“Then why don't you call Vinny off?”
“He would never hurt you. No, never. What he does, he does for rispetto.”
“I don't understand,” Dane said.
“You will see the truth, I think. One day soon. If you are strong and patient. I only hope you are worthy.”
Maybe the weed had been spiked with some acid. Dane checked his watch. It was almost six. “I've got to go now.”
The Don clasped his hand weakly and said, “Thank you for visiting. I enjoyed our talk.”
The old man might not be senile, but whatever had once made him the big boss was gone. It wasn't a ploy. All the edgy madness and will to violence had drained away until there was somebody sitting in the chair who Dane didn't completely recognize anymore.
As Dane moved across the room, Joey reached out and said, “You listen to me, I want to say somethin' here, no matter what, you and me, if it's the last-” and Dane chopped him in the throat again. Joey gagged and fell to his knees, and Big Tommy barked again.
Out in the rain Dane walked to Phil Guerra's stolen car and stared at how brilliant the shimmering water on the Magi-laquer appeared. As if this was a giant piece of deep blue ice brought up from a thousand feet below the Arctic cap, frozen 10 million years ago.
He got in and started the engine, easing down the drive and back into the streets of Headstone City. He reached for his cigarettes and the nausea rushed through his belly.
Here it comes, he'd been expecting it. Vinny couldn't pass up a meeting like this.
Dane's scars began to heat. He tried to beat the sickness back but that only made it worse, and he rolled down his window fast in case he had to heave. He stuck his face into the wind like a dog.
At the next light he fell back against the seat and suddenly Vinny was in the car, holding his lighter out. In some other reality he'd picked Vinny up and they were riding together, and now Vinny was imposing that track onto this world.
Dane leaned in, puffed, and took a long drag. He grinned and said, “This the rainy day you were talking about?” but by the time the smoke rose to break against the crags of Vinny's disfigured face, he was already gone.
TWENTY-ONE
Such fierce laughter could only come from a precipice in the ugliest corner of the abyss. A sound set in the unbreakable amber of madness, hurling itself across the room into Dane's face.
He'd just stepped into Olympic Cab & Limo after dropping off a Japanese family of six out in Montauk, and that noise hit him so brutally wrong that he almost backed out again. It was the kind of highly contagious sickness that could be carried on the breeze. You started thinking mass infection. Germ warfare.
Eager eyes on him, Fran continued laughing for another few seconds before it ended like a whip crack. “You were specially requested for a pickup tonight.”
Word had been getting around town about some of his exploits-the run through the hospital, the stolen Caddy. Fran sat there at the counter listening to the buzz across the radio, all the small, dangerous talk that circulated through Headstone City. Someone he didn't know was on there saying how Johnny Danetello wasn't long for this earth. The death pool had over five hundred bucks in it, and nobody had picked a day past November 4. They had started cutting up the boxes into morning, noon, and night.
“By who?” he asked.
“Your personality.”
“My what?”
“Your personality. Your celebrity.” Those teeth had a yellow shine to them that reminded him of gold rum.
“When?”
“Eight o'clock. Pepe wants to talk to you first.”
Her callous voice came at him in a color now, the edges of his vision lighting up from one red instant to the next. He couldn't figure out what she'd gone through in her life to make her sound like that. He stared at her for another second, speculating what it might have been, and she said, “Stop fucking looking at me like that.”
“Okay.”
“You don't charm me.”
“I realize that.”
“I don't think you do.”
“No, really, Franny, I do.”
She had her hand under the counter again, grabbing hold of the nine iron. He leaned forward, kind of daring her, wishing she'd make a go of it. Maybe all she needed was to give him one good crack across the head, then they could settle into being amiable coworkers. “I'm waiting for the day you're found floating in the surf,” she told him.
“I know; I'm just wondering why you hate me so much.”
“Because you deserve it.”
She believed it so honestly, with such affirmation, that it almost made him believe it too. That he had done something so terrible in his life he should never be forgiven for it.
“What box did you pick in the pool?”
“Tomorrow. Do me a favor and drop dead, will you?” She stuck a toothpick in her mouth and started champing it to shavings. “At noon.”
“Where's Pepe?”
“I don't know, but if you find him, tell him to get his ass back in here. Like I don't have enough to do, I have to cover his job too.”
Dane went around to the garage parking lot and saw Pepe mixing it up with two enormous thugs.
For a guy weighing only about 120, Pepe was handling himself pretty well. He was fast and knew how to throw a punch, duck and weave and work from the outside.
It was a cold day but Pepe wore only a sleeveless T-shirt, his muscles corded and perfectly defined as he backpedaled and rope-a-doped, slugging each of the mooks in the chin with a one-two punch. A couple of quick raps, shoulders loose, then skipping back out of the way as they lunged.
Dane wasn't sure if he should get involved yet, because Pepe was smiling and having such a good time. He skipped around the parking lot like he was back in the ring.
Dane recognized one of the wiseguys from the Don's yesterday and the other from Chooch's when he'd shot the other asshole in the leg. There was a time when all the Monti family members had been made guys, top lieutenants who'd worked their way up the ranks pulling big heists nobody could pin on them. Now all these no-name slabs of meat.
He called out, “Need help?”
“You trying to insult me?” Pepe said, moving like he was listening to a nice salsa beat.
“I was asking them.”
The thugs were trying to prance away without looking like they were running. They each had a bloody nose and a split lip and the beginnings of a shiner. The punk from the Don's looked at Dane and said, “You!”
“Me.”
“I've got orders to pulp your ass!”
“Watch for the hook,” Dane told him just as Pepe's left fist connected with the point of the prick's chin. It really was beautiful to watch, the supple way Pepe moved in and out and around with the quality of ballet. The thug's eyes started to roll and Pepe shifted and caught the other legbreaker with a right cross that threw the punk backwards like he'd been shot. Both Monti boys fell together in a heap, mostly unconscious and breathing shallowly, blood bubbling over their faces.
“They're not even as tough as the guy who came around last time,” Pepe said.
“That one's name is Joey Fresco, and he's not even as tough as he used to be a few years ago.”
“They got legit and they got soft.”
“These two tell you the same spiel? It'd be in your best interest to do a favor for the Monti crew?”
“Yeah, but without the subtlety of that guy Joey shaving with his butterfly knife. These pricks, they just came right out with it, said they wanted me to fire you. If they were going to make a play, I thought they would've pulled it weeks ago, carrying some real firepower.”
“Me too,” Dane said. “I paid the Don a visit yesterday. It must've pushed a few buttons.”
“Not any serious ones. They didn't even draw down on me.” His hands kept working in the air as he talked, like he still wanted to throw punches.
In the corner of the lot sat a maroon LeSabre with the passenger door ajar. “This their car?”