“You're as complacent as I am,” Dane said. “Or you would've done it by now. You send half-assed cons after me for two years, then you let me walk around for weeks after I get out of the stir?”
“I told you, don't worry. I've got something special planned for you.”
“You've had plenty of time to make it happen if that's what you wanted.”
It seemed they were both discouraged about what was going to happen. Dane felt a sudden and intense sorrow, missing his friend desperately for an instant. Then it was gone, replaced by his own anger.
One of them was going to die because Dane had been a lousy taxi driver, too lazy to go out and hunt fares, too weak to say no to a teenager with a fast rap.
It made him sigh. “Which trail do you see now, Vinny? You see me thrashing around and pissing myself? You got robbed by fate, seeing only three possibilities. Let me guess what they are. One where I pop you, one where you pop me, and one where we just walk away from each other.”
“Something like that,” Vinny told him, letting his grin out, like this had all simply been part of the warm-up act. “But not quite. At least we'll go through them together.”
“Okay.”
The kid from the front door had managed to get to his feet and stumbled through the bar, his arm extended, gripping a Baretta. His hand was wavering because he couldn't see straight. If he missed, he'd take out Vinny on the other side of the table. The crew perked up over there, shaking their heads.
Might be fun to see what happened, but he didn't want the kid to get killed over nothing. Joey Fresco had already raised his pistol above the table, getting ready to fire.
“You bastard, you broke my nose!”
Dane shot the kid through the upper leg, same spot where he'd stabbed Mako and Kremitz, where it would hurt like hell but hardly do any damage.
“Settle down, junior.”
“You bastard, I'll get you for this!”
“You have no idea who you work for.” Maybe he'd saved the asshole's life, or maybe they'd already decided to bury him for being so stupid.
Dane turned to go. But he knew Vinny would have to yell something after him before he left. He waited for it.
“Hey,” Vinny called. “That swing I saw in her place. It looks like it'd crack your nuts wide open. You get into that freaky thing last night or what?”
FIFTEEN
Back at La Famiglia Bakery, with another list written out by his grandmother. It felt like he was always at a bakery, grabbing almond biscotti, cannoli, tiramisu, and napoleons. Jesus, how the hell did a seventy-eight-year-old lady eat sugar like this and not wind up with diabetes? He'd known crack addicts who didn't need a fix as bad as Grandma Lucia needed her dessert.
It had only taken two days to clean away the blood and bodies, for the crime-scene tape to go up and come down again, and then business was back to normal. There was a different girl behind the counter and she was fulfilling orders with swift efficiency. Dane glanced across the shop, hoping he wouldn't see JoJo Tormino sitting in the chair where he'd died.
JoJo wasn't there but somebody else hung back in the seat, staring at Dane. Straw-yellow hair chopped at the sides and a little too long in front. A hee-haw smile full of thick square teeth. Wearing a jacket with specially made creases so that the hardware underneath wouldn't show. Sunglasses carefully folded and lying on the little table.
Immediately Dane figured this had to be the fed who'd been nosing around. Cogan. Keeping Dane under surveillance until he'd determined his routine. Then jumping ahead and just sitting back to wait for Dane to stroll in with his grandmother's list.
It was pretty sad when the feds didn't even have to chase you around the block because you were in such a rut they knew where you'd be all the time. Buying Grandma some fuckin' cookies. It made him want to sulk.
Somebody's leftover paper stood open on the table, and Cogan sipped a cup of coffee. It wasn't his paper, no newsprint ink on his fingers. It was just a prop he used. Dane stepped over. The smile got wider.
“You got some real brass, John, stepping into an outfit-owned place like Chooch's when there's a hit on you.” He pronounced it Choochie's with a slightly Southern twang. Sounded like Tennessee or Kentucky.
“I grew up with just about everybody in there,” Dane said. “It doesn't take much backbone to go see them again.”
“It does if they want you dead, don't you think?” Talking in a normal voice, not whispering or worried about anybody overhearing. No one at the counter even looked over.
Dane took the chair across from Cogan and slipped the list into his pocket. This was embarrassing enough. “The contract's more symbolic than anything. Only one of them really wants me dead.”
“Two, including his brother Roberto.” Saying it like Robert-oh.
“Okay, you got me there. Two.”
“Maybe even one more, depending on where the old Don stands, right? Yep, and the sons do run the rest of that there crew now, am I right? They control all the button pushers and muscle?”
That cheerful smile was starting to get Dane down. “You already know that.”
“Tha's right.”
Cogan thought he was doing pretty good, right in there with the hip guy chatter. On the inside track to getting Dane cracked open and talking.
Like Dane might actually give a damn at this stage. All these mooks trying to polish their dialogue, make it sound natural without being real.
“I've got to tell you, I like Brooklyn,” Cogan said, glancing out the window at the busy street traffic. “I've been in DC most of my career, but this place, with these people… I could really get used to this. There's something special about this city. The atmosphere, I don't know, the mood, it makes me excited, makes my belly tingle. One heck of a sight different from Hazardsville, Kentucky, let me tell you that, son.” The broad, authentic grin reaching his eyes. “Here you can talk about mob hits and nobody even looks twice at you. It's all so natural to them, they're not even interested.”
Sure, you look around and your neighbors are flowing in and out, some catching your eye but most just going about their business. That's how it had to be in Headstone City. The same way Dane had to be when he walked in here the last time and found corpses all over the floor.
He tried to bear up under the weight of his promise to JoJo Tormino, the ring still in his pocket. Struggling not to think of Maria Monticelli right now even though he had no control over it.
Imagining her turning her head with her hair flipping back, revealing the side of her neck as she drew forward.
“Lordy, my pa would skin my back if he saw me acting with such poor manners,” Cogan said, reaching to shake Dane's hand, clasping it firmly. “I'm Special Agent Daniel Ezekiel Cogan.”
“Let me ask you,” Dane said. “I've always wondered about something. The regular agents, do they get jealous of you special types?”
More of Cogan's teeth came out for show, but his eyes hardened the slightest bit. “I think you can help me, Johnny.”
“How so?”
“Don't you want to know what's in it for you first?”
“No,” Dane said.
Cogan gave Dane a long look without altering his expression, deciding what his next move should be. At the end of it he pursed his lips and said, “Hellfire, son, I just want some information.”
“Yeah, I figured that much out. The fact that the ‘I' part in FBI means investigation sort of pointed me in that direction, you know? So what are you after?”
“Anything.”
Dane said, “I've got to ask, does this tactic work for you often? Sitting across from guys saying, ‘Hey, tell me about whatever'? It just doesn't seem too practical to me.”
“I want help with the Monticellis.”
Still playing it close to the vest, not wanting to give away any information. Use Dane, give him as few details as possible, then when it-whatever it was-went down, drop him in a world of shit and let him sink.