Echoes of a Distant Summer (60 page)

Jackson watched the compact, muscular DiMarco walk toward him. Jackson smiled broadly and sipped some of his red wine.

DiMarco came up to the table and said in a gruff voice, “Come on, you, we can talk in my office.”

“If we talk, we’ll talk right here!” Jackson replied with a smile.

“Listen, asshole, I’ll drag you back there if you don’t come under your own power! I don’t have time to play with niggers!”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, such language,” Jackson said, shaking his head. “One would think that you don’t need to negotiate. Why don’t you try and drag me back there, runt! You’ll end up hanging from a rafter like the Lenzinis. Come on, let’s see how good you are!”

The blood was rising in DiMarco’s face. It was becoming mottled with red blotches. “What did you call me?” he demanded.

“How about Neanderthal runt? Your mother must’ve been a dwarf! Of course, your father couldn’t have been much bigger!”

The blood now drained from DiMarco’s face. He stared glassy-eyed
at Jackson. DiMarco wanted to strangle him slowly, to cause him pain, but there was a warning signal going off in his brain. After all that had already happened, he knew Jackson wouldn’t come into his lair unprepared. And for Jackson to sit in his restaurant and taunt him, he had to have backup. DiMarco looked around and saw two men in long coats sitting a few tables away. They were staring at him. It looked like they could have shotguns hidden under their coats. He was not frightened by the two men, but he realized that if he had an altercation in his restaurant after the Lenzini fiasco, he would be dead before Monday morning. His own family would kill him. He took a deep breath and forced a laugh.

“Okay, eggplant, what do you want to talk about?” He pulled up a chair and sat down at the table.

“I want to talk about your family, dipshit!” Jackson said with a smile. “I want to talk about how you and they will die if you make another move on me or my friends. Your son and his wife at Colorado State, your arthritic mother in Gilroy, your overweight wife, your little girl at the Urban School, and last but not least, you. You’ll suffer the same fate as your friends in Mexico!”

DiMarco was having a very difficult time restraining himself. He stared at Jackson unbelievingly. “You—you’re threatening my family?”

“Yes, and I’ll burn down your restaurant too. It’ll look like arson. Everyone knows the way you’re running this place, you’re losing money. Everything you’ve ever worked for will be gone.”

DiMarco was apoplectic. He roared, “I’ll kill you myself! I’ll tear out your fucking lungs with my bare hands!” Diners at other tables turned to stare at the cause of the commotion.

Jackson said to two old ladies at a nearby table, whose mouths were agape with surprise and fear, “Hard to believe this is the owner, isn’t it? I haven’t gotten the food yet and he’s already talking about the bill! Hell of a way to run a restaurant!” Jackson saw a man come out of the kitchen and head toward his table. “Here comes the calvary to save poor Paulie. I think you’ll need more help than that, Paulie.”

DiMarco stood up and knocked over his chair. The only thing holding him back was the knowledge that his family would find out if any rough stuff happened in his restaurant. He leaned on the table and growled, “You’re a dead man! I’m going to take pleasure in killing you! You better keep looking behind you!”

Mickey Vazzi walked up to DiMarco and whispered in his ear. Whatever he told DiMarco caused a look of consternation on his face. He turned to walk away.

Jackson called out, “Hey, aren’t you going to tell me today’s specials?” Neither DiMarco nor Vazzi turned to acknowledge his remark, but continued on into the kitchen.

Dominique had gone to the phone as soon as DiMarco had walked over to speak to Jackson. She called and left a message on an answering service. Within two minutes the phone rang in DiMarco’s office. Unfortunately, Mickey Vazzi was in the office changing into his work clothes. He answered the phone. After he found out who was on the line, he obediently went and got Dominique.

She went into DiMarco’s office and picked up the receiver. “Dominique here.”

“Domei? That you?” It was Bonifacio Unzo, better known as Joe Bones. He was calling her by her family nickname.

“Hello, Uncle Joe,” Dominique answered. “I’m sorry to call you like this, but I’ve got to request a new placement. This DiMarco is a total crazy fool. He doesn’t know the meaning of respect. He doesn’t care if this place is a success or not, and he insulted me in front of the employees. Right now, he’s out in the dining room threatening to kill a customer at the top of his lungs. If I stay here, I may end up doing something he will regret. I can’t stand him!”

“The family needs you to stay where you are. We may need you to do just what you desire. I ask only that you be patient. All things will be clearer in time. We are trying to keep things quiet until after the election. You follow?”

“That’s in November! That’s five months away!”

“There are other things that will occupy your mind in the meantime. You must be careful. I am going to tell you something that I was ordered to keep to myself. I am breaking my word, but I owe it to your father and grandfather to tell you. Pascal Langella has received permission from people in Chicago to clear away all debts. He is coming for you. I argued against it, but could do nothing.”

“What? Haven’t I proven my value?” Dominique protested. “I have performed every assignment successfully. Why am I to be a victim of a feud that started before my father was born? Langella killed my brothers, isn’t that enough? As I swore to you, I have never attempted revenge.
You promised that if I carried out the assignments, I would be free of threats and further attacks!”

“Sicilians never forget or forgive. It will never be over. Pascal has made his bones. He is a fully qualified man now and he has gone through channels and received the okay. There is nothing I can do. The Minetti family in New York has called in many markers for this approval. Remember, you cannot take aggressive action, or they will know that I have told you. They know I’m your advocate. You follow?”

“You mean I have to stay and play target while he comes for me? Uncle Joe, this isn’t right!”

“Your only chance is to wait until he strikes. No one will blame you for defending yourself, but even then there will be problems. It’s best if he disappears without a trace after he has made an attempt on you, particularly if the evidence leads away from you. I will argue before the families that you have once again proven your worth, that you deserve recognition and more assignments. But you must remember, if you can be linked to the killing of a qualified man, you will have to die. It is the law. If you kill Pascal, you must set it up like a hit from one of his enemies. Furthermore, there can be no evidence and no body. The lack of a body will make the matter easier to overlook. Nothing must taint this election!”

Paul DiMarco walked into his office and saw Dominique sitting at his desk and talking on the phone as if it were her office. His anger bubbled over. He leaned on his desk and said through gritted teeth, “Get off my phone and get out of my office!”

Dominique gave DiMarco a cold look and said into the phone, “Uncle Joe, it’s DiMarco. He’s throwing me out of his office.” She listened for a minute and then handed the phone to Paul. “He wants to talk to you.” As DiMarco went to take the phone, she dropped it on the desk and then stood up and walked right past him.

DiMarco stared at her as she passed and snarled, “Bitch!” He picked up the receiver and said, “Joe Bones! Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon!” Dominique left the office and slammed the door behind her.

“Don’t bullshit me, Paul! I told you that everything had to be shut down until after the election!” The angry voice issued out of the beige, plastic earpiece like a snake crawling out of a hole and it slowly coiled itself around DiMarco’s neck. Joe Bones was not finished. “Eddie told me that you were still going after that eggplant, but I thought he was
saying that because he didn’t like you. I didn’t believe you’d be that stupid! Anyone who causes problems in this election campaign is completely expendable. You follow? What do you know about this shit with the Lenzinis?”

“I don’t know nothing about them! They probably got involved in something freelance.”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, goddamn it!”

“What are you talking about, Joe?” DiMarco protested. “I’m doing exactly as you said! I just got a couple of men in the field, but it wasn’t the Lenzinis. And nothing that I’m doing is going to disrupt the election! I’m closing down, like you said!”

“The Lenzinis are dead men. Edward’s got people looking for them now. We’ll get to the bottom of this eventually. How’s Dominique working out?”

DiMarco was only too happy to switch to a different subject. “I’ve got to tell you, you’ve saddled me with a witch and she’s really becoming a pain in the ass when it comes to running my restaurant. You cut off my other businesses, I understand that; it’s for the election. But this woman is taking the bread out of my family’s mouth. She’s ruining my restaurant!”

There was a pause in the conversation as Joe Bones had a coughing fit. When he cleared his throat he said, “Don’t worry about her. She’s going to be taken care of. This is strictly for your ears. Pascal Langella has finally received the approval he has been seeking. He understands the true delicacy of the situation and has promised she will just disappear.”

DiMarco offered, “I could help him. He doesn’t even have to come out here. I’ll do everything!”

Joe Bones disagreed. “You leave her be. She’s Pascal’s responsibility. You follow?”

“Got you. I understand,” DiMarco replied with some disappointment.

“I talked to your pal Braxton and he told me that you and he were just trying to take control of the construction company for money-laundering purposes. I thought to myself, Why is he lying? Then I figured this eggplant is the grandson of that nigger we chased to Mexico. Back in the fifties. We covered it up, but I remember he hit our bankroll shipment good a couple of times. He got between six and eight million
dollars. I guess I’m going to have to come out there and take charge of this operation. Everyone will want to wet their beaks. There may be enough cash to finance a small war in South America!”

DiMarco’s heart sank. Joe Bones would take all the spoils for himself. At most, DiMarco would receive a small percentage of the wealth that he already had begun to count as his own. “When do you think you’ll come out this way?” he asked in a subdued voice.

“I’ve got a couple of errands to run first. My jet is in the shop for overhaul, so my schedule is a little unsure. Hey, do you still maintain that sixteen-passenger jet at Oakland airport?”

The cold, unpleasant iciness of surprise dripped down DiMarco’s back. He had purchased that jet secretly with money skimmed from the drug trade. It was to serve as his escape hatch should things ever go awry. He did not dare ask how Joe Bones had found out about the aircraft; he merely said, “Sure do, Joe. Be happy to loan it to you. How long do you think you’ll need it? I’ll get the crew ready to travel.”

“Loan?” Joe asked pointedly.

“A matter of speech,” DiMarco answered with a forced chuckle. “Of course, everything I have is at your disposal!”

“I don’t need your crew. I’ll send my own to come out and get the plane in the next week or so. I should be out there within the month. I wouldn’t like to find out that you’ve taken further action after I’ve spoken to you.”

“No problem, Joe,” DiMarco said into the receiver. “I’ll wait till you arrive. Everything will be kept on ice.”

DiMarco returned the receiver to its cradle and sat quietly in his office. There was good news and bad news, and the good did not offset the bad. The good news was that Dominique Asti would soon be out of his hair, but the bad was that Joe Bones would replace her. It was like trading termites for army ants: Both could destroy you but only one would eat you alive. If DiMarco was going to keep possession of Tremain’s holdings, Joe Bones would have to swim with the fishes he so often mentioned. Bones had many powerful enemies; if he disappeared there would be many suspects given consideration before the attention turned to DiMarco. DiMarco would have to be careful; Bones had lived so long because he was a crafty old devil who trusted no one.

In the cold storage where the fresh pasta, sun-dried tomatoes, olives, polenta, and other such goods were kept, Dominique removed her earphone
clip from the junction of DiMarco’s office telephone line. She folded the earphones and placed them in her pants pocket. She now understood: She had been thrown to the wolves. Joe Bones was no advocate and had never been, he had merely used her to get rid of his enemies. He was an opportunist. If she was killed, he would take credit for handing her over; if she survived, he would use that to his advantage as well. She smiled coldly. Perhaps she could throw a wrench in their plans. She returned to the dining room and seated a party of four with a smile.

Las Vegas’s afternoon sun shone brightly through the penthouse windows of Joe Bones’s spacious rooftop apartment. He was lying bare-chested directly in the sun on a custom-made sofa. He liked to feel the sun on his aging skin, no matter what his doctor said. It was hard to believe that good, clean sunlight was bad for the skin. As the sun baked into him, creating a sense of warmth, he thought of his good fortune. It looked like the troublesome problem of Dominique Asti would soon be settled. Perhaps when he had heard that she had made her final Communion, he would stop looking over his shoulder for her. Bones knew that it was only luck that had prevented her from discovering that he had set up her father and brothers’ demise.

The Volantes had grown powerful and rich in Las Vegas and had created envy in many hearts, not the least of which were the Minettis’. Bones had rocked the baby Dominique on his knee. But he had realized that if he was to ascend to the power that was rightfully his, he would have to remove the Volantes from his path. There were many hands that were willing to assist in such an enterprise, but Bones had been judicious. He didn’t involve anyone he could not later eradicate. Bones was never a suspect. If he had made one mistake, it was sparing the life of the baby Dominique. Little did he know that she would grow into a polished assassin. Fortunately, Pascal Langella had a reputation equal to the task.