Powder Page 17

  “Hi. I’m Mary Lou. Is Milton in?”

  A flicker of recognition and a terrible quandary: how to figure out if she was telling the truth? His mouth opened, but no words emerged.

  "Well boy?”

  He stared and caught flies. Mary Lou brushed past him and opened the door. What a waste of space. Up some stairs and into the main area. There was a glass room in the middle where the drugs were processed. Scales, bunsen burners, the works. Looked like the biggest science experiment in the world. Mary Lou spotted Milton on the far side and raised an arm to grab his attention.

  He smiled and waved back. Mary Lou held her ground and waited for him to do the right thing and come over. Thirty seconds later and he got the message.

  “Good to see you.”

  “Yeah. Working hard, I see.”

  “Just trying to make my quota.”

  “Been here all the time since we split up?”

  “More or less. I mean I popped out to get some smokes and a bite to eat. But I slept on a chair in the corner of the office upstairs.”

  He appeared genuinely confused, unsure of the meaning behind Mary Lou’s question. She stared at his expression, trying to read his face and decide whether he’d helped Mendoza at all. There was nothing to suggest he’d double crossed her so Mary Lou told him about the twins and Cindy.

  Milton was devastated and sat down to collect his thoughts. Mary Lou gave him some time to pull his shit back together and briefed him on what she needed over the next couple of days. Bottom line: he must generate and distribute a large quantity of brown sugar by the end of the week.

  “Anything else I can do?”

  “Just keep these wagons rolling.”

  “Okay.”

  “Actually, there’s one thing.”

  “Name it.”

  “Get rid of the boy on the back door. I never want to see him again. Find someone with some cajones who’ll protect my investment.”

  “You won’t see that kid again. Promise.”

  With business taken care of, Mary Lou was now free to pursue Charlie Pentangelo to the gates of hell.

  MARY LOU PARKED HER car around the corner so she wouldn’t be seen. She walked to the rear of the house, past the pool and into the summerhouse. As much as she wanted to see the twins she knew there needed to be no witnesses. The last thing she needed was Irma to walk in unannounced.

  To the back of the hidden room to get her hands on the right snub nose to do the job: as small as possible - given where she’d be hiding it - but with enough punch to take Pentangelo out with one shot. A silencer would make the whole thing quieter, but there was only so much space below her rose.

  While she was pondering the matter, the summerhouse door creaked open. Mary Lou froze. Irma? The kids?

  “Is that you, Mary Lou?”

  Bobby’s voice caused the tension in her shoulders to ebb away. She popped her head out and winked.

  “Just grabbing some provisions.”

  “Make sure the safety’s on. That’s my best advice.”

  “Any idea how to muffle the sound?”

  Bobby was silent while he had a think. He scrunched up his face as he struggled to come up with an answer.

  “Not right now. Sorry. Arnold might know, but I’m out of ideas.”

  “Where’s he got to?”

  “Already left for his destiny with Mendoza’s death.”

  “Goddamn.”

  “You’ll think of something. You always do.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but this is real serious. I’m about to take out a high roller in the New York mob.”

  Bobby eyed her in silence and nodded. She was right: rubbing out a local heroin dealer wasn’t in the same ballpark as whacking Charlie Pentangelo. He walked over and put his arms around her. She responded to the hug allowing her head to lean on his chest for a moment. Then a squeeze and she turned her back to him and returned to rummaging for the perfect killing machine.

  Mary Lou heard the door close behind Bobby as he returned to minding her brood. She stared at a .38 and a .22 with no idea how to choose between them. The former would pack more of a punch, but it was a bigger object to shove down her front. Even with the .22, a skimpy G-string was not on the cards as the piece would fall down to her ankles as soon as she moved.

  A moment's more thought told her to pick the .38 because she’d need to wear a sanitary napkin to hold the damn thing up no matter what time of the month it was. Did that mean she could afford to bring a silencer too? Mary Lou considered that still a step too far. Where was Roach when you needed him?

  ARNOLD REGRETTED HIS decision to save money when he rented his car when he first arrived in California. For five bucks a day more, he could have been sitting in a cooling breeze. Instead, his journey to LA felt like a sauna on wheels. He was roasting and there was still over four hours to go - even if he kept his foot on the gas all the way there. Already he was looking forward to the first stopover.

  He wound down his window, but that just let the warm air into the car. Twenty minutes into the journey and his back was sticking to his seat. And there wasn’t even any money at the end of this rainbow. Doing a worthy thing was sweaty work. Might be okay for priests but this hired gun wasn’t smiling. A bead of salty perspiration dripped over his right eyelid and dropped onto his cheek. This was going to be a quite a day.

  33

  Mary Lou drove over to Sunrise Way and Park Canyon Drive. Even though the trip lasted a few minutes, the car temperature got comfortable real fast. So by the time she was in a cab heading for the airport, she was cool, calm and collected.

  A simple plan: a short hop to LAX and then try to fly nonstop to New York. She brought fake ID so’s she’d have an alibi if one were needed, but tracing her movements across country would be hard as she paid cash all the way.

  At Palm Springs Airport, Mary Lou waited in line at the sales desk. She had no idea the place would be so busy. Five people stood in front of her and each wanted to tell their life story to the hapless rep on the other side of the counter. Two of the five formed a couple although you couldn’t tell by their body language. He was the same height as her with matching brown hair. That was all they had in common as their ensuing argument revealed.

  They were heading for Miami and he was happy to have a layover in San Francisco, but she was not. Traveling via Los Angeles was her highest priority. As if by magic, Mary Lou hoped he won because she couldn’t face another minute of their bickering - especially if she was trapped in a tin can with them.

  Ten minutes later and Mary Lou was at the counter discussing options to get to the City of Angels.

  “You can catch the 11:10 if you hurry...”

  “Or?”

  “Or there’s the 11:55 nonstop, gets you into LA by 13:05.”

  The woman watched Mary Lou all the time she stood and considered the options. She knew what the rep was deciding: does she represent a security risk or does this lone girl simply want a ticket to ride?

  “I want to see my boyfriend real soon, you know, but I can’t arrive with tousled hair. We haven’t seen each other in ages, if ya get me?”

  Mary Lou tried to appear embarrassed about the implication of fucking her fictional fella. Her life story revealed, May Lou ducked her eyes downward to show there was more to her relationship with this man than she’d express at a sales counter.

  “So what’ll it be?”

  Mary Lou popped a finger to the corner of her mouth as if still perplexed by the conundrum.

  “I’d better wait. The amount this hairdo cost me, I can’t afford to ruin it.”

  The rep’s eyes lifted either to the heavens in despair or to glance at the nest on top of Mary Lou’s head. Either way, she issued the ticket and Mary Lou jiggled her touche toward the departure gates.

  With time to kill, she bought a coffee and sat down at a formica table. After she placed her holdall by her feet, she hugged her drink while keeping her clutch bag on her shoulder. The
minute hand on her watch made its way round the dial like a hopped-out hippy. The first announcement from the public address broke Mary Lou’s ennui.

  She showed her boarding pass to anyone in a uniform who cared to look at it. Despite the hijackings that had taken place the past year or two, American airports had a relaxed attitude to who sat on their planes - even though US aircraft had been attacked. Mary Lou did not complain. This made her life so much easier. To take a pistol on board would be a nightmare if the x-ray security machines were used on everyone and not just with the men who looked like PLO members.

  Once she had taken her seat, the plane taxied to the runway within five minutes of Mary Lou getting comfy. The pilot had a plane to catch. Up in the air, a flick through four pages of the in-house magazine and the descent began.

  An uneventful wait at LAX and soon she stood in line to board her LaGuardia flight. Mary Lou had bought two magazines at the news kiosk by the gate and hoped she could use the rest of her time stuck in the plane to relax and to focus her thoughts on any details in her plan she’d missed. The lack of a silencer was near the top of the list - and how to pick the right moment to tackle Pentangelo on his own.

  Instead Mary Lou found her choice of window seat was a poor one. A guy sat next to her who barely fit within the confines of his allotted space and felt the overwhelming urge to express his views to the world, using as loud a voice as humanly possible. She considered elbowing him in the larynx to shut him up, but realized she’d have to mount him to reach past the bulbous fat of his torso.

  An hour into the flight and silence reigned - or rather there were silent moments in between his incessant snoring. At least his opinions remained inside him.

  Mary Lou allowed her head to relax onto the back rest and she soaked in the calm. With her eyes closed, she contemplated Charlie Pentangelo’s last day on Earth. Then darkness engulfed her, and she woke up with a judder and a start two hours later. Jack Blowhard was complaining about the food and his drink. The stewardess did her level best to stay cool under pressure, but Mary Lou could see the woman was about to lose it big time.

  The waitress in an airline uniform called over the chief steward and Blowhard heard how his feedback was valued, and as it had been provided they would take note for future reference. For now, he needed to shut the fuck up and stop bothering them as they tried to get on with their jobs. Mary Lou paraphrased because, even if Jack wasn’t listening, all the other passengers knew exactly what was being said.

  As if proof were needed that shouting loudly gets yourself heard, Blowhard was offered an upgrade to business class. With more reluctance than you might expect, he accepted the offer with the utmost disregard to anyone’s feelings and comfort but his own. Five minutes later and he departed Mary Lou’s life forever. She eyed the man sat on the other side of Blowhard, who appeared as relieved as she was to see the whale go.

  Three hours later and the wheels touched down at LaGuardia. If Mary Lou had a plan, it was as well laid out as it would ever be.

  NEW YORK’S DOMESTIC airport was as dirty and disgusting as ever. LaGuardia held the unique accolade of being the most ugly monstrosity the Brutalist Movement could create. Like so many air transport facilities around the world, the filth and noise of the establishment attracted the worst elements of society - like flies to a midden.

  Mary Lou had spent too many years living in such surroundings to pay much attention to the lowlife scum swarming around her as she waited for a cab to take her into the city. Pan-handlers, smack-heads and winos vied for the money held by the recently disembarked. They were ignored or shouted at: this was New York City after all.

  “Take me to Wall Street and South.”

  Manhattan looked beautiful in the moonlight: the lights of the buildings twinkled as the taxi hurled itself over Queensboro Bridge. Mary Lou marveled at the skyscrapers, punching their way into the inky blackness above the Big Apple. Her first sight of the city of her childhood hopes. When she left home, she’d planned to head straight here, but one curve ball after anther sent her on a different path. Now she had arrived in the land of her dreams and it felt good.

  The cab reached Manhattan and turned south onto Second Avenue, just past 59th Street. Every block felt as though the taxi moved from one world to another. The ghettos existed cheek by jowl with barely a sheet of cigarette paper between them. Down into single digit streets on the edge of the East Village and over Houston onto Chrystie.

  “Right on Delancey and left on Varick.”

  Mary Lou barked out her instruction because Little Italy loomed and she didn’t want to take any risks. Better to spend an extra buck or two than get stuck in traffic and while away the minutes staring at Pentangelo’s goons. Arnold’s detailed mental map of the city was serving her well.

  “Head to Liberty and then right onto Pearl. After that, you can go straight there.”

  “It’s your dime, lady.”

  These were the first words the driver uttered since Mary Lou got in the cab. She was grateful he hadn’t told her his life story or shared his world view on aliens or indigents.

  When he pulled up at Water and South, Mary Lou rounded the fare up to the next dollar and exited the vehicle. She pretended to search in her clutch bag until the taxi drove off: she didn’t want anyone to piece together her movements from airport to hotel. She sucked in gas fumes and then turned down Cuylers Alley to reach a quiet unobtrusive hotel.

  The Roxboro was a family-owned affair, where decades old grandeur had made room to faded wallpaper, crumbling plasterwork and a musty aroma reminiscent of decay. A place where no-one cared what you did or who you were - provided you didn’t trash the joint more than it was already trashed. Mary Lou would do well there.

  She paid cash in advance to facilitate a rapid exit the next day and trudged up the stairs to reach her room - that way she had time to check out her possible emergency exits, although she wasn’t worried about hotel fires.

  Up in her one room, Mary Lou closed the drapes so no-one could see in. She locked the door and placed her pistol on the desk. Two minutes later, the revolver lay in pieces on the guest furniture and was reconstituted back into a deadly weapon in a matter of seconds. Mary Lou knew better than to check it more than once. If everything was fine, messing with the gun would do no good.

  She removed her possessions from her bag and hung them up onto one of the two hangers supplied inside the flimsy wardrobe. Then a brief trip out to grab a slice of pizza and a soda then back to her room and a quick shower. Off to sleep with no bed clothes - perhaps she’d packed a bit too lightly. Within a minute, Mary Lou’s snoring kicked off, but only the guy next door could hear her heavy breathing as he jerked himself off to what he thought was going on in her room.

  34

  When she woke up, Mary Lou rolled yesterday's clothes into a ball and shoved them into her carry bag. She considered wrapping the piece in the blouse, but decided against it. Life would be hard enough today without having to wrestle a revolver from the armhole of her top. She gritted her teeth and placed the cold steel inside the largest panties she owned, underpinned by a sanitary napkin. Then she slipped on a miniskirt and checked herself in the mirror. For the briefest of moments she convinced herself no-one would see the bulge protruding between her legs. She practiced walking from one side of the room to the other - a John Wayne impersonation playing in her head.

  Finally, an uplift bra and a white blouse which was too tight. She had meant to throw it out, but had never got around to doing so. Good job: part of her plan rested on the goons staring more at her legs and boobs than at anything in between.

  Down the stairs and out the door. Left out the alley entrance and back onto Wall Street. Everyone was too busy to spot a woman place an item of clothing in every trashcan she passed. May Lou's final deposit: the carry-on bag itself. She had no further use for it and besides, the damn thing would end up being a liability.

  Once free and clear of her refuse, Mary Lou headed uptown in case anyo
ne followed her. When she reached William and Pine, she stopped and hailed a cab to Broadway and Broome. Then a walk five blocks east to arrive at the north side of Little Italy. Somewhere south lay her prey.

  FIVE BLOCKS WIDE AND three down, Little Italy had become the most intense and Sicilian location outside of Europe. Many different people had emigrated from the Old Country, but the Sicilian dons were in charge. They were leaders back home and they had brought their power with them in their suitcases. Some were natural-born Americans, but they remained a breed apart: Italianamericans.

  When Mary Lou sauntered south of Broome, she entered this foreign land with no passport, no experience of the place before and no knowledge of the local language. Armed with high heels, a short skirt and cleavage, she made her way down Mott Street and endured the catcalls and whistles from the neighborhood chimpanzees. When hands pinched her ass - or worse - she did her best to flick the fingers away with a hand as if they were annoying insects, even though all her instincts told her to stop and knee the fuckers in the balls.

  But Mary Lou was not in this ghetto to fight for female emancipation: she was here to free Charlie Pentangelo from his mortal bonds. Instead she walked by the kerb as that meant the men could only attack her from one side - a cute ass wasn’t worth getting run over for. Not even hers.

  She crossed over Grande and turned right, back one block, until she reached Mulberry, the epicenter of the ghetto. Mary Lou knew that at the other end of this block was Charlie Pentangelo. Or rather, Arnold had told her Pentangelo’s business was on the corner of Mulberry and Hester and that was one block away.

  When she got within spit of Hester, she ducked into a cafe and ordered a coffee. The waiter leered at her and returned with the drink, using his reappearance as another excuse to stare at her cleavage. Mary Lou ignored his gaze and focused on the job at hand. She positioned herself at a table next to the glass frontage. This gave her an excellent vantage point to survey the street.