"In the joint. When you was just a young fool with gunfighter dreams. That's who you wanted to be like, right? Wesley? The ice man."
"He's got nobody, Prof."
"Nobody dragging him down, you mean. Nobody to cry over when they're gone. Traveling light don't make it right."
"He's not a rat."
"This is true. He wanted your head, you'd be dead."
"Wesley wants his money. You know how he is. The Italians made a mistake. Torenelli's hiding. Wesley wants to know where. Settle up."
"It's over, then?"
"That's what he says."
"What do they say?"
"Who? Who should I ask? What they got, it's a big pile of cheese. They don't care which rat gets to eat. Torenelli don't make the count one morning, somebody else'll step in."
He nodded, dragging deep on his smoke. "Somebody knows where he is."
"Yeah, but who?"
"Torenelli. I remember him. A pussy in his heart. He ain't got the stones to go it alone. He was gonna kill himself, he'd use pills."
"That's the way I figure it too."
"Wesley ain't no private eye. Who's looking?"
"Morehouse."
"The reporter? That West Indian is my man! You dig his piece on that dude in Louisiana doing life in the box for a lousy stickup? Where the head of the Parole Board ended up doing time?"
"Yeah. I dealt with him before. I gave him some of the inside stuff from the Sutton Place thing. Hard stuff, right from the scene. From the horse's mouth. Got his nose wide open. He knows brass at NYPD."
"He know why you want the info?"
"He don't want to know."
The Prof dropped his cigarette, ground it out under his heel. "What's my end, friend?"
"They think I got no slack, but there's a knot in the rope. I can unravel it, I got room to breathe. There's a little girl. I need to take her to Lily, take her back when it's all done."
"That's it?"
"There's questions only Lily can get the answers to."
"You got the plan, I'm your man."
I lit my own smoke. "I thought I'd feel better after that motherfucker was gone." Belle's father.
"I know."
I CALLED the ex-cop who does the phone work. Met him in a midtown restaurant. Gave him an envelope full of cash and some new phone numbers to check. A new address too.
Called Lily. Waited an extra quarter's worth for them to get her to the phone.
"It's me. Could I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"If a teenage girl had a story, could you tell if it was the truth?"
She knew the kind of story I wanted her to validate. "It depends. I could probably tell if something happened, but not necessarily when. And I might have trouble identifying the source. You have a history?"
"All out of her mouth."
"I'll take a shot. Or maybe Immaculata could do it if you don't want to bring her here."
"It's not a job for Mac."
"Okay."
"Lily…I probably won't be able to make an appointment. She might be…annoyed. Not want to talk."
I could feel her shrug over the phone. "It happens."
"Thanks."
Called Davidson.
"Anything?"
"Nothing. My prediction? There'll never be a Grand Jury on this one. It's going to be marked 'closed, one arrest' and fade away. They know you had nothing to do with it."
"I owe you any money?"
"I'm good."
That was the truth.
95
I KNOW HOW to wait. When I was in prison, I never thought of going over the wall. I wasn't doing a life sentence, and I wasn't ready to go straight once I was out. I let a couple of days slide by slow. No sense pressuring Morehouse- he'd get it done or he wouldn't.
But if he didn't…
The trust-fund hippies who live underneath my office don't stir until midafternoon. I think they call getting high "performance art" now.
Mama answered herself. In rapid-fire Mandarin.
"It's me."
"Letter come for you."
"At the restaurant?" Wesley? Julio's morons telling me they knew where I lived?
"Yes. Last night."
"See you soon."
96
AS SOON AS Mama put it in front of me, I knew it wasn't from Wesley. Or Julio. Thick, cream-colored envelope, felt more like cloth than paper. Nothing on the outside. I flexed it in my fingers. Not a letter-bomb. One sheet inside, matching the envelope.
The words flowed so smoothly onto the paper they could have been squeezed from a tube. Icing on the devil's cake.
"Ask me. I know."
No signature. I didn't need one.
Strega.
97
I SMOKED a cigarette, thinking it through. Smoked a couple more. It had to be connected- not one of her witchy games.
I'm not sure how I remembered the number. She answered halfway through the first ring.
"I know who this is."
"Okay. What else do you know?"
"I know what you want to know. Come and see me and I'll tell you."
"Say it now. It'll only take a second."
"Longer than that. Come and see me. You want to do it anyway."
"No I don't. We settled that."
"Nothing's settled. If I wanted to talk on the phone, I would have called you."
I bit into the filter of my cigarette. "I'll meet you. Remember where we first talked?"
"You're afraid to come here."
"Yes."
"Afraid of me."
"That too.
"You can't meet me outdoors. You know better than that. You know what I have to tell you. Make a choice. I'll be here tonight. From when it gets dark to when it gets light."
98
THE CAR radio said it was unseasonably warm. Mid-fifties. I felt the chill coming from her house before I got it in sight. Pulled around behind. Backed the Plymouth into the empty space outside the garage. The connecting door was open. I stepped inside. I knew the way.
She was in her black-and-white living room, perched on the edge of the easy chair, flashy legs crossed, elbow on her knee, one hand cupping her chin. Fire-streaked hair combed back from her little fox face.
"I kept it warm for you," she said, getting to her feet, heels clicking on the marble floor as she closed the distance between us.
I stood rooted. Nothing was going to get me back in that chair again.
She took both my hands, holding them gently, watching my face. She was wearing a white silk T-shirt that came to mid-thigh. The kind women tie a belt around and make into a dress.
"Sit in the chair. Your chair, remember?"
"No."
"No what?"
"No, I won't sit in the chair."
"But you do remember?"
"Yeah."
"I won't ask you again."
"Good."
She led me to the couch, still holding both my hands. Sat down, pulling me down with her. Pulled one of my hands to her mouth, a dark slash in the room, tiny perfect white teeth gleamed. She kissed my hand. Licked it. Turned her face up to watch mine again. Put my hand in her mouth, sucked on my thumb. Bit it, hard.
"You still taste good."
"What is it that you know? That you wanted me to ask you?"
"Julio told me. He tells me anything. He can never pay off his debt. This crazy man- this killer, they want you to deliver money to him so they can grab him. They're going to leave you there."
"You think that's news?"
"They're going to force you. Very soon. They know how to do it."
"What's the hurry?"
"Their little don, he's so afraid. Hiding in his little house. In the basement, like a cockroach. He's afraid, so they're all afraid. He can't wait. He wants to go to his nightclubs, ride in his big car, visit his gumare…big man. Now he can't do that."