street from my front door.’
‘I don’t like this,’ Angelo said. ‘It’s too peaceful. We’re going to
stick out like a sore thumb.’
‘Now don’t get yourself all bent out of shape,’ Franco said. ‘At this
point, all we’re doing is reconnoitering. What number are we looking
for?’
Angelo consulted the piece of paper in his hand. ‘Number Eight Overlook
Place.’
‘That means it’s going to be on our left,’ Franco said. They were just
passing number twelve.
A few moments later Franco slowed and pulled over to the right side of
the road. He and Angelo stared up a serpentine driveway lined with
carriage lamps to a massive Tudor-style house set against a backdrop of
soaring pine trees. Most of the multipaned windows were aglow with
light. The property was the size of a football field.
‘Looks like a goddamn castle,’ Angelo complained.
‘I must say, it’s not what I was hoping for,’ Franco said.
‘Well, what are we going to do?’ Angelo asked. ‘We can’t just sit here.
We haven’t seen a car since we pulled off the main drag back there.’
Franco put the car in gear. He knew Angelo was right. They couldn’t wait
there. Someone would undoubtedly spot them, become suspicious, and call
the police. They’d already passed one of those stupid neighborhood watch
signs with the silhouette of a guy wearing a bandana.
‘Let’s find out more about this sixteen-year-old chick,’ Angelo said.
‘Like, where she goes to school, what she likes to do, and who are her
friends. We can’t risk going up to the house. No way.’
Franco grunted in agreement. Just as he was about to press on the
accelerator, he saw a tiny figure come out the front of the house. From
such a distance he couldn’t tell if it was male or female. ‘Somebody
just came out,’ he said.
‘I noticed,’ Angelo said.
The two men watched in silence as the figure descended a few stone
stairs and then started down the driveway.
‘Whoever it is, is kind of fat,’ Franco said.
‘And they got a dog,’ Angelo said.
‘Holy Madonna,’ Franco said after a few moments. ‘It’s the girl.’
‘I don’t believe this,’ Angelo said. ‘Do you think it really is Cindy
Carlson? I’m not used to things happening this easy.’
Astounded, the two men watched as the girl continued down the driveway
as if she were coming directly to greet them. Ahead of her walked a
tiny, caramel-colored toy poodle with its little pompom tail sticking
straight up.
‘What should we do?’ Franco questioned. He didn’t expect an answer; he
was thinking out loud.
‘How about the police act?’ Angelo suggested. ‘It always worked for Tony
and me.’
‘Sounds good,’ Franco said. He turned to Angelo and stuck out his hand.
‘Let me use your Ozone Park police badge.’
Angelo reached into the vest pocket of his Brioni suit and handed over
the walletlike badge cover.
‘You stay put for the moment,’ Franco said. ‘No reason to scare her
right off the bat with that face of yours.’
‘Thanks for the compliment,’ Angelo said sourly. Angelo cared about his
appearance and dressed to the nines in a vain attempt to compensate for
his face, which was severely scarred from a combination of chicken pox
as a child, severe acne as a teenager, and third-degree burns from an
explosion five years previously. Ironically, the explosion had been
ignited thanks to Laurie Montgomery.
‘Ah, don’t be so touchy,’ Franco teased. He cuffed Angelo on the back of
the head. ‘You know we love you, even though you look like you should be
in a horror movie.’
Angelo fended off Franco’s hand. There were only two people he allowed
even to make reference to his facial problem: Franco and his boss,
Vinnie Dominick. Still, he didn’t appreciate it.
The girl was now nearing the street. She was dressed in a pink
down-filled ski parka, which only made her look heavier. Her facial
features indented a puffy face with mild acne. Her hair was straight and
parted down the middle.
‘She look anything like Maria Provolone?’ Angelo questioned, to get in a
dig at Franco.
‘Very funny,’ Franco said. He reached for the door handle and got out of