“No-don’t-please!” Bellitto cried, squirming in the chair as Jack pressed the tip of the silencer over his left knee. He stared down at the sheet of paper in his lap. “Please! I’ve never seen that before in my life!”
“Lie!”
“No! I swear!”
“Read it now then. You’ve got ten seconds.”
The darkness within Jack pounded on the bars of its cage to be set free and let it pull the trigger and blow this puke’s kneecap into the floor. But he held it back. Bellitto wasn’t exactly a spring chicken. Didn’t want to lose him to a heart attack or stroke.
Almost had a heart attack himself a moment ago when he’d walked into the office at the other end of the apartment. A small room, no place for a guy Minkin’s size to hide, but Jack had checked the storage closet anyway. Empty. On his way out of the room he happened to glance at the sheet of paper lying in the fax machine’s tray. His gaze skittered off the handwritten lines as he passed, and he was stepping through the door when one of the words he’d seen snagged in his brain, caught like a sheet of newspaper in a fence.
… Westphalen …
With a cry of alarm he’d leaped back to the machine, snatched up the sheet, and read:
Success! The ladys Visa records show a hefty charge to something called Pint-Size Picassos which turns out to be a summer camp right outside Monticello. I checked and the Westphalen package is there. All it needs is to be picked up and we’re in business. A. can handle the job no sweat.
BURN THIS!
Jack read it again, then a third time, still not believing … Westphalen … Pint-Size Picassos … that was Vicky. Bellitto and his gang had their sights on Vicky!
How? Why? They couldn’t possibly know Vicky’s connection to him—they didn’t know who he was!
Or did they?
He needed some answers.
Bellitto looked up from the note. “I don’t know what this
is! I’ve never seen it before! It must be a mistake!”
“That does it.” Pressed the silencer muzzle deeper into Bellitto’s knee.
“Jesus, Jack!” Lyle, standing behind Bellitto, staring with wide, sick-scared eyes.
“Hey, I’m reasonable.” Didn’t want to get into gunplay here and now. Once it got started you never knew where it would take you. But he had to know. Had a feeling Bellitto was just a nudge away from opening up. “I’ll let him choose which knee first.”
Bellitto tried to squirm away. “No! Please! You must believe I’ve never seen it! Check the time at the top! It just came in! The fax had just rung and I was on my way to check it when you stopped me.”
Grabbed the sheet and handed it to Lyle—didn’t want to take his eyes off Bellitto. “True?”
Lyle squinted at the tiny print, then nodded. “Yeah. Transmission time was a couple of minutes ago.” He dropped the note back onto Bellitto’s lap. “Why are you all worked up about a package?”
All right. So Bellitto hadn’t seen it. That didn’t mean he didn’t know anything about it. Jack raised the pistol and placed the muzzle over Bellitto’s heart.
“Vicky Westphalen—what’s she to you?”
Didn’t expect Bellitto’s reaction—his expression registered genuine shock. He glanced down at the sheet again.
Jack remembered then that Vicky’s first name wasn’t mentioned in the message. And Bellitto looked confused, as if trying to figure out how Jack knew it.
He doesn’t know she’s connected to me!
Then how the hell—?
Lyle leaned forward, looking at the message again over Bellitto’s shoulder. “You mean this is about a kid? A kid you know?” He groaned in revulsion. “This is sick, man! This is really sick!”
Jack was thinking about how there’d be no more coincidences in his life and how this had pushed way beyond sick into vile and ugly.
And then he remembered the cop sniffing around Gia’s place, asking about Vicky. Part of Eli’s “circle”?
One way to find out.
He waved the fax in front of Bellitto. “This is from your cop friend, isn’t it.”
Bellitto stiffened and stared at Jack. His eyes answered.
“I know your whole circle, Eli.”
Not quite, but the others were secondary. Especially now. He grabbed the tape and slammed it back over Bellitto’s mouth.
“I’ve got to go.”
Lyle blinked. “Go? Where?”
“The Catskills. Got to get to that camp and make sure Vicky’s all right.”
What if this wasn’t the only machine this fax went to? Bellitto had talked about his “circle.” That could mean any number in addition to Minkin. That was who the “A.” probably referred to: Adrian Minkin. He could have received the same fax. Could be on his way now. Maybe picking up fellow members as he goes, like this cop, a whole crew of pervs stalking Vicky.
“You don’t have to go!” Lyle said, sounding frantic. “You can call!”
“I know I can, but that’s not enough.”
He’d call right now, tell the camp Vicky’s been threatened, to keep watch on her and not release her to anyone but her mother. Then he’d go up there and sit guard in the woods to make sure no one screwed up.
“But what about this guy? What do we do with him?”
“I’ll help you load him into the car. You take him to the house and make the trade. Tell Gia to meet me at the camp and we’ll bring Vicky home together.” Caught Bellitto staring at him with puzzled eyes. Leaned closer to give him something to think about. “Yeah, that’s right, Eli. We’re trading you to Tara Portman for someone else.” At least Jack hoped they were. “She’s waiting at your old buddy Dmitri’s house. Got something real special cooked up for you.”
That ought to loosen his sphincters.
Now … find a phone. He’d seen one in that little office.
“Be right back,” he told Lyle as he started away. He jabbed a finger toward Bellitto. “Don’t let him budge an inch.”
Lyle nodded. “All right, but hurry. We don’t know how much time we’ve got.”
Jack was halfway across the dining room when he heard a sound, caught a blur of motion from the stairs to his left. His guard was down but he managed to raise his hands fast enough and far enough to put the pistol between his head and the fireplace poker swung by a gorilla of a man. The gun spun away through the air. Jack stumbled back, knocking into the dining room table, scattering plates and utensils, then rolled to the side to dodge another two-handed poker swipe from Adrian Minkin.