He kept his hands where she could see them. “I didn’t kill anyone, Lesley.”
“I will not let you harm me or my child. Do you understand that? I am within my rights. I’m protecting my child and my property. I’m within my rights.”
She was getting hysterical, and she wasn’t listening. “Lesley, put down the gun. Okay? Put down the gun before something happens.”
“I thought I knew who you were, Michael, but I was wrong. I was very wrong. I shouldn’t have let you in. I don’t know what I was thinking. After what happened today, why in God’s name would I trust you?”
Tozzi took a deep breath. It was time to go for broke. “Maybe you let me in because you do trust me. Maybe because you like me? Kinda.”
Tozzi held his breath, waiting for an answer. Her hand was still shaking, but the resolve seemed to have hardened in her face. His words weren’t registering with her. She felt threatened, and now she was convincing herself that she could do the deed if she had to. Tozzi had no doubts that she could. If a frantic mother can pick up a car to save her kid’s life, pulling a trigger should be a snap.
He glanced down at the gun. It was a silver-plated automatic, small caliber, a .22 or maybe a .25, the kind of little gun wiseguys like. Professional shooters prefer 9mms, the contract killers, but street hoods like little guns they can keep in their pockets. Could she have gotten this one from Salamandra?
“Do you have a license for that weapon?”
“Yes. And I know how to shoot, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Tozzi nodded just to agree with her, wondering whether she would really do it. He didn’t want to find out.
“You don’t think I’m capable of pulling the trigger, do you? I’m just a little woman, right? That’s what you’re thinking.”
“That’s not what I was thinking.”
She exhaled a brusque nervous laugh. “Oh, no? Then what were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about a dance.”
“A what?”
“A dance. Mixers, we used to call them. You know, back when we were in high school?”
She narrowed her eyes, very wary of him.
He kept talking. She seemed to be listening now. “I remember it was a Halloween mixer, at your school. I went with a couple of guys from my school. One of my buddies was going out with this girl in your class, and we all went together in a big group. We must’ve been sophomores, I think.”
“What’s this got to do with anything?” Her hand shook a little more than it had been.
“My buddy’s name was Joe Reilly. His girlfriend’s name was Pam something. A Polish or Ukrainian name, I think.”
“Pam Sabisky? She was a good friend of mine.”
“Yeah, I know. I remember you from that night. It was in the gym, and it was pretty dark. I guess someone convinced the nuns that for Halloween it should be dark. Usually they kept all the lights on at mixers so they could spot any hanky-panky. Anyway, you were over at one side of the gym with a bunch of your girlfriends, and Joe and us guys were over on the other side, leaning against the wall, looking at you.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
To get you to put that gun down. To keep you from putting a hole in my chest. To get you to trust me.
“Well,” he said, “you probably don’t remember, but—well, you know how guys are at that age. Too horny to get out of their own way, and too dumb to do anything about it. Well, I remember standing there that whole night, just looking at you and trying to think of something to say to you so I could ask you to dance. I mean, I guess I can admit it now. I really did have the hots for you back then, but we’d never talked or anything, so I didn’t know how to approach you. See, most of the time you didn’t look like you wanted to be bothered with guys like me. You always looked sort of mad, or like you could get mad very easily.”
The way you sort of look right now.
“I remember that dance,” she said after a long silence. “Pam kept running back and forth from one side of the gym to the other, acting as the go-between, trying to get us to dance with you guys.”
“Yeah, right. Do you remember the name of the band they had that night?”
She shook her head.
“The Wheels of Fortune. They were from around where we lived in Vailsburg. I can remember distinctly—they started their second set with ‘Drive My Car.’ You know, the Beatles song? And I really liked that song. ‘Baby, you can drive my car, da-da-da-da-da.’ I almost worked up the nerve to go over to you when they played it. Almost. I was waiting for you to smile a little, you know, just not look so mad. But you didn’t smile, and I chickened out. Later I saw you dancing with some jock from Seton Hall Prep. You were with him the rest of the night. Maybe if that song had been longer . . .”
She stood there, frozen, the gun still leveled at him. Then all at once, she lowered the gun to her side and let out a long, exhausted sigh like all the hope was rushing out of her. She dropped her head and covered her eyes with her hand. “Shit. You’re not the killer, are you?”
“No. I’m not.” Tozzi stepped closer cautiously. “Lesley? Put down the gun.”
She just stood there, not moving.
He went a little closer. “Lesley? Give me the gun. Please?”
Her shoulders started to jiggle. She was sobbing into her hand. As he took another step closer, she suddenly looked up and glared at him. “What’re you staring at? I’m scared, all right? I worry about Patricia.” Her face crumpled and tears glistened in her eyes. “She’s only five years old, for God’s sake.”
She tossed the gun on the couch, then turned her back on him, burying her face in her hands. She didn’t want him to see her crying.
Tozzi moved closer and hesitated before he put his hand on her shoulder. He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to apologize for scaring the shit out of her. He’d been all wrong about her. She wasn’t dirty, and he felt bad for thinking she was. He wanted to do something for her to make it up to her.
Except all of a sudden he realized that he had an incredible erection. Touching her, being so close to her, seeing her vulnerable like this—it was the way he used to imagine her, the way he thought he could win her over. This was a wet dream come true. Tozzi squirmed. He couldn’t believe he could be such a pig. And without even trying.
She turned around quickly then, threw her arms around him and pressed her face against his chest. “I’m afraid,” she sniffed. “Goddammit, what if they come after me? What’ll happen to Patricia? What if they come after her?”
He put his hands on her back. “Don’t worry. Nothing will happen to you or your daughter. I promise.”
It was getting very tight down there. Oh, Jesus.
She kept crying, pitiful sobbing. His throat started to constrict just listening to her. He thought about Ivers and McCleery, Cooney and Santiago, the bloodbath at Uncle Pete’s. The reality that they could pin this whole thing on him suddenly hit home like a spear sinking into his chest. He could be arrested at any time, thrown into the jaws of the legal meat grinder. The killer could go after her, blow her away the way he did Marty Bloom, kill as many lawyers as it takes to get a mistrial. Meanwhile, Tozzi figured, he’d be locked up in some holding pen, waiting to be arraigned. Jesus. He tried to swallow, but it hurt. He almost started to cry with her.
“Listen, I want to ask you something, Lesley.” He felt as shaky as the night of the Halloween mixer.
She sniffed and kept her head in his chest. “What?”
“I may be needing a good lawyer. See, I think they’re gonna try to pin the murders on me. Will, ah . . . I don’t know how to ask you this, but . . . will you represent me?”
She lifted her head and looked up at him. Her eyes were red, wet, and pathetic. “Get Kostmeyer,” she said. “He’s good.”
“But I want you.”
She just stared into his eyes. “Okay,” she whispered.
Tozzi couldn’t control himself then. Lesley Halloran was finally appro
achable. Finally she didn’t look mad or snippy or anything like that. She was right here in his arms, so vulnerable, so beautiful. He bent his head forward and went to kiss her, tentative until he was sure that she really wanted to. She reached up for him and pulled him closer.
Oh, Jesus.
They kissed long and deep, and he became so dizzy he didn’t dare open his eyes, afraid that he’d fall down. When they finally came up for air, he had his hands linked at the small of her back, staring into her crystal blue eyes. She had her elbows tucked in, palms flat on his chest. She was smiling finally, really smiling.
“You know something?” He whispered because his throat ached. “I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I was fourteen.”
Her blue eyes glistened. “Yeah. Me too.”
Tozzi had to sit down.
— 11 —
“Frankly, Michael, I think this is gruesome. Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t get the Knights of Columbus hall? I would have gladly had everybody over to my place. It’s the least I could’ve done for Uncle Pete.”
Tozzi looked over the rim of his paper coffee cup as he took a sip and nodded so his cousin Marie would think he was paying attention to her. The room was full of his relatives and friends of the family, all of them eating cake and sandwiches, drinking coffee, some looking sad, others yukking it up and having a grand ol’ time. Tozzi could never figure out why the hell they always had receptions like this after funerals. It wasn’t as if the food was ever any good. And what the hell are you supposed to say after you put the guy in the ground that you haven’t already said at the wake? It was stupid. Drop the guy in the ground, throw your flower in, and go home. What the hell do you need a party for?
Marie was shaking her head, clucking her tongue. She was a tiny woman in her mid-thirties with short jet-black hair. She always rolled her huge eyes when she talked, like one of those cat clocks they make for kids where the cat’s tail swings to one side while the eyes roll to the other. She had a slow, insistent, annoyingly nasal voice. Talking to her was like enduring a slow drill on a bad tooth.
“I just don’t understand how they even let you use this place,” she said. “I mean after what happened upstairs the other day.” She puckered her lips and rolled her eyes to the ceiling.
Tozzi glanced up the stairway at the Jersey City cop sitting on a folding chair. A piece of yellow tape was stretched from the bannister to the wall up there. “Well, Marie, technically this is a crime scene, but this guy I know from the U.S. Attorney’s office pulled some strings for me and got the local police to agree to let us use just the first floor.” McCleery made the offer on his own. The Irish have this thing about funerals.
“Yes, but still, you didn’t have to accept. I mean, this is gruesome.” She rolled her eyes around once more.
Tozzi was tempted to tell her the real reason he decided to have the reception here. Uncle Pete’s lawyer suggested it so that all the relatives could come and see just what Uncle Pete had, so they couldn’t accuse Tozzi of trying to hide the good stuff. They all thought Uncle Pete had gold buried in here, and Marie was one of the worst. She kept coming up with these remembrances from the past, things she knew Uncle Pete had, things she had fond memories of. Yeah, things she wanted for herself. He wished to hell he could take her upstairs to see the bedroom where it happened. Maybe it would gross her out enough so she’d leave. Though he doubted that it would, not when there was “treasure” here.
Marie’s eyes rolled downward. “You know, Michael, I never noticed this rug here before. It’s very nice.”
Tozzi looked down at the Oriental rug they were standing on. Everybody was bugging him about this rug. They all had their eyes on it.
“You know, this would look perfect in my living room,” Marie said as if she were wishing out loud. “The burgundy and the blue. It would complement the sofa nicely.” She studied the rug, nodding with her hand on her cheek.
He looked over in the other crowded room across the hall, the room where all the bikes had been. Gibbons and Lorraine were over there. He wished to hell Lorraine would come over here and get Marie off his back. When Lorraine looked his way, he caught her eye.
C’mon, Lorraine. I know Marie’s a pain in the ass, but give me a break before I punch her.
Lorraine nodded to him, then tapped Gibbons on the arm. They started this way, weaving through the crush of mourners.
Thank you, Lorraine. You’re in my will.
“Marie,” Lorraine said, coming up behind the little woman, “I’ve been looking for you.”
Marie rolled her eyes over her shoulder. “I’ve been right here, Lorraine, telling Michael how awful it was to invite everybody back here.” Marie looked up at the ceiling again. “With all that happened upstairs, I mean. It’s terrible. I’m very upset.”
Gibbons loomed over Marie’s other shoulder. “Then why did you come if you knew it would upset you?”
She reared her head back and looked at him indignantly. “I had to come. Out of respect for Uncle Pete.”
Tozzi looked at Gibbons, then Lorraine. No one had to say it. They were all thinking the same thing.
“Marie, you know antiques,” Lorraine said. “There’s something over here I want you to see. I think it’s real Depression glass, but I’m not sure.”
Marie’s eyebrows shot up into her bangs. “We’ll talk later, Michael.” She followed willingly as Lorraine took her elbow and led her away.
Tozzi rubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you.”
Gibbons swirled the coffee that was left in his cup. “Don’t mention it. You looked like you were ready to strangle her.”
“It crossed my mind.”
“Not a good idea. Not here.” Gibbons looked up at the ceiling. “You know. Returning to the scene of the crime, striking again, all that shit.”
“Don’t start.” Tozzi worked his temples. He needed a backrub or a good pounding or something to loosen his shoulders.
The doorbell rang again, and the relatives out in the hallway answered it. There was a flutter of oooh’s and aaah’s, but Tozzi couldn’t see who it was because the mourners were blocking the view. When the crowd parted, he saw what the fuss was all about. It was Lesley with her daughter. Patricia was wearing a dark green velvet dress with a round lace collar. She was clutching her mother’s hand for dear life, looking painfully shy. Tozzi could sympathize. He remembered feeling like that when he was a kid.
Gibbons was shaking his head. “This is something I’ll never understand. Why do Italians go nuts whenever they see little kids? It’s like each one is the baby Jesus. I don’t get it. Well, that’s one thing your uncle had going for him. He had his head on straight when it came to kids. He hated them, right?”
“Well, he hated me.”
Lesley made her way through the crowd. She smiled at Gibbons, then looked at Tozzi. “How’re you making out, Michael? You look tense.”
Tozzi worked up a smile. “I’m all right.”
He hunkered down in front of Patricia, who was hiding behind her mother’s leg, her fingers in her mouth. “How’re you today, Patricia?”
She shrugged and retreated farther behind her mother. But she was smiling and peeking at him, like she sort of knew him but was too shy to acknowledge that she did.
Tozzi winked at her. She was a real flirt.
Patricia yanked on her mother’s arm, and Lesley bent down so she could whisper in her ear. “That’s Santa’s helper, Mommy,” she said.
Gibbons squinted at Tozzi. “Santa’s helper?” he murmured. “What’s this shit?”
“I apologize for bringing Patricia,” Lesley said, “but her school’s on Christmas break and I couldn’t get a sitter in the middle of the day. And I did want to pay my respects.”
Tozzi hunkered down again and grinned at the kid. “So what did you get for Christmas, Patricia? Can you tell me?”
The little girl smiled and twisted her body on one foot, shrugging her shoulders. Those big blue eyes were very f
lirtatious.
Gibbons hunkered down next to him and mumbled in his ear. “So what did you get for Christmas, asshole? I’ll bet I can guess.”
Tozzi ignored his partner and kept talking to Patricia, coaxing her to tell him about her Christmas. He liked her, she was cute. Besides, Patricia didn’t have an agenda, which he couldn’t say for anyone else in the house. Tozzi decided to stay down on her level, because he knew Gibbons was gonna give him an earful about getting chummy with Lesley and he didn’t want to hear it.
The doorbell rang again, and there was another flutter of excitement at the door. When Tozzi looked up, he saw who it was right away. Unless you were blind, there was no mistaking this guy for one of the relatives. Head held high, good posture, long thin nose, strong chin, charcoal Brooks Brother suit—who else?—King of the WASPs, Tom Augustine.
Tozzi stood up as Augustine approached. The son of a bitch had a hell of a lot of nerve coming here. He puts me under investigation, gets me suspended, and I’m supposed to make like it’s nothing. Well, fuck him.
Augustine smiled kindly and extended his hand. Tozzi paused to look at it before he took it, as if there might’ve been dog shit on it. Augustine pretended not to notice. “Mike, I just wanted to stop by and pay my respects.”
“You shouldn’t have bothered.” Tozzi wasn’t trying to be polite.
Augustine raised an eyebrow.
“I know you’re under a lot of stress right now. I understand.”
“Why is McCleery on my tail ‘round the clock? Is this necessary?”
“Jimmy McCleery is an independent investigator. He doesn’t answer to me in this matter.”
“Yeah, really.”
“I don’t understand your attitude, Mike. You act as if you think I were out to get you.”
“What am I supposed to think? So far you’ve been acting like you are out to get me.”
Augustine started to say something, then changed his mind. His gaze shifted to Lesley instead. “What brings you here, counselor?”
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