Tragic Read Free Page A

writing. He knew that Bebnev’s contact had given him the photograph and that the Russian had turned it over to DiMarzo as the “lookout.”
    “That’s the guy,” DiMarzo said, looking up before placing the photograph back into his coat pocket. “That’s Carlotta.”
    “Let’s go,” Bebnev replied. He put his hand back in his coat pocket to feel the comfort of the revolver and took another puff on his cigarette.
    Miller turned the key in the ignition and the old V-8 roared to life. He pulled up to the curb in front of the house but left the engine running. He thought about saying something to put a stop to what was about to happen, but then he pictured his girlfriend’s perpetually disappointed face and heard her father’s voice. You’re a bum. He scowled. He didn’t know Vince Carlotta. All those guys with the dockworkers’ unions were crooks, and this guy just got on the wrong side of some other crooks. What did he care if the guy died?
    DiMarzo was experiencing a similar crisis of conscience. You’ll go to hell. And if you’re caught, Mom will die. . . . But the thoughts fled his mind when Bebnev snarled from the backseat.
    “It’s time,” the Russian said tersely. “Come on, Frankie. Sooka, keep the car running.”
    “Just do it,” Miller replied, his voice rising from the tension.
    Bebnev jumped out of the car, flicking the still-smoking cigarette butt to the side of the road as he walked up across the front lawn andrang the bell. The Russian tensed as the door opened, but instead of the man he’d been sent to kill, the pretty woman he’d seen get out of the car stood there with the infant in her arms.
    She looked confused but then smiled. “Yes, can I help you?” she asked with a slight accent.
    Bebnev looked from the woman’s face to the infant, and then released his hold on the gun in his pocket. “Uh, we are looking for Mr. Carlotta,” he said meekly.
    “He’s washing up,” the woman said. “I’m Antonia Carlotta. Can I tell him who’s calling?”
    Before Bebnev could answer, the man from the photograph walked up and stepped in front of his wife. He frowned slightly. “What can I do for you?”
    Bebnev fidgeted. He pulled his empty hand from his pocket and extended it. “ Da , yes, we are from San Francisco where we work on docks. We hope to find work here,” he said. “We were told you might help.”
    Carlotta shook Bebnev’s hand but his brow furrowed. “How did you know where I lived?” he asked.
    Bebnev licked his lips. “We arrived late today and went to docks. Man there tell us New Rochelle. Then we ask neighbors. Sorry for intrusion, but we need work.”
    Carlotta nodded. “Well, you’re enterprising and that’s good,” he said. “Show up tomorrow at the union headquarters, and I’ll get you on the rolls. There may be a few openings for good workers.”
    Bebnev grinned. “Thank you. We are good workers,” he said and then turned to DiMarzo, who was standing with his mouth open watching the exchange in confusion. “We leave this nice family alone. Tomorrow we find work.”
    “Uh, yeah, sure,” DiMarzo said before nodding at the Carlottas. “Thank you.”
    “Not a problem,” Vince Carlotta said as he looked past them at the old sedan parked in front of his SUV. “Drive safe.”
    As they walked back across the lawn and got in the car, DiMarzoturned to glare at Bebnev. “Why didn’t you do it? He was right there!”
    Bebnev scowled. “No one pay me to kill woman and baby,” he growled. “I am professional, not baby-killer.”
    “Professional my ass,” Miller sneered as he pulled away from the curb. “You chickened out!”
    “Fuck you, Gnat,” Bebnev yelled. “Next time, I shoot the fucker!”
    “Yeah, yeah, big talker,” Miller scoffed. “Who’s the sooka now, huh, Bebnev?”

2
    C HARLIE V ITTELI SLAMMED HIS BIG meaty palm down on the tabletop, causing four sets of silverware, four plates and beer mugs, as well as the two men sitting with