Omerta - Mario Puzo [85]
So she had given way. And little by little she enjoyed socking the bribe money into disguised bank accounts. Not that she let up on the criminals.
But this stuff was different. This was a conspiracy to commit murder, and yes, this Astorre was a Mafia big shot who would be a pleasure to take out. In a funny way, she would be doing her job. But the final argument was that it had so little risk and such a big payoff. A quarter mil.
Di Benedetto drove off the Southern State Parkway and a few minutes later rolled into the parking lot of a small two-story mall. All of the dozen or so shops were closed, even the pizza joint, which displayed a bright red neon sign in its window. They got out of the car. “That’s the first time I’ve seen a pizza joint closed so early,” Di Benedetto said. It was only 10:00 P.M.
He led Aspinella to a side door of the pizza joint. It was unlocked. They climbed up a dozen stairs to a landing. There was a suite of two rooms to the left and a room to the right. He made a motion, and Aspinella checked the suite on the left while he stood guard. Then they went to the room on the right. Heskow was waiting for them.
He was sitting at the end of a long wooden table with four rickety wooden chairs around it. On the table was a duffel bag the size of a punching bag, and it seemed to be stuffed full. Heskow shook Di Benedetto’s hand and nodded to Aspinella. She thought she had never seen a white man looking so white. His face and even his neck were drained of color.
The room had only a dim bulb and no windows. They sat around the table, Di Benedetto reached out and patted the bag. “It’s all there?” he asked.
“Sure is,” Heskow said shakily. Well, a man carrying $500,000 in a duffel bag had a right to be nervous, Aspinella thought. But still, she scanned the room to see if it was wired.
“Let’s have a peek,” Di Benedetto said.
Heskow untied the cord around the neck of the duffel bag and half dumped it out. About twenty packets of bills bound by rubber bands tumbled onto the table. Most of the packages were hundreds, no fifties, and two packets were twenties.
Di Benedetto sighed. “Fucking twenties,” he said. “OK, put them back.”
Heskow stuffed the packets back into the bag and retied the cord. “My client requests that it be as quick as possible,” he said.
“Inside two weeks,” Di Benedetto said.
“Good,” Heskow said.
Aspinella lifted the duffel bag onto her shoulder. It wasn’t that heavy, she thought. A half mil wasn’t that heavy.
She saw Di Benedetto shake hands with Heskow and felt a wary impatience. She wanted to get the hell out of there. She started down the stairs, the bag balanced on her shoulder, held with one hand, her other hand free to draw her gun. She heard Di Benedetto following her.
Then they were out in the cool night. They were both dripping with sweat.
“Put the bag in the trunk,” Di Benedetto said. He got into the driver’s seat and lit up a cigar. Aspinella came around and got in.
“Where do we go to split it up?” Di Benedetto asked.
“Not my place. I have a baby-sitter.”
“Not mine,” Di Benedetto said. “I have a wife at home. How about we rent a motel room?”
Aspinella grimaced, and Di Benedetto said smilingly, “My office. We’ll lock the door.” They both laughed. “Check the trunk just one more time. Make sure it’s locked tight.”
Aspinella didn’t argue. She got out, opened the trunk, and pulled out the duffel bag. At that moment Paul turned on the ignition.
The explosion sent a shower of glass over the mall. It was raining glass. The car itself seemed to float in the air and came down in a hail of metal that destroyed Paul Di Benedetto’s body. Aspinella Washington was blown almost ten feet away, an arm and