CHAPTER 47

Within seconds of Servito’s arrival at the Brass Rail Tavern, his eyes found the bulbous cheeks of Jerry Allison’s rump draped over the rim of a red bar stool. Allison’s lips were inches from of his third scotch when he felt the sting of Servito’s slap on his back. The scotch leaped up and splashed his face.

“Follow me,” Servito ordered, beckoning with his index finger.

Allison nodded, wiped his face, and followed Servito to a small table at the rear of the bar, carrying the remains of his drink with him. Servito waited until Allison had arrived at the table, and then snatched his drink and dumped it unceremoniously on the floor.

“Aw, shit! What did you do that for?” Allison protested.

“Sit your fat ass down and listen!” Servito ordered. “I don’t want your tiny brain clogged up with booze tonight.” He waited until Allison had lowered himself onto a chair between the wall and the table. “Did you pack a bag?” he asked.

Allison nodded. “It’s in the limo. What the hell’s happening?” he asked. When Servito passed on a chance to party, something big was going down.

Servito placed both hands on the table and glared at Allison. “The party’s over, Jerry. It’s been a good party, but it’s over.”

“What are you telling me?” Allison asked.

“There’s too much heat. We’re going to close up shop.”

“And do what?”

“Get out of Dodge. You and I are going to retire in Caracas.”

“Where?”

“Caracas, Venezuela. It’s time for a change of scenery. We’re leaving in my plane tomorrow.”

“Caracas! What the hell are we gonna do there?”

“Who knows? Maybe we can play the gasoline game down there. Trust me, I’ll think of something exciting.”

Allison rubbed his face with his hands and exhaled. “I need another drink. I don’t think I can take all this without one.”

“Forget the booze, Jerry. We’re going to a very important meeting. It’s scheduled to start in Fort Erie in four hours. First, I want you to take the limousine and follow me to Pearson Airport. I made arrangements to meet George Lanotti out there at seven-thirty.”

“Is George going with us?”

“I’ll tell you when we get there. Let’s go. We’re late.”

Servito’s Corvette led the long, white limousine up the circular ramp leading to the sixth and top level of the parking garage at Pearson Airport. The two cars parked on each side of Lanotti’s Mustang. Lanotti was in a mustard colored suit and green shoes, pacing in front his car, blowing on his hands in an effort to keep them warm.

“I got the photographs, boss,” he said, and handed a thick white envelope to Servito.

Servito snatched the envelope and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. When his right hand reappeared, it held a 38-caliber revolver, complete with silencer. He smiled at Lanotti. “Sorry, George. Your services are no longer required.” He pointed the revolver at Lannoti’s heart, and then pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession.

Lanotti jerked violently. His lifeless body slumped to the pavement.

Allison raised his hands above his shoulders and stared wide-eyed at Lanotti’s body, then at Servito. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“He knew too much,” Servito said.