Cleto froze. The sawed-off shotgun remained close to his leg. His eyes registered that I was an instant from drilling him with a volley of.45 slugs. One twitch of my finger and his sternum would be hamburger.
Cavagnolo blinked. His mouth gave no expression but astonishment showed in his eyes. Cavagnolo put his hand on Cleto’s arm and gave a quick pat.
Cleto bent his knees and let the shotgun settle on the floor. He stood straight and the hate in his eyes was hot enough to light a match.
“Wise decision.” I stepped to the side. “Tell Vinny to get in here. I don’t like anyone watching my back who’s not on my team.”
Cavagnolo called to Vinny. He hustled to the door, pockets jingling, pistol in hand. His blanched expression said: holy shit.
I motioned with my H&K for Vinny to get inside. He looked at Cavagnolo, who gave a quick nod and waved him in.
“Tell your man outside to stay cool,” I ordered. “We had a little accident, that’s all. A workplace injury.”
Cavagnolo told Vinny to use his phone.
I stared at Cavagnolo. “You do it.”
With an angry huff, he pulled a cell phone from his pocket and in a brief exchange told whoever was outside to sit tight. “It’s all okay.” Cavagnolo lifted the cell phone in my direction. “Anyone else you want me to call? Maybe send for pizza?”
“You can call the local morgue and make reservations if you’d like,” I said. “Might save some time later.”
Cavagnolo’s eyes could’ve spit poison darts. He dropped the phone into his pocket.
I pointed to a spot by the space heater. “Grab a chair and sit there.” I motioned to the guy I’d thrown into the shelves. He moaned softly, and as he moved his legs, the broken shelves rained more parts on him. “The rest of you, help him.”
Cavagnolo dragged a folding chair from the wall. He opened the chair and swiped a hand across the seat to clean the dust.
I pushed a plastic chair into a corner opposite him. I picked up a clean shop towel and draped it across my chair. I sat and rested the.45 on my lap.
Cavagnolo took a seat, his knees bending slowly as if he were waiting for a signal to jump. His eyes remained on mine. This guy was king of the stare-downs but an amateur compared to me.
Vinny and Cleto helped the third guy to his feet. He gave another moan and staggered along.
“He needs a doc, Uncle Sal.”
“You know where to take him.” Cavagnolo said this out the corner of his mouth as he kept his stare on me.
I raised the muzzle of the pistol. “Keep this among us.”
Cavagnolo’s eyes didn’t waver. Guess he was used to being on the wrong end of a gun. Pretty big-city attitude for someone out here in the boonies. “Don’t worry,” he said. “This is no sewing circle.”
Vinny and Cleto put the other guy’s arms across their shoulders and carried him out. I gave them a minute. “Let’s swap places.”
“What for?”
“In case your boys try something funny, I want the joke to be on you.” I got up and stood in the pocket of warm air by the space heater.
Cavagnolo sat in the other chair, moving carefully like he expected a bad surprise.
“I don’t care how you pay your bills,” I said. “The only reason I’m here is because of Gino.” And the zombies.
I would get to hypnosis but I wanted Cavagnolo to tell me things on his own.
He took a long breath and leaned back in the chair, the extended pause telling me that he had a lot of angles to figure out.
“What’s happened to Gino?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Is he dead?”
“I’d be surprised if he wasn’t.”
“Why’s that?” Cavagnolo asked.
I told him about the blood and finished by saying that I didn’t have a clue how Gino had been hauled away. “The trail went out the back door and I lost it. I can’t imagine how anyone could’ve carried a big guy like him for much distance.”
Unless Gino’s attackers-the zombies-had hacked him into take-out portions.
“Remember what happened to Stanley Novick?”
I expected Cavagnolo’s face to break apart in anguish. Instead he gave a smug grin. “Yeah, I remember. So what about him?”
“Maybe there’s a connection?”
“Or maybe not.”
A dead nephew and this was Cavagnolo’s response? Was he always this callous or was he hiding something?
Cavagnolo said, “What’s your beef in all this? Why do you care?”
Because of my orders from the Araneum. “I was hired to find out what happened to Barrett Chambers.”
“That stupid asshole? Good luck.” Cavagnolo smirked. “I’ll tell you what happened. That bum beat feet. He owes money from Cheyenne to goddamn Phoenix.”
“How much does he owe you?”
Cavagnolo chuckled. “Not one dime. I know his type. He’ll make more promises than a politician, but after you lend him money, he’s as hard to catch as a fly.”
“What if I told you he was dead?”
The mirth slid off Cavagnolo’s face. He held on to the glumness for a short moment, then went back to smiling. “Then I’d tell you the dumb ass ran out of luck.”
“Help me understand something,” I said. “Barrett is dead. As is your nephew, Gino. And there’s the late Stanley Novick. You don’t seem to be too concerned that these people are getting picked off like gophers.”
Cavagnolo let his eyes dart to my gun. “I am concerned.” He added, “There’s a lot about the business my nephew didn’t know.”
“Gino mentioned the possibility Stanley was murdered in a fight over turf. But he didn’t buy it.”
Cavagnolo asked, “Is there something about the way Gino was snatched from his house that completely rules that out?”
No.
“Any reason you don’t want my help?” I asked.
“Starting with the fact I don’t know you and you come across as a creepy-ass fuck, plenty.”
Cavagnolo’s cell phone chimed. He raised one eyebrow. May I?
“Go ahead.”
He dug the phone out of his pocket and answered. “Yeah. Yeah. Things are still cool. I’ll let you know when we’re done.” Cavagnolo closed the phone and kept it in his hand. “How much longer we chatting?”
“Until I hear what I need to know.”
Cavagnolo pasted that fuck-you stare back on his face.
We’d done enough regular talking. Time for vampire hypnosis.
We were alone. I thought of a way to cover the spell of amnesia.
I walked to him and pressed the pistol muzzle against his forehead. His only reaction was a quick grimace as if what bothered him was the feel of cold metal instead of the likelihood that a.45 slug was about to blow his skull apart.
“Close your eyes.”
“What for?”
I tapped the muzzle of the.45 against the front of his skull. “Do it.”
His expression stayed fierce even as his eyes closed.
I lowered the pistol. I flicked the contacts from my eyes into the palm of my free hand. Cavagnolo’s aura glowed with a calm shimmer. I had sent one of his men to the doctor and now poked a gun into his mug. This man must have antifreeze for blood.
“Now open your eyes.”