by David Hewson
He returned to the four men with him on the terrace. “You’re all straight about this? You know what’s got to be done?”
Bucci nodded.
“No doubts?” Neri said. “No more questions? When we leave here, it’s a one-way trip. You don’t get to change your minds. None of us.
“You wake up tomorrow morning and this is a different world. You wake up the day after and you’re talking to Bruno here. He’s your boss and he’ll be a good man. Plus you know what you get from me in the way of gratitude. You’ll be happy guys. Rich guys. You got opportunities. This city’s yours. Understand?”
They were sound men. They wouldn’t let him down.
“You gotta understand this too,” Neri added. “No fuck-ups. We got no room for them. Any one of you fucks up it reflects on everyone else. So everyone else gets to pass judgement on you. That clear?”
“They got that, boss,” Bucci said.
“I hope so,” Neri muttered then sucked on the dying cigar and threw the stub over the railings, watching the red light flare as it fell. “You know when the cops are coming?”
“Soon. Maybe half an hour.”
“And you think we can get out of here clean?”
“Piece of cake,” Bucci said confidently. “We get your car up front really quickly. Franco here bundles inside. Then he’s gone like he’s running for his life. Stupid bastards will be after him straightaway. We got some more cars out back. We just crawl off through the Campo. They’ll never see us.”
Neri stared at him. “You know that? You paid your dues to these bastards?”
“Yeah.”
“See?” Neri said, stabbing a finger at Bucci. “You got a guy here who knows how to handle himself. You look after me. Then he looks after you. That’s how it works. Now you wait for me downstairs. I want to talk to the family. Bruno, you send Mickey up. I want things straight with him.”
They left without saying another word. Neri sat down at the big table. Crumbs from breakfast were still on it. There was a noise at the door then Mickey stumbled in, looking lost, scared.
He got up and walked over to the kid, took him in his arms, kissed him on both cheeks.
“Mickey, Mickey. Son. Why are you looking so fucking miserable? This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it? To become a made man?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled.
Neri tweaked his cheek. “You’re still mad at me? Over our little falling out earlier? Mickey. If I hear stuff like that I got to ask. You understand that, don’t you?”
Mickey stared at the floor. “That was asking?”
“Yeah.” Neri laughed. “So your old man’s a bastard. Why d’you think you live in a place like this? Why d’you think you never went short of a damn thing? That little scene is behind us now. I’m giving you the present I should have given you years ago. This is your coming of age, son. You got to go through with it. I blame myself for not letting you get on with it earlier. I’ve pampered you, Mickey, and that was wrong. A father wants to shield his boy from all the shit you get in the world. Can’t blame him for that. But it don’t work. Not forever. Every man’s got to prove himself sometime. Now’s your chance.”
He embraced him again, squeezing hard.
“You’re not scared, are you?” Neri whispered. “Tell me. You can be frank with your own father.”
“No.” He looked terrible. He was back on the dope again, Neri guessed. “It’s just—”
“There’s nothing wrong with being scared, Mickey. It clears your head sometimes. First time I killed a man I was real terrified. He was some old asshole who was pimping out in Monti. Wouldn’t pay his dues. Thought he was bigger than he was. I stood outside that pit of his with a shotgun underneath my coat for ten minutes, wondering if I’d got the guts to go inside. Then you know what?”
“What?” Mickey wondered. His blonde hair looked more stupid than ever. Neri wondered if he’d been piling on the dye that evening, as if it might protect him from something.
“I realized if I didn’t kill him, some fucker would come along and kill me. That’s the way it works in this business. Sometimes you don’t get choices. You just go out and do your job. And . . .” Neri drew Mickey close and whispered in his ear, “. . . you want to know something else? It gets easier. The first time, you got doubts, you wonder what it’s like when the light goes out in some poor bastard’s eyes. You’ll be thinking that, won’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“No. For sure. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t. The point is . . . second time it ain’t so bad. Third time out, you’re curious. You’re watching, wondering what’s going on in his head. You’re looking into his face and thinking, hey, maybe I’m doing the moron a favour! He gets to know some big secret quicker than me. Huh?”
He grinned and slapped the kid on the shoulder. “Except there is no big secret. Fourth time out you know that for sure. They’re just breathing one moment and gone the next. Which is as it should be. So after that you don’t even think about it at all. If it’s some scumbag you hate you even get some pleasure out of it too. Trust your old man. It’s in your blood, Mickey. Once you get the feel it just comes natural.”
He didn’t look convinced. He didn’t look as if he were all there. “Why a cop?”
“Because that’s what I need. Does that worry you?”
“No one likes it when a cop gets killed.”
Neri wrinkled his nose, not liking what he was hearing. “Depends on the cop.” He nodded downstairs. “You got to make your mark. You’re the boss’s son. Don’t ever forget it. You’ll never get to lead them if they think you’re on the same level. Understand?”
Mickey nodded. Neri leaned forward and took the gun from his son’s jacket. He examined it carefully, checking the magazine, ensuring it was fully loaded.
“Killing someone’s the easiest thing in the world, provided you do it right. Just walk up, pop the bastard quick in the head, and it’s done. Work on it, Mickey. It’s a talent you’re going to need. On your way now.”
“And afterwards?”
A shifty look crossed Neri’s face. “Didn’t I mention that? Afterwards things get a little hot for all of us around here. Best we don’t hang around this place for a while. We’re going to be flexible for the next few days. You just keep that phone of yours switched on.”
“What? Where am I supposed to go?”
He was so slow. Sometimes Neri wondered whether he really was the kid’s father at all.
He handed the gun back. “I’ll call. Trust your old man. He’s got your best interests at heart.”
Mickey shoved the pistol back into his jacket. “OK,” he murmured listlessly.
“And when you see Adele tell her to come up here. I want to talk to her.”
Neri had been thinking about this side of things. Maybe there was another way of dealing with it. But that would have been indulgent. That could have wider repercussions. He didn’t want to complicate matters any more than necessary. “You know, now I come to think about it, I never should have swallowed that story about you and her. I always did believe the bad stuff about you and that’s unfair. I owe you an apology, son. You never did get on with Adele, did you? You and her just rub each other up the wrong way.”
“Never did,” the kid said, not quite able to meet Neri’s eyes.
Costa was walking down the corridor to the big conference room for Falcone’s briefing when she came round the corner.
“You look terrible,” Teresa Lupo croaked.
He stopped and squinted at her, trying to work out what was going on. “I do?”
“No. I just wanted to say it first.”
Then she coughed into a fistful of tissues and stared at him with pink, watery eyes.
“Actually,” he said, “you don’t look bad at all. It’s amazing what drugs can do.”
“Lying cop bastard—” she mumbled.
“Ah, ah, ah. You’re feverish. You have to try to keep the temperature down.”
&nb
sp; “I ought to be in bed feeling sorry for myself. But then that asshole Falcone did the worst thing. Unbelievable.” She looked hurt for a moment. “He apologized. Can you believe that?”
Costa thought about this. “No. Do you have it on tape?”
“I wish. I doubt I shall hear its like again.”
“I doubt any of us will. So what are you doing?”
“Oh, just came in to fill in an expense form. Pick up my mail. Scratch my ass. Doesn’t seem much for the likes of me to do around here. Or did I get that wrong?”
“Teresa—” he said, and took a step towards her.
“Don’t stand too close. Germs. If I start infecting his men he’ll just get mad at me again.”
“Are you OK?”
“No.” She shrugged. “But I’m back to being as mad as I was before. I’m sorry, Nic. I don’t know what came over me. It was the thought of that poor kid being out there somewhere, abandoned, all because of me. And with you guys thinking about nothing but the lovely Barbara. Having people try to kill you is somewhat unsettling, I find.”
“I’d go along with that.”
“Of course!” She brightened a little. “Finally, we do have something in common. We could discuss it over dinner. Nightmares we have known.”
“Not till this is over,” he said. “Which it will be. Soon, I hope.”
She nodded towards the room. Officers were steadily filtering through the door. A lot of them. Most of the Questura’s denuded complement by the look of things.
“You have that look about you, I must say. Is it promising?”
He tried to look confident. “I think so.”
She sniffed again and didn’t look too convinced. “That’s good. So what am I supposed to do if you smart-asses have it all wrapped up? Why is boss man practicing his apology routine on me?”
“You could deal with the autopsy queue perhaps. Your deputy looks ready to crack up.”
“Silvio always looks ready to crack up. You have to give these people some room from time to time, Nic. Can’t mother them every waking moment of the day.”
“Point taken. How about this? Take a look at Eleanor Jamieson. See if there’s any DNA we can use.”
Her pink eyes grew bigger. “DNA? As I keep pointing out to people around here, she’s been in a peat swamp for sixteen years. What do you think I am? A miracle worker?”
“Yeah. That’s what Falcone wants anyway. And while you’re at it, we’d really love to know who Kirk phoned while he had you locked in that office.”
She put a finger to her cheek. “Oh, let me think now. Can I remember the ring tones? Beep, beep, fucking beep. No, you just lost me there.”
“You asked. I answered. Now I’ve got to go. Bad guys to catch. Missing girls to find.”
She was dabbing at her nose again, looking a little happier for the conversation anyway. “Have you talked to the university woman since I stormed in there? Regina Morrison?”
He shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. Why should we?”
“Regina was Kirk’s new boss. Somewhere in those files of hers she must have a list of every archaeological dig he’s ever worked on. Him being dead and what, I can’t check this out for sure. But where do you think a man like that would hide someone?”
Costa nodded. “Where did that thought come from?”
“I was putting myself in your shoes. Or at least I was trying to imagine what it was like being a cop.”
Teresa didn’t say it this time but he got the message. They should have thought of it themselves. They would have, if there’d been the time and the people to manage the workload.
“Thanks,” he said, and walked down the corridor, the last man to enter the room.
Adele Neri didn’t bother to put on a jacket when she went outside. Maybe she hadn’t expected to be there long.
“You’re shivering. Here.” Neri shrugged off his overcoat, walked behind her, and placed it on her bare, slim shoulders.
“You’re thoughtful tonight,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
“That tongue of yours is getting too sharp, Adele. It never used to be like that.”
He sat down at the table, making a point of brushing away the crumbs. She joined him there, in the seat directly opposite, looking uncomfortable, looking as if she were struggling to read his mood.
“We’re just at that stage of being married,” she said. “Where some of the sheen’s come off.”
He scowled. It was a lame suggestion. “Is that right? I don’t recall it being like this with anyone else. Not with Mickey’s mother. We were working. Then we weren’t working. Couldn’t keep our hands off each other one moment. Couldn’t stand the sight of each other the next. It doesn’t feel like that now. Not for me. For you . . . I dunno. You’re young. Tell me, Adele. Does the sight of me turn you on? Thinking about how old I am and that?”
There was a flash of edginess in her bright green eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Why would you even think such a thing?”
“Why? Because I’m an ugly old man. Fat too. And you. Look at you. You can’t walk down the street without some kid giving you the eye.”
“Kids never interest me. You know that.”
“And I did interest you?”
“You do.”
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe it’s just the money. I don’t know any longer, Adele. The thing is, we got to spend a little time apart. That’s a practical matter. All this trouble I’ve got. There’s no reason to fuck your life too. It’s none of your business.”
She gave him an acid glance. Maybe she thought he was fishing for sympathy. “I’m your wife. Your problems are my problems. If—”
“No, no, no,” he interrupted. “You don’t need to give me that shit. You don’t have to pretend. We don’t have time. Let me put it another way. I don’t want you involved in what’s going down right now. That’s for selfish reasons too. It’s men’s stuff. We got things to do a woman shouldn’t have to know about. You’d complicate matters.”
He looked at her from across the table and felt no feelings for her. “Maybe some people are going to get hurt. If I have you close it might give the wrong impression. As if you’re part of it or something. Some of these southern families . . . you’d think the women are running them sometimes. Don’t work like that here. I want you separate from me because I don’t want to have to wonder what that mouth of yours is saying. Understood?”
She bridled at his suggestion. “I wouldn’t talk out of turn.”
“Who knows what anyone would do once those bastards from the DIA come calling? The cops I can deal with. These others—”
He looked at his watch. “The point is I’m going now and I don’t know when I’ll be back. If I’ll be back. We need some time apart.”
She nodded. Neri was unsure whether she was upset or not. “Where will you be?”
He gave her a glassy, dead-eyed look and said nothing.
“How will I contact you, Emilio? I’m your wife.”
He stifled a laugh. “Don’t worry. There’s money in the bank. You can pay bills. Buy stuff. Do whatever you like. Give me a couple of months. Then I’ll be in touch. Maybe we’ll have a second honeymoon. Maybe we’ll be ready for that by then. If you feel otherwise, I’ll call the lawyers. It’d be best to do it friendly if we can.”
“And now?” She looked as if she wanted to scream at him for behaving like this. She just didn’t dare. “What do I do now?”
He waved an arm around the terrace. “Stay here. You got a beautiful house. You can bring back all those servants you love. I know how much you hate cleaning up yourself. I could never stand the idea of servants. Myself I gave you your head on that one. Maybe I was wrong. Who’d want strangers in their own home? But hell, when I’m gone I don’t care what you do.” He made sure this last point came across clearly. “I don’t care who you see. I don’t care how you spend your time.”
She got up and took off his coat, laying it on his lap.
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“You’ll be needing this,” she said.
“Yeah. Tell me one thing, Adele.”
“What?”
“You ever been unfaithful to me? Not that it matters anymore. I don’t care right now. I got bigger things to think about.”
“Why would I do that?” she asked.
“I dunno. For the sex. For the hell of it. Or maybe—” It occurred to him that neither of these would really move a woman like Adele. “Because it suited you.”
“Those are little reasons. Too small to get yourself killed for.”
He laughed. “Yeah. You’re right. You’re a smart girl. That’s what impressed me most about you in the beginning. I never liked stupid women.”
“Thanks,” she muttered.
“Just remember this. Things have got to come out in balance at the end. Some American creep kills one of my men. I do something in return. Someone screws with me. I screw with them. Except I do it better. Bigger. I make it final. I win because that’s how the balance is, that’s my place. This is serious stuff, Adele. You don’t want to go pushing your pretty face into it. Believe me.”
He stood up, walked over to her, kissed her on the cheek. Just one short kiss.
“You just stay here. Watch TV. Make yourself a drink. And when the cops come, you tell them nothing. Say I went fishing. OK?”
Outside a familiar engine was gunning hard. Tyres were burning along the cobblestones of the Via Giulia. Emilio Neri knew what this meant. The first part of the deception was under way.
“Ciao,” he said, and waddled towards the stairs.
It was a cold, clear night, bright with stars and the silver disc of a waxing moon. The police convoy, a marked car at its head, blue light flashing, siren screaming, cut straight through the evening rush hour. Falcone rode with Costa and Peroni just ahead of the heavily manned riot van that was the last in the line. The radio was hot with chatter and none of it sounded good. The plainclothes men stationed outside Neri’s had reported the sudden departure of his car just fifteen minutes before. One team had detached itself to give chase but lost the vehicle somewhere over the river. The second saw two more vehicles scream away from a rear alley and were left standing in the street, with no chance of pursuit.
