She thought back to the scene on the street that night when she’d gone after him wanting to apologize, worried that she might’ve hurt his feelings. She remembered the drizzle in her hair and how you could see it in the streetlights. Then the flash of the gun in the dark and Tozzi yelling to her. That’s about all she remembered. That and the sight of Tozzi lying on the ground. They kept asking her afterward if she remembered seeing anybody else there, but she didn’t see anything but the gun flash. It was too dark, and it happened so fast.
She looked through the glass and focused on Tozzi’s bad leg. He said the bullet got him in the thigh, but she’d never actually seen the wound, let alone the bandage. What if the bullet hit a little higher? She stared at his crotch and crinkled her face. Oh, my God. Maybe that’s his problem.
The door opened then. Stacy was sitting behind it, so she didn’t see who it was right away.
“Will ya look at this? Must be America’s Funniest Home Videos.”
“Shut that fucking thing off.”
“Want me to break it?”
“Just shut it off.”
A black man in a gray guard’s uniform came into the room, reaching out for the video camera. An enormous sallow-faced white man in a plaid flannel shirt and baggy khakis followed him in.
Stacy coughed to announce her presence.
Both men froze like deer caught in the headlights. The big white guy immediately stooped over and looked at the floor. It was only then that Stacy noticed the restraining belt around his waist, a wide leather belt with two additional straps that kept his wrists bound to his hips. His clenched hands were huge. They reminded her of pit-bull heads in studded collars.
The guard smiled at her. “Sorry about barging in on you like this. Didn’t know anybody was in here.” His eyes were all over her.
She flashed a phony smile and rubbed her arms. Her skin was hard with goose bumps.
The white man looked up at the guard from under his brows and mumbled something. The guard went over and closed the door.
Her heartbeat went into double time. She glanced at the nameplate pinned to the guard’s shirt pocket. It was Charles something, she couldn’t make out the last name. The lettering was small, and the lighting was bad. She wanted to know his last name so she could memorize it, just in case something happened.
The guard looked through the one-way mirror for a few seconds, then turned his attention back to her. He tilted his head to one side, narrowed his eyes, and started shaking his finger at her. “Ain’t you that girl on TV? The one with the dumbbell?”
Stacy flipped her hair over her shoulder and avoided his gaze. Men came on to her this way all the time, and she usually didn’t have any problem telling them to go to hell. But in here she was afraid to say anything to him, afraid of what might happen if she said yes, she was the Pump-It-Up Girl, afraid of what might happen if she said no and disappointed him. She glanced at Tozzi out on the ward and wondered whether he’d be able to hear her if she yelled.
“You that Pump-It-Up Girl, ain’tcha?” The guard was shaking his head like he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Damn. It sure as hell is you.”
Stacy started to shake her head no. “I don’t think…” Her words trailed off.
“Hell, I gotta get your autograph. You famous.”
“No … I’m not really…” Her throat was dry.
He turned to the huge white guy. “This here is the Pump-It-Up Girl, man. Can you beat that?”
The big man didn’t seem to care one way or the other. He was busy working his fists, flexing them in their restraints.
“Hey, look!” The guard was all excited, pointing at the glass. “I think that’s you right now.”
Stacy didn’t know what he was talking about until her eye found the television set out on the ward. Shit. Of all times to play that goddamn commercial. There she was curling the barbell. She didn’t need a good look to tell it was her commercial. Christ.
“I tol’ you that’s her,” he said to the white guy. “C’mere and get a better look.”
The guard pulled the big man over to the camera. He seemed reluctant to look, but he bent forward and peered into the viewfinder. “Look at the TV, man. Here, I’ll work the zoom for you. It’s like a telescope. Go ’head. You’ll see. It’s her.”
The big man bent his knees and squinted one eye as he looked into the camera. He turned around and looked over his shoulder, stared at her face, then turned back to the camera and looked through the viewfinder until the commercial was over. When he stood up again, he stared at her face. Her stomach was solid ice.
It was then that she noticed that his hands weren’t in the restraints anymore. They were hanging loose by his sides. When he saw that she’d noticed, he calmly slipped them back into the belt restraints as if he were putting them in his pockets. His grim face didn’t move the whole time. Only his eyes did.
Stacy thought about running out of there, but the room was jammed with chairs and the two men were between her and the door. She crossed her legs and hugged herself tighter.
The guard jerked his thumb at the glass. “Ain’t that Mr. Tozzi, the FBI man? Sure it is. I ’member him walking with that cane last time he was here.” He pointed his thumb at her. “Then you must be the Pump-It-Up Girl. I read about you in the paper. It said some FBI agent got his leg shot up saving you from a mugger in New York City. Yeah … That must’ve been him. Am I right?”
Stacy nodded and mumbled. “Right.” One of the gossip columns in the Daily News ran something about her a few days ago. Someone spotted her at the hospital visiting Tozzi and whoever it was called it in to the paper. The paper called her at the spa to confirm the story, but she didn’t realize that when she took the call. She got flustered when the columnist started firing questions at her and instead of just saying “no comment,” she altered the story a little and said she was being mugged when an FBI agent happened to come by and he saved her.
“That musta been some scary scene. Tozzi shooting it out with that mugger.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Yeah … it was.”
“And you really was there, saw the whole thing, huh?”
She was puzzled by the question. “Well, yeah. Of course I was there.”
A goofy smile crept around the guard’s face as he made eye contact with the white guy. “You sure it wasn’t one of those publicity stories you famous people make up just to get yourselves in the news?”
She shook her head. “No, it really happened.” All of a sudden the guard seemed more loony than threatening with all these dumb questions. He kept looking at the white guy, nodding his head with this strangely confident “I-told-you-so” look on his face. The guard seemed like the one who should’ve been wearing the restraining belt.
But it was the big guy who was really making her nervous. His face hadn’t changed at all since he realized she was in here, and he kept staring at her—and not at her body, at her. She kept her eyes down, trying not to look at him, but he was hard to ignore for long. When she glanced over at him again, she was surprised but relieved to see that he wasn’t staring at her anymore. He was staring at the video camera.
She glanced up at the camera. The red light wasn’t blinking.
“Hey,” she said to the guard. “Did you turn that off?”
The guard didn’t answer. He was too busy rummaging around the room, examining the case the video equipment came in.
“What’re you looking for?”
The big white guy slipped his hands out of the leather restraints again and scratched his cheek. He walked around the table and took a seat across from her, staring at her the whole time.
“What do you want with me?” She didn’t want him to think she was frightened, but it was in her voice. She coughed and repeated herself. “What do you want?”
He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. The guard was poking around behind her. Her heart started to pound. Out of the corner of he
r eye, she could see Tozzi on the other side of the glass, still waiting out on the ward. She thought about yelling, then wondered if she might be overreacting. But why was this guy wearing a restraining belt with his hands free like that?
The white guy looked up at the guard, then looked down at something on the floor. Stacy followed his eyes to the black camera case open on the floor. It was as big as a small trunk. Big enough to put a small body in, she thought. Her throat suddenly got so tight it ached.
The guard looked very serious all of a sudden, serious and disapproving. He was shaking his head at the white guy.
The white guy nodded his head yes. His face still didn’t move.
Stacy stood up. She felt a little queasy. “Where’s the women’s room?”
The guard didn’t answer. Instead he moved toward the door and stood in front of it.
Jesus. What the hell did they want? Stacy tried to remember all the things you’re supposed to do when you’re confronted with a rapist, but her mind drew a blank. All she could think was that there were two of them, they were both big, and the room was closing in on her.
She stood up and stepped through the crowd of chairs toward the door. “I have to go to the—”
“Did you hear us when we came in?”
“What?”
The guard had his head tilted back, looking at her down the angle of his cheeks. He was smiling, but it wasn’t a very nice smile.
“Excuse me. I need a bathroom.”
She stepped closer to the door, but the guard didn’t budge. “I axed you a question. Did you hear us when we came in?”
“Please let me by. I have to go.”
The white guy was looking up at her from under his brows. His big hands were on the table, waiting.
“Excuse me, please. I want to get out.” She tried to be assertive, but the strain in her voice gave her away.
The guard folded his arms over his chest and flared his nostrils. “Answer me first.”
The big white guy got to his feet. He was moving around the table.
Her chest was heaving. It was freezing cold. She wanted to scream, but she stopped herself. What if Tozzi didn’t hear her? It would just provoke them. The big guy would go berserk, strangle her, stuff her body in that case. The guard would sneak it out of the hospital, dump her in the woods somewhere. Animals would chew through the case to eat her. Whatever was left of her would be rotten before it was ever discovered.
She looked from one to the other. They weren’t moving. She felt faint and she felt nauseated, but not enough to throw up. She wished she could as she suddenly remembered that that was a recommended strategy for dealing with a rapist. Puke on him. But these guys were as big as professional wrestlers and they were on opposite sides of the room. She couldn’t possibly have enough in her.
The guard growled at her. “Lady, I axed you a simple question. Did you hear—”
Suddenly the door swung open and banged into the guard’s back.
The man jumped. “What the—”
The door opened all the way. Tozzi was standing on the threshold, holding his cane in one hand like a sword. His eyes swept the room, then settled on the big white guy.
“What the hell you doing in here, Sal?”
Stacy’s jaw dropped. Sal? This is Sal Immordino?
Tozzi glared at the guard. “What’re you doing in here?”
“Well, uh … I thought you wanted to talk to Sal.”
“I’ve been waiting for you out on the ward for the past twenty minutes. Whattaya doing with him in here?”
“I thought they said you wanted to talk to him in here, that you wanted privacy. Guess I didn’t understand.”
Tozzi raised an eyebrow and exhaled out loud. He was making it obvious that he thought the guard was full of shit. He glanced at Immordino, who was swaying on his feet, mumbling to his hands, then looked to her. “You all right?”
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “I’m okay.” She hadn’t meant to whisper.
Tozzi barked at the guard. “Get him outta here. Take him to the ward and wait for me.”
The guard shrugged, unfazed. “Whatever you say, man. C’mon, Sal. Let’s go.” He took Immordino by the arm and started to lead him out.
Stacy found her voice. “He’s not strapped,” she said to Tozzi. “The straps are loose. His hands are free.” She sounded panicky again.
The guard heard her. He checked the belt and tugged on the straps. “Must’ve forgot to tighten them after Sal went to the bathroom.” He shrugged. “He don’t need that thing. He gentle. Just another dumb hospital rule. Patients in transit gotta wear the belt.” He fixed the straps and led Sal out of the room.
Stacy felt much better after they were gone.
Tozzi put his hand on her shoulder. “You sure you’re all right? Did they do anything to you?”
She shook her head and shivered. “I think the guard messed around with the camera. I’m not sure. I didn’t actually see him do anything to it, but the light’s not blinking.”
Tozzi examined the camera, then did something to it. The red light started flashing again.
“They say anything to you?”
“The guard kept asking me if I heard them come in. I didn’t know what he was talking about. I guess he wanted to know if I heard Immordino say anything.”
“Did you?”
“I heard two voices, but I didn’t actually see him talking.”
“What did he say?”
“Something about turning ‘that fucking thing’ off. He was talking about the camera.”
“But you didn’t see him say anything.”
“No.”
“Shit.” Tozzi sighed.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“If you’d seen him say that, we could’ve used you to testify against him. You heard him, but unfortunately you didn’t see him talking. Wouldn’t do us any good. Besides, I’d have to explain what you were doing here and that could be a problem in terms of procedure. Shit.”
“Over here, Sal. C’mon. There’s your table over there.”
In the one-way mirror Charles was leading Sal across the ward.
“I’ll be as quick as I can. You wait here.” Tozzi started to go, but Stacy held on to his hand.
She looked into his eyes. “I have to pee.”
He looked into hers. “Oh. Then go.”
“Come with me.”
“You can’t go alone?”
“Keep walkin’, Sal. Keep walkin’.”
Tozzi couldn’t keep his eyes off the glass.
“Just come with me and wait outside. I’ll be fast.”
He shrugged, a little puzzled. “Okay.” His avenging-eagle face switched to a fatherly expression of extreme concern for her well-being. She liked him better the other way.
She rubbed her arms again, thinking about Sal Immordino’s expressionless face. He put his arm around her shoulder as they left the room and went out into the hallway. It was a little warmer in the hallway, but she still had goose bumps. She walked a little faster and picked up their pace as they went down the hallway. She really did have to pee.
Chapter 11
Gibbons cupped his hands over the windowpane in the front door of the Mary Magdalene Home for Unwed Mothers and looked in. A skinny guy was right there in the hallway, painting the wall with a roller. Gibbons frowned. What the hell was his problem? Couldn’t he hear the doorbell? Gibbons rang it again.
Madeleine Cummings tilted her head to one side and gave him that sarcastic little grin of hers. “Shall we break it down?”
He ignored the remark. He was trying not to fight with her. Actually, he was trying not to even talk to her. He was here for a reason, even though she didn’t think so. Sal Immordino wouldn’t talk to Tozzi yesterday, which was no surprise, but Tozzi had a bad feeling about him now. He’d scared the hell out of Stacy, and she believed that either Sal or that guard Charles Tate
had tampered with the video camera Tozzi had set up. Gibbons figured that it might be worthwhile to squeeze Immordino’s sister Cil, the nun. She always seemed to be in a fog when it came to her brother’s criminal enterprises, but she might let something drop without even knowing it. It was worth a try. After all, if that was a hit man who shot Tozzi, the contract was still open, and the way Gibbons figured, if Immordino was the one who put out the contract on Tozzi, there was probably one out on him, too. Gibbons sucked in his breath and pressed the doorbell again.
“Why don’t you give them a chance?” Her exasperated voice now.
He kept peering through the window. “There’s a guy standing right there, for chrissake. What is he, deaf?”
Cummings shrugged. “Maybe he is.”
Gibbons just looked at her. He knew what she was thinking, that he was insensitive to the plight of the disabled. She’d been going on and on about how he and Tozzi had “brutalized” Immordino at the nuthouse, even squealed on them to Ivers, and Lorraine had been lapping this crap up, looking at him across the kitchen table every morning like he was Hermann Göring or something. Gibbons wished to hell Charles Manson would escape, so Cummings would be called back to her old job down at Quantico.
He was about to start pounding on the door when he spotted a girl inside coming down the hall. She slid the chain on before she unlocked the door.
“Yeah?” She peered under the taut chain. Her eyes were light brown and very wary. Her face was pasty.
Gibbons held up his I.D. so she could see it. “Special Agent Gibbons, Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is Agent Cummings. We’d like to talk to Sister Cil.”
The girl stared blankly at his I.D. Her bottom lip hung slack, and she looked like she had too many teeth for her mouth.
Cummings lowered Gibbons’s hand and looked into the gap in the door. “Please tell Sister Cil that we’re sorry to show up unannounced and that we won’t take up too much of her time.”
5 Bad Moon Page 13
