Read Online Suicide Italian Style (Crime Made in Italy Book 1) by Pete Pescatore - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Pete Pescatore
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I.”
She didn’t answer. I leaned in again and kissed her bruise, straightened up and said, “I’ll come by later to pick up my things.” I walked away to the door.
“Don’t,” she moaned. “Don’t come back.”
I shut the door behind me.
Billy Bob’s maroon Merc took me back up the lakefront road to Lugano. It wasn’t a long drive and traffic was light. Across the lake the casino sat like a tombstone, damp and cold. I felt the night come back, a memory of me and Gigi at the roulette wheel. He had a system, he said. Forget the numbers, you just play the colors, black calls black, red calls red, and you double your bet each time you lose. If zero comes up after black, you bet on red and vice versa. He showed me, stood by my side while I made a few bets. Then I made a mistake and was just about to double the bet when his hand flew out and he grabbed my wrist and said Stop. Now. Walk away from the table.
Maybe that’s what he did. Played and lost and lost again and decided to walk away from it all.
Birdcall. The whippoorwill. I flicked a look at the screen and punched a button. “Hey, Stazz. What’s up?”
“I had heart attack at border.” Her voice was still a few degrees below zero.
“What, they stop you?”
“No. I took the road to border but guards were searching cars. I turn back to Lugano.”
“What you do with the briefcase?”
“Don’t worry. Safe.”
“Sure, baby, but where is it? We need to open it.”
“Call me when you have good plan.” She hung up.
Ten minutes later I heard the bird again. I took the call but had to slam the phone down and grab the wheel as the Merc took the curve a little too fast.
“Pete?” Anastasia, calling out to me. She called again, louder. “Pete? Are you there?”
I picked up. “Sorry. I’m in the car.”
“Johnny wants to talk.”
“Johnny can wait. Got a question for you.”
“Hang.” She put me on hold. Johnny’s kid Mario had programmed the music. Industrial noise with a stuttering beat, guaranteed to drive me crazy. I set the phone on the seat beside me and drifted off into plans for the day.
A few minutes later I heard her yelling and snatched the phone from the seat. “Sorry, Stazz. You ready?”
“At your service, Mr. Pescatore.”
“Get on the net and do a search for Gigi Goldoni, his investors. And while you’re at it, see if you can find out who owns the casino, the one in Campione.”
“Campione.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Campione own the casino. It is not private.”
“Oh. OK, so forget it.” A Porsche whizzed past, crowding the center line. I jammed a hand on the horn. “Another thing.”
“Pete! Are you all right? What happen?”
“Nothing, Stazz. I’m fine. Listen, what kind of handguns the Swiss army use?”
“SIG Sauer P220 series, 9 millimeter.”
“That was fast.”
“Johnny talked to Switzerland.”
“Yeah? So do me a favor, tell Johnny you got America on the line.”
I heard mumbling in the background before he came on and said hello with a cough. When the hacking was done he said, “I got a couple things.”
“SIG Sauer, by any chance?”
“For example. That’s what killed your friend Goldoni. Swiss crime scene guys are on it. Matter of time before they trace it.”
“Registered owner is a man named Sergio Ungaretti. Goldoni’s accountant.”
“You know that for sure?”
“He told me and the cops he lost track of it. But I hear Gigi owed him a boatload of money.”
“You think—“
“The bean-counter did it? No clue, Johnny. And it’s too soon to guess.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line while he chewed on a cigar, lit up and wheezed.
“What else you got, boss?”
“I hear the doc’s heading up to the lab this weekend. For the autopsy.”
“What, the guy from Varese?” I slowed for another curve and swerved as an Alfa Romeo flew by. “Already?”
“It’s the same guy they called to the scene when they found him and he already
She didn’t answer. I leaned in again and kissed her bruise, straightened up and said, “I’ll come by later to pick up my things.” I walked away to the door.
“Don’t,” she moaned. “Don’t come back.”
I shut the door behind me.
Billy Bob’s maroon Merc took me back up the lakefront road to Lugano. It wasn’t a long drive and traffic was light. Across the lake the casino sat like a tombstone, damp and cold. I felt the night come back, a memory of me and Gigi at the roulette wheel. He had a system, he said. Forget the numbers, you just play the colors, black calls black, red calls red, and you double your bet each time you lose. If zero comes up after black, you bet on red and vice versa. He showed me, stood by my side while I made a few bets. Then I made a mistake and was just about to double the bet when his hand flew out and he grabbed my wrist and said Stop. Now. Walk away from the table.
Maybe that’s what he did. Played and lost and lost again and decided to walk away from it all.
Birdcall. The whippoorwill. I flicked a look at the screen and punched a button. “Hey, Stazz. What’s up?”
“I had heart attack at border.” Her voice was still a few degrees below zero.
“What, they stop you?”
“No. I took the road to border but guards were searching cars. I turn back to Lugano.”
“What you do with the briefcase?”
“Don’t worry. Safe.”
“Sure, baby, but where is it? We need to open it.”
“Call me when you have good plan.” She hung up.
Ten minutes later I heard the bird again. I took the call but had to slam the phone down and grab the wheel as the Merc took the curve a little too fast.
“Pete?” Anastasia, calling out to me. She called again, louder. “Pete? Are you there?”
I picked up. “Sorry. I’m in the car.”
“Johnny wants to talk.”
“Johnny can wait. Got a question for you.”
“Hang.” She put me on hold. Johnny’s kid Mario had programmed the music. Industrial noise with a stuttering beat, guaranteed to drive me crazy. I set the phone on the seat beside me and drifted off into plans for the day.
A few minutes later I heard her yelling and snatched the phone from the seat. “Sorry, Stazz. You ready?”
“At your service, Mr. Pescatore.”
“Get on the net and do a search for Gigi Goldoni, his investors. And while you’re at it, see if you can find out who owns the casino, the one in Campione.”
“Campione.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Campione own the casino. It is not private.”
“Oh. OK, so forget it.” A Porsche whizzed past, crowding the center line. I jammed a hand on the horn. “Another thing.”
“Pete! Are you all right? What happen?”
“Nothing, Stazz. I’m fine. Listen, what kind of handguns the Swiss army use?”
“SIG Sauer P220 series, 9 millimeter.”
“That was fast.”
“Johnny talked to Switzerland.”
“Yeah? So do me a favor, tell Johnny you got America on the line.”
I heard mumbling in the background before he came on and said hello with a cough. When the hacking was done he said, “I got a couple things.”
“SIG Sauer, by any chance?”
“For example. That’s what killed your friend Goldoni. Swiss crime scene guys are on it. Matter of time before they trace it.”
“Registered owner is a man named Sergio Ungaretti. Goldoni’s accountant.”
“You know that for sure?”
“He told me and the cops he lost track of it. But I hear Gigi owed him a boatload of money.”
“You think—“
“The bean-counter did it? No clue, Johnny. And it’s too soon to guess.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line while he chewed on a cigar, lit up and wheezed.
“What else you got, boss?”
“I hear the doc’s heading up to the lab this weekend. For the autopsy.”
“What, the guy from Varese?” I slowed for another curve and swerved as an Alfa Romeo flew by. “Already?”
“It’s the same guy they called to the scene when they found him and he already
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