Headstone City (20 page)

“Oh for the love of baby Jesus.”

Dane was beginning to think he should call it a night. He checked his watch. Still pretty early, not yet midnight, but he'd ruined the mood here and Glory was panicked and probably angry.

He said, “I should go.”

“You don't have to. I didn't mean to pry.”

“You haven't. I really do need to leave. I'm sorry I didn't fill you in. It wasn't a matter of trust, if that's what you're thinking. There's just a few things I need to handle on my own, and you're better off not knowing what they are.”

“At least tell me what's going on.”

“Like I just said, it's better if you aren't in on it.”

“I still have a little money. Maybe I can help. Get you out of the city. It'll be safer for you in LA, so long as there are no earthquakes or mudslides.”

“Or the wildfires and riots. And you were complaining about the possibility of shooting your little toe off? How long'd you live in that town? Staying there sounds like a death sentence.”

He turned and she started tugging at his wrist, like a little kid who wants what she wants and refuses to let go. It was the first time she'd been like this. He looked down at her hand on him and said, “What?”

She repeated herself, with a firmer voice. “Let me help you. Discuss the circumstances with me. Tell me what's going on and we can work through it. I know we can. My lawyers might be shysters, but hey, they're the best shysters around.”

“Glory, give it a rest.”

And there it was, the first edgy moment between them. Where neither of them knew what to say next. He knew he'd fucked up in a big way but wasn't sure exactly when. With the gun? Talking about Maria?

He had to leave anyway. The timing was bad. It would look like he was either pissed or scared, neither true. He searched for some way to lighten the moment as she drew her underwear on, but there wasn't anything for him to do. He got dressed too.

She straightened the bed while he poured himself a double Chivas with a splash of water. His father's drink. It went down smooth, and he waited for the fire in his chest to move along and burn into his thoughts.

Glory watched and said, “I thought you didn't touch the hard stuff.”

“I don't really. It's what my father used to have every night, to unwind. Doesn't have anything to do with the drinking.”

“After what we just did in there, you feel the need to unwind?”

“No, I just feel the need to be close to my old man.”

She sensed his honesty and it relieved some of the tension. She came up into his arms again. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Still pushing it, like a cop nudging. “Nah.”

“I was serious about the attorneys. They might be able to help you get out from under whatever you're in.”

“You still paying them?”

“Yeah.”

“And how much time is your husband doing?”

“He's hoping to plea-bargain it down to eighteen years.”

“I think I'll take my chances alone, thanks.”

He started to pull away and she held on for another second. She had real muscle. He drew her chin up, pecked her bottom lip, and said, “Don't worry about it, okay? I'll be fine.”

“Exactly what my husband said. If you don't get killed, maybe the two of you can share a cell.”

Dane laughed, and that made her smile. They kissed again, long and with more meaning, as they tried to get back to where they'd been before.

The Chivas was just giving Dane that relaxed feeling by the time he hit the street. He got into the Buick and drove it around the corner. He parked in front of the hotel where Special Agent Daniel Ezekiel Cogan was staying.

Dane snapped on the radio and had another cigarette, thinking about Maria. Every guy had a woman in his life who meant more to him than she should. You couldn't call it love, or even an obsession. It had a greater complexity than that. It dealt more with the man you wanted to be than with the man you were.

He had always been tied to her, just like JoJo Tormino had been, and Dane figured he'd wind up just as dead, and probably for the same reason.

He leaned his chin down on his fist and focused, feeling a little resistance at the back of his skull, where the metal doors hadn't quite opened. Cogan was in bed, fading but not yet asleep. Dane could feel him in there, starting to slip into the comfort of darkness.

It took half an hour before the music began to change, the voices shifting and growing harsher, like people starting to argue. The drumbeat got steadily stronger, more primal. The music dissipated until it became only static disturbed by faraway, forlorn cries. Dane leaned in, put his ear to the speaker, concentrated on trying to make sense of what they were saying, but he couldn't make any of it out.

For a second there though, he thought he heard his mother moaning, the way she did in the back room while she was dying, seeing angels with golden wings as shiny as coins.

Carefully, he snapped the radio off, hoping to avoid sparks. He settled back into the seat and waited, feeling Cogan up there coming closer.

Step by step, nearly here.

Dane looked over through the passenger window and saw Special Agent Daniel Ezekiel Cogan standing naked on the sidewalk.

SEVENTEEN

T
he straw-yellow hair was a wild mess. It looked like Cogan was one of those types who didn't sleep well, thrashing around for a while before he got into REM. Dane clicked on the interior light. That hee-haw smile broke out on Cogan's face when he spotted Dane in the car. He fumbled his way to the curb, arms and legs moving clumsily. He sat in the backseat and said, “Well, ain't this somethin' special.”

“You said I should come by some night.”

“Tha's right, I surely did.”

“This is what happens when I come by at night,” Dane told him.

“My word, son. Some folks do have themselves special consideration under the Lord!”

“That what you call it?”

“My blessed granny would say so,” Cogan said.

“Mine calls it a burden. In Sicily they burned her with sulfur for having visions.”

“Even those graced by the angels got their hardships and trials.”

Dane took off, enjoying the ease of the empty streets, the rhythm of the traffic lights allowing him complete access. He was a touch surprised that Cogan was taking the situation so well. He looked happy back there, at perfect ease with the situation. Just enjoying the night ride.

“You spend a lot of time doing this thing right here? Moseying on along with all kinds of passengers in the dark? You can do this to anyone?”

“No. Hardly anyone at all.”

“Then how is it you know who all to pick up?”

“I simply know.” It sounded stupid, but just about everything did when you were driving around with somebody's soul in your backseat. “No real way to explain it, except that I feel a nudge inside my head.”

“The angels tapping at your brain. So what exactly is the purpose of all this, son?”

“I have some questions and I think you can help me,” Dane said. “You said Vinny was investing money. Did you mean movies?”

“Yes, that's a new orbit for the family.”

“Any idea why?”

“It's good for laundering. A lot of these wiseguys, they like the idea of being entertainment stars. Puzo, Coppola, Tarantino, HBO, they all make it look like it's downright fun to be in the mob.”

“My grandmother says the same thing.”

“And except for James Caan, almost all the real interesting folks live, at least to the end of the movie. The ones who turn up in the bay, well, those there are the squealers, the ones who ain't clever enough to make it with the rest of them. You got yer little kids growing up thinking, ‘Hey, I can be witty and fire me off a few one-liners while I'm beanin' some old boy on the head.'”

“I think it's because his sister, Maria, wants to be in the movies. Vinny was losing money on drugs so Maria could be in film.”

“That girl's pretty enough to be a box office bombshell without the mob backin' her up.”

“You're right.”

“You sound sorta sweet on her, and I can't say I blame you 'bout that right there. Maybe you can help her out some.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Cogan grinned. “I'm just sayin'.”

Look at this. You're trying to get information from the astral self of the Kentucky cornpone fed who's messing around in your life, and now you've got to switch the subject.

“You staking out Glory Bishop?” Dane asked. “She says she's got cops and feds all over her.”

“Naw, nothin' like that,” Cogan said, sort of bouncing around on the seat like a kid on a family trip. “My boss at the Bureau wants me to keep an eye on her, see if she's connected to everything her husband and his buddies was into, but it hasn't happened yet.”

“What do you mean ‘yet'?”

“She hasn't made the move so far, but I think she will. That's why she's using you.”

Dane glared into the rearview. “What was that?”

“Hellfire, son, you really think you're lucky enough to land a beautiful sex kitten like her on your own? Without even working for it?”

Dane scowled, feeling vaguely insulted. “She likes me. Who the hell are you to comment on it anyway?”

“She don't like anybody too much, that there girl. I think she's only using you to get an upper hand on the Monticelli family.”

“I haven't even talked to her about Vinny and the crew, not even once, so what could she use me for?”

“I reckon she has her reasons. Maybe to take over where her husband left off. Wait for it. She'll hit you up eventually, when she's got them hooks in deep enough. She ain't been askin' a lot of questions?”

“Yeah, she has lately.”

“There it is, son.”

Dane didn't like how this was going, everything being thrown back at him. It felt as if Cogan was somehow still able to deceive. But that was impossible on the night ride. What was the point of stealing someone's soul if it could still lie to you? Dane studied Cogan's smirk in the rearview and couldn't really be sure what was going on with the guy. Maybe he'd gone through a windshield too. Or was more capable at carrying his burden.

“You said you weren't staking out Glory's apartment,” Dane asked. “Now I get the feeling you have her place wired.”

“Naw, that ain't it. I've followed you lovebirds around here and there, but so far you ain't done much to whet my interest. Weird coincidence though, ain't it? You hooking up with her, and her under surveillance because of some things leading back to the Monticelli crew? And you and Vincenzo with all the history?”

“Yeah,” Dane said.

“My blessed granny, she'd call that a curious happenstance of fate.”

“Mine would say somebody's thrown the
malocchio
whammy on me.”

“Maybe so.”

Dane glanced into the rearview and saw Cogan back there with an expression of knowing amusement. “Did you check on the JoJo Tormino hit?”

“That there Roberto Monticelli, he covers his tracks pretty good. Like you said, the boys that did the deed were brand-new to the crew, so there's not much connecting them to the family. And he got hisself an alibi.”

“Playing poker with five other guys?”

“Exactly right. And none of them Brooklyn folks had anything at all to say about the matter. Not even the girl working the counter at the time.” Cogan sat up straight and started hopping around on the seat. “Hey, hey, there's that bakery again. Pull over. I want me some more of them napoleons.”

They were already in Headstone City. He'd been driving without thinking, cruising with a fluidity of force and motion, and his instinct had brought him right home. “The place is closed right now.”

“Goddamn.”

“Besides, you're not in any position to eat anything at the moment.”

“Oh, tha's right, 'cause I'm not really here in the flesh. This is my soul, and you've gathered me up like an angel of death, in your fiery chariot. My mama used to have walkin' dreams like this, she told us, 'fore they locked her away.”