The Bone Yard by Don Pendleton Page B

informed Spinoza very clearly that he did not like it. Which was fine. The old man did not have a vote in the proceedings.
    "That make you nervous, Abe?" Spinoza asked, toying with him now.
    Bernstein shook his snowy head.
    "I'm old," he said. "I don't get nervous, Frank. I just get tired."
    "Well, save your strength, old man. I'm gonna need you here to man the fort until this thing blows over."
    There was weary resignation in his voice as Bernstein answered.
    "Anything you say, Frank."
    "Good."
    "What should I tell our guests? Where are they going to go?"
    "I don't care what you tell them. Use your own imagination — union problems, broken plumbing... anything. Just get them out. I'm calling in some markers on the Strip to get the rooms we need. We'll have it covered by the time you get them packed."
    "The transportation..."
    "Is no problem, Abe," Spinoza interrupted him, and he was getting irritated now. The game was over. "They don't have wheels, we'll run the limos, stick 'em on the damn bus — who cares? Don't make a problem out of nothing."
    "Right."
    "We're set, then?"
    "Set." The old man nodded confirmation.
    "Okay, get on it."
    Abe Bernstein let himself out of the private office, and Spinoza was left alone. At once the mafioso put him out of mind, already moving on to other more important things. The old man would do what he was told — or he would rue the consequences of his failure.
    In the coming hours Frank Spinoza would command an army, finally get his chance to move against the common enemy. A tardy move, no question there, but not too late.
    Not yet.
    The troops had been reluctantly provided subsequent to his last conversation with The Man.
    New York was still opposed to open warfare in the city, but as long as it was unavoidable, as long as someone else had started it, at least they meant to win.
    His own accounting of the sniper raid and Julio DePalma's grisly end had turned the trick.
    Spinoza was convinced of it. The old oratorical gift coming through for him again as it always had in the past.
    He had sensed that many different ears were listening to him as he laid it out — the whole Five Families — and he had spared them nothing on the scrambled line. He let them see poor Julio — the bastard, coming at Spinoza that way — splattered on the walls and leaking out his life into the deep-shag carpet. And the others, flopping, dying.... When he had finished, New York asked him what he needed. No more waiting, no more arguments, no stalling. Just a blank check with a single string attached.
    He had to make it good and make it fast.
    If he should fumble somehow No.
    Spinoza put the thought out of his mind. Defeat was out of the question. He had a chance to show the powers that be another side of Frank Spinoza here tonight. And let them see that he could hold his own in battle, not just in the peace negotiations afterward.
    If — no — when he pulled it off, he would be in a position to dictate some rather different terms. Perhaps to cut himself a hefty slice of the pie. Spinoza eased the Browning from his belt and set it on the desk in front of him, its muzzle pointed at the office door. He was looking forward to the opportunity of using it. Tonight, perhaps. Tomorrow for certain. If the campaign lasted any longer.
    Spinoza smiled to himself, his mind at ease now.
    Seiji Kuwahara had already missed his chance.
    Pearl Harbor, hell. It would be frigging Hiroshima and Nagasaki all rolled into one before he finished with the little yellow bastard.
    And he meant to plant him personally.
    The future capo of Las Vegas owed it to himself.

12
    The white phone caught Brognola halfway out the office door. He thought about ignoring it but habit and a sense of duty drew him back. He did not bother turning on the lights. The big Fed knew his office like he knew the inside of his home, and he navigated around the lurking obstacles to reach the desk, lifting the receiver on the fifth ring.
    It was a private line