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“Hold on,” Joey said. “You’re saying someone’s trying to whack Agnes?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“No idea.”
“Shit.” Joey sat down and passed his hand over his face. “Is she okay? Is she in there alone?”
“She’s never alone now,” Shane said. “Lisa Livia’s in there, Garth’s in there, Doyle’s working on the bridge. Now answer my question.”
“Right.” Joey nodded. “Jesus. Well, Four Wheels probably ain’t too happy about Two Wheels moving on to the afterlife and Three Wheels disappearing.”
“I don’t see Four Wheels sending Garth and Macy on the same night,” Shane said.
“Or somebody might not like you guys trying to open up that shelter and might figure whacking Agnes will stop that.”
“Nobody knows we’re opening that shelter,” Shane said.
Joey stared at him like he was stupid. “Lots of people know about the basement being opened. Stanley Harrison, the health inspector, was down there yesterday. He’s been telling everybody about some acid thing you’re doing down there. There ain’t many secrets here in Keyes.”
You’re keeping some, Shane thought, but he shook his head. “I still don’t see how killing Agnes is going to stop us from opening up that damn shelter.”
“Excuse me,” Carpenter said. “But as I understand it, if Agnes dies, Taylor inherits the house as part of the partnership agreement because of a survivorship clause.”
“What?” Shane said, taken aback. “How the hell did you find that out?”
“Lisa Livia told me last night,” Carpenter said. “What I’m saying is, maybe the hit isn’t about stopping us from entering, maybe it’s about allowing someone else to enter if they think there’s five million dollars in that bomb shelter.”
“That fuckin’ hairball is tryin’ to hurt my little Agnes? I’ll kill the bum.” Joey pulled his gun out. “Let’s go whack him.”
“No,” Shane said, though it was tempting. “We have to stop the immediate threat. Agnes can take care of Taylor with a toothpick, she doesn’t need us for that.” He turned to Carpenter. “What do you have on the stiff?”
Carpenter read from the screen. “One Vincent Marinelli, aka Vinnie ‘Can of Tomatoes’ Marinelli.”
“Oh, fuck,” Joey muttered.
“I thought you didn’t know him,” Shane said.
“I never met him,” Joey corrected. “But I heard of the mutt. Small-time muscle man out of Savannah. Works for the Torrentino brothers sometimes. They’re the closest thing to the mob down in the low country since Frankie disappeared. They kick up, when they remember, to the boss in Atlanta, and the boss in Atlanta collects when he remembers those guys exist in Savannah. Small-time stuff.”
Carpenter’s fingers had been working the keyboard while Joey was talking. “The Torrentino brothers. Your uncle is right. Small time, but somewhat connected.”
“So somebody put out a hit on Agnes, and whoever got it subcontracted it to this Marinelli guy, who subcontracted it to Macy,” Shane said.
Carpenter looked over from his computer. “The package that I disposed of Monday night in Savannah was also affiliated with the Atlanta mob. I’ll print you out the information.”
“What the luck is he talking about?” Joey asked. “What package?”
“Put the gun away, Joey,” Shane said absently. A plan. He needed a plan. He turned to his uncle. “You gotta level with me, Joey. It’s important. Are you planning to rat out the Don when he comes here? Or whack him?”
“Hell no. Why would I do that?”
Shane rubbed his forehead, trying to forestall the headache that was growing. He was starting to sympathize with Wilson. “There’s a rumor someone is planning on ratting out the Don when he comes here for the wedding, and that the Don has hired somebody to hit that person in return. I want to know who that person is. And I want to know if any of that can be connected with these amateurs who are showing up here to hit Agnes.”
“How?” Joey asked.
“Are you going to answer any of my questions with anything other than a question?” Shane asked.
