Blindsight by Robin Cook Page A

gun so Frankie could talk.
"It was just Manso," Frankie sobbed. "And he made me go along." Angelo shook his head in disgust. "Obviously you are not cooperating, Frankie. Remember about the lights. At the same time Manso threw the acid, the lights went out. That wasn't a coincidence. Who was screwing around with the lights? And the car. Who was driving the car?" "I don't know anything about the lights," Frankie sobbed. "I don't remember who was driving. Somebody I didn't know. Somebody that Manso got." Angelo shook his head in disgust. Nothing was easy anymore. He hated this kind of dirty stuff. He had entertained vague hopes that Frankie would have spilled his guts the moment they got him into the car. Obviously that was not to be the case.
Glancing up into the rearview mirror, Angelo caught a glimpse of Tony's face in the flickering light of the passing streetlamps. Tony was sporting one of his contented smiles that told Angelo Tony was enjoying himself. Even Angelo thought Tony could be scary on occasion. Once they got to the Greenpoint pier area in Brooklyn, Angelo turned right on Franklin, then left on Java. The area was run-down, especially the closer they got to the water. Abandoned warehouses lined the street. Seventy-five to a hundred years ago, the area had been a thriving waterfront, but that had long since changed save for a few isolated enterprises, like the Pepsi-Cola plant up toward Newtown Creek. In the cul de sac where Java Street dead-ended at the East River, Angelo drove through a chain-link gate. A sign over the gate said: AMERICAN FRESH FRUIT COMPANY. The car began to vibrate on the rough cobblestone surface, but Angelo didn't slow down. When he could drive no farther, he parked. "Everybody out," Angelo said. They were parked in the shadow of a huge warehouse built out over the pier that stuck out almost a hundred yards into the East River. Just across the river was the monumental mass of Manhattan's glittering skyline. Tony got out holding Doc Travino's little black bag and motioned for Frankie to get out too.
Angelo unlocked an overhead door to the warehouse, pulled it up, and motioned for Frankie to enter. Frankie hesitated on the dark threshold. "I've told you everything I know. What do you want from me?" Tony gave Frankie a shove that sent the boy stumbling forward. The click of the lightswitch echoed in the cavernous warehouse as Angelo threw the switch activating the mercury vapor lights. At first the lights merely glowed, but as they walked out the pier dragging a reluctant Frankie, they became progressively brighter. Soon it was enough to illuminate the huge stacks of green bananas that filled the warehouse. "Please!" Frankie moaned, but Angelo and Tony ignored him. They walked to the very end, unlocking a paneled door. Angelo found the lightswitch that activated a single bulb suspended by a bare wire. The room contained an old metal desk missing its drawers, a few chairs, and a large hole in the floor. Below the hole the water of the East River looked more like oil than water as it swirled around the pier's piling, flowing with the tide.
"I'm telling you the truth," Frankie wailed. "It was all Manso. I was forced to go along. I don't know anything else."

"Sure, Frankie," Angelo said. Turning to Tony he added, "Tie him to one of the chairs."
Tony put Doc Travino's bag on the desk and unsnapped it open. From within he pulled out a length of clothesline. Then, with a depraved smile, he told Frankie to sit in one of the wooden side chairs. Frankie did as he was told. While Tony tied him up, Angelo lit himself a cigarette. Tony gave the rope a couple of yanks to test his knots. Satisfied, he stood up and nodded to Angelo. "Once more, Frankie," Angelo said. "Who else was involved with the acid trick? Who besides you and Manso?"
"Nobody," Frankie sobbed. "I'm telling the truth." Angelo derisively blew smoke in Frankie's face. Glancing at Tony, he said, "Time for the truth serum." Tony pulled a