The anger faded, though, when she saw him. The dextrose IV drip that stood by the bed on a pole wasn’t hooked up to his body; the limpness of the plastic tube hanging down from it was a kind of analogue for the limpness of his two arms, which lay in parallel on the covers. She averted her eyes while she tried to catch up with the devastation that three short weeks had wrought on that fine body.
She bit her lip as she approached the bed. This was going to be more difficult than she’d expected. Damn it, women were different from men, no matter what they said. More than two decades before this womanizing crook had reached her, and she still didn’t know how to forget that; any man would have been able to kill that soft spot she felt opening somewhere in her guts, but she couldn’t. She sat down in one of the chairs by the bed. He’d lost a lot of his hair too.
“Thanks for coming.” The voice was thin and faint, the smile forced. She could see from his eyes, though, that his mind was still alert.
“I’m not going to say you look terrific, Mario.”
He lowered his eyes. “Just a scratch.” She smiled.
“I forgot to bring you flowers. I meant to; then two kids tried to mug me, and I forgot.”
“They still alive, those two kids?”
They laughed then, and tears came to her eyes. That had always been his secret, underneath the charm and good looks: It was the humor that women came back for. And maybe it showed a measure of courage, after all, to be joking at this stage.
“You were fast and mean, worse than any man. Everyone said so.” He put out a hand for her to hold. It was hard to believe how much that small movement seemed to cost him.
“I’ve slowed down a lot.”
Coletti shook his head. “I don’t believe it, not you. If I’d had one ounce of sense, I would never have let you go.”
“Don’t do this.”
“You were right, and I was wrong. The mob-” He tried to make a gesture like spitting. She nodded. “I understand. I don’t approve, but I understand. I’m not twenty anymore, I know how things happen to people. You couldn’t help being that kind of Italian-maybe.”
Coletti shook his head. He spoke with agonizing slowness. “Don’t soft-soap me. I had a choice, like anyone. You know what, my uncle was in the hospital, I was twenty-five, they’d shot him old style outside his favorite restaurant on Perry Street. It could have been a screenplay, it was that corny. When I sat on the chair near his bed, I told him I was gonna join. I said to avenge him, but I meant because I needed that machismo. He pointed to a bunch of roses they’d sent him in a vase. He said: ‘What you talk of is like that rose. It is very beautiful, but it can make you bleed.’ ”
Moira looked around the room. Sure enough, there were small mountains of flowers against one wall. Roses too. She sighed.
“Mario, honey, I don’t think I ever told you what I really had against you being in the mob.”
“It’s evil. You were a good Catholic. You were right.”
“Naw, I was just being holier than thou; it’s an old Irish debating trick. What I really couldn’t stand was the mob wives. So boring. The whole thing, I have to tell you, just bored the pants off me. You know, when your great-great-great-uncle went to see his uncle in his hospital bed way back in Palma di Montichiero when men were men, his uncle told that same story about the rose. It’s even in books now, Mario. It’s old.”
The ravaged face on the pillow creased up in a chuckle. “You still know how to hurt.” With effort he turned to look into her eyes. “Listen, the scam with the phony dental records? It worked. That’s how come I can die in peace. Don’t tell a fucking soul or they’ll waste you and her both.”
The effort had exhausted him. His head sank deeper into the pillow, a contented smile on his face. Moira swallowed hard.
“Why, that’s great, Mario. Gonna tell me the details now? You know how an old cop like me gets to be an evidence junkie. And I really didn’t appreciate being the mule, you know. If she hadn’t pleaded with me over the phone to do exactly as you told me-”
He nodded. “I know. That’s why I asked one of my partners to come here today to meet you. He should be here now. Open the door. He said he’d wait till I called him.”
Moira crossed the floor to open the door to the corridor. The Chinese man on the bench stood up and stretched out his hand.
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Coletti.” It was a New York accent. If she closed her eyes, he could have been an Italian American or a New York Jew.
She shook his hand without enthusiasm. He was shorter than she was, no more than five-four, in an electric blue silk suit with Italian cut. He was almost as round as he was tall with a jutting chin. At that height the air of unassailable authority was borderline absurd, except for the eyes. There was nothing phony there; they were genuine reptile. He gestured for her to return to the hospital room.
“Moira, meet Danny Chow, the real capo di tutti capi.”
Chow half closed his eyes. “Please.”
“One of the most powerful men in the Western world. Head of the 14K Triad Society worldwide. But don’t tell anyone.”
Chow raised a hand. “I said please.”
“He’s agreed to come here today out of respect for you as Clare’s mother. Right, Danny?”
“I have the greatest admiration for your daughter, Mrs. Coletti. She is a visionary. I think you’ll agree that we’ve gone to exceptional lengths to ensure her safety. We’re a caring organization, Mrs. Coletti. We look after our people.”
“That’s good,” Moira said.
“Tell her, Danny. Tell it all.”
Chow gestured for Moira to sit down by the side of the bed while he stood.
“Communists, Mrs. Coletti.” He raised a finger. “Excuse me, but fucking Communists. They have a criminal mentality, ma’am; their whole outlook is based on lies and deception. Other organizations have embraced the late twentieth century with intelligence and enthusiasm; we have grown. We are businessmen now; we abhor violence and use it only when strictly necessary. If the average man has difficulty in fully comprehending the nature of international commerce in our time, such that certain quaint regulations outlaw some of our activities, then that’s a cross the businessman has to bear. We understand: The most advanced in any society have always to suffer the consequences of being out in front.
“But Communists, ma’am-Neanderthals, primitives, cavemen, power freaks, criminals, pure and simple. It was a business deal like any other. A certain figure prominent in the People’s Liberation Army required a certain commodity for his purposes. Not having immediate access to that commodity myself, I contacted my good friend and business associate Mario Coletti. He in turn worked his contacts until that commodity could be located, its price verified according to the market, freight, forwarding and profit margin added, a certain sum for risk included, and a deal was struck. A deal, ma’am, is sacred. When we cease to honor deals, civilization will fail; we’ll be back to bows and arrows. Now the nature of this particular commodity is such that we would not trust it to our usual couriers.
“Three of our best people were chosen, two from my firm, one from Mr. Coletti’s: your daughter, Clare, courageous, beautiful, a trailblazer in her own right. All is going well. The commodity, together with certain sample items that we feel may be of interest to the purchaser, arrives safely at its destination. Handover is days away, days away. Then what happens? Tell Clare’s mother, Mario. I’m ashamed of the primitive side of my own race and pray for the day when they shall be raised from out of their ignorance.”