Chapter 5

"Dammit!"

Levon was frustrated. Now that they had found out where Joe had stayed and had a pretty good idea who had abducted him, Levon had expected to be closer to finding his partner. But he was not. The booking of the helicopter had turned up with the address of an air service. But their office had already closed for the night. They did not do any night flights and as soon as their aircrafts were safely back to the ground they locked up the premises for the night.

"Come on, Levon, let´s call it a day. We´re not getting anywhere with this before they reopen tomorrow morning." Greg yawned. "Let me take you to my place, my wife has prepared dinner for us. You haven´t eaten anything since you´ve come in this morning."

Levon looked at his watch. Greg was right. "Ok, but I need to find a place to spend the night first."

"No way, you´re staying at my place. That´s the least I can do." Greg put on his jacket and picked up his keys. On his way out he looked back over the empty desks of his unit and turned out the light. They had been the last to leave the bullpen after a long day.

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Joe shifted his position but the result did not render any of the things he wished for: an easing of the pain, more warmth, less discomfort. Through the impenetrable darkness across the room he could feel that his guard was fighting the same odds, except perhaps for the pain.

The cabin appeared to be solidly built but it was bare of any furniture and equipment, had no stove or fireplace. It looked pretty new, perhaps just erected and not quite finished. Maybe an inspection in daylight would tell them more.

Joe was glad that Morone had not tied him up again. It was bad enough to sit or lie on the cold bare wooden floor. By now every bone in his body ached, not only from the repeated beating he had received. He hadn´t eaten in three days but almost as long he hadn´t had anything to drink. He was beginning to feel sick and faint. There was no use in trying to get away in the middle of the night. Even going out a few steps in the pitch black and without shoes to relieve himself had made that clear. It wasn´t even Morone´s fault. The man had wanted to provide water, had looked for it in fact. But in the end he hadn´t been able to come up with anything.

Hold on until tomorrow, maybe tomorrow…Joe held on to the thought as he curled up into a tight ball to ward off the cold.

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Joe had just drifted off into the much desired sleep when a flicker of light and a clicking sound started him up again. He sat up and looked in Morone´s direction. The guy was lighting a cigarette, a rather large and unshapely one at that. Then Morone started puffing on the thing. He savored the smoke, keeping it in for a long time and slowly exhaling it.

After a while the smoke reached Joe. Immediately he could smell what he had expected right from the start. Morone was smoking pot, marihuana.

Joe had in his youth smoked an occasional cigarette but he had never enjoyed it and thus he had never become a smoker. With drugs he had never experimented, he had, in fact, never consumed any narcotics.

Now all of a sudden he longed for a smoke of that stuff. Didn´t they say it could ease pain of the worst kind? Oh God, he wanted to get away from the discomfort, even if it was only by the use of that drug. "Hey, Paolo, mind if I share your smoke?"

"Hey, who do you think I am, the Salvation Army? I have to work hard for my money and I have no intention to share that precious stuff with you."

"Listen man, we´re in this together, aren´t we? Only difference is that you didn´t get kicked and beaten up. So who needs it more, huh?" Joe was pretty sure that his pleading was in vain, still he tried once more. "I think it´s only fair to share that joint with me, when you can´t offer me water or a painkiller. And pot is a painkiller of sorts, everyone knows that."

What Joe hadn´t seriously expected happened nonetheless. After a moment Morone got up, came over and sat down beside Joe.

"Here," Morone offered the half smoked joint. "Take it slow. You haven´t eaten in a while. So be careful."

Joe took the cigarette and cautiously drew the smoke into his lungs, slowly, testing its effect. For a while the two man passed the fag back and forth, both now savoring the smoke and slowly indulging in the pleasure. Soon both felt the cold retreat and after a while Joe could perceive that the pain lessened. Then he slipped into oblivion and at last he did not even notice that Morone took the butt from his fingers and finished it off.

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Barberi was glad to be back home. He had relished the trip, the hooker and the gambling had been very enjoyable. But the business part of the trip had not met his expectations. His fiancée had not turned up. Donati hadn´t come up with the smallest trace of that slut. But what had he expected? The guy was just useful for the rough things, when no brains were required. Perhaps he should have assigned Morone to the job.

The abduction had been a success but so far it hadn´t rendered the desired result. Michael LaFiamma had not reacted to the death threat to his nephew. Perhaps Barberi needed to emphasize the seriousness of his intention. He got up from the breakfast table and picked up the phone. He punched in the number of his private secretary, Carlo Sachetti.

"Carlo, have you been in contact with Morone?"

"Sorry, Capo. I couldn´t reach him."

"What do you mean, you couldn´t reach him?"

"There is no answer. I am not even sure if there is a proper connection."

"Madre Mia, am I only surrounded by idiots? Have you checked with the technician? I have paid a lot of money for that satellite telephone. What´s wrong with it? Can´t Morone handle it?" The barrage of curses made the man at the other end of the line duck.

"I´ll try again, Capo. I´ll let you know when I get through."

Barberi smashed down the receiver. He felt like killing someone.

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"So what have we got so far?" After a good dinner, a better sleep than he had expected and a hearty breakfast Levon was back at the bullpen of the Las Vegas Police department.

"I called the airline and they stated that the pilot had not entered a destination in the log." Greg looked at his notes.

"Isn´t it a rule to properly file a log entry in the aviation business?" Levon gave the trash can a kick.

"Sure is, Levon." Greg tried to placate his colleague. "But we´re dealing with mob business here. I guess the guy knew why he kept the destination in the dark."

"So what do you suggest now?" Levon was at a loss. This wasn´t his town and he felt kind of helpless.

Greg shrugged. "We need to get in touch with that guy. I want to put him through a proper grilling."

"Ok, then let´s go," Levon said, getting hold of his jacket.

"Hold it, Levon."

"What?" Levon turned back.

"They said he is on leave."

"Who?" Levon wanted to shout, but he asked as quietly as he could.

"The pilot, he is on leave for the next three days. He will not be back for a while." Greg knew how hard this would be for Levon. He could see it in the way Levon was running his hands through his hair.

Levon tried to calm down. "Is there any way we can find that guy?"

"Only if we go o where he lives and that is the same place where the airline is situated," Greg explained.

"And where would that be?"

"South Lake Tahoe."

"Where exactly is that?" Levon frowned.

"Roughly four hundred miles from here, to the north west to be exact. And it´s just across the border into California."

"Shit." Levon felt like crashing his fist into the wall. "How can I do an investigation there without involving the Feds? And if I have to go that way it will be the end of Joe´s career in the police force." He turned away so that Greg could not see his face. "And if I don´t go for it Joe will die."

"Not necessarily, you don´t know that, Levon." Greg laid his hand on Levon´s shoulder. "I can understand how you feel."

Slowly Levon turned around. "No, you can´t." He had never said what he was about to say now, hadn´t even been aware of it. But the instant the words passed his lips he knew they were more than true. "Joe is like a brother to me. If I lose him I lose my family all over again." Levon had spoken the words so quietly that only Greg had been able to hear them.

Greg nodded, his face grave. "Ok, I´ll find a way, I promise."

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Morone shivered. He dug his hands into his jacket pockets and drew up his shoulders. The temperature could be hardly above freezing point. The view, however, was stunning. He could see far over the valleys and the morning light illuminated the layers of mist that covered the mountains. It looked almost like a painting. Everything was soft and blue and unworldly, it was incredibly beautiful.
He heard a sound and turned around. LaFiamma came out of the cabin and he didn´t look good. He seemed to be gritting his teeth and in an attempt to retain warmth he was hugging himself. He didn´t look much like the super cop his uncle had said he was. He set his bare feet carefully.

"Paolo?"

"Si?"

"Where are we?"

"I don´t know, really. This is all wrong. The pilot said that there would be food and supplies, firewood and radio equipment to keep in touch." Morone sounded almost desperate. He felt totally out of place here. He was a city boy. How was he supposed to find his way around here?

"It´s beautiful." LaFiamma´s gaze went far over the scenery. "Like a painting."

"Yeah." A long silence ensued. Finally Morone said: "It will kill us."

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While Greg was on the phone with someone he knew in Tahoe, Levon called Joanne to fill her in on everything they had found out.

"Ok, Levon, I will inform the Chicago Police Department. Did you speak with Joe´s uncle?"

"Not yet, I first wanted to check with you if it´s ok."

"Well, I think for Joe´s sake we should tell him about Barberi. Is it possible that he took Joe back to Chicago?"

"No, the helicopter flight couldn´t have gone that far. But I think I should check also with the Las Vegas Airport if any of the people connected with this have left from there."

"Yes, that´s a good idea. I will speak to Michael LaFiamma. He´s got his own sources and it could be worthwhile to exploit those unofficially. You call me when you find out something new."

"Will do, thanks Joanne." Levon put down the receiver. He noticed that Greg was also about to finish his call. Greg beckoned him to join him.

"I´ve contacted a guy in Tahoe, a private investigator I know from way back. He owes me a favor. He will try to find the pilot. He usually is very good at these things." Greg smiled.

"I hope you´re right. So besides calling the Las Vegas airport we can´t do much right now?"

"´fraid so." Greg shrugged.

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The search of the cabin´s surrounding made it clear that this place had been newly erected only recently. Except the cabin there was nothing else but a small shed on the opposite side of the clearing on which the helicopter had landed. Paolo thoroughly examined it and he came up with a few tools, buckets and a mug. But there were no other things stored, nothing to eat, no blankets or anything they could use to stay warm.

Without proper footwear it was impossible for Joe to help search the area. Paolo had looked through his bag but he only had one spare pair of shoes and they turned out to be much too small for Joe to even consider wearing them.

Paolo also found a small creek nearby and there he filled one of the buckets with water and carried it back to the cabin.

"Easy, don´t drink it too quickly," he warned Joe, who eagerly gulped down the ice-cold water in large swigs from the mug Paolo handed him. He was right. A few minutes later Joe was out of the cabin, puking.

"I told you, man, the water is too cold, you gotta take it real slow." He helped Joe back inside. Then he rummaged through his bag and came up with a pullover which he gave to Joe. "Put it on, man, you look like you could do with some warmth."

Joe tried to don the pullover but beside the fact that it was much too small for him he couldn´t move his arm. The fracture of the collarbone was too painful to lift the arm. So in the end Paolo just put the pullover around Joe´s shoulders. It wasn´t much but it was better than nothing. "Thanks."

For a long time the two men sat beside each other, leaned with their backs against the cabin wall.

Finally Paolo spoke up. "LaFiamma, I will try to get away from here, find help. There is no other solution. The place doesn´t look like anybody will be coming back here sometime soon. It´s too late in the season for that." He looked at Joe.

"Yeah, that´s how I see it too. What do you wanna do about me?" He suspiciously eyed the man assigned to the job of guarding him.

"What do you expect me to do, man? Carry you down the mountain on my back?" His face showed compassion and rage at the same time. "Listen, this wasn´t supposed to happen. At best we would have stayed here for a few days until your uncle was willing to hand over his business to my boss."

"That is never gonna happen."

"Well, if that is so then what you get now is even better for you. I leave you here, and as soon as I find help I will send someone up to come and get you. You will stay alive." Paolo sounded as if he was trying to persuade Joe to take the bargain, as if any of this was up to Joe. "Of course you can try to walk down the mountain with me."

They both knew that was not an option. Joe would never make it, not in the state he was in and certainly not barefoot. And then there was the question of where Paolo should head. Both men were total strangers to the wilderness that surrounded them. They had no idea how to survive in such a place, let alone find help they had no idea where to look for.

A long interval of silence ensued. Both thought about Paolo´s remark in the early morning.

It will kill us.

It wasn´t unlikely. It was even probable. If one was realistic it was actually inevitable. But the time to face that fact hadn´t come yet.

"Ok," Joe finally said. "You go. But please don´t tie me up again, will you?"

Paolo got up. "No, I won´t. Doesn´t make any sense now, does it?" He went for his bag and looked through the content. When he came across the joints with the pot he hesitated. There were six of them. What the heck! He took three and wrapped them in a paper handkerchief, then offered them to Joe together with a second lighter he had retrieved from his jacket.

"Here, I´m sorry there´s nothing to eat. But with the water and the smoke you might be able to last…a few days…until help will come."

Joe was touched. Here was that tough mob guy, someone whose job it was to kill people without any qualms, and he was actually showing compassion. "Thanks, Paolo." He took the joints and lighter and cautiously put them into the breast pocket of his shirt.

"But remember to take it slow, don´t overdo it, you hear?" Paolo grinned. "Not with the pot and not with the cold water." With that he donned his jacket and went out.

"Take care." Joe called after him. Then he was alone.