Authors: Mike Miner
23
Angelo Denatale Junior was going to end this war today. Not any henchmen, not the German, not his father. Him. End it with a few well-placed bullets.
He would do what he had to do and leave no doubt who ran Boston’s underworld. Him. Angelo Denatale Junior.
He dressed casual, stuffed the .45 into his jeans and covered it with a sweater, then put on an overcoat and a hat. When he stepped outside he didn’t notice the cold, his blood the same temperature as the frigid air outside.
Lonny and the boy were on the trolley, the inbound E-Line. He was bone weary, fighting sleep, but every time it threatened to claim him, the face of the man, Vincent, was waiting for him. He observed the boy, who seemed to be in the midst of a similar struggle. The kid gazed out the window at a world filled with danger, with death. Lonny pictured the boy’s mother and shuddered.
“Want to talk about it?”
The boy shook his head, then changed his mind. “Do you think Aunt Kat is in Heaven?”
The question knocked the wind out of him. “What do you think?”
The boy pressed his lips together and shook his head just slightly. He looked into Lonny’s eyes. Lonny wanted to look away, but didn’t.
“Is my dad a bad guy?”
Lonny looked up at the ceiling as the trolley ground through a turn underground, then he turned back at the boy. “How old are you?”
“Ten.”
“You read a lot?”
The boy nodded.
“I suppose it’s about time you learned.”
“What?”
“Real life’s not so much like books. Most people aren’t just good or bad.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes good people do bad things.”
The boy thought about that. “Like killing someone?”
“Sometimes.”
“But you’re a good guy.”
“I try to be.” He stopped. “I used to be.”
“Aunt Kat said you were.”
“Did she?”
“Yup.” The boy seemed comforted by the memory. “Mr. Lonagan?”
“Call me Dylan.”
“Why is there so much bad?”
What a terrible question to have to ask. “Nobody really knows, kid. But some people think this is all there is. No Heaven. No Hell. Just right now. Right here. And some of those people will do whatever they have to
to
get what they want. Money, power, you name it. For those people there are no rules. At least not the kind the rest of us play by.”
Then Lonny thought about Whitey and Kat Scarlotti. “There are others who believe they are already damned and so it’s hopeless.”
“Can they be saved?”
“I hope so.” Lonny touched the boy’s shoulder. “This is our stop.”
Almost home, Lonny wondered how Red would explain to Christopher what had happened to his mother. What would that do to this boy? What would happen to his heart? What would it turn this boy into? For a moment, Lonny didn’t envy Red his son, his healthy, inquisitive boy and all the complications it brought.
“We’re going home?” the boy said, hopefully.
And then the wound, the wound that never healed inside Lonny was ripped open again, and he would have done anything to have his son back. Anything. He nodded at Christopher and cleared his throat.
They were walking up Hanover Street, the trees bare in the brisk wind, the sidewalk awash in the smells of the North End, marinara sauces, olive oil, dough, the air a carnival for the nose.
Christopher seemed to relax at the familiar scents and sounds of home.
A block away, Lonny rang Red and told him he was bringing his son home.
They turned a corner and saw the tall, brick building, and Christopher broke into a run, his father at the front door, a rainbow of emotions splashed across his haggard face. By now the news about his wife had reached him, but seeing his son made joy win. A smile cracked his face in half.
Then Lonny noticed the car, a silver Mercedes. A man at the wheel. And he knew something was wrong.
Angelo Denatale Junior emerged from the driver’s side wielding a hand cannon.
Lonny would never know who he was there to kill, maybe both of them. Lonny never hesitated, never doubted, guided by his new killer’s instincts. Angelo never got a shot off. The three bullets were grouped perfectly around his heart.
24
Lonny didn’t have to wait long for the police to show up. They barked orders and he followed them, put his gun on the ground, hands behind his head. Handcuffed, he took a ride to the station house. They brought him to a room with a one-way window. His reflection kept him company while he waited, and waited. Lonny knew the routine, would have done the same thing. Outside that room, the police had a lot of dots to connect and a trail of dead bodies to uncover.
Christopher was safe with his father. In the end, that was all he really cared about. He thought of the two men he had killed, now being poked and prodded and ripped apart in the coroner’s lab, and he had no regrets.
Eventually, Lonny dozed.
He woke when the door opened, and Agent Riley entered.
The federal agent sat across from him and sighed like he was about to do something he didn’t care for. “It’s like the goddamned wild west out there today. Bodies all over the place.” He folded his hands on the table, looked at Lonny. “Been reading ballistics reports all day.”
That would tell quite a tale, Lonny thought.
“Places your gun at
several crimes scenes today. Not only did it take out the heir to the Denatale crime family, Angelo Junior. It also punched Vincent
Gubatosi’s
ticket. Know him?
”
Lonny only listened, waited. He’d been on the other side of this table before.
“Bit of a clothes horse, Vincent. Worked for Richard Scarlotti. Know him?”
“Everybody in Boston knows Richard Scarlotti.”
Riley nodded. “It gets crazier though. We’ve got a woman’s body in an apartment off Huntington, near the MFA, in her kitchen. One shot to the head. Looks like she lost a game of chess.”
Lonny closed his eyes, but the image of
Vilma
, cold and dead, was all he could see.
“Now across the street there’s another woman’s body. Same gun killed her. Only she’s sitting on a dead man’s lap. Get this, he’s holding the gun that killed both women. But not just them. Also two patrolmen smoked on Beacon Street in that crazy chase yesterday. The same gun—and here’s the cherry on top—that iced Kat Scarlotti.”
Was that only yesterday?
“Know who we think this guy is?”
“The German.”
Riley scowled at Lonny. “That’s right.”
There was one more piece to this puzzle, Lonny knew. He waited for Riley to say it.
“Ballistics also tells us the bullet they took out of the German came from the same gun that took out Red
Scarlotti’s
wife.”
Riley watched Lonny’s reaction.
“We both know who that was.”
Lonny didn’t move.
“If I
was
Whitey Scarlotti, I’d be a little worried about that information becoming public knowledge.”
Lonny wondered how that would play out.
“The next time you see Whitey, tell him the federal government has no further need of his services.”
*
Word of Angelo Junior’s death traveled fast through the
wiseguy
network. When it reached the ears of the old family men in Federal Hill, a decision was reached.
The war was over. One more casualty. A mercy killing.
Angelo Senior took his nightly shower, his head twirling with the logistics of street warfare. Not an unpleasant sensation, battle brought out the best in Angelo. It was all a chess match. He was willing to trade pieces. The German for Kat Scarlotti. The trick to greatness was to think a few moves ahead.
Lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed someone enter. Not until their shadow swallowed his. There was only one reason for anyone to be here.
Angelo did not turn to see his killer. He closed his eyes, concentrated on the heat of the water soothing his old muscles.
The rough fingers around his throat felt like ice.
Checkmate, was his last thought.
“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.” Riley leaned forward, elbows on the table. “So our star witness is free to go. We’ll honor our immunity agreement for his past sins.” Riley’s eyes went hard. “Not his present ones.”
“That’s a lot of information to process.”
“I’d love to keep you for questioning, Lonagan. Rake you over the coals. But there’s a lawyer out there whose shoes cost more than our lives, and he’s threatening to sue the whole world if we don’t kick you loose.”
Riley stood and stretched his back. Lonny did the same.
“Tell Whitey to get gone and stay gone.”
Lonny didn’t care about any of it. He had done his job The boy was with his father. He was relieved that there would probably be no retribution now for Angelo Junior. Some people had to die. That was a price Lonny was willing to pay. He thought sadly of
Vilma
. He would have paid much more to save his own son, a much higher price.
His new lawyer got Lonny out quickly and gave him a ride home. The attorney’s shiny black Porsche
Carreira
gleamed like his polished shoes.
“Mr. Scarlotti wanted to express how grateful he was to you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“He would also like to discuss some possible future employment with you.”
Half a chuckle escaped Lonny’s mouth. “Please tell Mr. Scarlotti, thanks but no thanks.”
A tight smile on the lawyer’s lips. “That was the answer he expected.”
The drive was so smooth, Lonny almost didn’t want it to end. But it did. The lawyer pulled to the curb, handed Lonny a fat envelope.
“Mr. Scarlotti wanted to make it very clear, if you are ever in need….”
Lonny smiled and stepped out of the car.
When he got to his apartment door, he heard activity inside. He reached for his pistol but it was in an evidence room downtown. Fuck it, he thought, and pushed open the door.
Kelly, his ex-wife, supervised workers as they finished replacing the glass door in his living room. She had already cleaned the floor where Kat had died.
“Hi,” was all she said.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are, Dylan.”
“For everything.”
“I know.” She hugged herself.
He grimaced as he bent and touched the cool floor; the sun made the polish shine. “I guess some messes are harder to clean up than others.”
“How did it go with the police?”
“Could have gone worse.”
The two repairmen were picking up their tools. “We’re all set here, folks,” one of them said.
They smiled at both as they packed up and left.
Kelly slid on her coat. “I guess I’ll see you around town, Lonny.” She opened the door and turned.
“I hope so.”
“The boy is safe?”
“I hope so.”
She walked away before he could see the tears in her eyes, before she could see the tears in his. Maybe that was what finally ended things between them. They had grown tired of seeing each other cry.