McCallum Once a Crooked Man

1. Auflage 2016
ISBN: 978-1-910985-08-3
Verlag: Sandstone Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 368 Seiten

Sal, Max, and Enzo Bruschetti have spent their entire lives keeping a low profile. As their criminal empire as grown more diverse, they have relied on an increasingly complex web of financial arrangements to keep their business safe from prying eyes. Now wealthy and aging, they have decided to retire from crime. Right after they tie up a few loose ends... When actor Harry Murphy inadvertently overhears the Bruschetti brothers plotting to turn several associates into 'dead meat' he is stricken by conscience and decides he must intervene. After traveling to London to warm one of the intended victims, Harry is caught up in a shootout, forced to flee in a high speed chase, mistaken for a Bruschetti agent, and handed a suitcase filled with cash.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Mccallum, David

Leseproben

14.

In a modest hotel room in West London chosen for its obscurity, Rocco Martinelli finished his daily exercise routine, showered, toweled himself off and dressed casually in dark clothes. With the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door, he slipped down the stairs and out onto Westbourne Grove. The evening sky was cloudy, but the breeze was warm. In five minutes he entered Paddington mainline station, pushing his way through the throng of commuters.

Whenever a dead body is found in odd circumstances, the police assume foul play. Rocco thoroughly enjoyed creating evidence that would change that assumption to accidental death or suicide. When the medical examiner pronounced that his victim had died from natural causes Rocco was thrilled. The latest challenge of disposing of Percy Santiago and the Colonel was giving him much pleasure.

Both of his targets knew him well, so the approach would be easy. But what then? How to dispose of the Colonel came to him while he was watching the movie on the flight from New York. Santiago’s demise proved to be a tougher proposition. It wasn’t until Rocco was making the long walk from the plane to the luggage hall at Heathrow that the means of Santiago’s death came to mind. The idea was sparked by a poster on the wall of lurid London nightlife, and a guidebook bought at a newsstand had given Rocco the information he needed.

Now the plan was well developed in his mind.

A Circle Line train took him to St. Pancras where he connected to the Northern Line and the ride out to Belsize Park. As he emerged from the depths he bought a copy of USA Today.

A short walk brought him to the southern fringes of Hampstead Heath, where the guidebook suggested he could find receptive male companionship. Rocco selected a park bench at the edge of a small copse, sat down and opened the paper as if to read it.

In the evening light there was little activity. Only when dusk truly fell did the mating begin. Roaming males circled, glanced, paired up. Rocco strolled about and observed the ritual. If the couples headed for the shadows beneath the trees, he went back to his bench. If they left the park, he followed and made a note of exactly where they went.

Eventually he had the addresses of three male prostitutes. One was a young boy with streaky blond tints in his hair who lived in a basement close to the park. He wore shorts and a sports shirt. His clean appearance made him stand out from the others and apparently brought him the most business. As the first light of dawn flecked the sky Rocco took a taxi back to Paddington and enjoyed a deep sleep.

The next night he was gratified to see that his diligence had not been in vain. The young man again walked the paths. Now Rocco timed how long his flat was left empty between tricks and found that it was never less than twelve minutes.

A huge oak tree directly across the road from the boy’s dwelling gave Rocco good cover. His quarry arrived with a tall man with a limp a little before midnight. Neither of them spoke a word. The metal gate squeaked open and the two disappeared below street level. The front door opened and closed. In thirteen minutes, the man came up the steps and hurried away as fast as his lame leg would allow.

Ten minutes went by. Rocco began to wonder if he’d left it too late. Perhaps the limp had been the last customer and the boy had packed it in for the night. But the door opened and closed and he reappeared. Freshly combed hair glowed orange under the streetlamp as he left. As soon as he was out of sight, Rocco went across the road and down the steps. Uneven flagstones covered the ground. Three dustbins stood against the wall. The door to the flat was made of wood and had a Yale lock.

To the right of the door was a casement window with a center latch. Rocco took out his pocketknife and eased it in through the gap in the old frame and pushed the hinged metal to one side. The window slid up silently and he was able to climb up over the sill.

A heavy green blanket was tacked to the ceiling in place of curtains. Rocco closed the window and eased the covering aside to give himself some light.

The room was a square box with a bed, a chair and a table. Two doors in the back wall stood open, one to a bathroom and the other to a closet. Makeshift shelves held books and a microwave. The place smelled of damp and sweat.

As his whole plan depended on there being a telephone in the room, Rocco looked around to find one. Mercifully there was a portable on the floor by the bed. Rocco picked it up and dialed the code to retrieve the number. Tearing out a page from one of the paperbacks, he took out a pen, wrote the numbers down and replaced the phone exactly where he had found it.

A quick check of the room assured him it was unchanged. Releasing the blanket, he let himself out, closed the window and slid back the catch before climbing the stairs.

The next day a hardware store provided him with a flashlight, a coil of galvanized wire, a small black tool bag, a pair of cutters, a screwdriver and a lock that was identical to the one in the basement door. In Haberdashery at Marks & Spencer, an assistant helped him to pick out a pair of black socks and leather gloves. In Cosmetics, a vivid red lipstick and a tube of brown mascara were added to the assortment. In Ladies Underwear, a black garter belt, queen-size stockings and a pair of red panties completed his purchases. Rocco paid for everything with cash.

The hotel provided stationery for its guests. Rocco sat at the small desk by the window and took out an envelope and a sheet of notepaper. Folding the blank paper, he slid it into the envelope. On the outside he wrote: Percy Santiago. The glue tasted of peppermint as he licked the flap. The next part of his plan called for him to get in touch with Continental Delivery Motor Services.

When the receptionist answered his call he said, “Mister Santiago, please.”

There was a click and almost immediately a cheerful voice said, “Percy here. Who’s that?”

“It’s the messenger boy from the States.” Rocco leaned back. “I’ve some interesting news from the boss in New York. I need to share it with you. I’m staying at a friend’s flat here in town and wondered if you could meet me there.”

“Nice to hear your voice. When do you want to meet?” Santiago asked.

“Tonight? Say eight thirty?”

“Sure. Where?”

“At the entrance to Belsize Park underground station at eight fifteen. Okay?”

“Sure. No problem is there?”

“No. Just a few changes. I have a list for you,” said Rocco, and before he got any more questions he hung up. Right away he telephoned the Dorchester Hotel and asked to be put through to the message desk.

“Hi! My name is Herbie Smith and I will be checking in later. I just wanted to make sure that if anyone calls, you’ll take a message for me?”

“What did you say the name was, sir?”

“Smith, Herbert.”

“If anyone calls we’ll be sure to take a message, Mister Smith.”

“Thank you.”

Rocco pulled out the torn page from the paperback and dialed the numbers. A young voice answered, “Yes?”

“This is a bit embarrassing,” said Rocco quietly. “I need to make sure I’m talking to the right person.”

“That’s okay. What is this about?” He sounded Cockney, cautious but friendly.

“I’m over here from Chicago and I’m looking for some . . . some . . . well, some companionship this evening. A friend of mine gave me this phone number but didn’t give me a name. He said he was very satisfied with the . . . service provided when he was here.”

“What did your friend tell you about me?”

“He said you were about five eight, one hundred forty pounds. You have streaky blond hair.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Rocco smiled. “You have a great ass.”

The boy chuckled. “That’s me all right.”

“Would you be free this evening?” Rocco closed his eyes and waited.

There was a slight pause. “Yes,” came the reply.

Rocco opened them. “How much?” he asked.

“Five hundred quid. Or seven hundred fifty dollars or seven hundred euros. Cash. Any of those is okay with me.”

Rocco paused for a moment. “I take it that much is for all night.”

“Absolutely. Or until your prick falls off. Whichever comes first.” The boy laughed crudely at his own witticism.

“Great,” said Rocco. “I look forward to meeting you. My name is Herbie Smith. I’m at the Dorchester. Come around eight and we’ll have some dinner.”

“The Dorchester?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. I’ll be there.”

At 6:30 P.M. Rocco was behind the same convenient oak tree across the road from the basement flat. A pair of surgical gloves covered his hands and the leather gloves hid these. Everything else he had bought was in the bag by his side.

The boy appeared at just after seven and headed up the hill in the direction of the station. Wearing a windbreaker over a white shirt and khaki pants, he whistled as he walked. Rocco remained where he was for five minutes before he crossed the road. Once down the steps, the window catch flicked back easily and he climbed in.

He now worked with swift precision. Taking the screwdriver, he removed the lock from the door, loosened the...