbelieving shock.

Seamus said in a low voice, “I'll leave you two to chat while I get rid of those two.” He nodded toward the two O'Byrne men. “I told you I didn't need them. Still, they gave a good account of themselves.”

Before he walked away, he lifted the chin of the man in the chair and leaned to speak directly into his face. “See that you speak nicely with this gentleman, Tommy. Don't make me come back over here again. Understood?”

Seamus released his grip to allow Franzone to nod in compliance.

My senses were slowly returning. I pulled a chair over next to Franzone. The trick was for me to assume the commanding stature Seamus had left for me.

“I'll make this brief if I get what I came for. Otherwise, it could be an extended discussion. Do you understand that?”