"Why're you giving it to us?" Jack asked.

"Isn't that obvious?" the old man asked, opening his hooded eyes a bit wider. "I want Lavelle found. I want him stopped."

Holding the nine-by-twelve envelope in one hand, tapping it against his knee, Jack said, "I'd have thought you'd have a much better chance of finding him than we would. He's a drug dealer, after all. He's part of your world. You have all the sources, all the contacts-"

"The usual sources and contacts are of little or no use in this case," the old man said. "This Lavelle* he's a loner. Worse than that. It's as if* as if he's made of* smoke."

"Are you sure he actually exists?" Rebecca asked. "Maybe he's only a straw man. Maybe your real real enemies created him in order to hide behind him." enemies created him in order to hide behind him."

"He's real," Carramazza said emphatically. "He entered this country illegally last spring. Came here from Jamaica by way of Puerto Rico. There's a photograph of him in the envelope there."

Jack hastily opened it, rummaged through the contents, and extracted an eight-by-ten glossy.

Carramazza said, "It's an enlargement of a snapshot taken in a restaurant shortly after Lavelle began operating in what has been traditionally our territory."

Traditionally our territory. Good G.o.d, Jack thought, he sounds as if he's some British duke complaining about poachers invading his fox-hunting fields!

The photo was a bit fuzzy, but Lavelle's face was sufficiently distinct so that, henceforth, Jack would be able to recognize him if he ever saw him on the street. The man was very black, handsome-indeed, striking-with a broad brow, deepset eyes, high cheekbones, and a wide mouth. In the picture he was smiling at someone who wasn't within the camera's field. He had an engaging smile.

Jack pa.s.sed the picture to Rebecca.

Carramazza said, "Lavelle wants to take away my business, destroy my reputation within the fratellanza fratellanza, and make me look weak and helpless. Me Me. Me, the man who has controlled the organization with an iron hand for twenty-eight years! Me!" Me!"

Finally, emotion filled his voice: cold, hard anger. He went on, spitting out the words as if they tasted bad.

"But that isn't the worst of it. No. You see, he doesn't actually want the business. Once he's got it, he'll throw it away, let the other families move in and carve it up among themselves. He just doesn't want me or anyone named Carramazza to have it. This isn't merely a battle for the territory, not just a struggle for control. For Lavelle, this is strictly a matter of revenge. He wants to see me suffer in every way possible. He intends to isolate me and hopes to break my spirit by robbing me of my empire and by killing my nephews, my sons. Yes, all of them, one by one. He threatens to murder my best friends, as well, anyone who has ever meant anything to me. He promises to kill my five precious grandchildren. Can you believe such a thing? He threatens little babies! No vengeance, regardless of how justified it might be, should ever touch innocent children."

"He's actually told you that he'll do all of those things?" Rebecca asked. "When? When did he tell you?"

"Several times."

"You've had face-to-face meetings?"

"No. He wouldn't survive a face-to-face meeting."

The banker image had vanished. There was no veneer of gentility now. The old man looked more reptilian than ever. Like a snake in a thousand-dollar suit. A very poisonous snake.

He said, "This crudball Lavelle told me these things on the phone. My unlisted home number. I keep having the number changed, but the creep gets the new one every time, almost as soon as it's installed. He tells me* he says* after he has killed my friends, nephews, sons, grandkids, then* he says he's going to* he says he's going to*"

For a moment, recalling Lavelle's arrogant threats, Carramazza was unable to speak; anger locked his jaws; his teeth were clenched, and the muscles in his neck and cheeks were bulging. His dark eyes, always disturbing, now shone with a rage so intense, so inhuman that it communicated itself to Jack and sent a chill up his spine.

Eventually, Carramazza regained control of himself. When he spoke, however, his voice never rose above a fierce, frigid whisper. "This sc.u.m, this n.i.g.g.e.r b.a.s.t.a.r.d, this piece of s.h.i.t s.h.i.t-he tells me he'll slaughter my wife, my Nina. Slaughter Slaughter was the word he used. And when he's butchered her, he says, he'll then take my daughter from me, too." The old man's voice softened when he spoke of his daughter. "My Rosie. My beautiful Rosie, the light of my life. Twenty-seven, but she looks seventeen. And smart, too. A medical student. Going to be a doctor. Starts her internship this year. Skin like porcelain. The loveliest eyes you've ever seen." He was quiet for a moment, seeing Rosie in his mind's eye, and then his whisper became harsh again: "Lavelle says he'll rape my daughter and then cut her to pieces, dismember her* in front of my eyes. He has the b.a.l.l.s to say such things to me!" With that last declaration, Carramazza sprayed spittle on Jack's overcoat. For a few seconds, the old man said nothing more; he just took deep, shuddering breaths. His talonlike fingers closed into fists, opened, closed, opened, closed. Then: "I want the b.a.s.t.a.r.d stopped." was the word he used. And when he's butchered her, he says, he'll then take my daughter from me, too." The old man's voice softened when he spoke of his daughter. "My Rosie. My beautiful Rosie, the light of my life. Twenty-seven, but she looks seventeen. And smart, too. A medical student. Going to be a doctor. Starts her internship this year. Skin like porcelain. The loveliest eyes you've ever seen." He was quiet for a moment, seeing Rosie in his mind's eye, and then his whisper became harsh again: "Lavelle says he'll rape my daughter and then cut her to pieces, dismember her* in front of my eyes. He has the b.a.l.l.s to say such things to me!" With that last declaration, Carramazza sprayed spittle on Jack's overcoat. For a few seconds, the old man said nothing more; he just took deep, shuddering breaths. His talonlike fingers closed into fists, opened, closed, opened, closed. Then: "I want the b.a.s.t.a.r.d stopped."

"You've put all your people into the search for him?" Jack asked. "Used all your sources?"

"Yes."

"But you still can't find him."

"Nooo," Carramazza said, and in the drawing-out of that one word, he revealed a frustration almost as great as his rage. "He's left his place in the Village, gone to ground, hiding out. That's why I'm bringing this information to you. You can put out an APB now that you've got his picture. Then every cop in the city will be looking for him, and that's a lot more men than I've got. You can even put it on the TV news, in the papers, and then virtually everyone in the whole d.a.m.ned city will have an eye out for him. If I can't get to him, then at least I want you you to nail him and put him away. Once he's behind bars*" to nail him and put him away. Once he's behind bars*"

"You'll have ways of reaching him in prison," Rebecca said, finishing the thought to which Carramazza would not give voice. "If we arrest him, he'll never stand trial. He'll be killed in jail."

Carramazza wouldn't confirm what she had said, but they all knew it was true.

Jack said, "You've told us Lavelle is motivated by revenge. But for what? What did you do to him that would make him want to exterminate your entire family, even your grandchildren?"

"I won't tell you that. I can't can't tell you because, if I did, I might be compromising myself." tell you because, if I did, I might be compromising myself."

"More likely incriminating incriminating yourself," Rebecca said. yourself," Rebecca said.

Jack slipped the photograph of Lavelle back into the envelope. "I've been wondering about your brother Dominick."

Gennaro Carramazza seemed to shrivel and age at the mention of his dead brother.

Jack said, "I mean, he was apparently hiding out, in the hotel here, when Lavelle got to him. But if he knew he was targeted, why didn't he squirrel himself away at his own place or come to you for protection? Under the circ.u.mstances, no place in the city would be as safe as your house. With all this going down, surely you must have a fortress out there in Brooklyn Heights."

"It is," the old man said. "My house is a fortress." His eyes blinked once, twice, slow as lizard eyes. "A fortress-but not safe. Lavelle has already struck inside my own house, in spite of the tight security."

"You mean, he's killed in your house-"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Ginger and Pepper."

"Who're they?"

"My doggies. A matched pair of papillons."

"Ah."

"Little dogs, you know."

"I'm not really sure what they look like," Jack said.

"Toy spaniels," Rebecca said. "Long, silky coats."

"Yes, yes. Very playful," Carramazza said. "Always wrestling with each other, chasing. Always wanting to be held and petted."

"And they were killed in your house."

Carramazza looked up. "Last night. Torn to pieces. Somehow- we still still don't know how-Lavelle or one of his men got in, killed my sweet little dogs, and got out again without being spotted." He slammed one bony hand down on his attache case. "d.a.m.nit, the whole thing's impossible! The house is sealed tight! Guarded by a small army!" He blinked more rapidly than he had done before, and his voice faltered. "Ginger and Pepper were so gentle. They wouldn't bite anyone. Never. They hardly even barked. They didn't deserve to be treated so brutally. Two innocent little creatures." don't know how-Lavelle or one of his men got in, killed my sweet little dogs, and got out again without being spotted." He slammed one bony hand down on his attache case. "d.a.m.nit, the whole thing's impossible! The house is sealed tight! Guarded by a small army!" He blinked more rapidly than he had done before, and his voice faltered. "Ginger and Pepper were so gentle. They wouldn't bite anyone. Never. They hardly even barked. They didn't deserve to be treated so brutally. Two innocent little creatures."

Jack was astounded. This murderer, this geriatric dope peddler, this ancient racketeer, this supremely dangerous poisonous lizard of a man, who had been unable or unwilling to weep for his dead brother, now seemed on the verge of tears over the slaying of his dogs.

Jack glanced at Rebecca. She was staring at Carramazza, half in wide-eyed wonder, half in the manner of someone watching a particularly loathsome creature as it crawled out from under a rock.

The old man said, "After all, they weren't guard dogs. They weren't attack dogs. They posed no threat. Just a couple of adorable little toy spaniels*"

Not quite sure how to handle a maudlin mafia chieftain, Jack tried to get Carramazza off the subject of his dogs before the old man reached that pathetic and embarra.s.sing state of mind on the edge of which he now teetered. He said, "Word on the street is that Lavelle claims to be using voodoo against you."

Carramazza nodded. "That's what he says."

"You believe it?"

"He seems serious."

"But do you think there's anything to this voodoo business?"

Carramazza didn't answer. He gazed out the side window at the wind-whipped snow whirling past the parked limousine.

Although Jack was aware that Rebecca was scowling at him in disapproval, he pressed the point: "You think there's anything to it?"

Carramazza turned his face away from the window. "You mean, do I think it works? A month ago, anybody asked me the same thing, I'd have laughed, but now*"

Jack said, "Now you're wondering if maybe*"

"Yeah. If maybe*"

Jack saw that the old man's eyes had changed. They were still hard, still cold, still watchful, but now there was something new in them. Fear. It was an emotion to which this vicious old b.a.s.t.a.r.d was long unaccustomed.

"Find him," Carramazza said.

"We'll try," Jack said.

"Because it's our job," Rebecca said quickly, as if to dispel any notion that they were motivated by concern for Gennaro Carramazza and his blood-thirsty family.

"Stop him," Carramazza said, and the tone of his voice was the closest he would ever come to saying "please" to an officer of the law.

The Mercedes limousine pulled away from the curb and down the hotel driveway, leaving tracks in the quarter-inch skin of snow that now covered the pavement.

For a moment, Jack and Rebecca stood on the sidewalk, watching the car.

The wind had abated. Snow was still falling, even more heavily than before, but it was no longer wind-driven; the lazy, swirling descent of the flakes made it seem, to Jack, as if he were standing inside one of those novelty paperweights that would produce a neatly contained snowstorm anytime you shook it.

Rebecca said, "We better get back to headquarters."

He took the photograph of Lavelle out of the envelope that Carramazza had given him, tucked it inside his coat.

"What're you doing?" Rebecca asked.

He handed her the envelope. "I'll be at headquarters in an hour."

"What are you talking about?"

"Two o'clock at the latest."

"Where are you going?"

"There's something I want to look into."

"Jack, we've got to set up the task force, prepare a- "

"You get it started."

"There's too much work for one-"

"I'll be there by two, two-fifteen at the latest."

"d.a.m.nit, Jack-"

"You can handle it on your own for a while."

"You're going up to Harlem, aren't you?"

"Listen, Rebecca-"

"Up to that d.a.m.ned voodoo shop."

He didn't say anything.

She said, "I knew it. You're running up there to see Carver Hampton again. That charlatan. That fraud."

"He's not a fraud. He believes in what he does. I said I'd get back to him today."

"This is crazy."

"Is it? Lavelle does does exist. We have a photo now." exist. We have a photo now."

"So he exists? That doesn't mean voodoo works!"

"I know that."

"If you go up there, how am I supposed to get to the office?"

"You can take the car. I'll get a uniform to drive me."

"Jack, d.a.m.nit."

"I have a hunch, Rebecca."

"h.e.l.l."

"I have a hunch that* somehow* the voodoo subculture-maybe not any real supernatural stuff-but at least the subculture itself is inextricably entwined with this. I have a strong hunch that's the way to approach the case."

"Christ."