‘Mrs Petrozzi, how nice to see you again. You working in real estate now or are you still at Faith Advertising?’
Even if I’d wanted to move, I couldn’t. The man that’d chased me, stalked me, downright hunted me around the streets of Chicago, was here. I was right. Evan had sent TC Guy to follow me. This had to be Evan’s building.
Finding my feet, I backed towards the door, nice and slowly. ‘Who are you?’ I asked, my fingers blindly reaching for the door handle.
He chewed on the end of his pen, before chucking it onto the desk. ‘A friend.’
‘Whose friend?’
‘Man, it’s so nice to meet you finally. I feel like we’re family or something. You shouldn’t have run from me that day. Hell, I wasn’t going to hurt you. As for my friend, you know Mickey, right? But sure you do. You watched him kill Nina last night. You won’t run to the cops, will you? No. You would’ve done it already. Clever girl. Mickey’s got a super crazy temper, as you know. Handy you stopped by, though. I have a message for you.’
‘A message?’
‘To take back to Evan. Isn’t that why you’re here?’
‘If you have a message for him, you should tell him yourself,’ I braved. ‘He’s your boss.’
‘Not unless I’m missing something he’s not. Now, you run back and tell Evan that Mickey won’t reconsider. I guess he told you Mickey’s made him another offer this morning. Like I said, Mickey angry, etcetera, etcetera.’ He folded his arms behind his head, his chair rocking from side to side.
Mickey. The guy Evan swore he didn’t know.
I grasped the handle with my back to the door, but I couldn’t leave, not yet. I had to know. ‘What won’t Mickey reconsider?’
‘Um, the half a million Evan now owes him?’
‘Dollars?’
‘That’d be the one.’
This guy had seen the spoilers. If anyone knew, TC Guy would. ‘Is Evan . . . is Evan, Victor?’
I’d never heard anyone laugh so loud, and for so long.
‘Victor? Who told you that?’ he chuckled, wiping away a tear.
‘Nina. Nina told me that.’
‘You know she was visiting a shrink, right? Mickey took her, he said Nina was delusional, she thought someone wanted to kill her, that kind of shit. Stupid bitch. I think Mickey did her a favour blowing out her skull.’
‘You bastard,’ I breathed.
He rose to standing, patting his trench coat. ‘Remember who’s got the gun here, girly.’
He had a gun? Of course he did. This was TC Guy.
‘Nina was crazy. She probably thought the Cubs had won the World Series in her little fantasyland, which brings me back to your question. Is Evan Victor? Well, what do you think?’
‘I don’t know what to think anymore.’
‘How about if I told you he isn’t real, that Nina invented him. Would you believe me then?’
‘I’ll go with no.’
‘There is no Victor. It was all in her head. That doctor said so. And you’ve been thinking Evan was Victor? Poor guy. You’ve got some grovelling to do, girl.’
‘Why follow me then?’
‘Because Nina told you about Mickey. I was just keeping tabs on you. And if you ever made me? I was supposed to chase you, shit you up a little. Did it work? Was I stalker-y enough?’ he asked, wiggling his fingers.
‘That’s why he killed her? Because she told me what he’d been doing?’
‘That’s some guilt to live with, huh? In the end, she was too much of a liability to keep breathing.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Now run along home, and don’t forget to tell Evan. Wednesday is payday. He’s got two days. For each one he misses, Mickey’s adding the generous amount of five hundred grand interest. Tell him to pay and his problems go bye-bye.’
There was one more question I was owed the answer to, before I shot out of the door and bolted down the stairs. Before TC Guy shot me. ‘Why does Evan owe Mickey money?’
‘You’ll have to ask him yourself. I’m sure he’s dying to tell you.’
THIRTY
I needed a drink. I needed something stronger than a drink. From the train window the world swam by, swirling and backflipping and doing its best to make me vomit.
I’d been sure, so convinced by Nina’s desperation on the phone, certain Evan was Victor. He’d threatened her that night at the apartment, but outside the cinema she’d seen Evan from across the street, and maybe only from behind. Was Evan the cloaked figure that turned good guys bad, or had she got the wrong guy?
Then it hit me. If TC Guy was telling the truth about Nina, that she’d been delusional, then why did her imaginary Victor look like Evan? A man she never met and didn’t know? How could I take the word of a man who’d been stalking me? But then if Evan was the ringleader, why did he owe Mickey half a million dollars?
Evan had to be involved. Evan had said he wasn’t Victor, TC Guy said Evan wasn’t Victor, but Evan had lied, he did know Mickey Delacro, someone he’d flat out refused to acknowledge. Not only that, but he owed the scumbag money, and a shed load of money. Lastly, he’d lied about Nina. If Mickey and Evan were financially involved, he had to know what’d happened to her. He had to know she’d been murdered.
It was time for the truth, and the real truth.
‘I’m working double duty for them, and as of last week I have a “desk” job. Go figure,’ Evan announced in the lounge between shifts, a strained laugh expelled into the bargain. ‘I’ve got an hour, then I’m back to it. Single-handedly dragging murder confessions out of kids. It’s all in a day’s work for the best detective in Chicago. Isn’t that right, honey?’
In the mirror above the fireplace, the sweat sat on Evan’s face like he’d stood in the rain too long. His eyes bulged out of his head and he’d done and undone that tie at least three times. I failed to repay his humour with a smile, and from behind my wine glass on the sofa, executed my steeliest glare.
It was eight in the evening, and after returning from The Principe, I’d spent most of the day on the terrace, staring out at the skyline. I was hoping the city would surrender some answers seeing I was fresh out of them myself. I’d thought about leaving, about packing up what little I had and disappearing off the face of Evan’s earth, but I’d promised myself I’d stay until I could prove Evan was Victor, for Nina’s sake at least.
After Evan ceased fiddling with his tie, he walked over, took the chair opposite, reached to the coffee table for his protein shake and took a gulp.
‘Why do you owe Mickey Delacro half a million dollars?’ I asked after placing down my wine.
He spat the shake out over the coffee table, wiping his mouth on his shirt cuff as his expression morphed from pensive to horrified. ‘How the hell do you know that?’
Finally. A whiff of the truth. ‘I found the briefcase, Evan.’
‘What? I’m sorry. I meant, what?’
‘It was under my bed, or did you forget it was there? I went to The Principe. The address on the paper inside?’
‘Jesus! Why would you do that? You don’t know what you’re messing with.’
I folded my arms. ‘I met an interesting guy there, Evan. A guy in a trench coat.’
‘Now wait, I can explain. Mickey said he wanted to scare you is all.’
‘So, you do know Mickey. You knew I was chased by a guy in a trench coat and you wanted to take me to a doctor, after convincing me I was hallucinating?’
He moved to sit beside me on the sofa, his head momentarily resting in his hands. ‘Yes. Yes, I know Mickey. I’m sorry I lied, but I had no choice.’
‘What am I supposed to believe? Did Mickey really send that guy to follow me, or did you? I mean, you tried to convince me I was imagining it all.’
‘Me? Why would I send anyone to follow you? Oh yeah, I’m evil Victor.’
I pursed my lips. ‘Our friend at The Principe says Victor doesn’t exist.’
‘Maybe he doesn’t, I don’t know. All I know about Victor is what you
’ve told me. You don’t get it. I’m sorry I lied to protect you, I am, but the money, Nina being dead, which I swear I didn’t know about, and that I owe Mickey Delacro? It’s because of you. I owe Mickey half a million dollars because of you.’
I clutched my hands to my chest. ‘What’s it got to do with me?’
‘Honey, you told the girlfriend of a dirty cop I murdered a man in cold blood. How long do you think she kept that to herself?’
With a cautious smile, I called his bluff. ‘No. You’re lying. Nina wouldn’t tell Mickey, she was my friend.’
‘Mickey knows I killed Joe. That’s why he’s blackmailing me! I never told anyone, the guy was engaged to your friend, and you think somebody else told him? How long had you known her, a couple of months? And you’d trust her with your life? With a secret like that? Mickey came to see me a week ago, introducing himself and the fine-grade, delicious-tasting dirt he had on me. When he asked who Joe Petrozzi was, I knew. I knew you’d opened your mouth.’
‘I . . .’
‘Only two people knew about Joe: you and me. It didn’t take long before I realised Mickey’s fiancée Nina and your friend Nina were the same person. How stupid I’d been, thinking you could keep quiet. First it was a hundred thousand for Mickey to forget what he knew, then one became two. When Mickey told me he wanted to meet at The Principe, I scraped the money together and put it in the briefcase, waiting to be summoned, but the amount kept rising. As of today’s phone call it’s five hundred grand. I thought I could pay, without you finding out. I wanted to keep you out of it, and then you go psycho on me, accusing me of masterminding the whole damn thing.’
It took a moment before I could find the words. ‘Why didn’t you just tell me? I nearly called the police.’
‘We already had the Zupansky problem and then your ex turned up. There was already enough to worry about. Don’t you see? I’ve been trying to protect you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.’
As the pieces slotted into place, I was left drowning in yet more guilt. ‘So, you didn’t know Mickey?’ I asked, in my tiniest voice.
‘Not until last week. And now Nina’s dead? This is who we’re dealing with. A man who killed his own fiancée.’
My tears fell like the raindrops I’d traced on the car window, when we’d driven through the acres of fertile farmland with a body in the boot. As Evan’s arm snaked around my shoulders, this time I didn’t push him away.
‘I knew about Mickey. I’d heard about a dirty cop from District 43 that IA wanted to pin some missing drugs on, but that’s all I knew,’ he murmured in my ear. ‘Until he confronted me last week, I’d never seen the guy before. At first it seemed simple. By the time I paid Mickey off, Joe would’ve been forgotten and I could’ve taken the transfer to LA. You could’ve left too. Mickey did say it’s a voluntary payment, but that probably means Detectives Becker and Green waiting for me with a big gun if I don’t bring them a briefcase full of unmarked bills.’
As he pulled away, I watched a man full of regrets pushed up against the wall. His tears collected, matching my own, and although he feigned a squint to blink them away, his expression wasn’t so easily disguised.
‘I know you don’t care. It wouldn’t surprise me if you left. God, you think I’m this Victor guy and all I’ve been trying to do is keep you away from the drama, but now . . . I need your help.’
‘And I want to help.’
‘But you still hate me. Right before I shot Joe, all I could think of was your bloodied face. I knew, if I allowed him to live, you wouldn’t for long. Then, after Joe, I wanted to treat you with respect, like you deserved. So what did I do? Lie to you, keep secrets, and now I owe Mickey a ton of money I don’t have.’
‘You have cash, Evan. What about the briefcase under the bed? That’s a start.’
‘Exactly. A start. That’s all it is.’
‘Then what about the apartment? Surely you’d get a fortune for a place like this.’ I glanced around encouragingly, but Evan only shook his head.
‘It’s leased. All this belongs to some hot shot lawyer from Albuquerque.’
‘You said this apartment was yours—’
‘I know what I said. I wanted to impress you. Nice apartment equals nice guy, right?’ Again Evan’s head sunk. ‘Jesus, where am I going to get half a million dollars? There’s two hundred already in the case, but unless my numbers come up, Mickey might as well put a gun to my head and pull the trigger. What did Mr F say? About the money?’
‘Mr F?’
‘Mickey has this thing. They’re all assigned a letter. Mr F, Mr S, Mr W, Mr E. Soon he’ll have the whole goddamn alphabet on his payroll. Mr F is your dangerous trench coat man.’
‘He said . . . he said you have two days to pay.’
He puffed out his cheeks. ‘Jesus. I’m a dead man. Pure and simple.’
‘And what if you don’t pay him?’ I suggested.
Evan sat back up, giving me a sly grin. ‘You mean kill him? Are you crazy? I wouldn’t make it down the street.’
‘That’s not what I mean. You can take the LAPD transfer and before you hand over wads of cash. It’s been a month, Evan. Joe hasn’t been mentioned since Zupansky, and if you left now Mickey would never find you; you or me. We’d be free.’
‘Come on, Mickey works for the CMP. He’d know. I request the transfer and I might as well stick a target on my back. I can’t run. I’d have a price on my head.’
If there was one thing I had learnt from this mess, it was secrets were sometimes better left just that: secrets. ‘You’ll get the money.’
‘You have cash, don’t you?’ There was a touch of desperation to his tone as Evan tried his best not to meet my gaze.
I decided to play dumb. ‘What cash?’
‘The cash you spend on designer dresses that could finance a small revolution. Honey, come on. The guy is going to kill me. It’s a big ask, I know, but do you have three hundred grand?’ It was then his gaze raised to mine.
‘Three hundred? I . . .’
‘I have two freaking days before he blows my head off. Pulling together the two hundred used up all my favours. Three more and we’re out of the woods. Please. I’m begging you here. Can you help me out?’
Maybe it was the little Zupansky on my shoulder, but nothing about Evan’s pleading felt right. I’d thought Evan was Victor, telling myself whatever he did and said would never let me forget that. In my gut, down in the pit of my stomach, suspicion replaced the guilt.
‘You know what? Thanks for nothing,’ Evan grunted, addressing my silence. ‘I got to go to work.’
It didn’t take long before he’d slammed the lounge door behind him. I watched it, patiently, waiting for Evan to walk back through it, but he didn’t. If I didn’t know what to believe before, I was clueless now.
Taking my phone from the coffee table, I dialled Nina’s number before dropping the phone like it was made of white-hot ash. Shaking, I realised I’d spent the last days of Nina’s life wishing I could apologise and start afresh, but I’d been too proud, too afraid of what she’d say ‒ that she’d laugh in my face and run and tell Zupansky everything. Now I only wanted her back, but Nina was never coming back.
The Albuquerque lawyer’s sumptuous apartment, the breath-taking views of the lake beyond; it no longer sustained any attempt at happiness, especially now Evan was living on borrowed money and borrowed time. Now I understood how fragile our existence had become.
It felt like I could sleep for forever. Heading to the bedroom to change, I instead detoured to inspect my nepenthe. The pills lay sleeping in their little perfume box, right where I’d left them. Back in London, the doctor insisted four pots of Andlixcen would be plenty but I’d demanded more, pleading to be rescued from the deep caverns and dark holes that, if left unchecked, would swallow my world for good. And now I was back. The girl popping pills like dolly mixtures. And why the hell not? Not only was a determined cop after us but a deranged one as well. Joe was dead. Nina
was dead. I didn’t need any more excuses to get comfortably numb.
I was on countdown. One day the car behind wouldn’t brake in time, tomorrow I’d step in front of that bus too late; death was around every corner, an army of reapers choosing how and when to take me.
I was in bed when the front door slammed past 3am. I waited for Evan to head for the living room as part of his late shift ritual, turning the sports channels to high volume, but he didn’t. Instead, I heard him in the bathroom, running the water in the sink.
‘Evan?’ I peered around the door, bleary eyed with my head thumping. There was blood on the marble. His shirt was saturated with claret.
‘I’m fine,’ Evan breathed, resting his weight on the side of the sink bowl.
His reflection consisted of a blackened eye and bleeding lip while a small cut perforated his cheek. Over the sink he struggled to catch his breath before, in earnest, he ripped his shirt away. Evan’s chest and arm muscles were peppered with small cuts, which drained the colour from his face at a leisurely pace. Wiping his hands on the bath towel, he tarred its purity with bright red blood.
Looking to me in the doorway, he turned away before grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and cotton wool from the side shelf and pushing past me into the hall.
‘Who did this to you?’ I asked, trailing after him in my silk slip and dishevelled eye mask. ‘Who did this?’
In the lounge, he placed his first aid kit on the coffee table and took a seat on the sofa. He began dabbing the cuts gingerly, wincing and smarting as he did.
‘Who did this?’ I asked again, softer this time, as I took the seat beside him.
‘Who do you think? How about the guy we owe half a million dollars to? He’s making sure we pay.’
‘But you still have time.’
He pointed to his face. ‘Does this look like we still have time? We’re talking about Mickey here.’
‘But you’re a cop. What’ll your captain say?’
‘So what? So what if I walk into the station looking like I’ve gone ten rounds with Klitschko? I’m a goddamn walking advertisement for anyone in Mickey’s debt. This?’ He pointed to his face. ‘This is a warning, honey. Pay up or it gets a damn sight worse for us.’
The Good Kind of Bad Page 28
