Shock Waves(33)

"Whatsa matter, Les? You got no troops out on the coast?"

"I got enough. But I ain't got no friggin' Aces in the woodpile, that's for sure."

Frank Bonadonna cleared his throat, waiting until he had their full attention.

"Some smart-ass hit one of my powder factories earlier today," he said. "From what I put together so far, my man was a ringer for the one at Tommy's bank. I mean, he changes his clothes, but otherwise..."

"Uh-huh." The capo of Los Angeles sat back and rubbed his hands together, like a man who has just scored a telling point in some momentous argument.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Miami asked.

Gregorio jumped in.

"It means that everybody's getting hit around here, sudden like. Aguirre lost his downtown whorehouse. An' where the hell is Reina, anyway? I hear somebody bombed his place."

Lazia was chewing on his lower lip, deep in thought.

"You know," he said at last, "I have been getting rumbles down my way the past few weeks. Some kinda action with the Cubans and Colombians, like maybe someone's tryin' to go around behind my back, like, undercut my action."

"There it is," Cigliano said, triumphant.

"There what is, for cryin' out loud?"

"Your proof, man."

"Well, I don't..."

Jules Patriarcca's voice stilled them. "Let's all agree on this much, huh? Somebody has been taking liberties. We've all been touched. Somebody stands to gain if we lose out."

"Damn right," Gregorio snapped.

"Okay. I say we wait and see what happens here today, tomorrow. If anybody tries to grab the whole pie for himself, I say we chop his fingers off an' teach the bastard a lesson."

"I'll chop his fingers off, all right — at the goddamn throat," the California capo said.

A chorus of grumbled agreement ran around the circle, coming back to Patriarcca.

"Fine," he said at last. "We understand each other, then. No more, until we hear what Don Ernesto has to say."

"Agreed."

The little clique disintegrated, Lazia remaining poolside, while the rest retreated to their bungalows. Patriarcca walked slowly, L.A. Lester sticking to him like a shadow, counting Minelli's visible gunners for perhaps the hundredth time since they arrived.

It was an army of sorts. Enough to get the job done if Minelli should decide to round his guests up and dispose of them somewhere along the way. Perhaps, if the vote went against him...

Cigliano was saying something and Patriarcca shushed him, busy with his thoughts. His mind was occupied with the time zones now, and how long it would take to put another army in the air, to get it here in fighting form. A couple of hours, anyway, to gather in the troops and get them all aboard the plane. Another six or seven, minimum, to get them here.

They could be in by midnight if Patriarcca placed the call immediately.

They reached the adjoining bungalows and Patriarcca paused, turning to his shadow.

"I've got some calls to make now, Lester. I'd suggest you do the same."

It took an instant for the meaning to sink through, then Cigliano grinned.

"Hey, right. I get you. Sure. I'll call."

Jules nimbly retreated toward his cottage. He shook his head. The kid was damn near green as grass. It would be easy to reach out and pluck his territory like a ripe apple off the tree.

Later.

Right now the problem was survival, and Minelli was a green young punk, whatever might be said about his origins. He was a street-wise predator, and anyone who underestimated him could expect a grim surprise.

But Patriarcca had a few surprises of his own.

He let himself into the bungalow, frowning at the empty main room, lightening up as he heard woman sounds from the direction of the larger bedroom. It was a violation of tradition, bringing her along, but lately she had made Don Patriarcca feel so good, so young, he did not want to be without her. She was his lucky piece. His fountain of youth.

"Baby?"

She emerged from the bedroom, dressed in something frilly that he had not seen before. It instantly excited him, but Jules had other business on his mind right now.

"I gotta make a phone call, here," he told her, wondering why he felt this strange compulsion to explain himself. "I'll join you in a sec', and we can take a nap or somethin', 'kay?"

"You bet."

Her smile was hungry for him, and he felt the juices flowing, making him feel like a man. It had been years since Patriarcca had felt this way with any other woman, and he took it as an omen that his life was growing better, stronger, rather than declining with age.

The best years were ahead, and they could start tonight, if everything worked out as he had planned. If he could put an army in the field in time...