"I don't know."

Angelina drove in silence for a few minutes.

"Why don't you tell me what your real plan is," Kurtz said. "What your objectives are, long term goals. So far you've just tried to use me like some damned Hamas suicide bomber."

"And you used me," she said. "You were ready to get me killed today just so you could get to Emilio."

Kurtz shrugged at that. He waited.

"If Little Skag gets out of Attica this spring, it's too late," Angelina said at last. "I'm screwed. The Farino Family is finished. Stevie thinks he can ride this tiger, but Emilio will gobble him up in six weeks. Less."

"So? You can always go back to Italy or something. Can't you?"

"No," said Angelina, throwing the word like a javelin. "Fuck that. The Gonzagas have been planning this… this extermination… of the Farinos for a long, long time. It was Emilio's father who had my father ambushed and crippled sixteen years ago. Emilio raped me seven years ago as much out of Gonzaga contempt as anything else. There's no way on earth that I'm going to let them destroy the family without a fight." She slowed, hunted for a street sign in the blizzard, and turned right toward the lake.

"So say I'd killed Gonzaga for you," said Kurtz. "Either you or one of the New York families would have had me killed, but then where are you? Little Skag is still running things from Attica."

"But he can't get out without the judges and parole-board people on the Gonzaga payroll," said Angelina. "It buys me time to try to consolidate things. If the rebuilt Farino Family is earning money for them, the New York bosses won't care who's actually running the action here in Buffalo."

"But Little Skag still has the leverage and control of the money," said Kurtz. "In a vacuum, he'll just find a way to buy the Gonzaga judges and parole-board people."

"Yes." The asphalt road ended at a snowy boat ramp dropping down onto the lake. Two rows of red flares were dimly visible stretching across the snowy ice, marking a makeshift road onto Lake Erie. A few truck and snowmobile tracks were gradually being erased by the wind. "The goddamned Gonzagas," muttered Angelina as she slowly descended the boat ramp. She was talking without thinking about it, just to relieve the tension of the driving. "While Papa and my family were consolidating gambling and prostitution and paying off just a few tame judges, the Gonzagas spent their money to buy top officials. Hell, most of the top cops in the Buffalo P.D. are on their pad."

"Stop!" said Kurtz.

The big Lincoln slewed to a stop with only its front wheels on the ice. "What?" snapped Angelina. "Goddammit, Kurtz. I told you, the ice is thick enough now to hold ten, Town Cars. Quit being so fucking nervous."

"No," said Kurtz. The windshield wipers pounded wildly, trying to knock away the blowing snow. "Say that again… about the cops."

"Say what? The Gonzagas have been paying the top cops for years. It's how Emilio's family gets away with moving the huge volume of drugs it does."

"Do you have a list of those cops?"

"Sure. So what?"

Kurtz was too busy thinking to answer.

The Farino ice-fishing shack was only a few hundred yards out on the ice, but in the dark and the snow and the howling wind, it seemed like miles from shore. A few other shacks were visible in the headlights, but there were no vehicles. Even idiots who thought ice fishing was a sport weren't out tonight.

Kurtz and Angelina Farino Ferrara wrestled the stiffened bundle out of the trunk and carried it into the shack. There was a large hole centered where men could sit on plywood seats on either side and watch their lines—the whole building reminded Kurtz of an oversized outhouse—but a film of new ice had grown over the hole.

Angelina took a long-handled shovel from the corner and bashed away the scrim of ice. The wind literally howled, and icy pellets pounded the north wall of the shack.

Angelina had added some chains to the package so there was no need to hunt for additional weights. They lowered Leo through the hole, his shoulders barely squeezing through and bunching up the plastic shower curtain, and watched the last bubbles rise in the middle of the black circle.

"Let's get out of here," said Kurtz.

Back on Highway 5, Angelina said, "It's a good thing you chose Leo."

"Why?"

"Marco wouldn't have fit through that hole. We would've had to chop a new one."

Kurtz let that go.

Angelina glanced at him in the light of the instrument console. There was almost no traffic going through Lackawanna and back into town. "Did it occur to you that Leo might have had a family, Kurtz? A loving wife? Couple of kids?"

"No. Did he?"

"Of course not. As far as I could find out, he left New Jersey because he'd beaten his stripper girlfriend to death. He'd killed his brother the year before over some gambling debt. But my point was, he might've had a family. You didn't know."

Kurtz wasn't listening. He was trying to fight away fatigue long enough to work through this thing.

"Okay," Angelina said. "Tell me. What was this about the cops?"

"I don't know."

She waited. As they drove into the Marina Towers basement garage, Kurtz said, "I may have a way. For us to get to Gonzaga and survive. Maybe even put you in the position you want to be in and take Little Skag out of the equation."

"Kill Stevie?" She did not sound shocked at the idea.

"Not necessarily. Just get rid of his leverage."

"Tell me."

Kurtz shook his head. He looked around the garage and realized that his Volvo was still parked at the Buffalo Athletic Club. That cute little Boxster would never get through this snow. And where am I going? Hansen probably had his room at the Royal Delaware Arms and the office staked out. Kurtz thought of how crowded Gail's tiny apartment was tonight—violinist on the sofa, wino on the floor, whatever—and it made him more tired than ever.

"You have to drive me back to the Athletic Club," he said dully. Maybe he could sleep in the car there.

"Fuck that," Angelina said in conversational tones. "You're staying in the penthouse tonight."

Kurtz looked at her.

"Relax. I'm not after your body, Kurtz. And you look too wasted to make a pass. I just need to hear about this plan. You're not leaving until you tell me."

"I need a B-and-E expert tomorrow," said Kurtz. "Your family has to know someone really good at defeating security systems. Maybe cracking safes as well."

Angelina laughed.

"What's so funny?" said Kurtz.

"I'll tell you upstairs. You can sleep on the sectional in the living room. We'll build a fire, you can pour us a couple of brandies, and I'll tell you what's so funny. It'll be your bedtime story."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

James B. Hansen awoke on Wednesday morning refreshed, renewed, and determined to go on the offensive. He made love to his very surprised wife—only Hansen knew that it would almost certainly be for the last time, since he planned to move on before the approaching weekend was past—and even while he made her moan, he was thinking that he had been passive in this Frears/Kurtz thing far too long, that it was time for him to reassert his dominance. James B. Hansen was a Master chess player, but he much preferred offense to defense. He had been reacting to events rather than being proactive. It was time for him to take charge. People were going to die today.

His wife moaned her weak little orgasm, Hansen dutifully had his—offering a prayer to his Lord and Savior as he did so—and then it was time to shower, strap on his Glock-9, and get to work.

Hansen went to the office long enough to have "Captain Millworth" clear his schedule except for a mandatory meeting with Boy Scout Troop 23 at 11:30 and a lunch with the Chief and the Mayor an hour after that. He called the two detectives: Myers was on the stakeout at Kurtz's secretary's house in Cheektowaga after a few hours' sleep; Brubaker had checked the Royal Delaware Arms and Kurtz's office downtown—no joy there. Hansen told Brubaker to join Myers in Cheektowaga, he would meet them there.