Relic of Death Page 2

  The metal barrier gave, and the door flew open.

  “Good job,” Sal said, patting the big man on his back.

  Both men pulled on black leather gloves, which they always carried with them. Leaving fingerprints anywhere, especially at a crime scene, was a no-no.

  Sal held his .45 in his hand and entered the house.

  4

  “Anyone home?” Sal called out. “This is the police. We have a warrant.”

  No answer.

  He was pretty sure no one was home, but it was always good to play it off as if he were a cop, just in case. He’d done a few jobs where kids had been hiding, revealing themselves when they heard it was the police. He never wanted a kid to see him whack someone, especially if it was a parent.

  The faint amount of light coming through the open door revealed he was in a kitchen. The windows had black fabric over them, keeping the room shrouded in gloom. A round table with chairs sat in a corner. White painted wooden cabinets hung over a short counter next to the stove. A refrigerator whined opposite a huge porcelain sink, which was overflowing with dishes. The wooden floor had no luster at all, the light gobbled up by the absorbent dullness. A worn footpath was clearly visible, traveling from the fridge, to the sink, to the next room. The floor was also warped in areas; the wooden planks had half-inch spaces between them, the gaps clogged with dark grit.

  “Can’t see much,” Bruno said. He walked over to the fridge and opened it. Blinding light exploded over half the kitchen. He reached inside and grabbed a can of soda. “You want one?”

  “I’ll pass,” Sal said.

  Bruno popped the top and guzzled the contents, upending the can in seconds.

  “Ahhhh, that was refreshing.” He let loose a loud burp, then wiped his lips and placed the empty container on the table.

  “Take the can with you,” Sal said, handing him a plastic baggie.

  “I’m wearing gloves,” Bruno said, holding up his hands. “No fingerprints.”

  “DNA from your mouth,” Sal groaned, tapping his head. “Use your brain, man.”

  Bruno crushed the can between his palms, reducing it to the size of an air hockey puck, placed it into the baggie, and then shoved the baggie into his jacket pocket. “Happy?”

  “Thrilled.”

  Sal opened and closed kitchen drawers, rifling through the ones filled with odds and ends, until he found a flashlight. He checked to make sure it worked, and then shut the back door. “Let’s check out the rest of this place.”

  The living room had windows, but like the kitchen’s, they were shrouded in black linen. A plaid couch rested in front of a stone fireplace, along with a wooden coffee table and recliner that looked like a pack of wild dogs had attacked it. A huge—what had to be early 1980s—television with pliers sticking out of the channel-changing knob sat in the corner, the dark gray screen bowing outward like it had eaten too much. Rabbit ears poked up from behind the dinosaur.

  “Be nice if we could turn on a light or two,” Bruno said, sounding like a child who was afraid of the dark.

  “No dice, my friend.”

  “I know, just saying…”

  Most likely, nobody would be able to look into the house from outside, and it was clear the owner wanted it that way, but Sal couldn’t be sure. If the owner came home and the opportunity to leave didn’t present itself, Sal wanted the element of surprise.

  The two men searched the place, Sal directing the light. Bruno checked in the obvious places—under the couch, the oblong rug, and behind the pictures hanging on the walls. Nothing but dust bunnies and candy bar wrappers.

  Next, Bruno went through a large Victorian cabinet, the antique storage unit loaded with junk. Shelves and drawers were filled with old tools, books, VHS movies, trinkets, magazines and toys. In other words—garbage, things nobody wanted. Sal was beginning to think the owner was off his rocker, bat-shit crazy, securing the home unnecessarily, for no sane person would steal a thing from it, let alone remain in the house for long.

  As if reading Sal’s thoughts, Bruno said, “Maybe the guy’s a nut job. Thinks aliens are out to get him. We should do him a favor and burn this shithole to the ground.”

  Sal laughed, finding the need to do so, even though he wanted to punch something as his frustration level rose. He’d hoped to find something valuable, not simply a dilapidated old house.

  Sal was about to tell Bruno to check what he assumed was a closet door, but did it himself. He yanked open the door and stepped back, expecting a pile of junk to come crashing down on him, but to his surprise, he found stairs leading down.

  “Well, well,” he said.

  5

  The stairs led to a windowless basement, the walls constructed of stone. The floor was cement, cracked in places, but surprisingly level. Thick wooden beams supported the floor above. The air was damp and had a pungent, earthy smell to it, reminding Sal of when he was a kid and visited his aunt’s root cellar in Cornwall, New York.

  Sal scanned the room with the flashlight. Along the right wall were stacks of wooden chairs, a few rusted bicycles, furniture with broken legs and missing drawers, a queen-sized headboard, an exercise bike missing the handlebars, two metal fans, and an assortment of other junk. On the left side of the basement were metal shelving racks that held numerous paint cans, jars with screws, nuts, and bolts in them, dingy-looking cardboard boxes with illegible writing on them, and extension cords, many of which appeared to be held together by black electrical tape.

  But the item of interest, the thing that sparked a flicker of life into Sal’s balls, was the huge safe at the far end. The steel monster stood alone, as if it knew it was special.

  “Jackpot,” Bruno said.

  “Let’s hope it isn’t full of more junk.”

  The two men approached the safe.

  Sal didn’t want to get his hopes up. The safe was an older model, something from the early 1920s. Someone hiding something valuable, valuable enough to need bulletproof windows and reinforced steel doors, would want a new, top-of-the-line model—something digital and complicated to break into. A regular Joe would never get in without knowing the combination, but someone with even a little knowledge and practice in the art of safecracking wouldn’t have a difficult time.

  “Think you can crack it?” Bruno asked.

  “It’s an ancient but high-grade model.” Sal rubbed his chin, eyes glued to the large dial.

  Sal had spent time with Frankie Lasario, a.k.a. Frankie Fingers, now serving twenty-five to life in Attica for a botched bank job. One of his crew had shot and killed a security guard whose brother was the chief of police. Sal had only gone on a couple of jobs with Frankie, but had learned the art of safecracking from the man, one of the best in the business. Sal had wanted to know how to break into the low-end stuff, should the need ever arise.

  Staring at the relic before him, he was glad he’d finally see his years of practice put to use. It wasn’t often he dealt with safes. His specialty was putting people in the ground, making them disappear.

  “I’m going to need a listening device and absolute quiet,” Sal said.

  The men returned to the kitchen. Sal grabbed a tall glass cup. He told Bruno to stand by one of the windows and keep a lookout in case the owner came home.

  Downstairs, Sal crouched in front of the safe. He placed the open end of the glass cup against the steel door, put his ear to the bottom of the cup and slowly turned the knob.

  This rudimentary technique would never have worked on a modern safe—they were fitted with microchips, backup locks, sound-dampening walls, electronic keypads, and even fingerprint readers. If this relic had been back in Brooklyn, he’d never have been able to hear the tumblers either. But here, the basement was still and quiet.

  Sal worked the knob, turning it back and forth, taking his time. With every wrong stop of the knob it was back to starting over. The job took longer than he’d thought it would. His arm muscles grew tired, shaky. His back cramped up. Sweat lined hi
s skin. Bruno had checked on him a few times, annoyingly asking him how it was going, like a kid continually asking his parents during a long car trip if they’d arrived yet. Finally, on what felt like the thousandth attempt, Sal heard a loud clunk from within, indicating the safe was unlocked.

  He breathed a sigh of relief and stood, the cartilage in his knees crackling. He grabbed the three-spoked handle, turned it, and pulled.

  Sal’s shoulders slumped, his breath feeling as if it had been knocked out of him. He staggered backward, shining the light on the only item in the safe—a briefcase. He scanned the light around the interior again, hoping his eyes were playing tricks on him, but the cavernous core was vacant, save the case resting on the bottom.

  There should’ve been millions of dollars inside, gold bars, jewels.

  Sal closed his eyes, ready to slam the door shut, go upstairs and burn the place to the ground. He took a moment, forcing himself to calm down.

  Opening his eyes, he grabbed the briefcase, slammed the door shut and headed upstairs.

  6

  Sal dropped the briefcase on the living room table.

  “What’s that?” Bruno asked.

  “Oh, this?” Sal spat. “This is what the lunatic who owns this shithole kept in the safe.”

  Bruno’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s it?”

  “I don’t know if I want to be here when he comes home. I think I’ll kill him just for pissing me off.”

  “What’s inside?” Bruno asked.

  “No idea. Probably insurance papers, deed, who the fuck knows. I couldn’t bring myself to open it.” Sal plopped down on the couch. “Seeing the size of that safe, then seeing how empty it was, crushed my soul a bit. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

  Sal focused the beam of light on the case.

  Bruno took a seat next to Sal and positioned the briefcase so that Sal would be able to see the contents, should there be any. He cracked his knuckles, then placed both of his huge mitts on either side of the case. Using his thumbs, he pressed the buttons next to the locks. The spring-loaded devices popped open, unlocking the case.

  Bruno glanced at Sal. “At least the case wasn’t locked.”

  “Obviously,” Sal said, keeping the flashlight’s beam on the case.

  Bruno’s fingers wiggled like an eager child’s ready to unwrap Christmas gifts. He glanced at Sal and opened the lid.

  Sal squinted as the light reflected back into his eyes, the prize within sparkling intensely. His mouth dropped open.

  Bruno mirrored Sal’s expression. “Holy shit.”

  The briefcase was teeming with diamonds. There had to be hundreds of one and two-carat rocks.

  “Are those real?” Bruno said. “Are they?”

  Sal reached a shaky hand forward and picked up a diamond. He held it up and examined it with the flashlight. “Bruno, this is as real as you and I are.”

  The big guy scooped up a handful of the jewels and let them pour from his hand like sand back into the case. “What the hell are these doing in a place like this?”

  “No idea, but they ain’t staying here. Guy who owns this joint must’ve robbed a jewelry store or a safe-deposit box at a bank. We must be in his hideout.” Sal tossed the diamond back into the case. He couldn’t stop staring at the jewels, the image hypnotic. He shook his head, breaking the spell.

  “We have to get out of here,” he said, and slammed the briefcase closed.

  Both men stood, Sal holding the briefcase’s handle tightly. Panic ran through him like an electrical current. He wasn’t used to feeling this way, but this diamond haul and the devastating news about his daughter sent his insides into knots.

  The diamonds must’ve belonged to someone powerful, with incredible connections. They were worth killing a small nation over, let alone two hit men.

  “Sal, what’s wrong?” Bruno said.

  “Nothing,” Sal said, shaking his head.

  The two men left the house through the back door—guns out—and walked swiftly along the driveway, keeping an eye out for headlights.

  “Man, we stumbled into something big, eh, Sal?” Bruno said, huffing from walking so fast.

  “Yeah,” Sal answered. “We hit the big time.” He didn’t want to talk about it. He just wanted to get as far from the house as possible, and back to Brooklyn. His body ached for a cigarette, but he didn’t want to stop.

  “We’re going to be fucking rich!” Bruno said.

  Sal wished he’d opened the bag alone while he was in the basement. He could’ve had all the loot to himself. It would’ve been better that way, safer. Bruno, as much as he liked the guy, was a liability. The big guy would tell someone. Buy too much shit all at once. Mr. Falcone would find out. Word might even get out about the jewels to whoever stole them. Sal and his family’s lives would be a risk. The best-case scenario would be that Falcone would find out and want a cut, a large cut. Worst case, Sal would wind up dead.

  Reaching the road, Sal realized he was hugging the briefcase against his chest. He stopped.

  “Thanks,” Bruno said, breathing hard.

  Sal wondered why he was being so paranoid. He’d just had thoughts of whacking his partner. He was losing it, being ridiculous. But he couldn’t help it. It felt like something was whispering into his mind, telling him he needed to keep the briefcase to himself, get rid of the witness, of Bruno.

  He continued to tell himself it was the jewels and the news about his daughter, his mind screwing with him.

  Holding the briefcase in his right hand, refusing to put it down, he pulled out the pack of cigarettes from his jacket and managed to get one between his lips using one hand. He shoved the pack back into his pocket and pulled out his Zippo, flicked it open, and lit the smoke.

  Damn, he was losing it. Did he really think Bruno was going to grab the briefcase and run off? Kill him? Then again, if he’d been thinking it, then maybe his partner was too.

  “How can you fill your lungs with that shit after we practically jogged a quarter mile?” Bruno said.

  Sal ignored the stupid question, enjoying his smoke as nicotine flooded his system. “I’m going to head back to the Navigator. You head to town and get us a tow.”

  Bruno’s eyes fell to the case. “You keeping that?”

  “What?” Sal said, knowing damn well what his partner was referring to.

  “The diamonds. I mean, don’t you think we should stay together?”

  “No. I don’t think we should stay together with millions of dollars of stolen jewels. In fact, I think it’s really idiotic. Don’t you?”

  “Um, well…I guess so.”

  “Just get to town. I’ll be waiting in the SUV. The diamonds will be safe with me. Once we get the Navigator fixed, we can head back to Brooklyn and look to unload these puppies. Capiche?”

  “Maybe I should stay with the car and the loot. You’re a faster runner than me.”

  “Damn it, we don’t have time for this shit,” Sal said, angrily. He took a long drag off his cigarette, the glowing orange end crowning into the shape of a bullet. He exhaled and flung the butt at Bruno’s chest. The big guy flinched, brushing the embers away with his hands as he stumbled backward.

  “That wasn’t cool, Sal,” Bruno said, meeting Sal’s stare.

  “Look, I’m sorry, all right?” Sal said, putting up a hand in surrender. “I lost my cool. Won’t happen again.”

  Bruno nodded.

  “I’m going to the SUV. You go to town. The faster we do this, the faster we are to getting rich.”

  “Okay, Sal. We’ll do this your way. But if you ever disrespect me like that again, we’re going to have a serious problem.” Bruno cracked his knuckles against his thighs, spun around and headed off.

  Sal felt the need again, the need to take care of business. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the .45. He aimed it at Bruno. One shot and Bruno would be taken care of, the liability solved, the diamonds his.

  Sal closed his eyes and lowered his arm, wondering wha
t the hell he was thinking.

  7

  Sal sat in the passenger seat, gun on his lap, briefcase between his legs. He’d been tired earlier, now amped up. He checked on the diamonds a few times, knowing they had to be there, but fearing they might not be. It was silly, but he continued to do it.

  He thought about trying to get some sleep, but he wasn’t tired. He needed to be ready in the event the briefcase’s owner came along, or the cops.

  Two hours later, Bruno arrived in a tow truck. The Navigator was hauled to a garage in town. The garage’s owner, George, had been working late. It turned out the timing chain had snapped. Normally, the part would have had to be ordered in the morning, and the men would have wound up sleeping in the SUV for the night. But thanks to Sal offering to pay three times the price of the repair, George was able to call his buddy who owned a parts store in Binghamton, and had the part delivered right away, the mechanic cutting his friend in on the extra cash.

  The hit men were back on the road by four a.m. The long ride down Route 17 had been awkward. Neither man said much. Sal wanted to check on the diamonds again, but fought against the urge, not wanting Bruno to see the jewels and get any strange ideas…ideas like Sal had been having.

  Normally, Sal enjoyed silence during long rides, but now it left his mind open to think about nothing but the jewels. He wondered what Bruno was going to do with his share, and how long before the world knew about the loot. It was sure to happen. Bruno was younger and not the most intelligent guy on the block.

  Sal grew antsy. He kept checking on Bruno, having caught the guy glancing at the briefcase a number of times. He had to be ready for anything; Bruno might crash the SUV, or put a bullet in his head, and then take off with the diamonds.

  When they reached the town of Harriman, Sal turned on the radio. They were only about an hour and a half away from Brooklyn, and the city stations came through clearly. The silence had been too much.