Cold Moon Rising (27 page)

It’s why I needed to come. Like Sue said, I have to see it.

“Hey, boss man. You awake?” I kept my voice low, but loud enough that if he was just dozing, he’d notice.

He did. His eyes opened and he tried to chuckle past the bandages. His voice was raw and slow, but he could talk. Another good thing. “Told Linda she couldn’t keep you away.”

I didn’t want to keep him. I had no doubt even a few minutes was going to be tiring. “You up to telling me what happened?”

He nodded once and moved his chin slightly toward the chair. It was enough of an invitation that I sat. He could probably see me better this way too. “I’ll keep it . . . short. New family out of Jersey . . . hit us. Central-American guys. Word has it they’re heavy into the drug trade. Never seem ’em before. We fought ’em off, but they killed Ira.”

Aw, man! Ira was just an accountant. He’d never even picked up a gun, and certainly wasn’t someone who knew anything important. “Sorry about that. He was a good man. I’d send my regards but . . . well, you know. The whole dead thing.”

He nodded, just a little. “It’s been a pretty empty poker table for about a year now. Thinking I’ll have to give it up if this keeps up.” The poker table he was referring to was what had been a monthly tradition for nearly a decade. Me, Carmine, Joey the Snake, Ira, and Louis Perricone had played an all-nighter for high stakes. Now Joey was dead, and Ira and me. No shit, an empty table. “Louis says no, we go on no matter what. But we’ll see. Not that many guys I trust to take the seats. Sal took your place, but he’s not much of a poker player. And half the time we have to spot him part of the buy-in. It sort of defeats the purpose. Trust, y’know?”

I did. “Which is why I’m here. I need it from your lips. What do you want from me?”

He coughed, tried to speak, and coughed again. I motioned toward the water pitcher, a question on my face. He nodded, so I poured some in a glass and held it so he could sip some from the straw. I knew he didn’t like that. He’d rather it was whiskey from cut crystal, held and swirled by his own hand. “It’ll be scotch soon enough. You just tell me and I’ll leave you to rest.”

“Need you to make it right. Ton. See, when they killed Ira, I sent the kid calling.” Ah. He must mean Scotty. So, he was giving him freelance work now. That was probably good. Scotty is a killer, no matter how you slice it. He either kills for money, or for fun. Carmine can keep him closer to the straight and narrow with jobs than with Social Services bullshit to “change” him. “He was supposed to take out just one guy—the man who killed Ira. He had the name and the address. I think he did it right. We got word back that the guy was dead with no leads. But then he went and took something of theirs. I only know because that’s what these bastards came looking for. Some sort of ancient artifact. You know Scotty and pointy things, so it was probably an old knife or spear or something. I’ve tried to work with him, but he’s still too impressed with things. Nobody called, though. Not one word or message asked for the return, which I would’ve done. No sweat. But they just came stomping in and beat the crap out of me, and wouldn’t believe when I told them I didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about.” He coughed again and the heart machine started to dance enough that a nurse was going to come knocking soon.

I held the glass back to his face, but he waved it away impatiently. “Water won’t cure what they did, Tony. I put the word out for Scotty to come back, but now he’s scared. Someone blabbed about me being here and he thinks he’ll be killed.”

“Won’t he?” I mean, realistically, that’s probably what he was asking me to do.

He shrugged. “Maybe. If he’d taken the knife and I had to get it back and apologize—sure, I might’a offed him. But they started the ball rolling and then didn’t play by the rules. The rules that the rest of us have used for years. Damned foreigners. I don’t like that. It pisses me off. So here’s what I want you to do—”

I heard a commotion outside and turned to go check it out, but Carmine grabbed my sleeve and held on tight. I’d forgotten how strong he is, nearly Sazi strong, so when he pulled, it kept me there. “No. You stay and listen. I want you to find the kid and get back the knife. Then you use it to kill the fuckholes who put me here and bring me the knife as a trophy. I want a message sent that nobody messes with Carmine Leone so you make it public, and wet. Front-page stuff. Oh, and you can slap the kid around a little if you think he’s not got the proper respect, but don’t mess with his fingers. I don’t have a replacement for him right now. You got it?” It was unusual for Carmine to use so many swear words. It told me even more than the burned coffee and jalapeño scent that rose from him that he was well and truly furious.

The voices were getting louder, and it annoyed me I couldn’t make out what was being said. The machines were playing hell with my hearing. Everything was high-pitched. It was knocking the midtones out of my brain. But you don’t ignore Carmine, so I nodded and kept my eyes on him. “Got it. Get the kid, get the knife, take out the hitters . . . messy, and come back with the prize.”

“You going to have any problem with your people?” It was weird hearing him talk about my people, an acknowledgment that I wasn’t his people anymore.

I shrugged. “Already got it covered. There’s a price, but there always is, and it won’t come back on you.”

He nodded. “Your usual rate.”

I held up my hand and shook my head. “No charge. This one’s on the house.”

He let out a growl that would do a wolf proud. “Your usual rate. I’m not a charity case. I pay my bills, just like always.”

I’d pricked his pride and hadn’t meant to. But I didn’t want to get into a situation where I was taking money on the side while working for Lucas. I had an idea, though. If it worked I’d be a really happy camper and Lucas might growl, but not too loud. “You want to pay me back? Fine. You get me back my car. I miss the old girl. Restored condition, but untraceable, and we’ll call it square.”

I knew where the car was, and so did he. My old ‘67 Mustang Fastback had been my pride and joy. It was black with a white interior, and had all original equipment. It was presently in the possession of my old buddy Jocko, who ran the bar where I used to hang out. He got it by default when I accidentally trashed his Lincoln while chasing down some kidnappers who’d grabbed Sue. But I hated giving it up. I wanted it back. And, I knew Jocko had torn out the front driver’s seat to be able to drive it. Yes, he’s just that tall, but it was original. It would need extra work to make it like new again.

He nodded and had a little smile on his face that he wasn’t explaining. “Done and done.” He offered his hand, which was attached to a variety of tubes. I took it and shook it as firmly as I dared without yanking off any tape.

“You can find them in Atlantic City, a new casino they’re calling the Quetzalcoatl. I think it’s a stupid name . . . way too tough for people to spell and pronounce. But it’s easy to find. You can’t miss it.”

Yet another tie-in to the snakes. I thought I remembered my mythology that a quetzacoatl was a winged serpent that was the god of wind and rain. Or maybe it was lightning and storms. Something like that anyway. I winked at Carmine and gave him a small smile. “Don’t tell Linda I was here. After all, you didn’t want me to see you.”

He rolled his eyes and leaned back heavily into the pillows. “I love the woman, but she just doesn’t get me some days.”

I was almost to the door, where things had quieted down outside when I snapped my fingers. “By the way, congrats on the kid. Have a name yet? Boy or girl?”

He smiled and there was no mistaking the orange-scented happiness that covered over the antiseptic of the room. “We decided to be surprised. If it’s a boy, Vincent, after my granddad. Middle name’s up in the air. Linda says Matthew, but that sounds weird . . . Vincent Matthew. She’s coming up with some others from the baby book, but some of those names are flat strange. I mean, Denim? Who wants a kid named after blue jeans? If it’s a girl, though, Barbara wants to call her Isabella Marie. I like that. Bella Leone. Yeah, that’s the one.”

I told him the absolute truth, my hand on the door. “You’ll be a good dad.”

He nodded, but then his eyes hardened. “You just make sure I’m around for that birth. I’m Barbara’s coach, so don’t make me have to go take care of business myself.” Now that surprised me. I nearly laughed, if he hadn’t sounded so fierce about it. Carmine in a Lamaze class making panting noises, stopwatch at the ready? That was almost worth pictures.

I left the room feeling pretty good about his future. I hoped I wasn’t wrong. A figure stepped around the corner just as I hit the hallway. I recognized the scent as friendly, but I couldn’t quite place it. Liz was in the chair, Marvin’s left hand firmly on her shoulder. She was staring after him too, and I didn’t like the look in her eye.

I took a slow breath, but the antiseptic covered over anything that might be a personal scent. I looked sharply at Mike. “Who just left and why were people yelling out here?”

The big guy shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Oh, it was just Louis. He wanted to go in and measure the room, but we wouldn’t let him. You said private, so it was.”

Louis. Yeah, that could have been him. But I hadn’t seen him in long enough that I didn’t remember what he smelled like. I squinted my eyes in confusion. “Measure the room? For what?”

Marvin let out a sarcastic little laugh. “What else? A poker table. Said he didn’t see any reason why the game couldn’t go ahead as planned. Even if it was just for fun . . . no money chips.”

Man, that guy is a gambling whore. Liz opened her mouth to say something but I shook my head. She closed it again, but didn’t like it. “Did Louis know it was me in there?”

Mike looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Private meetings are private. You know that. Carmine said to let you in if you came by, but we thought it was the drugs talking. I mean, the papers said—”

I nodded once and motioned for Marvin to let go of Liz’s shoulder. “And as far as you know, the papers were right. I’m laying so low right now I have to look up to see the devil’s ass.”

Marvin nodded just as Liz let out a guffaw. He pointed down the opposite hallway. “Then use the stairs around the corner. They come out the side of the building . . . an unmarked employee entrance. Louis said he’d be right back, and if you don’t want to run into him—”

Good advice. I shook both of their hands solemnly and we wished each other a safe journey through life. It might be the last time we ever laid eyes on each other. They knew it too.

Liz was real quiet as we ducked into the stairwell and started to make our way down the six flights to the ground floor. It wasn’t until we reached the underground parking garage, with enough time to actually do as I told Lucas and get some meat, that she finally spoke. “Those guys really respect you, huh? They said it had been an honor to know you. That’s not real normal language.”

I shrugged and pressed the button to open the door locks. “I like to think so. I’ve sure as hell earned a little respect.”

She paused and then took a deep breath, her hand on the latch. She stared at me over the roof of the car, eyes intent and focused on my face “Okaaay . . . so it’s probably none of my business, and you can tell me to shut up now and not answer this next question, but I have to ask it. Was that some sort of mob capo you were visiting? When that Louis guy showed up, he made my skin crawl. He smelled weird, pretty obviously had a gun under his jacket, and the guards sounded like a Sopranos episode talking to him. And don’t pretend they weren’t guards. If those were friends, visiting like you, I’ll eat my hat. What kind of person are you to visit someone like him and have those guys respect you?”

Oh, sure, I could be insulted at the question. But she was a nice, white-bread girl who’d just gotten thrown into a harsh world without any entrance exam. My world. I’m not ashamed of it, and not afraid of defending my choices. It also wouldn’t do any good to lie, but I couldn’t tell her everything either. I got inside the car and she followed, still watching my face. Her nostrils were flared, probably watching for any sign of the emotions I told her she could smell. “There are lots of kinds of people in the world, kiddo. You just met one kind. Lucas and Charles . . . they’re another. There are good people, bad people, and neutral. Me? I’m neutral—somewhere in between the two, neither fish nor fowl. But I can both swim and fly.” I stuck the key in the ignition and fired up the engine. It purred quietly. Nice machine. I’d get one if Carmine couldn’t manage to round up my old one. “I take lives, I save lives. Sometimes both at once. What you wind up being is entirely up to you. Just know that people can be happy in both roles, and miserable in both. I’m one of the happy ones, on both sides of the coin flip.” I turned in my seat, put an arm on the headrest and raised my brows at her. “Now, let me ask you a toughie. Let’s say you happen upon a man who has just attacked a young woman, wearing a wedding ring and with an empty infant seat in the back of the vehicle she was getting in. You know . . . absolutely know without a doubt from using those shiny new supernatural senses that he’s going to rape, torture, and kill her. Would you kill him?”

She shook her head quickly and surely. “I’d call the police.”

I met her indignation with a smile and a slow shake of my head. “Sorry. No police allowed. He’s Sazi, she’s human, and if the cops arrest him and hold him past the full moon, we’re all discovered. Humans will panic and there’ll be genocide on a worldwide scale of a kind you couldn’t imagine. You’re the only thing standing in his way. So, I ask again. Would you kill him? You can smell his lust and need for pain. It’s a thick, oily, nauseating scent that makes you want to scrub down in a shower afterward. Her fear makes your jaw tighten . . . and his too. What will her blood make his animal want to do? Eat her, bit by bit while she’s awake and feeling it? It’s probably already occurred to you that we’re really good at torture. And remember this is real life, not a movie with a happy ending. He’s done it before and he’ll do it again if you let him go . . . even if you get her to safety. Are her kids next? Her address is in her wallet. You can walk away, or you can kill him.”