Council of Kings Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Don Pendleton
from La Commissione's elite corps.
Vince Carboni stepped out of the Caddy and looked at the backyard of the Canzonari-family headquarters. Three acres of lawns and gardens trailed slightly upward toward a mass of evergreen trees. Carboni didn't care that he couldn't tell one tree from another. He was a city boy born and bred, and he was proud of it. He straightened the jacket of his seven-hundred-dollar suit and stepped along the sidewalk in his two-hundred-dollar Italian imported shoes.
Everything was so green he could not believe it.
Carboni ignored the beauty, the strangeness.
He was there on business.
"Where?" he asked curtly.
"Right this way, Mr. Carboni. Mr. Canzonari is waiting for you."
Carboni swept past the driver, who held the door, adjusting the Colt Commander under his jacket.
The house was palatial, even the rear entrance, but Carboni did not notice. He would not have appreciated the cherry-wood paneling in the vestibule as he marched along, a snarl slowly taking over his face. Gino Canzonari sat on a screened-in porch in the far wing, indulging in a breakfast of fresh orange juice and prunes.
It was a little after eight in the morning.
Canzonari rose from the chair, grunting as he hoisted the 250 pounds on his five foot five frame.
"Vince! Good to see you!"
Don Canzonari had met Carboni before, and knew his reputation for being disrespectful. But he was a good hit man, the best contract specialist the Commissione had. No one was better suited to take out the Executioner.
Canzonari responded to Vince Carboni's silence by saying, "The guy left a marksman's medal at the loan office where he gunned down three of my boys from a sniper spot."
"Must have used a high-powered rifle," muttered the visitor. "What else?"
"He whacked out Leo the Fish in a bar in Leo's home turf with fifty people around. Nobody knew anything had happened, thought old Fish was sleeping. Silencer, I'd guess. Took Leo's roll and his loan cards. My people are getting nervous."
"Tell them to relax. Vince Carboni is here and the Executioner has forty-eight hours to live."
"I've heard that before, Vince. Last night this madman pulls my loans director out of his own house, takes him to the company office, drills him twice, steals I don't know what and blasts the office into junk. He ruined every loan record on the premises. The bastard has cost me over a million already, and he ain't been in town for twenty-four hours."
Carboni removed his jacket, hung it over a chair and sat at the small table.
"Don Canzonari, I want a crew wagon with plenty of firepower inside. You have any automatic submachine guns?"
"One MP-40. I had it out once and it."
Carboni held up his hand and continued.
"I need five hundred rounds and two good men. A driver and one for backup. I want your best gunner. I want him here now."
The Don nodded, made a phone call. When he hung up he made an impatient gesture.
"His name is Rocco. Damn good man."
"I'll need three .45 autos and lots of magazines. After that I'll let you know what happens."
"Right. I've got a room for you here and a hotel room downtown. You can use either or both."
An hour later Carboni had settled into his room in the Canzonari mansion.
He watched a Mexican maid unpack his bags. When she was done he field-stripped and offed the MP-40, a weapon he had not seen for a while.
This one was in good shape; like most of them it probably fired high and to the left. But he would not need to sight it in. He would just spray the target. Once he'd checked out the weapons, had met his wheelman and inspected the car, he returned to the Portland Don.
"Where's Rocco?"
"He got hung up, but he'll be here in half an hour. Now what is the procedure?"
"The Executioner is my job. The minute he shows his nose, I want your people to call you before they take a breath. I want to know where he is. He's slippery, but with a fast-working crew we can track him down. Then he's my meat."
"I've offered five thousand
Vince Carboni stepped out of the Caddy and looked at the backyard of the Canzonari-family headquarters. Three acres of lawns and gardens trailed slightly upward toward a mass of evergreen trees. Carboni didn't care that he couldn't tell one tree from another. He was a city boy born and bred, and he was proud of it. He straightened the jacket of his seven-hundred-dollar suit and stepped along the sidewalk in his two-hundred-dollar Italian imported shoes.
Everything was so green he could not believe it.
Carboni ignored the beauty, the strangeness.
He was there on business.
"Where?" he asked curtly.
"Right this way, Mr. Carboni. Mr. Canzonari is waiting for you."
Carboni swept past the driver, who held the door, adjusting the Colt Commander under his jacket.
The house was palatial, even the rear entrance, but Carboni did not notice. He would not have appreciated the cherry-wood paneling in the vestibule as he marched along, a snarl slowly taking over his face. Gino Canzonari sat on a screened-in porch in the far wing, indulging in a breakfast of fresh orange juice and prunes.
It was a little after eight in the morning.
Canzonari rose from the chair, grunting as he hoisted the 250 pounds on his five foot five frame.
"Vince! Good to see you!"
Don Canzonari had met Carboni before, and knew his reputation for being disrespectful. But he was a good hit man, the best contract specialist the Commissione had. No one was better suited to take out the Executioner.
Canzonari responded to Vince Carboni's silence by saying, "The guy left a marksman's medal at the loan office where he gunned down three of my boys from a sniper spot."
"Must have used a high-powered rifle," muttered the visitor. "What else?"
"He whacked out Leo the Fish in a bar in Leo's home turf with fifty people around. Nobody knew anything had happened, thought old Fish was sleeping. Silencer, I'd guess. Took Leo's roll and his loan cards. My people are getting nervous."
"Tell them to relax. Vince Carboni is here and the Executioner has forty-eight hours to live."
"I've heard that before, Vince. Last night this madman pulls my loans director out of his own house, takes him to the company office, drills him twice, steals I don't know what and blasts the office into junk. He ruined every loan record on the premises. The bastard has cost me over a million already, and he ain't been in town for twenty-four hours."
Carboni removed his jacket, hung it over a chair and sat at the small table.
"Don Canzonari, I want a crew wagon with plenty of firepower inside. You have any automatic submachine guns?"
"One MP-40. I had it out once and it."
Carboni held up his hand and continued.
"I need five hundred rounds and two good men. A driver and one for backup. I want your best gunner. I want him here now."
The Don nodded, made a phone call. When he hung up he made an impatient gesture.
"His name is Rocco. Damn good man."
"I'll need three .45 autos and lots of magazines. After that I'll let you know what happens."
"Right. I've got a room for you here and a hotel room downtown. You can use either or both."
An hour later Carboni had settled into his room in the Canzonari mansion.
He watched a Mexican maid unpack his bags. When she was done he field-stripped and offed the MP-40, a weapon he had not seen for a while.
This one was in good shape; like most of them it probably fired high and to the left. But he would not need to sight it in. He would just spray the target. Once he'd checked out the weapons, had met his wheelman and inspected the car, he returned to the Portland Don.
"Where's Rocco?"
"He got hung up, but he'll be here in half an hour. Now what is the procedure?"
"The Executioner is my job. The minute he shows his nose, I want your people to call you before they take a breath. I want to know where he is. He's slippery, but with a fast-working crew we can track him down. Then he's my meat."
"I've offered five thousand