Page 93 of The Beast Who Bought Me
I reach up to adjust the knot in my tie that the Clemenza put there, angling my hand so the lawyer can see the “G” tattoo in the webbing of my thumb.
He knows what it means. His eyes go wide. And what he says is, “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Neither do I.” I stroll over. “So let’s agree to make this easy. Tell me about Louis Clemenza’s will.”
He’s spluttering now as I lean over him. “That’s confidential information that I can’t?—”
“I’ll keep it confidential.” I lean over and grabhistie now. Mine’s definitely nicer. But his makes a good, solid noose around his neck. “After Caligula Clemenza, who’s next in line?”
He reaches for the phone on his desk—to call security, I guess—but I pick it up and throw it across the room, all the while keeping a good hold on him.
“Talk,” I growl, and I tighten the noose.
His face goes a little red as he fights for breath, grabbing at my wrist with one hand. “I’ll call the police—” he manages to get out.
“No you fucking won’t. You’ll tell me what I need to know, and I’ll leave you alive. Or you’ll die. No third options, buddy. Make your choice.”
I’m already checking out potential exits, because it’s only a matter of time before securitydoescome in here, or someone else does, to tell the Big Boss that there’s a Clemenza out at the desk making a scene. There’s a door that I’m pretty sure leads to a private bathroom. And there’s a window.
And that’s it.
So I’ll have to fight my way out, back the way I came. Or just get out of here before the alert goes out.
Stuccio is scrabbling across his desk for something, a weapon maybe. I strangle a little more, and he gives a gurgle. “I—beer—” he says.
“What?” I lean in closer, wondering what the hell he’s trying to say, ease up on the necktie a little.
“Ti...berius…” he rattles out.
Tiberius? What the fuck? There’s no Clemenza with that name. Although it sounds like it’d fit, given Caligula and his dad, Cesario.
But while leaning in, I took my eye off the ball for a second. Too late, I see what the lawyer is scrabbling for: not a weapon, but an under-desk button. I know when he finds it, because an alarm goes off loud enough to raise the dead.
I’m out of time. But at least I have a name, if it’s worth anything. I let him go, and he coughs and wheezes for a second before I punch him hard. Lights out.
I locked the door, but someone is bashing at it, shouting, “Mr. Stuccio? Mr. Stuccio?” I have my Beretta, but getting into a shootout in Midtown feels a littletooclose to my home territory.
I move over to the window and look down. Three stories. But there’s an open dumpster down below that I could aim for. And Vito’s waiting just up the alley, engine running—I see a faint trail of vapor in the cold night air coming from the exhaust.
I’ve had worse extractions, that’s for sure.
I pull off my suit jacket and wrap it around my arm as a guard, then grab up a heavy bronze statuette from the bookcase and whack at the glass. At least this building is old enough that the glass isn’t that durable kind they use in all the new high rises; it smashes immediately, and I try to clean out the frame as well.
The noise gets the guards outside moving, and the heavy thumps now must be hard kicks at the lock. I have about three seconds to judge the jump.
But if there’s one other talent I have apart from hurting people, it’s this kind of shit. I jump just as the door bursts open, and land ass-first in the dumpster below. I see them all staring down at me.
They won’t follow me. No one with an ounce of sense would.
I scramble up and out of the dumpster, barely registering that one of the bags of trash had something hard and sharp-edged in it, and it cut into my shoulder blade. Rosa can deal with injuries later.
The guards above have all disappeared, which means they’re running down the internal stairs and will be coming around the corner of the block in half a minute, maybe less. I limp a few steps before I shake it off and charge down the alleyway to the car, throwing myself into the back seat.
The Clemenza is there.
That’s the first thing I notice. He’s actually here in the car, waiting with Vito.
I didn’t know how much I expected him to run until I see him sitting there now, and something inside me gives this weird jump.
