Free Sweetheart by Andrew Coburn Page B

gave him a lingering look.
    “Why the long face?”
    Wade said, “Let’s get on with it.”
    “Sure,” Thurston said easily. “First of all, I want to make certain you know what Gardella’s into besides the gambling, sharking, prostitution, and pornography. He’s into state contracts with that development company of his, and he’s into chemical waste disposal. Every time it rains he poisons half of New Hampshire, running trucks up there to leak on the roads. He’s into — ”
    “Thurston, I know what he’s into.”
    “Hear me out, because you don’t know half what you think you do. Lately he’s been doing a lot of business in Miami. He and his cousin Sal Nardozza have been bankrolling drug deals, no personal risk, only financial, and they make sure they never get burnt. The profits, I understand, have been fantastic. He and Nardozza used to work with some middleman named Miguel, but they squeezed him out.” Thurston suddenly snapped his fingers, for Wade did not seem alert. “You with me?”
    “I’m with you.”
    “Gardella’s also washing a lot of money down there, most of it his own, some of it for friends, including politicians. He’s got his finger in everything.”
    “What was that you were saying about a contract on him?”
    “It could be a hundred percent horseshit, so forget it until I hear more.”
    Wade gazed up through the windshield at a sky more milk than blue. “What makes you so confident Gardella will let me get close to him?”
    “That’s the easy part,” Thurston said complacently. “Since you already did a favor for him, he’ll figure you want to do more, this time with your hand half out. Let him do little things for you, nothing big. And you do little things for him. Work it into something like friendship.”
    “You make it sound easy.”
    “I’ve got faith in you.”
    “Gardella’s not stupid.”
    “Neither are you.”
    “He’s not going to confide in me, no matter how close I get to him.”
    “Don’t be so sure of that. And even if he doesn’t, you’ve got eyes and ears.” Thurston reached inside his coat and produced a folded sheet of paper. “Here’s a list of names, politicians and businessmen Gardella’s close with and cops he gives more than just pocket money to. When this thing is over, I’m going to have all of them.”
    Wade scanned the list. “Some of these names surprise me. ”
    “Nothing should surprise you. Memorize them. One cop in particular I’m interested in. Scatamacchia. Know him?”
    “We’ve met.”
    A trailer truck swung in off the highway and rumbled past them, air brakes wheezing, the ground trembling. The driver pulled the truck to a stop some twenty yards away and hopped out of the cab. Before hustling into the woods, he gave the Camaro a curious look.
    “He’s wondering what we’re doing,” Wade said with a smile. “I can imagine what he’s thinking.”
    Thurston, not amused, said, “How do you like your apartment?”
    “Fine.” Wade tightened his voice. “Who’s in the apartment above me?”
    Thurston was impressed. “Didn’t take you long to figure that out.”
    “It was easy. No carpet on the floor. Someone living there for real would’ve laid one. Who’s up there, Thurston?”
    “Someone to look after you.”
    “And, of course, after your interests.”
    “Why not?” Thurston said in all reasonableness. When the truck driver emerged from the woods he cast another glance at the Camaro. Thurston gave him the finger.
    Wade said, “You’ve made my day.”
    • • •
    Alvaro twitched the curtain back. From the dining room in Rita O’Dea’s house he had an unimpeded view of Anthony Gardella’s house and of the expansive backyard, where Gardella’s wife was roaming about, inspecting winter damage to shrubs, and intermittently gazing up at the mild sky. She had on a headband, a warmup jacket, and designer jeans stuffed into leather boots, all of which made her look even younger than her twenty-three