Take the Monkeys and Run (A Barbara Marr Murder Mystery #1) (28 page)

This whole Tito-is-alive thing had really thrown me for a loop. I had ventured out—a woman without wimpiness—ready to save the day, and I’d only managed to get myself bound to a repentant crook with a weak stomach. And I couldn’t even wipe the tears from my face.

Agent Smith must have heard my sniffles, prompting her to whisper reassurances in my ear that it was almost over and help would be along any minute. We’d all be fine, she said. She sounded certain, and her comments did make me feel better. In fact, she sounded so certain, I began to wonder if Tito hadn’t switched teams—maybe
he
was an FBI operative sent in to move this operation forward. That seemed very plausible. But then, things being what they were, anything seemed plausible.

Joey forced Viviana, wrapped tight like a mummy with the duct tape, over to our bound assemblage on the floor and pushed on her shoulder until she dropped to her knees.

Tito looked satisfied. “Good, Joey, now go find that dead guy. Make sure he’s really dead. Where is he, Toes?”

“Behind the shed out back, Boss. Dead as a doornail,” squeaked No Toes. Joey nodded and shot off down the hall toward the back of the house.

Tito bent down on one knee coming closer to Viviana’s face. His smile was so confident and controlled, it sent shivers down my spine.

“Surprised to see me, Smokey?” he said, low and slow.

Viviana didn’t seem in the mood for playing games. “Just spill da beans, Tito—why you here? Whaddya want?”

Tito threw his head back and laughed a very hearty laugh. She had really tickled his funny bone. “I don’t WANT anyting, Smokey, ’cuz see, I already got exactly what I want.”

“What exactly, would that be, now? Smarts was never your strong suit, Tito, so I can’t think you got a whole lot, unless maybe you found God.”

“You know, you’s right ’bout one ting. Smarts was certainly not my ‘strong suit,’ as you say, but dat’s all changed. You know what I did while I was hidin’ out—when Frankie and Elvis here stupidly left me for dead—I got myself a college degree—they call that a ‘B.A.’ Then I got myself an MBA—that would be a ‘Masters in Business Administration.’”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah—you tink I’m lyin’?”

“You don’t talk no smarter.”

“Dis is what educated people call a regional dialect—it don’t mean I’m stupid.”

“I still think you’re stupid.”

“Well, how’s dis for stupid, then? Da name Robert Whittier mean anyting to you?”

Viviana’s face blanched in a nanosecond. Her smile was gone. She didn’t answer.

“Smokey?” he goaded her. “You know that name?”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Let me see if I can help you remember.” He put his gun right up against her forehead. I could see sweat trickle down her temple.

“Fine. I know him, and you know I know him. You happy now? So what about it?”

“Well, I had me a little talk wit Mr. Whittier—we had us some café lattes together—and he told me he wasn’t too happy wit da way you was runnin’ your business. Long story short—he was considerin’ lettin’ me take a crack at tings. He wanted to tink it over, though.” Tito stopped talking for a minute and just stared at Viv. He shook his head slowly, then resumed. “You tink that little mishap in Rustic Woods wit No Toes and those monkeys was an accident?”

My eyes widened. I was starting to see what he was up to.

“Toes has been workin’ for me from da get go. He was my double agent, so to speak.”

Elvis and Frankie groaned, realizing they’d been duped. Viviana scowled at Tito, but still didn’t say a word. She had egg on her face, and I guessed she knew it. What was she going to do?

With his gun still aimed at Viviana’s head, Tito kept talking. “Now here’s da ting,” he said. “I found Whittier on my own, but I’m a lazy businessman, as you know, and I’d rather you just gave me da names of da guys you’s workin’ with at Wister and at Heaton Dalmer.”

Viviana was indignant. “Why would I do that? What’s it gonna get me?”

Tito laughed again. He looked at me and said, “The lady wants to know what’s it gonna get her. What do you tink, Mrs. Savior of da animals? What you tink it’s gonna get her?”

The question had a rhetorical feel to it, but I decided to answer just to be safe. “Her life?” I asked.

“Aha! What you tink, Smokey?” Tito laughed. He was one jolly fellow.

Viviana was wary. “You makin’ me a deal, Tito?”

Tito ceased laughing and took on a more serious tone. “Da deal is dis: you give me da names, I take over da operation—it’s only logical, since I got da MBA—and you work for me. And, oh yeah, you get to keep breathin’. But you even try to screw wit me once, I kill ya.”

Wow. I was amazed at the way things were unfolding, not to mention relieved that these two wiseguys seemed to be coughing up the goods the way we hoped. Of course, I was still tied up and could be whacked in a heartbeat, but I needed to validate my wins as they came.

Viviana stared hard at Tito. I assumed she was weighing her options, although, if it were me, the options of dead or not dead seemed to make for a pretty easy decision. “Fine,” she said finally. “But we do away with those two,” she said, pointing her head in the direction of Elvis and Frankie. They didn’t look surprised.

“Was there any question?”

She didn’t respond, staying quiet for nearly a minute, which caused me to worry. We needed to get this show on the road. The last thing we needed was the Emphysema Queen of Fairfax slowing things down. Finally, she gave it up. “Dennis Mowry at Wister and Janice Corbett at Heaton Dalmer. And if you want my opinion—your friend at Parks and Rowe, Robert Whittier—he’s on his way out. We’ll need to watch him.”

Agent Smith went live in my ear so loudly, I almost screamed out in pain. “We’ve got it! Move out! Let’s wrap this up and bring everyone in—no casualties!”

Suddenly, the doorbell rang again. Odd, I thought, that the FBI wouldn’t just break down the door like in the movies. Or better yet, just open it, since it wasn’t locked. Panic raced through me.

Please let it be the FBI, I thought, and not
Jimmy Hoffa . . . with a PhD.

Tito looked as surprised as anyone else, so I took that to mean it wasn’t one of his compadres. He looked around. He motioned to No Toes. “Toes—look down that hall—you see Joey?”

Toes moved backwards toward the archway, peeked around the wall down the hall. “No, Boss. Nobody there.”

At the same time, Joey appeared from the other hallway, drenched and out of breath.

“Boss, I looked everywhere! There ain’t no guy nowhere! Dead or alive.”

Tito shot No Toes a nasty look. Toes cowered.

“Get over here, boat of you—keep your eyes on these guys. I’ll check dis out.” Tito slipped his gun back into his raincoat, then moved cautiously to the hallway and disappeared as he moved to the front door. I heard it open. A familiar male voice sounded.

“Good evening, sir. I’m Officer LaMon with Fairfax County Police. Someone phoned in a report of gas fumes emanating from this general area.”

“Why don’t you got a uniform?”

“I’m plainclothes, sir. I responded because I was the closest. We take these reports seriously due to the potential danger involved. Sir, what is that I see at the end of that hallway?”

Tito must have looked behind him or been taken off guard somehow, because the next thing I knew, he was on the floor, unconscious. Faster than I could say Operation Handsome Cop, Officer Brad made one swift step over Tito and called out, “Marr!” I thought he was talking to me, but then realized he was looking above my head. Simultaneously, he was tossing Tito’s massive gun across the room, and with amazing skill, Howard caught it mid-air, then instantly took aim at Joey, who was standing right next to Viviana. At the same time, Colt had his gun aimed right at No Nut’s brainless head. It all happened so fast, I never even saw him come in.

At last! The thwump, thwump, thwump of helicopters sounded above the house. Search lights, which I assumed were coming from the helicopters, sailed across the floor as they shot in through various windows in the house. The air was as full of excitement as it was of propane fumes.

“LaMon—radio!” yelled Howard. In a flash, Officer Brad was tossing a black radio through the air, which Howard caught brilliantly with his other hand. I had to admit, I was getting turned on. My husband was turning out to be quite the action stud. Who knew?

Howard spoke into the radio. “This is Marr. The perps are contained, one is down. One civilian very sick, send in reinforcements and EMT on the double! We need to get these people out of here!”

A helmeted man decked out entirely in black maneuvered expertly through the front door, gun at the ready. Another followed right behind him. Howard motioned to the first. “Over here! Take this man!” Howard was referring to Joey. “You,” he motioned to the second, “take the skinny one. Colt, go check on Roz and Peggy.”

“Aye, Captain.” Colt saluted and was gone when relieved of his duty.

Once the FBI agent had Joey safely in his care, Howard kneeled next to me, laying down his gun and radio, and started cutting the ropes with a blade he’d pulled out of his pants pocket.

“Are you okay?”

“Now I am. You?”

“Yeah.” He was struggling to cut the fibers.

Frankie, evidently relieved that the tough stuff was over, looked to Howard. “Hey, Sammy—did yous know that Tito was alive?”

Howard stuck his finger in Frankie’s face hard and furious, as if he’d practiced it a thousand times. “My name isn’t Sammy anymore—you got that? Sammy Donato doesn’t exist!” he screamed, his face so red, I feared he would stroke out. From the look on Frankie’s face, I guessed he’d never make that mistake again. Although, his question was a valid one.

The ropes binding me to Frankie were loosened at about the same time another FBI agent entered the door, slick and ready for action. He was low to the ground, pointing his long and sleek firearm in all directions. He was right behind Officer Brad and moving forward, when without warning, I saw him go down on top of Tito. During the fall, his legs must have knocked Officer Brad’s legs out from under him, because he went down, too. It all became a mass of pandemonium, with agents and Howard yelling.

From the moment I saw that Tito was conscious, everything moved in slow motion. Him reaching and snatching with unbelievable ease, the gun from Officer Brad’s hand at the precise moment he lost his grip on its handle. My realization that Howard was standing, completely open and vulnerable. Seeing his gun on the floor next to me. Tito turning over his fat body from under the pile of men on top of him, and taking perfect aim at Howard.

Without any forethought, I picked up Howard’s gun with my shaking hands and pointed it straight at Tito.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, you fat-assed, greasy goombah, mother-fucking son-of-a-bitch!” The profanities just spilled out of my mouth, and even though I sounded like a George Carlin routine, it sure did feel good.

Still on the floor, I gripped the gun with both hands and worked very hard to look like I knew what I was doing. Which I didn’t.

“Marr! Tell me what’s happening!” Agent Smith yelled in my ear. The scene was too tense to answer. She’d have to hear for herself.

Tito laughed. “PETA, huh? Nice one.”

“Barb . . .” Howard started to reach for my gun.

Tito stopped him quick. “Wouldn’t do dat, Sammy.” He inched the aim of his gun to me and smiled.

“Don’t, Tito. This is between you and me,” Howard pleaded.

The agent who had been tripped by Tito started to crawl toward his lost rifle.

“Tell him to stop!” Tito screamed.

“Stop!” Howard obeyed. The agent went still.

“So it WAS a vendetta,” said Tito, appearing precarious on the floor. “You know, I took care-a you good, Sammy. Dis is how you repay me?”

“What?”

“Ax Frankie.” Tito put a hand on the floor and pushed himself up slowly.

Howard looked at Frankie, who nodded. “It’s true Sa-, I mean Howard. Gave your Ma money every month. Paid for your college.”

Howard’s eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them before, but he didn’t bat an eyelash.

“But I got a proposition for you,” said Tito, standing upright now.

Howard didn’t answer.

“I know tings you don’t. Tings you wanna know, trust me. I tell you these tings, you let me go.”

Howard still didn’t answer. It was an Italian standoff. Finally, Howard’s radio buzzed live.

“Marr!” yelled Agent Smith. “Make the deal now. I’m ordering the choppers out of here. High winds and two confirmed tornado sightings. One in Herndon and one in Oakton heading our way. I’ve got more ground support coming in, but I want you to get those people out of there. NOW!”

“Howard,” I said, panicked. “The girls are in Herndon. And my mom.”

Howard didn’t even look my way. His cold, icy stare was focused on Tito.

“You heard it,” Tito said, “make da deal.”

Howard looked ready to lunge when the engine of a departing chopper started to scream as if it was out of control. The screaming noise intensified as the thwump, thwump, thwump of the blades slowed but became louder and louder. Something was very wrong, and it showed on everyone’s faces. Even Tito’s.