Blindsight

Paul choked violently, spraying most of the food that he’d had in his mouth out over the table.

“Daaad!” Gregory whined. A layer of partially chewed egg and sausage had settled on the surface of his Sugar Pops.

“Paul, are you all right?” Gloria questioned with alarm.

Paul held up a hand to indicate he was fine. His face had become as red as the heeling patches of skin on his cheeks. With his other hand he picked up his orange juice and took a drink.

“I can’t eat this,” Gregory said looking at his cereal. “It’s going to make me puke.”

“I can’t either,” Steven said, who tended to do just about everything Gregory did.

“Get yourselves clean bowls,” Gloria directed. “Then pick another cereal.”

“Better read me that article about the drug deaths,” Paul said with a hoarse voice.

Gloria read the whole article straight through. When she was finished, Paul headed for his den.

“Aren’t you going to finish your breakfast?” Gloria called after him.

“In a minute,” Paul said. He closed the door of the den behind him and pressed the button on his automatic dialer that would connect him to Angelo.

“Who the hell is this?” Angelo muttered sleepily.

“Did you read this morning’s paper?”

“How am I going to read this morning’s paper? I’ve been sleeping. I was out doing you know what until all hours.”

“I want you, Tony, and that harebrained pill-pusher Travino over here this morning,” Paul said. “And read the paper on the way. We got a problem.”

“Franco!” Marie Dominick said with surprise. “Isn’t this a little early for you?”

“I have to talk with Vinnie,” Franco said.

“Vinnie’s still sleeping,” Marie said.

“I figured he was, but if you could please wake him up-”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Franco said.

“Well, come on in then,” Marie said as she opened the door wide.

Franco stepped inside. “Go on into the kitchen,” Marie said. “There’s coffee already made.”

Marie disappeared up a short flight of steps while Franco wandered into the kitchen. Vinnie’s little boy, Vinnie Junior, was seated at the table. The six-year-old was busy slapping a short stack of pancakes with the back side of a spoon. His older sister, Roslyn, age eleven, was at the stove poised to turn over the next batch of flapjacks.

Franco poured himself a cup of coffee. Then he wandered into the living room and sat on a white leather sofa and gazed at the new peppermint-colored shag carpet. He was amazed. He didn’t think you could buy shag carpet anymore.

“This better be good!” Vinnie thundered as he came into the room. He was dressed in a silky, paisley print robe. His hair, which was normally immaculately slicked back, was virtually standing on end.

Instead of explaining, Franco handed Vinnie the paper. Vinnie grabbed it and sat down. “So what am I supposed to be looking at?” he growled.

“Read the article about drug deaths,” Franco said.

Vinnie’s forehead wrinkled as he read. He was silent for about five minutes. Franco sipped his coffee.

“So what the hell?” Vinnie said, looking up. He slapped the paper with the back of his hand. “What the hell are you doing waking me up for this?”

“See those names at the end of the list? Fletcher and the other ones? I followed Angelo and Tony last night. They whacked those people. My guess is that they’ve whacked the whole bunch.”

“But why?” Vinnie demanded. “Why with cocaine? They giving the stuff away?”

“I still don’t know why,” Franco admitted. “I don’t even know if Angelo and Tony are on their own or taking orders from Cerino.”

“They’re taking orders,” Vinnie said. “They’re too stupid to do anything on their own. God! This is a disaster. The whole city is going to be crawling with feds and narcs on top of normal, everyday cops. What the hell is Cerino doing? Has he gone crazy? I don’t understand.”

“I don’t either,” Franco said. “But I just established a connection that goes through a couple of people who know Tony. Someone will get in touch with you.”

“We got to do something,” Vinnie said, shaking his head. “We can’t let this go on.”

“It’s hard to know what to do until we know what Cerino’s up to,” Franco said. “Give me one more day.”

“Only one,” Vinnie said. “After that we move.”

Laurie was filled with dread as she faced her office building. What a difference a day made! Yesterday and the day before she had breezed in and out like she owned the place. Now she was afraid to cross the threshold. But she knew it was what she had to do. The calmness she’d felt in her apartment had vanished.

As she drew closer, she saw that a swarm of restless reporters had already descended on the place to get the story-her story. Her thoughts had been so focused on Bingham, she hadn’t been thinking of them. There were at least as many there now as there had been for the preppy murder II case. Maybe more.