See No Evil by Ron Felber Read Free Book Online Page A

who needs to see you.”
    “Can’t your friend go to the hospital?”
    The large man just stared. “Uh-uh,” he finally answered.
    Elliot nodded, electing against his better judgment, to go, but understanding at the same time that deep inside him there was a tiny flame that ratcheted up a notch. Who could they be talking about? What could have happened to cause them to wake him in the middle of the night and start throwing the names around that they had? Whatever it was had to be something important, and as he threw on a pair of Levis, a pullover shirt, and Adidas, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of exhilaration . “Where was the phone booth?” he wondered because just then he was beginning to feel a lot like Clark Kent changing into Superman or at least someone far different from skinny , brainy Elliot Litner, and in the end, if only secretly, he knew that was just fine with him.
    Elliot left his apartment. Parked directly in front of the building was a black Lincoln Town Car, engine running, waiting for him.
    “I’ll sit in the front,” the large man muttered. “You get in the back with them.”
    Elliot didn’t ask his name or anyone else’s. That was part of the game, but the man who’d done the talking volunteered his was Lou “Cos” Coscarelli. Silently Elliot walked to theback of the car as one of the two greasers opened the door and the other got in from the street side sandwiching him between them.
    The car doors had barely slammed shut when the guy to his right took something that looked like a black scarf out of his pocket and turned to him.
    “Hey! Wha-wha-what is this about?” Elliot asked, looking and sounding a lot more like Woody Allen than either Clark Kent or the man of steel.
    “It’s a hood you got to wear,” Lou explained half turning to him. “You got to have that on for your own protection.”
    “You’re joking?”
    “No, I ain’t joking. But don’t worry, Doc. We like you, or we wouldn’t be here. Now put on the hood !”
    He nodded to the greaser who handed the black hood to Elliot so he could put it on himself.
    The ride was quiet, though occasionally Lou would speak Sicilian to the two men in the back who sat in stoic silence. It was then that Elliot realized they spoke no English at all and had probably been taken right off the boat.
    Finally the Lincoln pulled into what seemed to be a driveway . “Okay, we’re here,” Lou confirmed, and with car doors opening and slamming shut, Elliot was led up a short walkway. “You keep that on, Doc,” Lou said, referring to the hood, “until I say you can take it off, got it?”
    Elliot nodded, inhaling the salty early-morning mist of what could only be Sheepshead Bay. They were on Ocean Avenue in one of those row houses that lined the street directly opposite the Bay, he was thinking. The front door was opened by an elderly Italian woman, then closed behind them, the sound of her concerned voice speaking whispered Sicilian filling his ears.
    “You can take that off now,” said Lou, helping himremove the hood, and though Elliot thought most any light now would be blinding, it surprised him that his eyes barely had to adjust so dimly lit was this home.
    “Follow me, please,” the woman, who looked both kind and maternal, said in a soft voice, leading the entourage into a small, cluttered living room.
    The walls were covered with paintings done in dark oils. The room itself was crammed with heavy, antiquated furniture . A brick fireplace was lined with photographs on the mantel of the same man at various stages of his life and career: a family portrait with his wife, the woman who’d accompanied them, two sons, a daughter, and him, a thin, sly-looking man with a large hawk nose and keen, crafty brown eyes. Others pictured him in the company of what seemed to be powerful men dressed in old-fashioned, double-breasted suits with wide lapels, some wearing hats with black bands tilted forward, and camel-hair topcoats, probably