Dance With The Devil (56)

Salvatore watched all the guests leave and bade them a heartfelt goodnight, passing on his employer’s apologies in the most sincerest way he could without actually meaning a word. When the driveway was clear, he barked his instructions to Edmund and then went back inside to do one more sweep of the house; there could be no stragglers, no witnesses. No loose ends.

When he was certain the house was clear, he crossed the now deserted lobby and knocked lightly on the library door. “It’s me,” he called.

A second later, Vito cracked open the door and peered out. “It’s okay,” said Salvatore, “everyone’s gone.”

Vito nodded and let him in.

“Ah,” said Carlo Liuzzi, as if greeting the arrival of the port and cigars after a leisurely banquet, “just in time.” He then looked at Falcone and asked, “We are alone, I assume?”

“Si, Capo.”

“Good. Then, Salvatore, kill the Jew, would you? It’s high time we got things started.”

Suddenly Ira Levenson looked absolutely panic-stricken. He let out a fearful high-pitched whinny and pleaded, “No, no, please–” as his bowels voided.

Even Vito, who had been holding his gun on the chubby, curly-haired boy for sometime looked quite taken aback and lowered his weapon, not quite sure if he had heard Liuzzi correctly. But in the time it took him to do this, Salvatore had pulled out his own Colt 9mm and pushed it against Ira’s temple. Swift, precise and deadly.

Then he fired.

The sound was like the crack of a bullwhip, although much louder. The bullet exited the opposite side of Ira’s head and buried itself deep within a bookcase several feet away. Chunks of skull, flesh and brain matter, sprayed out across the room like the discarded bark and sawdust from an industrial wood chipper as the boy’s lifeless corpse dropped to the floor and bled out on the carpet.

Bobby fell to his knees and wept. Mildred leant over and vomited on the carpet and Wyatt just looked on incredulously, utterly stunned by the abhorrent act he had just witnessed.

“I think my library may be in need of some re-decoration, don’t you?” Carlo Liuzzi said to nobody in particular, his manner light, almost jovial. “But my apologies, gentlemen,” he added, now addressing Bobby and Wyatt specifically, “I have kept you waiting long enough and now that we’ve ridden ourselves of the dead wood – I’m afraid your chubby little Jew friend was not worth my attentions – we can now get onto the main event of the evening.”

Both the Bodene brothers, these two proud Texans, who had come to Hollywood seeking fame and fortune in the movies, looked up and stared into Carlo’s cold, black eyes and knew, with absolute certainty, that they would never see Texas again.

Liuzzi smiled, almost sympathetically, then said, “Salvo, Vito, please escort these fine young men out to the garden store, underneath the tennis courts, would you? I would like a few moments alone with my wife.”

Continues tomorrow or download the complete novel here


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