Chapter 40
“I was starting to.”
“Goin’ somewhere, boss?” Napoleon heard one of his bodyguards ask when he quietly exited his master bedroom through the French doors that led to the terrace. He was planning to visit Johnnie again. He had been sneaking over to her house every other night for two weeks, waiting on her hand and foot, doing whatever she needed, making life easy for her. He turned toward the man and said, “Yeah, I was just—”
Thud! A blackjack came crashing down hard on the base of his skull. Napoleon’s six-foot-four frame collapsed and fell hard to the ground.
“Grab his legs,” the bodyguard said, lifting the upper body of his former boss.
An hour later, Napoleon awoke to the splash of ice-cold water being pitched in his face from a large silver pail. He shook himself, shivering from the chill. He was blindfolded; his hands were tied with rope to the back of his chair. His bare feet were in hardening cement. He knew he was on a ship and they were moving. He could feel it. When he heard a steamship’s whistle blow, he knew he was all done, and he knew why. The fact that his own people were waiting for him to leave through his bedroom let him know Don Russo, Boss of New York, and quite possibly Chicago Sam, were in on it.
As he thought about other possibilities, he heard water splashing. His bodyguard had tossed water in the face of someone else who was sitting next to him. He hoped it wasn’t Johnnie. The last thing he wanted to do was get her killed because he wasn’t careful. His captors snatched off his blindfold. He looked to the left. It was Bubbles. He assumed Johnnie was safe since she wasn’t in the room with them. The bodyguard snatched Bubbles’ blindfold off. His face looked like he’d gone a couple of rounds with Sugar Ray Robinson. His face was swollen and bleeding. He looked like he’d taken a fierce beating before being subdued.
“Sorry we had tuh rough you up, pal,” the bodyguard said. “It was either that, or we would’ve had tuh blast Miss Shepard too. Stray bullets and all. Sweet piece of ass ya had there, pal. Sweet indeed. They told us you were as tough as they come. Now we know too.” He looked at Napoleon. “It took five of us tuh take him down.”
“Are you gonna talk all night, Ritchie?” Napoleon asked. “Get on with it.”
“You satisfied now, Napoleon?” Bubbles asked, breathing heavily. He had been struggling to free himself as they transported him to the ship. “I saw this comin’ six months ago. Why couldn’t you listen to me, man?”
“If it’s any consolation, I’m real sorry I got you into this, ol’ friend. But you knew what you were doing. You wanted the money too.”
“I was told to give ya a choice,” Ritchie said, holding a loaded submachine gun.
“Yeah? Let’s hear ’em,” Napoleon said.
“You can go into the water alive, or you can go in dead. It’s up to you.”
“Who’s behind the hit, Ritchie?” Napoleon asked. “New York?”
“And Chicago . . . but Sam fought for you, I’m told. He said to give you a message.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
“He says that if we kill you before we toss you over the side, we gotta do the broad too.”
“What broad?” Napoleon asked, hoping Ritchie wasn’t referring to Johnnie.
“This broad.”
He held up the picture of Napoleon carrying Johnnie to his Cadillac. Ritchie shuffled through about ten pictures, each more incriminating than the one before. Then he walked over to a table and began playing Napoleon and Johnnie’s sexually explicit conversation.
“The bosses wanted you to know exactly why they had to kill you.”
“I’m on pins and needles over here,” Napoleon said sarcastically.
“Yeah, the suspense is killin’ me,” Bubbles said.
Ritchie looked at the men with him and laughed. “Ya gotta love these guys. Brass balls. The both of them.”
Napoleon said, “Are you gonna tell me or are you gonna keep flapping your lips?”
“Nobody wanted to do it, I’m told. They figure you oughta know that before we toss ya over. Now, how you wanna go out?”
“Answer me something, Ritchie. How come the bosses didn’t give me a chance to fix it?”
“They did. The trial starts tomorrow. You had plenty of opportunities tuh take her out and didn’t. I’ve been watching you leave the mansion, Napoleon, c’mon. You didn’t pop the broad, so they told me I had tuh pop you, or I get popped. It’s not personal, ya know? If the broad fingers you, it ends with you, not them.”
“What if she doesn’t name anybody, Ritchie? The cops don’t have a case against her. Nothing solid anyway.”
“The bosses don’t wanna take no chances, her bein’ Colored and all. They figure no matter what, they’re gonna pin the murder on her and when they do, she’s gonna squeal on you two guys. Besides, you started the whole damned thing when you killed the Klansman and Trudeau. Now fuckin’ Hoover’s threatenin’ tuh take action against the bosses. It’s you or them. And you know it’s not gonna be them.”
“I see. Can you do me one last favor?” Napoleon asked.
“Sure, if I can.”
“Can you kill me and then toss me in? I don’t much like the idea of drowning.”
“Sorry, Napoleon. No can do. They wanted you to think about how you fucked yourself over for a broad while you gurgle seawater. Besides, they sent those guys.” He tilted his head toward the men with him. “They’re here to make sure you got the choice. They’re hoping you choose to let the girl live and if you do, they don’t want me doin’ you no favors like pluggin’ you before you go in.”
Bubbles said, “What about me? Can you shoot me first?”
“Sure.”
Ritchie raised the gun and immediately squeezed the trigger. The end of the barrel lit up as bullet after bullet ripped into Bubbles’ flesh, turning it into Swiss cheese. The men pick up Bubbles’ bloody body and the chair he was tied to, and carried him out the door. Then they tossed him into the sea. When he hit the water, they heard a big splash.
“Thanks for doing that, Ritchie. It wasn’t his fault.”
“Thanks, but I didn’t do it for either of you. The bosses wanted you to see your Colored friend die first. He never had a choice.” He paused momentarily. “Tell me something, Napoleon. How did a smart guy like you let it get this far? You had everything. Did you love her, or what?”
“I was starting to.”
“I’ll let the bosses know that.” He looked at the men. “Boys . . . toss ’im over.”
And that was the end of Napoleon Bentley.