Chapter 16
When Buzz'd found the cottage on Eaton Avenue empty, the coke gone, he'd almost broken down and cried. There was a small chance some local B&E kids had just stumbled on a jackpot, and if that were the case, he was screwed. The kids would start snorting and selling to anyone on the beach who’d buy, including the cops. Then the cops would grab the load and that would be the end of that.
But the more likely scenario, and the one that gave him some hope, was that somehow that bastard Carpucci had gotten wind of where the coke was and had stolen it back. Even if that thinking was wrong, it was all Buzz had to go on. Besides, if Carpucci didn't have the coke, he'd be looking hard for it. And if the drug lord had any luck . . . well, Buzz and Skinny were going to be there to take the coke back. No way was Buzz going to let anyone–Carpucci included–steal that coke and get away with it.
He and Skinny had gone back to Carpucci's estate in Lynnfield and kept the place under surveillance. And they weren't there long before Carpucci came out and hopped in the back of a big black Lincoln with some goon driving. Buzz had followed the Lincoln right onto Route 95 heading north. He'd kept a few cars between himself and the Lincoln all the way, not stopping until they got jammed up when the Hampton Bridge opened to let some boats pass beneath.
Finally the bridge had lowered and Buzz could see the Lincoln up ahead moving across the bridge. He stepped on the accelerator, following a couple of cars behind. One question kept running round and round in his head–did Carpucci already have the coke or not?
"I don't think he'd be coming up here if he already had the stuff," he said. "He probably has a line on it, though."
"I don't know," Skinny said in between snaps of his gum. "Maybe he just likes the beach."
Buzz had to look over at him for a second to make sure he wasn't joking. Skinny looked back, snapped his gum, and shrugged.
"He may like beaches, but not this one, shit-for-brains. Remember, this is where he lost his load."
Traffic crawled across the bridge. Buzz concentrated on keeping his eyes on the vehicle in front of them and tried to ignore Skinny's popping gum.
"Why do you have a little car like this, Buzz?" Skinny whined. "We coulda lost 'em on the highway in this thing."
Buzz clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth.
"You narcs used to always have big Fords. What happened to them days anyhow? If you gotta have something small, it oughta be a Vette or a Porsche you seized. Right? So why do you have this little crate?"
"Because this is what they fucking gave me," Buzz answered, thinking how he'd love to stick his thumb in Skinny's eye, see just how high that aggravating voice of his could really go. "We can't ride around in navy blue Fords with blackwalls all the time, you little nimrod. The bad guys'd figure it was us and then we wouldn't be undercover anymore, would we?"
Nice story, but the real reason Buzz got issued this tin can was because the higher ups were hoping he'd get sick of it all and hand in his resignation. Just more of the shit end of the stick the suits in the agency had been giving him for a long time now. And all because of a few missing crummy dope dollars, which they couldn't prove he'd ended up with anyway. What kind of a crazy country was it anyhow when scuzzball dope dealers like Carpucci got rich and Drug War soldiers like himself got screwed?
Skinny turned to look at Buzz, his pockmarked face looking like he'd bit into a lemon. "Yeah, but a Jap car? They ain't fast. They ain't comfortable neither." His spaghetti-thin body bounced around as if he were sitting on a hot plate.
"Relax. We got more important things to worry about than your sore little ass." Judging by the frightened look that came over Skinny's face, and the way he stopped bouncing and kind of oozed closer to his door, Buzz's voice affected Skinny just as much as the little idiot's voice affected him, only Buzz's voice generated fear instead of disgust. Good. Quiet the skinny little shit right down.
The Lincoln banged a left when it finally got across the bridge, disappearing down a sloped driveway behind a one-story white building. The sign on the building read, "Renaldo's Restaurant," and the stench of garlic filled the little car as Buzz followed. He coasted past the building a few feet, then pulled the car over to the shoulder. The gravel road marched on ahead, leading down to the harbor and the docks. The Lincoln was down there, pulled up in a parking lot beside another car. Carpucci had the back window down and appeared to be talking to the driver of the other car.
"Who . . . uh . . . who do you think that guy is?" Skinny asked.
"That's the spic's car," Buzz answered. Then he added, "I'll tell you one thing, they either got the coke or they know who does. They aren't all here to go deep sea fishing. That's for sure."
Skinny clammed up for another minute. "What'll we do when we find out where it is?" he finally asked, his voice cracking.
Kill them all. Not a thought he could voice to Skinny without the little guy having a heart attack. "We'll handle it the usual way," Buzz said. Which meant they'd go in masked and with guns drawn, grab the goods, and leave the dealers bound and gagged, not knowing who the hell stole their stuff.
That was the usual way. But since the stash was in Carpucci's hands again, the rip-off would have to go down the same way it did when they took the boat in the harbor, though Skinny didn't need to know that. Not yet. With a man like Dominic Carpucci there was no other choice. If he was there when they took it, he'd have to die. If they left him alive, the bastard would somehow get a line on who they were, and then he'd chase Buzz forever. The man would never let it go. Buzz wouldn't be safe in Africa let alone in Jamaica. Not with a man like Carpucci after him.
No, they'd have to go all the way–the practical way. Carpucci, and whoever else was with him when they scooped the coke, would have to go. No loose ends on this one. Especially if Buzz ever wanted to relax with all that money, and more than anything, that's what he wanted to do. But he couldn't tell Skinny any of this. Christ, Skinny had almost passed out when he'd seen Buzz do those two dickheads on the boat.
Which reminded Buzz of another problem he had: Skinny. And what to do with him when this was all over. Buzz tried to shove that thought right out of his mind because, for some crazy reason he didn't understand, every time he thought about sending the little guy to a better place, it made him feel kind of bad.
Skinny started bouncing in his seat again. "I hope we find out where it is quick," he said in that shrill voice that went through Buzz like fingernails on a blackboard. "My ass hurts again." Skinny let that last word stretch way out, his voice getting even shriller.
"Shut up," Buzz said. "Look."
The spic got out of the Lexus and Carpucci's driver hopped out too. Both men walked across the parking lot to a small run-down cottage that looked like it belonged in Appalachia. They went up on the porch, opened a screen door, and stepped inside out of sight.
This could be it. Buzz could tell by the acid churning in his stomach. Talk about a gut feeling. It seemed like hours, but was only a few minutes before the two men reappeared, pushing a third man in front of them. They forced him down the cottage steps and across the parking lot. Then they shoved him in the backseat of the Lincoln with Carpucci. The Lincoln's driver got back in behind the wheel and the spic jumped in the Lexus. Both cars pulled out of the lot with the Lexus leading.
"Get down," Buzz ordered. "They're coming right by us." He grabbed Skinny's shoulder, pushed him down hard, and ducked down himself just as the Lexus and Lincoln zipped right past.
Buzz sat up and backed his car all the way to the main road, catching a strong whiff of garlic again. He could see the two black cars over near the state park, heading for the bridge. He brought his car around and followed after them.
Skinny slowly sat up in his seat, moving his face, neck, and shoulders like he was doing Isometrics. "I think you pulled a muscle in my neck, Buzz," he said in a whining tone.
"I'll pull more than a fucking musc
le in your neck if you don't shut up," Buzz said. He squeezed and pushed the steering wheel with his left hand almost hard enough to crack it, and with his right he rubbed his face from forehead to chin. No, he reminded himself, he couldn't do it now. No matter how crazy Skinny was making him, Buzz needed him. He couldn't even look at the man for fear he might lose it. Instead, Buzz let a maniacal grin cross his face and a little rhyme run through his head over and over: Skinny Minny with the meatball eyes, punch him in the belly and you get french fries. And that helped–a little.
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