The Venetian and the Rum Runner - L.A. Witt Page 0,88

us not to squeal, we take the cash, let them go, and give him a cut.”

Carmine straightened. “Is that true?”

George avoided Carmine’s gaze.

“Answer me,” Carmine demanded.

“Yes!” George sighed heavily. “Yes, it’s true. All of it.” His shoulders drooped and he fixed a plaintive look on Carmine. “He told us if we didn’t go along with it, or if we squealed, we was as good as dead.”

“Is that right?” Carmine gritted out.

Both men nodded.

“I could shoot you both for this. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Please don’t kill us,” George begged. “I got a family.”

“It won’t happen again, boss,” Mikey said. “We wouldn’t have done it at all if it wasn’t for Vincente. I swear.”

“We wouldn’t have done it,” George pleaded. “Vincente told us he’d pin all the thefts on us if we didn’t go along with it!”

“Did he?” Carmine asked.

“Ask anybody,” Mikey insisted. “They’ll all tell you the same thing.”

Carmine considered their answers for a long moment. Then he turned to Charlie. “You got anybody else here who’s worked on nights my merchandise was stolen?”

Charlie nodded. “Yes, sir. They’re out back. I wanted to keep them separated so’s they couldn’t line up their stories.”

“Good. Bring them in here.”

Mikey and George were taken out of the office, and another pair replaced them. They quickly corroborated the original story. After those men had been taken from the office, a third pair of security guards were hauled in, trembling and bound, and after some threats, they too came clean.

And they too implicated Vincente.

Satisfied he knew the truth, Carmine left the office and had all six guards lined up in front of him. “I think none of you are lying to me, so I’m gonna let you boys walk out of here. I’m even going to let you keep your jobs this time. But if anything goes missing or anyone breaks into my warehouses on your shifts?” Tsking, he shook his head. “You’re gonna wish I hadn’t gone easy on you today. Understand?”

They all nodded vigorously, murmuring, “Yeah, boss.”

“Cut them loose,” Carmine ordered. As the men were released, he turned to Charlie. “Get Vincente in here. Now.”

“Will do, boss.” The warehouse supervisor walked out.

Alone in the office, Carmine fumed. Vincente? The man in charge? The man who’d been “looking into” the thefts and had sworn he had no idea how they were happening? He’d been letting people steal from Carmine? Taking cuts from security guards who were, at his instruction, bribed to look the other way? Threatening to frame anyone who didn’t go along with it?

Carmine had never in his life been more tempted to toss a man into the river. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had promised Danny he’d spare Vincente’s life. Right then, he was irritated with Danny for asking him to make that promise, but it was done. Carmine had given him his word.

Moments later, Vincente walked into the office ahead of Charlie.

Vincente looked around. “You take care of the boys who was stealing?”

“They’ve been dealt with.” Carmine narrowed his eyes. “But I think the real culprit needs to take a drive out into the country.”

Vincente glanced from side to side, then tensed. He stared at Carmine with wide eyes. “What? What’s going on?”

Carmine gestured at Sal. “Put him in the trunk.” Then he started to walk away.

“What? What? No! No, Mr. Battaglia, we—get your hands off me!”

The sounds of struggles and protests echoed off the warehouse’s roof and rafters, and Carmine didn’t look back. He walked out, got into the backseat of the car, and stared indifferently out the window while Vincente tried to threaten, negotiate, and plead his way out of this. There was some more howling and thumping, and then the car rocked with his weight landing in the trunk. A moment later, the trunk lid slammed.

Sal slid in beside Carmine without a word. They exchanged looks but didn’t say anything.

“Where to, boss?” Fedele asked from behind the wheel.

“Someplace quiet.”

Fedele looked at him in the rearview. They locked eyes for a moment. Then the driver nodded sharply, and without another word, he drove.

No one spoke. Carmine spent most of the ride out of Brooklyn and into the countryside thinking about how he’d deal with Vincente. Any other man would shoot him and be done with it. Otherwise, it was too easy to let him think he’d gotten away with it, and that would embolden him—and anyone he told—to cross Carmine again. Once word got out, every warehouse and speakeasy he controlled would be crawling