Vendetta Chapter 3 Part 2

"Tina, I can't run anymore, stop!" Bobby wheezed.

I was in front of him, keeping an eye out for the van. Bobby caught up to me and leaned over gasping for air. "What were you shooting at?" His voice was a decibel higher than an air raid siren. His house looked like a volcano about to erupt. Smoke had billowed out into the yard and covered my car like a low flying rain cloud, burning my eyes.

"There was someone in a white van in front of your house," I told him. "I saw him throw something through the front window. He had a rifle pointed at your door. That's why I yelled and shot at him. Do you know anyone who drives a white van?"

"A white van?" he exclaimed. "There's always white vans around my house. There's one over there. Where's your gun, Tina? Where's your gun?" I pushed him away as he came at me, arms flailing.

"Stop it!" I said, kicking him away from me. And then as a last resort I slapped his face, hard.

"You slapped me!" he said accusingly, cradling his face with both hands.

"I'll slap you again if you don't calm down, that white van is gone. If I see it again I'll shoot it, okay?"

"You didn't have to do that, you know," he said in a tone I'd never heard in his voice before. It was devoid of all emotion. Icy cold. He was towering over me and for a second I seriously thought Bobby was going to punch me.

"That's exactly what I had to do." I said. "And I'll hit you a lot more and a lot harder if you ever grab me like that again."

"That was a pretty rotten thing to do," he said crossly skulking a few feet away from me.

Sirens screamed in the distance. Someone must have called the fire department. I replayed the scene of the guy in the van. I clearly remembered the sizzling fuse, the rock tied with twine and some sort of strange looking brown substance coating it.

Bobby sat down on the curb. "Why is someone doing this to me?" he demanded plaintively.

The attack kept coming back to me. The driver had a beard and what looked like the same bad wig as the man who'd attacked me in the casino. When he saw me aim the gun at him, he'd reared back. Clearly my gun had come as a total surprise. Probably, he'd expected some easy target practice with us trundling out that front door like bewildered Pac Men. It made me angry. But for Bobby's sake I kept my voice calm.

"You can always get new clothes," I consoled him. "Neither of us were hurt and I don't think your house was badly damaged. There's been no explosion, so maybe it was just a smoke bomb."

"JUST a smoke bomb?" His voice rose another octave. "I feel so damned violated!"

He stood up and kicked a rock. It skittered across the street and smacked against the opposite curb.

"Look at my house! Do you have any idea how much damage smoke can do to my computers, my files, my books? Who the hell is this son of a bitch?"

The sirens were very close, now. "Oh that's just great," Bobby said smacking his hand against his forehead. "Now there's gonna be cops, firemen, probably the bomb squad. Pretty soon the news helicopters are gonna show up. I can see it all on TV now. Just what I was trying to avoid. Thanks a lot, Tina, just thanks a lot…"

"Now you listen to me, Bobby." I said. "Neither of us were hurt. So just relax, and besides, the cooler you act the less interest anyone will have in what just happened. As far as anyone needs to know this was a random drive-by prank by a group of teenagers. PERIOD. Nothing news worthy about it."

As if on cue a large red fire truck followed by a white van with Bomb Squad written on the side barreled around the corner and came straight for us. "Come on, Bobby." I said taking his hand. We reached the house just as a fireman swung a very large axe over his shoulder and Bobby's expensive, carved oak door collapsed.

"Jesus!" Bobby yelled.

"Take it easy," I scolded him.

"Do not come any closer," one of the firemen yelled through a bull horn.

"Sit down and enjoy the show," I suggested sinking down on the curb.

Bobby collapsed next to me and stared off into the middle distance.

"Bobby," I said, "whose clothes were those in the den?"

He turned his face away from me but not before I noticed he was working his jaw the way he does when something agitates him.

"What's it all about?" I persisted. "Whose clothes are those?" I hoped this was distracting him from the mess the firemen were making of his front lawn. "They must have cost a fortune," I continued conversationally. "They're gorgeous. But those shoes are so big. They'd probably fit you."

There was a long pause.

"Those clothes belong to my cousin, Sylvia!"

"But you don't have a cousin Sylvia."

"Yes I do," he said defensively. "Don't you think I know my own family members? She's a cousin from my uh, dad's side of the family. A long lost cousin, so to speak."

If he thought he could pull the wool over my eyes he was in for a big surprise.

"No you don't." I said. "You've been leading a double life. Was Faraday involved?"

"Tina, you don't understand."

"No, I don't, and if I have my way, you're going to enlighten me."

The Bomb Squad emerged from their van in full gear, decked out in white suits, helmets and gauntlet type gloves. One of them led two large German Shepherds up Bobby's sidewalk and into his house.

"Tina, please not now," he said. "This has nothing to do with what happened to Faraday."

I was too tired to argue. What with the smoke I'd inhaled my throat felt like it'd been worked over with a high grade sander. "Alright," I said. "but you'd better promise me that when I drop you off at the hotel, you're going to stay there. I don't want any more surprises. Understand?"

He nodded his head. Somehow I did not feel at all convinced.

A fireman approached us carrying a rock in his gloved hand. Wisps of smoke trailed from it. "That is what went through the window," I said. "Looks like it's about petered out."

"Nothing but potassium nitrate and sugar," the fireman told us. "It's a smoke bomb."

The dogs were coming out of the house and the Bomb Squad workers had removed their helmets.

"Looks like they're taking off." The fireman said. "We're leaving, too." He tucked the rock into a plastic bag. "Sorry, but we need this for the police report."

Nothing to be sorry for, I thought, neither one of us was interested in collecting souvenirs of this little fiasco.

Back at the house Bobby called the guard and got him to promise to have a handyman come the next day to fix the door and board up the bedroom and front windows until the glass company could get out there.

I followed him to his bedroom where he packed a large suitcase, carefully avoiding the closet that held all his ripped up suits.

"Don't you want to check those fancy dresses in the den?" I asked.

"Leave it alone, Tina," he said. "Just leave me alone."

I suppose I should have forced the truth out of him right then and there. But he looked so tired, so forlorn, as he wheeled the suitcase down the hall that I couldn't bring myself to do it.

"So, Bobby," I said, "who do you think was in that van?"

"If I knew the answer to that would I have you here poking around and harassing me?"

I let that comment slide. "You said Faraday's wife is Vic Costello's daughter. You think Costello is behind this?"

"Good God, I hope not." He assumed a thoughtful expression. "You know Paul and Vic hated each other. But I can't see Costello hurting his own daughter, or me, for that matter. In fact, as far as I know, Costello doesn't even know I exist," he said in a devil-may-care sort of way.

And isn't that how it usually is with Bobby, always the anonymous man, hiding in the shadows cast by everyone else? Not this time. Somebody had a bead on him and they obviously were not going to go away. I decided not to point out what a precarious position he was in. As they say, ignorance is bliss.

"What makes you say Faraday and Costello hated each other?" I asked him. "What happened between them?"

"I think Paul's past was a little shady." He slumped down on the once white chair. A clump of hair on the right side of his head had broken free of the hairspray net and was sticking straight up. I remembered his nick-name in school. Bambi. His hair had never lain flat on his head and on either side it used to stick up like tiny nobs of a doe's horns. "He was very secretive about his life in Jersey, but I know he used to do 'collections' for one of the loan sharks before he met Anna." Bobby said. "After that his life changed. Costello gave him a good position in one of his hotels. Paul used to laugh sometimes and say that a little 'influence' with the right people could save years of struggle up the corporate ladder."

Bobby had a look of hero worship on his face. Apparently he'd enjoyed hearing these tough guy pronouncements from Paul. I guessed that Bobby admired what he considered to be strength in Paul Faraday. But what had Paul seen in Bobby except perhaps his blatant admiration? I felt a jolt in my solar plexus. Didn't I enjoy the same shows of admiration Bobby threw my way? Wasn't that why I'd always go the extra mile for him? It occurred to me that perhaps Bobby wasn't as helpless as he pretended to be. In fact, it was possible that he was a master of manipulation.

"Somewhere down the line Paul had a falling out with the old man." Bobby sounded as though he were repeating a Homeric saga. "That's when they moved to Laughlin. Paul let it slip one time that he was never meant to be anyone's flunkie. That Costello could kiss his ass. Of course, he was drunk when he said it. Anna was right there at the time. She got mad and told Paul her dad had taken him off the streets and given him everything."

Bobby looked down at the floor and I realized he was going to miss Faraday a great deal. In many ways he was still the little kid that wanted to tag around with the big boys, eager to share vicariously in their strength and adventures. Stop it, I scolded myself. When the shit hits the fan it never falls on Bobby, but plenty of it always seems to slop onto the ones around him.

"So what happened?" I said impatiently.

"It was embarrassing to hear them talk like that. Paul got real quiet after she said that and I knew that when Paul got quiet you'd better watch out." Bobbie sat up very straight and crossed his legs a la Cary Grant. Gone was that dejected kid; back was the confident executive. "I was afraid he was gonna hit Anna, but instead he told her that if it weren't for the insurance policy he'd gotten against Costello Anna would be wearing black and crying at his grave."

"Really? Paul thought Costello would murder him?"

"Yeah, he did," Bobby told me. "I think Paul had something incriminating on Costello and it was enough to guarantee that he would keep him alive and well. That's why it's so hard to believe Costello had anything to do with their murder."

"Hmmm," I said. This was intriguing. "Now that Paul's dead maybe Costello thinks you've got that insurance policy."

Bobby swallowed hard, his Adam's apple hopped in his throat. "I don't know anything about that." He wrung his hands and then crossed his arms over his chest. Watching his moods change was like peering through a kaleidoscope.

"Come on, Bobby," I said as we walked out to our cars. "Let's not worry about Costello just yet. Let's give it a rest and get you to the penthouse at your hotel. You'll be safe there." I thought about the man in the van. "Bobby, I was accosted this afternoon at the casino," his eyes grew frightened. "I think it was the same man in that van. I want you to stay in the crowd or in the locked penthouse, do you understand?"

He nodded his head and gave me a strange look. "Are you sure it was the same guy?"

"No, I'm not, but just for cautions sake, if you see a tall man wearing a disguise do not go after him."

"No, certainly not, Tina. Certainly not. I'll alert security," he said in a confident tone.

He seemed relieved and I left it at that. Bobby knew how to hide and I figured it was comforting to him to be doing what he'd done for most of his life. But I knew that sometimes there is no place to hide and the only thing left is to stand up and fight. Remembering that look in his eyes after I'd slapped him I had a hunch that Bobby could fight when needed, and fight very dirty at that.