Crack Shot, page 14
part #5 of Cherry Delight Series
“Somehow, you tumbled to the fact that Nadine was reporting what you told her about Big Frankie and his business interests—to Jimmy Gacciano. He paid her well. What did you do—find out about her bankbooks and the big amounts she’d been depositing? Yes, that must have been it.
“You knew you were the only one who had told her those things, before you two split up, and maybe even after. She was a nympho, she would have let you lay her, from time to time. I’m sure she told you anything you wanted to know while you were banging her.”
My words were like sledgehammers slamming into him. He seemed to shrink, and beads of sweat came out on his forehead. Once he lifted a hand to brush them away.
“You damn near died when you discovered what she had done. Sooner or later, even Big Frankie would have tumbled to what was going on. Even he would have realized that you had to be the one to let slip that information. What difference would it have made to him if you were innocent of any double-dealing with The Horse? You had blabbed, and so would have signed your own death warrant. You would have to be eliminated. So you decided to strike first. You would kill Nadine to protect yourself.
“You went into that pool, maybe you had already hidden the gun and the glove under the ferns near that waterfall. You swam through that big pipe, you called to Nadine and when she came to the pool rail, you shot her. You put the gun and the glove back under the ferns and went to join the others. Nobody could ever prove you’d done it that way—but we know, Johnny. We know.”
“No court will ever convict me.”
“Won’t it? That black wig you’re wearing—you kept it in Nadine’s apartment. You were after it the day we met each other there. I saw it, it was with a lot of women’s wigs, so I never examined it. I didn’t recognize it as a man’s wig. You wore it when you shot at Ev Hunn and me at the Quill and Pottle. To scare him into meeting Big Frankie’s demands to be let in on his business?
“With Nadine out of the way, you were safe enough, you assumed. Big Frankie couldn’t make her talk if she was dead. Besides, you’d get all that nice money Jimmy the Horse was paying her. You had it all worked out.”
Johnny put his hand to his forehead to wipe away more sweat. Too late, I saw his hand catch his wig and drive it full into my face, blinding me. My nostrils got a whiff of lavender perfume—Nadine’s perfume, from being in her wig box and among her things—even as my trigger finger tightened and I sent a bullet where Johnny Falconetti had been standing.
The trouble with that was, he lurched sideways and I missed him. Next thing I knew, the edge of his hand hit my gun wrist and jarred the Colt loose. It went flying off through the air.
The wig was still in my face. I clawed at it, got it down just in time to see a fist flying at my face. I ducked, but not fast enough. I took the blow under the ear and went flying.
As I left my feet, in an almost instinctive gesture my hands darted out and closed on Johnny’s right arm, grasping his coat-sleeve. My fingers tightened and held so that I yanked him forward off his feet even as I left my own.
I landed on a hip, stockinged toes scrabbling for a purchase on the rug. My feet dug in, I launched myself right at Johnny who was trying to get to his own feet. My hands went to his face with the fingers curved like claws.
I have long red fingernails. I’m quite proud of them. I drew them down his face, digging deep. Johnny screamed.
The pain froze him momentarily.
This was all the time I needed to drive a knee into his solar plexus. The breath whooshed out of him and he lay there, writhing, scarcely able to breathe, his hands covering his face.
I got to my feet, wobbled over to my fallen Colt. I picked it up, then went back and stood over Johnny, waiting.
When he could breathe again, I said, “Get up, buster, and walk ahead of me. I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your kneecap if you try anything funny again. I’d be only too happy to kill you, I honestly would—for Nadine. But I think you’ll sweat more knowing that the Mafia will realize you were about to do a bunk on them with their money.
“Even if there is no death penalty, and you’re sent to jail—can you imagine how The Family boys in the clink will work you over some dark night? And if you beat the rap, there’ll be more Mafia boys waiting to have a little talk with you, outside of jail.
“Either way, buster—you’re in bad shape. “Now march.” The fight was out of him. I gathered up the money as evidence and brought along his Savage. I would have telephoned the police, but two squad cars were parked behind the Lamborghini, so I turned him and the evidence—including the wig—over to the cops.
I made my report to N.Y.M.P.H.O. and then to the team of Rovere, O’Malley and Plunkett. I signed all sorts of affidavits. Then I was free for a little while.
So I drove out to Monterey and gave Everett Hunn back his expensive car. I told him the whole story, over martinis. He was wildly grateful, begging me to spend a few days with him before I had to report back for another assignment.
“You need a little rest, after all you’ve been through,” he argued. “Come on, let’s take a dip in the pool, then we’ll have crepes suzettes and coffee. After that we’ll go for a ride, wind up for dinner at the Gibson House in Bolinas. How do oysters Diablo, roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, and then cherries jubilee sound to you?”
It sounded heavy, and the pool beckoned. I got up and started taking off my clothes.
END
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