Hostage

Three blocks later, Glen pulled into a parking lot. He took his gun from the glove box and put it back in his pocket. He felt safer that way. He opened his phone again, and dialed another number. This time, his call was answered on the first ring.

Glen spoke four words.

'We have a problem.'

Palm Springs, California

5:26 P.M.

Oxygen was the key. So

Benza stood in the games room of his mansion perched on a ridge above Palm Springs. Outside, his two kids, Chris and Gina, home from school, were splashing in the pool. Inside, Phil Tuzee and Charles 'Sally' Salvetti pulled an extra television next to the big screen, sweating like pigs, 36 inches, a Sony. They were rushed and frantic, anxious to get the set on. Between the big-screen projection TV with the picture-in-picture function and the Sony, they could watch all three major Los Angeles television stations. Two showed aerial views of Walter Smith's house, the third some pretty-boy talking head outside a gas station.

So

'What do we know? Not this TV bullshit. What do we know for sure? Maybe it's a different Walter Smith.'

Salvetti wiped the sweat from his forehead, looking pale under the Palm Springs tan.

'Glen Howell called it in. He's at the house, So

Tuzee made a patting motion with his hands, trying to play the cooler.

'Let's everybody take it easy. Let's relax and walk through this a step at a time. The Feds aren't knocking on the door.'

'Not yet.'

Phil Tuzee was close to pissing himself. So

'We got, what, ten or fifteen minutes before that happens, right, Phil?'

Tuzee laughed. Just like that, they were calmer. Still worried, still knowing they had a major cluster fuck of a problem, but the first bubble of panic had burst. Now, they would deal with it.

Benza said, 'Okay. What exactly are we dealing with here? What does Smith have in the house?'

'It's tax time, So

The bristly hairs on the back of Benza's head stood.

'You're sure? Glen hadn't made the pickup?'

'He was on his way to do that when this shit went down. He gets there and finds the neighborhood blocked off. He says Smith doesn't answer his phone, which you know he would do if he could, and then he gets the story from some reporters. Three assholes broke into Smith's house to hide from the cops, and now they're holding Smith and his family hostage. It's our Walter Smith.'

'And all our tax stuff is still in that house.'

'Everything.'

Benza stared at the televisions. Stared at the house on the screens. Stared at the police officers crouched behind bushes and cars, surrounding that house.

So

These records were in his computer.

In his house.

Surrounded by cops.

So

Phil Tuzee followed him, trying to be upbeat.

'Hey, look, it's just three kids, So

So

'So

Benza looked at his friend. Tuzee had always been the closest to him. They'd been the tightest when they were kids.

'The records don't just show our business, Phil. They show where we get the money, how we launder it, and our split with the families back east. If the cops get those records, we won't be the only ones who fall. The East Coast will take a hit, too.'

The breath flowed out of Phil Tuzee as if he were collapsing.

So

'Okay. Three kids like this, the cops will give'm time to chill, they'll see they're caught and that the only way out is to give up. Two hours tops, they'll walk out, hands up, then everybody goes to the station to make their statements. That's it.'

Hearing it like that made sense.

'But that's a best-case scenario. Worst case, it's a bloodbath. When it's over, the detectives go in for forensic evidence and come out with Smith's computer. If that happens, we go to jail for the rest of our lives.'

He looked at each man.

'If we live long enough to stand trial.'

Salvetti and Tuzee traded a look, but neither of them added anything because they knew it was true. The East Coast families would kill them.

Tuzee said, 'Maybe we should warn them. Call old man Castellano back there to let'm know. That might take off some of the edge.'

Salvetti raised his hands.

'Jesus, no fuckin' way. They'll go apeshit and be all over us out here.'

So

'Sally's right. This problem with Smith, we've got to get a handle on it fast, solve the problem before those bastards back in Manhattan find out.'

So

'Who's the controlling authority? LAPD?'

Salvetti grunted. Salvetti, like Phil Tuzee, was a graduate of USC Law who'd worked his way through school stealing cars and selling cocaine. He knew criminal law.