The Lucifer Messiah (14 page)

“What was it?”

“Sam. And the same tall, pale chick with the long black hair.”

“What were they doin'?”

“Three guesses. All's I saw was Sam with his shirt off, goddamn fat sweaty gut hanging all over the place, and this weirdo in the red silk suit with her hands in Sam's chest.”

Vince knew about Sam's appetites. That part came as no surprise. But he couldn't make sense of the second part.

“What do you mean? Her hands were
in his chest?
You mean onjiis chest, right?” he asked.

Frankie shook his head. It was the biggest display of emotion he'd made since Vince had seen him.

“No Vince, this is what I'm tryin' to tell you. I coulda sworn her fuckin' hands were in him. I'm talking
inside
him.”

“That doesn't make any sense.”

“You're tellin' me that? I tried to say somethin', but the boss yelled at me. Told me to get the fuck out.”

“And?”

“So I left. I ain't about to get in the middle of that. You know? Just to be on the safe side, though, I check up on things downstairs. Turns out, nobody knows about this woman. Nobody saw her go in that day, and nobody ever saw her leave. A few hours later, Sam comes down, all dressed, lookin' like nothin' happened. He don't mention it, and I don't neither. Still can't explain it, but as long as he's okay.

“Anyway, that was just the beginning.”

Vince is still with me,
he thought.

“I'm gonna guess this is around the time some new faces started showin' up at the Sunset,” he said.

“Exactly,” Frankie answered. “Sam was never the same after that. He dressed better, for one thing. And he bathed a lot more. Started talkin' a little funny too, kinda like a
fanook,
to be honest. Pretty soon he's tellin' me he wants to bring in some new blood, some connections from out of town that he's got.

“He's the boss, so he calls the shots. I tell him I don't think it's a good idea, but he's got all these plans. That's when this Indian Joe guy pops in, you met him?”

“Seen him. Yeah.”

“Sam tells me he's workin' on some new projects, branching out from the usual rackets. He needs his space. Leaves all the normal operations with me, tells me not to bother him with that anymore. He's gonna be workin' with these new people for a little while.

“The guys don't like these new faces around, but I tell them to leave the weirdoes alone, Sam's orders. Everyone deals with me now. But things got real strange after that. I didn't last much longer.”

“What happened? No one knows where you are. Rumor is that you been taken out.”

The mobster took on a dark glare then. If Vince hadn't known better, he'd have thought Little Frankie was actually frightened.

“Good. Leave me alone, that's all I can say.”

Suddenly, he didn't look like he wanted to talk anymore. He began staring at the tree again, just like he'd
been doing when Vince had first seen him.

“So, what sent you here?” Vince asked.

“I walked in on Sammy one time too many. And I saw shit I never want to see again.”

“What? What did you see?” Vince asked.

Frankie grew very still at the question, as though the thought itself made him shudder. When he did speak, he turned to look Vince directly in the eyes.

“The Morrigan.”

M
AGGIE WAS PREPARED FOR THE WORST.
V
INCE HAD
been away since the early morning, and he wasn't back yet. She had gone out to pick up some bandages and more rubbing alcohol, supplies for what she feared might prove to be the last hours of Sean's life.

She was even debating breaking down and taking him to the hospital, right up to the moment when she opened the door.

And found him sitting on the couch, slurping from a bowl of oatmeal.

“Do you have any brown sugar in that bag? I hate this stuff without it,” he said, rather plainly.

Maggie couldn't answer. She could barely register a breath.

When she'd left only a few hours earlier, he'd been nearly comatose. He hadn't moved since the carnage outside of Vince's apartment in the wee hours of the morning. Now he was not only up, he looked
perfectly healthy.

“I'm sorry. Where are my manners? Let me get that
for you,” he said, springing from the couch to take the bag out of her arms.

He carried it into the kitchen and unloaded it, all while Maggie struggled to get her coat off. When he came back into the room he noticed her dazed expression.

“What's wrong Maggie? Aren't you happy to see me?” he asked.

He was being mischievous, and she knew it. It was exactly the way she had remembered him. A little irreverent, always blissfully unconcerned, no matter what the problem seemed to be.

But whatever he was dealing with at the moment, it was painfully clear that it was no small problem.

“Happy? Happy that you're not dead? Yeah!” she answered.

“Okay, that's a start. I'm happy I'm not dead too,” he said.

He was milking her astonishment for every ounce of humor, even if the joke was only funny to him. She didn't let it go on much longer.

“Sean!”

“What?”

“What the hell is going on?”

“With what?” He continued the repartee, heedless of her obvious consternation, or maybe because of it.

“With what? I don't know where to begin!” she said. The whole episode was too surreal for her to grasp at the moment; too much was going on, too much had happened.

Sean finally relented. He pointed toward the couch and
gave a nod, a grudging gesture of resignation that his moment of mirth had ended. It was time for adult conversation.

“Anywhere you want. Sit down. We have a lot to talk about, don't we?” he answered.

She took his invitation at face value, but her tone remained strident.

“Yeah. Like, where you've been since nineteen-seven-teen, for example?”

“Hmm. That's a long story. Be shorter to tell you where I haven't been,” he replied.

She frowned, almost groaned. His outward manner had shifted, but he was still not quite taking their exchange seriously. She wasn't going to tolerate that for much longer.

He could read that in the hard lines on her face.

“Or how it is that you look exactly the same as when you left?” she continued, realizing with each question how truly bizarre a dialogue it was becoming.

“Yeah. That's an even longer story, actually. Don't sell yourself short, though, Maggie; you look pretty good too,” he answered, more serious than before but still speaking as though nothing in the world were the least bit out of sorts.

“I look forty-six, which is what I am. You look eighteen, and we both know that you're not. But then again, I guess that shouldn't surprise me too much, should it? I mean, yesterday you were laying on a couch, bleeding to death. Today you're perfectly fine?”

Her last statement was more of an accusation than a query, as though he should be ashamed of his condition rather
than pleased. Or at least have offered an explanation.

He knew she had gone to the edge of her patience. He couldn't push the moment any further.

“Okay, why don't we start at the beginning, then? If you really want to know,” Sean said, motioning for her to finally sit down while he did the same.

“Fine. So where exactly were you? Before you showed up here I mean,” she replied. Suddenly her couch wasn't at all comfortable.

“Italy. Venice actually,” he said, quite a bit more sullen than he had been just a moment earlier.

She seemed impressed, nodding as though considering his words. When she answered, though, he realized she was just being snide.

“Really? Venice. I always wanted to see it myself, but I never got the chance. How very cosmopolitan of you.”

It was her turn for sarcasm. Even though her tone was slightly sardonic, he knew that she really meant at least part of what she said. Maggie had always wanted to travel when they were kids. He was still curious to know if she'd done it at all since he'd known her last.

“Lovely there, yes.” He really wanted to hear about her, but she was the one asking the questions.

“So what brought you back to us, after all this time? If I were living in Venice, I don't think I'd ever come back to this dump.”

“I wasn't going to come back. I had no intention of it, in fact.”

“But here you are,” she said, that same almost sad
smile on her face.

“Yeah. I ran into some … problems there. Couldn't stay.”

Finally she looked up at him, directly into his eyes for the first time. He really was a little somber. But she was still too angry with him to let him off so easily.

“Right. Did those problems have anything to do with Orlanda?” she asked.

This time it was Sean's turn to be surprised. And he made no attempt to conceal his discomfort.

“How do you know about that?”

“You mentioned her. A day or so ago, before your recovery.”

Sean sighed, but he said nothing. A slow nod was her only answer.

“So? Who was she?” she continued.

It was obvious that Sean didn't want to discuss the subject, but Maggie simply kept her gaze fixed on him until he felt no other choice. That was something about her that hadn't changed since 1917. She was nothing if not stubborn, and persistent. She was Irish too, after all.

“Orlanda Santina. She was a glassblower's daughter. I met her on Murano while I was buying a vase from her father. I came back every day for a month, until she agreed to see me again. So beautiful. She had a smile that could make you forget that you were …”

He stopped. He breathed. And he looked out the window. It didn't appear as though he meant to finish.

“Were what?” she prodded.

“Away from home. Alone. Pick your problem, she
made you forget about it,” he answered, still looking out toward the pigeons clustered on the stoop.

“What happened? You woke up mumbling her name the other day.”

“She got to know me.”

He still couldn't look at her.

“I'm sure she did. But that can't be the whole story. Why did you leave her?”

“Oh, you assume I left her?” he replied, his humor revived enough to bring a smile to his lips, and to turn him from the sight of the dirty birds to face her again.

“You're here. She's not. Am I missing something?” she said.

“She left. Like I said, she got to know me. Too well,” he replied. An odd look came over his face just then that she had never quite seen before. It almost hinted at regret, which was obviously impossible for Sean.

“I'm sorry. For whatever it's worth,” Maggie said.

The words seemed to strike a chord in him, and he reacted at first with surprise. But by the time he spoke, his tone had taken on that resigned note again, more bitter than anything else.

“Well. I finally heard you say it,” he said.

“What?”

“Sorry. All these years. That's the one thing I wanted to hear.”

She was about to say something, to correct him, to stop him, but he wouldn't have listened.

“Remember that day, the one when you told me about
Vince and you?” he said. “It was cold. I remember that. Raining, too.
I'm sorry, Sean. I didn't plan this. It just happened. Vince and I both care about you. We never wanted to hurt you.
That was what you said. I'll never forget it.” He had taken on a dreamy gaze, as if he weren't really talking to her at all.

She answered anyway.

“I said it, and I meant it. We knew it would be hard for you to hear. We didn't expect you to smile and throw us a party. But with enough time, we thought you could learn to accept it, we thought you would learn to accept it.”

“You were wrong,” he said.

He turned from her then, got up from the chair and moved over toward the window. It was open a crack. The cold air tingled on his knuckles. He needed that sensation, just near enough to pain to remind him how it felt.

“We never wanted to lose you. We both loved you, loved you the way friends love each other. That's what hurt me,” she said.

“Hurt
you?”

He turned back to look at her, his hands were clenched hard on the railing of the sill.

“Telling you that Vince and I were in love, that we wanted to get married, that was difficult. We told you because we cared about you, about your feelings. We hoped that once you had enough time, you'd care enough about us to want Vince and I to be happy together. But you didn't. You just left.”

“That's not fair, Maggie. It wasn't fair then, and it's
not fair now. I left
because
of how I felt about you. Because I cared,” he shot back.

“Okay, so you left. I understand you were hurt. But you didn't even tell anyone that you were going. You just went away. Forever, we thought, until the other day.”

“The war seemed like a better place to be than here. Any place seemed like a better place than here.”

The pigeons all fluttered away in that instant, as though they sensed his ire and fled from it.

Maggie lessened her tone. She didn't want to raise her voice anymore. What she had wanted to say was out, though she didn't feel any better for all the effort.

“Though we did hear that you'd joined up eventually. The New York Fighting 69
^th
, right? I even heard when you shipped out to France. But then, nothing. Never another word.”

“I know. That was how I wanted it.”

“That's what you wanted? You wanted us to worry about you? To wonder for years what happened? I tried everything, but all I got were form letters from the War Department. There was some talk that you deserted, but in the end all I could find out was that you were missing.”