Moe started to gain consciousness as Curly kicked him across the seat to the open door. The icy air revived Moe enough that the bigger man reached up and grabbed the seat back and held on for dear life. Curly glanced at Kurtz's pistol and kicked Moe in the belly and face with both feet. Moe flew out into the night, striking the pavement with an audible wet noise.
Curly was panting, almost hyperventilating, as he looked up at Kurtz's weapon. His legs were up on the back seat, but he was obviously concocting a way to kick at Kurtz.
"Move those feet without permission and I put two into your belly," Kurtz said softly. "Let's try again. Who hired you? Remember, you don't have any wrong answers left."
"You're going to shoot me anyway," said Curly. His teeth were chattering in the blast of cold air from the open door.
"No," said Kurtz. "I won't. Not if you tell me the truth. Last chance."
Curly said, "A woman."
Kurtz glanced at the road and then back. That made no sense. The D-Block Mosque still had a $10,000 fatwa out on Kurtz as far as he knew. Little Skag Farino, still in the pen, had several reasons to see Kurtz dead, and Little Skag had always been a cheap son of a bitch, likely to hire skanks like the Stooges. An inner-city Crips gang called the Seneca Social Club had put out the word that Joe Kurtz should die. He had a few other enemies who might hire someone. But a woman?
"Not good enough," said Kurtz. He raised the aim toward Curly's belly.
"No, Jesus Christ, I'm telling the truth! Brunette. Drives a Lexus. Paid five thousand in cash up frontwe get another five when she reads about you in the paper. She was the one who told us about you probably not carrying today because of your PO visit. Jesus Christ, Kurtz, you can't just"
"What's her name?"
Curly shook his head wildly. Curly was bald. "Farino. She didn't say but I'm sure of it she's Little Skag's sister."
"Maria Farino is dead," said Kurtz. He had reason to know.
Curly began shouting, talking so fast that spittle flew. "Not Maria Farino. The other one. The older sister. I seen a family picture once that Skag had in stir. Whatshername, the fucking nun, Agelica, Angela, some fucking wop name"
"Angelina," said Kurtz.
Curly's mouth twisted. "You're going to shoot me now. I told you the fucking truth, but you're going to"
"Not necessarily," said Kurtz. It was snowing harder and this part of the Youngman was notorious for black ice, but he got the car up to seventy-five. Kurtz nodded toward the open car door.
Curly's eyes grew wide. "You're fucking joking I can't"
"You can take one in the head," said Kurtz. "Then I dump you. You can make your move, take a couple in the belly, maybe we crash. Or you can take a chance and tuck and roll. Plus, there's some snow out there. Probably as soft as a goosedown pillow."
Curly's wild eyes went to the door.
"It's your call," said Kurtz. "But you only have five seconds to decide. One. Two"
Curly screamed something indecipherable, scooched over on the seat, and threw himself out the door.
Kurtz glanced at the mirror. Headlights swerved and spun as cars tried to take evasive action, tangled, bounced over the bundle in the road, and piled up behind Kurtz's Volvo.
He lowered
his speed to a more sane forty-five miles per hour and exited at the Kensington Expressway, heading back west toward Buffalo's downtown. Passing Mt. Calvary Cemetery in the dark, Kurtz tossed the cop's pistol and baton out the window.
The snow was getting thicker and falling faster. Kurtz liked Buffalo in the winter. He always had. But this was shaping up to be an especially tough winter.
CHAPTER TWO
Arlene hung up her coat, set her purse on her desk, removed a pack of Marlboros from the purse and lit one, then turned on her computer and the video monitor connected to the two cameras upstairs. The abandoned interior of the adult bookstore on the monitors looked as littered and empty as always. No one had ever bothered to clean the bloodstains off the linoleum floor up there. "You sleep here again last night, Joe?"
Kurtz shook his head. He called up the court file on Donald Lee Rafferty, age 42, 1016 Locus Lane, Lockport, NY. The file showed another DWI on Rafferty's recordthe third this year. Rafferty's driver's license was one point away from being pulled.
"Goddamn it to hell," said Kurtz.
Arlene looked up. Joe rarely cursed. "What?"
"Nothing."
Kurtz's e-mail announcer chirped. It was a note from Pruno, replying to Kurtz's e-mail query sent at 4:00 that morning. Pruno was a homeless wino and heroin addict who just happened to have a laptop computer in the cardboard shack he sometimes shared with another homeless man named Soul Dad. Kurtz had wondered from time to time how it was that Pruno was able to keep his laptop when the very clothes the old man wore were constantly being stolen off his back. Kurtz opened the e-mail.
Joseph: Received your e-mail and I do indeed have some information on the surviving Ms. Farino and the three gentlemen in question. I would prefer to discuss this in private since I have a request to make of you in return. Could you stop by my winter residence at your earliest convenience? CordiallyP.