Take the Monkeys and Run (A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery #1) (27 page)

Frankie shrugged. “How should I know? Listen, Viv, I ain’t no flippin’ ’lectrician. Da guy on da Internet said two or tree days.”

A hideous cackle escaped from No Toes’ sickly thin lips. He looked like one of the emaciated apparitions from
Poltergeist
laughing his evil little laugh. I wasn’t liking his attitude.

“Your power’s back on now. But you can forget that generator of yours. I cut the fuel line. Smell that?” His skinny nose tipped up and sniffed in the air. “That’s the sweet smell of propane.”

Agent Smith was talking to me. “Marr, did we hear that a propane line has been cut? Cough once if that’s a yes.”

I coughed hard into the medal on my chest.

“Shit! Can you smell it? Cough once again if yes.”

I coughed hard once again, but it must have been a little too hard, because my throat tickled and I started coughing uncontrollably. One of those never ending, gut-wrenching coughs. Water was streaming from my eyes.

“What the hell does that mean?” I heard her say. She was really beginning to piss me off, this FBI lady in my ear.

“Whoa there!” shouted Frankie, slapping me hard between the shoulder blades. I was shaking my head, trying to communicate that he should cease and desist. He was hurting me, not helping me.

“She’s not choking,” chided No Toes. “You—stupid coughing lady—put your hands in the air!” he said to me. Doing what he said, I was relieved when the coughing began to subside. Wiping the profuse tears from my eyes, I noticed that during my fit, No Toes had let his gun fall from its focus on Viviana’s forehead. This had not been lost on Viviana, who had started to inch backward, evidently attempting an escape.

Additionally, I suspected that no one had noticed the new development while I was coughing like a patient in a TB ward—the fact that a car had, in fact, pulled into the driveway. I had spied the headlights briefly in-between gasps.

No Toes might not have been the smartest bully on the block, but he was keen enough to catch Viviana before she could make her disappearance final. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked her slyly, pointing the gun rightly again. “Get back in here. We have plans for you.”

My favorite lady FBI agent was in my ear again. “Marr! They aren’t giving us what we need. You need to get them talking.” Boy, I thought, if this chick was standing next to me, I’d reach over and strangle her skinny little bossy lady neck.

“Yeah,” snorted Viviana, “‘We’?” She was mocking him. “Who’s ‘we’—you and what other morons?” She and Maxine were laughing, while No Toes sneered and held his aim on Viviana’s head. Their laughter was interrupted by the sound of bells reverberating throughout the house in a very grand manner. Doorbell. The mystery guest had arrived.

“Oh, I wonder who that is at the door?” I quipped for the benefit of those hiding safely in their comfy surveillance van. The look on Viviana’s face was priceless. Even though I was trembling, wondering what would happen next, I enjoyed the spectacle of Viviana being thrown off guard.

Everyone stood silent for quite some time. Finally, Frankie broke the quiet. “You want I should get da door?” he asked Viviana. I have no idea if she planned to answer him or not, but her reply, as it turned out, was unnecessary, because the door opened all on its own. Or so it seemed. While most of the foyer was visible to Frankie and me, our view of the door was obstructed by a part of the archway. We could only hear the thing swoosh open, followed by the loud clicking of hard-soled shoes on a marble floor, and swoosh again as it closed. No Toes was closest to the door, but his expression didn’t change, leading me to believe he knew the owner of the clicking shoes.

More loud clicks on the foyer floor preceded the arrival of a wide, hulking figure in the archway, taking his place next to No Toes. The very tall and very round man was smartly dressed in a keen suit that I guessed to be designer, only because of the crisp lines. I shop at Target and Walmart, so my only experience with designer is what I see on the red carpets of the Golden Globes and Academy Awards. This was the Pillsbury Dough Boy meets Giorgio Armani. Silver cuff links and an eye-popping, glossy red tie finished off the ensemble. He patted No Toes on the back and smiled widely, revealing an enviable set of pearly whites. He appeared to be one happy and satisfied dude.

“You done good,” he said to No Toes.

Another man, not so nicely dressed, but equipped with his own AK, a bushy mustache and several coils of rope, stepped in as well, but all eyes were on the happy fat man. Maxine was gasping, both hands on her face like that kid in
Home Alone
. Viviana’s eyes were bulging out so far I felt for sure they were going to pop right out of her head.

“Holy crap!” shouted Frankie. I seemed to be the only one in the room who didn’t know the colossal person standing before us. Curiosity was getting the better of me, plus I had to let Agent Smith know what was going on.

“Who’s that?” I asked, turning my bug-infested chest back toward Frankie, ensuring the best reception.

The grinning man in the archway rocked back on his heels and answered in Frankie’s stead. “I’m Tito Buttaro. Nice ta meet ya.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

TITO BUTTARO.

“AREN’T YOU SUPPOSED to be dead?” I asked the mightily rotund fellow, while his “assistant” took a place just behind him. He was significantly shorter, maybe five foot ten to Tito’s six foot plus. His coils of rope looked like they were meant for hanging or tying. Or both. I gulped.

Tito, in response to my statement, fanned his arms out as if putting himself on display. “As you can see,” he said with great fanfare, “da rumors of my death has been greatly exaggerated.”

Lovely. A missing killer who liked to butcher Mark Twain. In my ear, I could hear a great amount of gasping and chattering, as if even the Feds were shocked by this interesting turn of events.

Tito tipped his head to Frankie. “How you doin’, Frankie?”

No Toes accidentally answered the salutation. “I’m fine, Boss. Thanks.”

Tito grimaced and hit him in the chest with the back of his hand. “Not you, No Toes. That Frankie.”

“I ain’t feelin’ so good,” Frankie moaned. A woozy wave was beginning to wash over me as well. The propane fumes were getting stronger. I had the feeling that a certain amount of asphyxiation mixed with a larger amount of dread was having its effect on both of us.

No Toes tipped closer to Tito and tried to whisper. “Tried” being the operative word, because we heard him clearly. “Remember the new name, Boss?’

“What?” Tito was frowning.

“The new name. You know—Screech.”

Not appearing as affected by the fumes, Maxine laughed. She had been as quiet as a church mouse. “That’s your new name? Screech? You’d rather be called Screech instead a No Toes? You ARE a fanook.”

“I’m not a fanook!” he squeaked, moving the aim of his gun from Viviana to Maxine.

Shaking his head, Tito dismissed the new name. “Nah,” he said. “I like No Toes. You’re No Toes.”

Maxine laughed harder. Poor No Toes looked defeated.

“Come on, Boss, let me make the hit now! Both of them. In the head. Bang!” Tito waved his hand casually at his skeletal henchman. “In time, Toes, in time. Did you cut the line like I said?”

“Done, Boss. Can’t you smell?”

Tito tilted his head back and sniffed the air with his bulbous nose. Another smile crossed his face. “Good job.” He lowered his chin, bringing his dark eyes even across the room with Viviana, who had turned as hard and white as the marble beneath his feet. “You ain’t greeted me wit a proper ‘Hello’ there, Viv. You okay?”

Instead of answering Tito, Viviana focused a seriously deadly stare at Frankie, whose gun, I had realized, had slipped from its position in my back.
Come on Frankie
, I thought,
don’t lose it now. Too much at stake.

“You didn’t whack ‘im?” she hissed like an angry viper.

Frankie stammered. “Viv, we . . . we tought . . .”

Tito stopped him quickly, holding up his hand and interjecting his own two cents. “No need to explain tings to her, Frankie. What’s done is done, right? She don’t need to know da details now—she’s got no future where she needs to know these tings. Her time is, let’s say . . . limited.” Tito pulled open his very slick and dapper raincoat, pulling out a gun so long it looked like it could snake a toilet clog. He waved it in my direction and smiled. “In a minute here, I’m gonna ask you who dis cute little chickie is, but right now I want to know, where’s Elvis?”

“He’s out,” lied Frankie quickly.
Good, Frankie, attaboy.
More than anything, I needed Frankie in charge of his wits right now.

“You lyin’ to me, Frankie? That wouldn’t be da right way to resurrect our friendship.” Tito turned to his emaciated acolyte. “Toes. Take a look around.” The scrawny soldier skipped down the hall, evidently excited to be on his boss’s good side. In less than three shakes, he was back with Elvis, hands in the air. Thankfully, Peggy and Roz were not with him. I was hoping Colt had them safely hidden.

“There ain’t no others in dis house, are there?” asked Tito, the air of pleasure wiped from his face.

“No, Boss!”

“You sure?”

“I checked things out myself. We’re good.” He was bobbing his head frenetically, like a bobblehead on uppers.

Tito sniffed the air again.

“We’re runnin’ outa time here, boys. Start tyin’ these dopes up. No Toes, you do Elvis first. Joey, you get Viv then Maxine there. I’ll keep an eye here on Frankie and his little girlfriend.”

I was at least comforted to know there were some goons out there with normal names. The silent man, evidently named Joey, tossed a coil of rope to No Toes, then strided across the room, his gun held ready. Tito strolled over, turning his own long revolver playfully in little circles. As the two men made their moves, Maxine must have decided to make a run for it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her make a quick movement, but, sadly for Maxine, Joey was quicker. One pop of his gun and she went down like a sack of Idaho potatoes. An involuntary scream shot out of my mouth, piercing the air. Things were deteriorating too fast.

Tito swung around and pointed his finger at Viviana. “Don’t you try da same ting, Smokey, ’cuz your end won’t be so painless. Joey’s got orders to make sure you die a slow and painful death should you attempt any monkey business. Monkey business! Ha! That’s funny! Ain’t that funny, Joey?”

Joey laughed, reaching Viviana with his rope. “Yeah, that’s VERY funny, Boss. I like that one.”

Tito slowed his belly laugh to a self-amused chuckle, then turned back to me. “So, Frankie, tell me now—who’s dis little lady?”

I held my breath, hoping Frankie would realize that the truth would expose our operation and ruin any possible chance of rescue. Frankie wasn’t answering. Beads of sweat were forming at my hairline. I still didn’t feel the gun in my back and my worries about Frankie maintaining his cool were growing. Thankfully, from years of practice with my mother and my own children, I spit out a lie in record time.

“Listen,” I started, my voice shaking. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but my husband and I are with the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals and we came over here when a worker reported seeing monkeys caged in the basement of this house. We were just doing a routine investigation when this man you’re calling ‘Frankie’ jumped me with his gun. My husband got away. I’m sure he’s calling the police right now! This place could be surrounded any minute!”

With that, Frankie threw up all over my back. That’s Karma for you.

Tito, disgusted by the expulsion, growled to express his displeasure. “Ah, Frankie! That's really gross. Thank God you missed my shoes! These is my favorite Ferragamos—four hundred bucks a pair.”

Toes was unfazed and excited to relay that my story probably had merit. “Yeah, Boss, I forgot to tell ya—I shot a man in da back of da house. Tought it was Elvis in da dark, ’til I got close. Must’a been the lady’s husband.”

“You kill ’im?”

“Yeah, Boss. He’s dead.”

He’s dead. The words played over and over in my head. Was it true? I didn’t want to believe it. Howard had a bulletproof vest, and this goon obviously hadn’t checked closely enough to notice that, so maybe Howard was still alive. I tried to stay positive, but tears flowed down my cheeks anyway. The nightmare just wasn’t ending.

“Don’t you peace, love, and granola types got anything better to do wit your time? Now look what your good deeds got yous.” He was shaking his head. “Joey, get Viv over here, let’s bring everyone close so I can have my say easy like. Toes, get Elvis over here.”

Obeying orders, No Toes shoved Elvis to the floor near my feet.

“Good, now get to tyin’ these two together.” Tito was pointing at me and Frankie, who moaned. It wasn’t going very easily for him, poor guy. I knew how he felt. No Toes gave me a hard push, landing me hard on my rump, nearly on top of Frankie. He got to work coiling the cord around both of us, our backs together, our hands tight to our sides. I couldn’t help but worry that he’d do harm to the precious bug on my chest.