Darkfall

sounds as if he’s some British duke complaining about poachers invading his fox-hunting fields!
    The photo was a bit fuzzy, but Lavelle’s face was sufficiently distinct so that, henceforth, Jack would be able to recognize him if he ever saw him on the street. The man was very black, handsome-indeed, striking-with a broad brow, deepset eyes, high cheekbones, and a wide mouth. In the picture he was smiling at someone who wasn’t within the camera’s field. He had an engaging smile.
    Jack passed the picture to Rebecca.
    Carramazza said, “Lavelle wants to take away my business, destroy my reputation within the fratellanza , and make me look weak and helpless. Me . Me, the man who has controlled the organization with an iron hand for twenty-eight years! Me!”
    Finally, emotion filled his voice: cold, hard anger. He went on, spitting out the words as if they tasted bad.
    “But that isn’t the worst of it. No. You see, he doesn’t actually want the business. Once he’s got it, he’ll throw it away, let the other families move in and carve it up among themselves. He just doesn’t want me or anyone named Carramazza to have it. This isn’t merely a battle for the territory, not just a struggle for control. For Lavelle, this is strictly a matter of revenge. He wants to see me suffer in every way possible. He intends to isolate me and hopes to break my spirit by robbing me of my empire and by killing my nephews, my sons. Yes, all of them, one by one. He threatens to murder my best friends, as well, anyone who has ever meant anything to me. He promises to kill my five precious grandchildren. Can you believe such a thing? He threatens little babies! No vengeance, regardless of how justified it might be, should ever touch innocent children.”
    “He’s actually told you that he’ll do all of those things?” Rebecca asked. “When? When did he tell you?”
    “Several times.”
    “You’ve had face-to-face meetings?”
    “No. He wouldn’t survive a face-to-face meeting.”
    The banker image had vanished. There was no veneer of gentility now. The old man looked more reptilian than ever. Like a snake in a thousand-dollar suit. A very poisonous snake.
    He said, “This crudball Lavelle told me these things on the phone. My unlisted home number. I keep having the number changed, but the creep gets the new one every time, almost as soon as it’s installed. He tells me… he says… after he has killed my friends, nephews, sons, grandkids, then… he says he’s going to… he says he’s going to…”
    For a moment, recalling Lavelle’s arrogant threats, Carramazza was unable to speak; anger locked his jaws; his teeth were clenched, and the muscles in his neck and cheeks were bulging. His dark eyes, always disturbing, now shone with a rage so intense, so inhuman that it communicated itself to Jack and sent a chill up his spine.
    Eventually, Carramazza regained control of himself. When he spoke, however, his voice never rose above a fierce, frigid whisper. “This scum, this nigger bastard, this piece of shit -he tells me he’ll slaughter my wife, my Nina. Slaughter was the word he used. And when he’s butchered her, he says, he’ll then take my daughter from me, too.” The old man’s voice softened when he spoke of his daughter. “My Rosie. My beautiful Rosie, the light of my life. Twenty-seven, but she looks seventeen. And smart, too. A medical student. Going to be a doctor. Starts her internship this year. Skin like porcelain. The loveliest eyes you’ve ever seen.” He was quiet for a moment, seeing Rosie in his mind’s eye, and then his whisper became harsh again: “Lavelle says he’ll rape my daughter and then cut her to pieces, dismember her… in front of my eyes. He has the balls to say such things to me!” With that last declaration, Carramazza sprayed spittle on Jack’s overcoat. For a few seconds, the old man said nothing more; he just took deep, shuddering breaths. His talonlike fingers closed into fists, opened, closed, opened, closed. Then: “I want the bastard stopped.”
    “You’ve put all your people into the search for him?” Jack asked. “Used all your sources?”
    “Yes.”
    “But you still can’t find him.”
    “ Nooo ,” Carramazza said, and in the drawing-out of that one word, he revealed a frustration almost as great as his rage. “He’s left his place in the Village, gone to ground, hiding out. That’s why I’m bringing this information to you. You can put out an APB