Gino Patelli was young for a crime boss, particularly one of such prominence. He came into power on the death of his uncle, Carlo Gigante. For Gino it had been a rude awakening. The young Patelli was a ne’er-do-well playboy with a weakness for drinking, gambling, and loose women. His father had died shortly after he was born. His uncle raised him and spoiled him rotten, while teaching him the family business. For young Gino it was the ideal situation. He had all of the experience with none of the responsibility.
With Carlo Gigante’s death, Gino was suddenly thrust into power. He took to it with a vengeance, and soon began bossing everyone around unmercifully. His meanness enhanced his standing. He was a bad man to disappoint.
Donnie shifted from one foot to the other. Gino had not looked up from his desk. Donnie knew better than to open his mouth before he did.
Finally Gino raised his eyes to the unfortunate young man in front of him. “So, your man failed.”
“Chaz was arrested.”
“Why?”
“The window was connected to an alarm.”
“You said your man could disarm an alarm.”
“He did.”
“What happened?”
“There was a backup.”
Gino was not surprised. He hadn’t actually expected Donnie’s man to complete the mission.
Since succeeding his uncle as crime boss, he’d been trying to find Carlo’s murderer. Recently he’d had a breakthrough while watching the Golden Globes, when Desperation at Dawn had won Best Dramatic Picture. Producer Billy Barnett had accepted the award. The name rang a bell. Gino remembered his uncle’s troubles had started when a couple of his men had gotten arrested trying to abduct a producer’s wife. The producer had been Billy Barnett.
Gino couldn’t be sure if this Billy Barnett was just a coincidence or pay dirt. He’d sent Donnie’s man as a test. It was a simple job. Break into the producer’s house and kill him. If he did, Billy Barnett was innocent. But if Barnett lived, it would prove he was far more protected than a mere producer had any need to be.
Gino stared Donnie down. “So, your man didn’t check for a backup system and got himself arrested. What did he tell the cops?”
“Nothing. He didn’t talk, and we bailed him out.”
“That either means he said nothing, or he spilled his guts.”
“Chaz wouldn’t do that.”
“So you say. This man is a loose thread. Remove him.”
6
Donnie Martel was in trouble. He’d realized he was the minute he set foot in Gino Patelli’s office. He just hadn’t realized how bad it would be.
Take out Chaz Bowen? Not a boss on Donnie Martel’s level. He didn’t have the resources. He didn’t have the men. Chaz was the only hit man on his roster. Martel wasn’t one of the big boys who ordered a hit every other week. He was pretty near the bottom of the totem pole, and it was never brought home to him more forcibly than at times like these.
The order had come straight from Gino Patelli’s lips, which made it super important, something he had to put his best man on. Unfortunately, his best man was Chaz Bowen.
Donnie went back to his office, always a mistake coming straight from Gino Patelli’s. The contrast was just too striking.
Donnie’s office was in a section of downtown L.A. that looked like it was just about to be torn down and renovated. He parked on a side street, pushed the downstairs door open, and walked up the steps. His office was on the second floor over a sushi parlor. He’d been there so long he barely noticed the smell of fish.
Sophia was at the front desk reading a gossip magazine. Any other day he wouldn’t have cared. Today it pissed him off.
“Don’t you have work?” he snapped.
“Nothing pressing. I’m going to finish my coffee and tackle the bills.”
Sophia was Donnie’s entire office staff. She functioned as his secretary, receptionist, switchboard operator, typist, file clerk, and bookkeeper. She could also take dictation, but it never happened. He’d have her sit on his lap to do it, and then he’d forget what he wanted to say.
“Any calls?”
“Chaz Bowen. He sounded pissed.”
“I’ll bet. Hold my calls.”
Sophia frowned. “You want me to put them on hold, or—”
“Tell them I’m out of the office.”
Donnie pushed his way into his inner office and closed the door.
Donnie’s desk was a mess of papers, none particularly important. He had a small protection racket on the south side, with half a dozen collectors and a couple of enforcers who were hardly ever needed. After the first visit, clients paid right up.
Donnie sat down at his desk and put his head in his hands. Half of his muscle wasn’t as good as Chaz. The other half was Chaz.
Should he bring in someone from outside? Not likely. That was apt to cause more problems than it solved.
Donnie sighed heavily. He got up, lifted down a picture from the wall, and spun the dial of his safe. It had been a while, and he missed the combination the first time. He concentrated and got it on the second try.
Donnie opened the safe and took out a gun. It was an automatic with a full magazine and a round in the chamber. He took out a silencer and screwed it onto the barrel of the gun just to be sure. It fit.
Donnie locked the safe. He went over to the closet, pushed the coats and jackets aside, and found an old shoulder holster that hadn’t been used in years. He used to wear it to impress people. After a while he realized it didn’t make him look like a crime boss, just a low-level thug.
Donnie stuck the gun in the holster. The barrel was too long with the silencer. He unscrewed the silencer, and slipped it in his jacket pocket. He adjusted his jacket and tie and went out.
7
Chaz Bowen lived in the second-floor apartment of a brownstone in east L.A. Donnie deciphered his name from the scotch-taped name tags peeling away from the buzzers, and rang the bell. There was no answer. He rang it again. Finally the intercom clicked on and a groggy voice growled, “Who the hell is this?”
“Donnie Martel.”
Moments later the door buzzed open. Donnie went up the steps to find Chaz hanging out his apartment door.
“You want to tell me what the hell happened?” Chaz demanded.
“I don’t know what the hell happened,” Donnie said, and walked in the door.
“You give me an assignment and you don’t know what’s going on? Piece of cake, you said. How hard can it be? Movie producer.” Chaz snorted. “If that guy’s a movie producer I’m a state senator.”