Headstone City Part 14

Sure, you look around and your neighbors are flowing in and out, some catching your eye but most just going about their business. That's how it had to be in Headstone City. The same way Dane had to be when he walked in here the last time and found corpses all over the floor.

He tried to bear up under the weight of his promise to JoJo Tormino, the ring still in his pocket. Struggling not to think of Maria Monticelli right now even though he had no control over it.

Imagining her turning her head with her hair flipping back, revealing the side of her neck as she drew forward.

"Lordy, my pa would skin my back if he saw me acting with such poor manners," Cogan said, reaching to shake Dane's hand, clasping it firmly. "I'm Special Agent Daniel Ezekiel Cogan."

"Let me ask you," Dane said. "I've always wondered about something. The regular agents, do they get jealous of you special types?"

More of Cogan's teeth came out for show, but his eyes hardened the slightest bit. "I think you can help me, Johnny."

"How so?"

"Don't you want to know what's in it for you first?"

"No," Dane said.

Cogan gave Dane a long look without altering his expression, deciding what his next move should be. At the end of it he pursed his lips and said, "h.e.l.lfire, son, I just want some information."

"Yeah, I figured that much out. The fact that the 'I' part in FBI means investigation sort of pointed me in that direction, you know? So what are you after?"

"Anything."

Dane said, "I've got to ask, does this tactic work for you often? Sitting across from guys saying, 'Hey, tell me about whatever'? It just doesn't seem too practical to me."

"I want help with the Monticellis."

Still playing it close to the vest, not wanting to give away any information. Use Dane, give him as few details as possible, then when it-whatever it was-went down, drop him in a world of s.h.i.t and let him sink.

Dane tried to focus, but he couldn't stop seeing Maria. Seeing her beauty in his head always gave him a rush of giddy schoolboy joy, and who didn't need more of that in their day? "You sound like you've got a grudge."

Was that it? Had the feds gone after the Don and somehow missed him? Were careers on the line?

"Naw, nothing like that. Your friend Vincenzo's just been investing money outside his usual orbits. That sort of thing makes us special agents perk up some." Cogan kept staring over Dane's shoulder at the counter. He finally couldn't take it anymore and said, "I think I got to have me one of them napoleons. They good here?"

"Yes," Dane said. "My grandmother says they're the very best, and believe me, that woman knows pastry. I'll get us a couple. You want more coffee?"

"I'd appreciate that, son."

The new girl at the counter took his order without expression. He got Grandma Lucia's desserts in a pink box tied with string, a napoleon and a cup of coffee on a tray. Cogan took one bite of the pastry and groaned with delight.

Dane waited, wondering if this was the type of unbalanced fed they stuck in the field when everything else failed. Hoping he'd get results no matter how he did it, then retire him early.

"Anyway, about Don Pietro," Cogan said. "The old man's still pretty sharp but he doesn't get his hands dirty anymore. He leaves all that to his sons, and that Roberto, he mainly just wants to shoot c.r.a.ps and get laid."

"Yeah?"

"All that money and he spends most of his time prowling around down by the river for wh.o.r.es. The real kinky jobs usually. Those there trannies. Latinos mostly. Ugly ones too, the ones that ain't gotten the whole procedure done yet, still got their danglin' w.i.l.l.i.e.s."

That got Dane's attention. He tried picturing Berto down by the Brooklyn Bridge, paying fifty bucks for half'n'half from a chick with a d.i.c.k. "If you're in close enough to see that, what do you need me or anybody else for?"

"Like most of the families, they're smart about business but dumb as a bag'a hammers about almost everything else."

Dane said, "Still sounds like you've got them in your sights."

Carefully wiping his fingers with his napkin, now unfolding his sungla.s.ses and putting them back on, Cogan grinned, some sugar clinging to his lips. Getting serious, covering his eyes. "I want you to help me bust it down."

"It's already busted down. They're legit now."

"Just 'cause everybody says it don't make it true. There's still plenty of juice in the Monticelli family."

"Maybe. What new orbits is Vinny laboring in?"

"You already know, don't you?"

Still unwilling to say anything. Hoping Dane would roll over out of fear. Yeah, this Cogan had a grudge all right, and was probably flying without much official say-so. He was off the radar.

"Now, I don't suppose you know who did JoJo Tormino in here?" Cogan asked.

"Three Monti shooters, probably new guys trying to make their bones. JoJo said Roberto Monti was behind it."

That took Cogan back some. He really hadn't been expecting an answer. "That right? Why you think?"

"He was mad because JoJo was in love with his sister Maria."

Cogan appeared thoughtful. "You folks with that there Mediterranean blood sure do get your drawers twisted easy."

"Not like you Hatfields and McCoys, eh?"

That got a laugh out of the fed, who tipped himself back in his chair, turning his face aside while he pondered what he'd toss at Dane next. "Oh, by the way-"

"Yeah?"

"Those two who came after you in the joint? Who told the guards they were really fighting each other?"

"Uh-huh." Cogan was definitely plugged in if he knew about that. He had some reach. "Kremitz and Mako."

"Tha's right, those are them. Well, they got themselves into even more of a jam. See, they were recuperating okay from their knife wounds they, ah, allegedly inflicted upon each other-"

Christ, everybody had to work on their sense of subtlety. "Yeah? And what happened to them?"

"Last night they were force-fed poisoned cocaine in the infirmary. Well, we don't really know if they were forced to do it, you see? Maybe they were just tryin' to get high and somebody made sure they got a bad batch."

Saying nothing more than that, waiting for Dane to ask the question.

"Either of them make it?"

"Both, but they're on life support, in comas. Doctors ain't sure if they'll pull through or be brain-damaged or what all yet."

When you got right down to it, the Monticelli clan hired some real s.h.i.theads to do their dirty work for them. They were sloppy and spent more time cleaning up after their own mistakes than getting the job done.

Cogan finished his coffee, reached into his wallet, and pulled out a business card. Dane was surprised that there wasn't only a phone number but a city address. A ritzy hotel around the corner from Glory Bishop.

"You come by some night and we'll chat. Anytime. I'm easy to get hold of."

Dane took the card and said, "I might just do that."

They stood, shook hands, and walked out of the bakery together, Dane carrying the pink box. Cogan made a left down the block and Dane went right, turned the corner, and watched with mild surprise as the boy with the sick brain stepped up.

He was just suddenly standing there, leering so wide that the corners of his mouth had split and leaked a little blood. He still had on his hospital jammies and slippers.

"If you've got something to say to me," Dane told him, "let's hear it. In English."

The kid c.o.c.ked his head at that, and the smirk eased up enough that his lips managed to cover his teeth.

He took a step forward and his knees nearly buckled. Dane moved to catch the boy and felt a sense of loving, encompa.s.sing warmth, but no weight.

The boy followed him home and in through the front door without ever saying a word. Dane lay on the couch and stared at his grandmother eating her dessert while she watched soap operas and got ready for bingo.

She finished her cannoli, got her coat and kerchief on, and stood in the doorway. She looked at Dane with concern. "What's'a matter for you?"

"Nothing."

"Don't tell me that, you've been on pins all evening. What? That dead girl bothering you again? She's got nothing better to do, that one. Always with the sa.s.sy mouth, I hear her sometimes."

"No, Grandma."

"The mess at Chooch's? With the gun and the shooting the strunzo in the leg? You only did what had to be done. You should be proud, not taking s.h.i.t off one of those strong arms. They watch a few cable television shows, a couple Scorsese movies, and suddenly they're mobsters?"

"I know. It's not that."

"Don't mope, it's not healthy," she said, and shut the door.

Dane sat back and stared into the boy's eyes, looking deeply, hunting for intelligence and answers.

"Is there anything going on in there?" he asked.

"Yes," the boy with the twisted head answered.

Then he pressed the side of his face against Grandma's afghan and appeared to go to a comforting, but not yet eternal, sleep.

SIXTEEN.

Glory Bishop, on her stomach naked in bed, read through a pile of scripts with one leg tapping the air while Dane ran his hand over her thigh.

She'd wanted another go in the funky swing, but he thought maybe he was just too old-fashioned at heart. He couldn't get over the nagging fear that if they got too wild, they might go out the window.

Now he listened to her tinkling the ice cubes of her White Russian, talking about the s.h.i.tty screenplays that her agent kept sending on.

"This one here," she said. "I should fire the b.a.s.t.a.r.d for even wasting my time with it. Another horror movie. Naked bimbo in the woods running with her t.i.ts out while a serial killer stalks her. She's screaming her a.s.s off, swims through an icy river-"

Dane pictured it and thought it might be something he'd like to watch. Glory Bishop in the water. Every dumba.s.s flick should have one scene like that, so if you caught it on cable late at night, you'd sit there waiting for it to come around. Her agent wasn't so stupid.

"-she makes it to the other sh.o.r.e and the killer slips out from behind a tree and uses a wrench on her. Go through all that because the male audience wants hard nipples. No mention of this wrench up until now. No mention of how in the h.e.l.l the bad guy managed to get to the other side of the river and still be in dry clothes. This bimbo role, it has exactly thirty-two lines, half of them are screams."

She leaned over and showed him the page. Dane read the dialogue. Augh. Yeee. No, please, I'll do anything you want. Wah.

He asked, "These writers, they make a lot of money too?"

"Yeah, and this one is also directing." She started working her thigh against his hand, eyes shut and face softening for a second. "He figures he doesn't need characterization if he's stylish enough, with the angles and music. Lots of rainy shots at night and quick edits. He wants to play the role of the killer too."

"Sounds like he just wants a cheap feel but still say he was acting. While he wrenches you to death."

She reached over the side of the bed and brought up three more scripts. "This one, they're trying to pitch it as science fiction. Called Zypho: Creature from Beyond the Edge of s.p.a.ce. Monster with these p.e.n.i.slike tentacles tries to impregnate the all-female crew as they fly around the galaxy."

"In shiny latex outfits?"

"And high heels."

More lesbian scenes, Dane thought, shifting onto his side so he could stare at the curve of her jaw, where the light showed the soft blond hairs just beneath her ears. It couldn't be hard to make a profit in Hollywood just so long as you knew a few strippers.

He reached for her drink, took a sip, and nearly gagged. Jesus, Kaluha, the h.e.l.l did anybody ever drink it? "You got only regrets about doing Under Heaven's Canopy?"

"It sorts of annoys me that all anyone remembers is the pole scene. But I wouldn't call that a regret exactly." A crease appeared between her eyes. "Not yet anyway. Feels like it could become one."

He looked around the bedroom, stared through the open door at the living room beyond, thinking how this place probably ran about 2 million.

She picked up on it and told him, "It's not drug money that's paying the bills here. My husband really did make a lot of cash through his films, before he f.u.c.ked it all up. Property, stocks, a couple of good productions. The lawyers say more of his a.s.sets will be frozen soon. I need to start getting back into the game."

Dane wondered why, then, if she needed to play it so straight, was she bringing him along to premieres instead of some hot director or producer or actor? "You want to break into serious roles?"

"I'm not interested in doing Lady Macbeth, if that's what you mean. But I'd like a film with some real dialogue, a fleshed-out character behind it. Maybe keep my nipples under wraps."

"What kind of movies did the Monticelli clan want to invest in?" It was the second time he'd asked. The first was right after playing around with the swing the other night, after Vinny had stepped in, then stepped back out of that particular existence. He didn't get an answer then, as they got frisky in the funky seat.

"I'm not sure, but it had something to do with the daughter."

Dane's chest tightened. "How's that?"

"The old mobster's daughter. She wants to be in pictures. She wanted him to set her up with the beginning of a career. Like it's easy to do, buy your way into a production company, tell the investors your daughter's going to be the star, even though she's never even been in a high school play."