CHAPTER 23

Not Anymore

IT'S too late, Fast Eddie.”

“They don’t call me that anymore.”

Maria laughed. “Yeah, well maybe not to your face. Isn’t that right, Paris?’ She looked at the woman frozen behind Deluca then turned away, grabbed the cigarettes off the nightstand and took her time selecting one. She tapped it on the back of her hand then lit it and inhaled deeply.

Deluca said, “Haven’t you heard, Maria? Those things will kill you.”

Maria laughed. “Only if I’m lucky.” Smoke rode on her words. “How long do you think that would take, Eddie? Tell me, because I’ll smoke all day if I have to. Maybe I could just hook myself up to a machine.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’m dying, Eddie.” Maria snubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray then walked to the bed. “Doc says I have a few months, maybe a year, if I’m lucky.” She lowered herself to the edge of the bed then leaned back on her elbows and crossed her legs. The robe fell open to her lap. “Think I’ll be lucky, Eddie?”

“I think you’ll make a deal with the devil. You’ll outlive us all.” He looked at his watch.

“Going somewhere?” 

“Just waiting for someone.”

“Really? Company? Perhaps I should get dressed.”

Deluca shook his head. “That won’t be necessary. Jeremy won’t care. Actually, the less clothes the better, I’d think.”

Maria arched her brow. “Why Eddie, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you meant me harm. You aren’t threatening me, are you?”

Deluca laughed, fanned his arm over the cassette tapes and papers on the table. “Who’s threatening whom, Maria?”

“That’s not a threat, Eddie. It’s the truth.”

Deluca stared at her, then smiled. “Oh, I get it now.” He clapped his hands. “The Final Act. Dying broad sets the record straight, clears her name and her conscious and all that bullshit before she passes on to—to where, Maria? Think I don’t know what you and Lou Gallo did back then? Think I didn’t know you planted that gun for LeChance? Christ. I knew everything. King told me about the heroin, even offered me a piece of the action. It was all going so well.”

Deluca spoke to Paris but kept his eyes on Maria. “Paris, why don’t you call Jeremy and find out what’s keeping him. Stay close.”

Paris nodded to Maria and slipped something from her pocket onto the table of evidence before she crossed the suite to the bathroom and closed the door.

The mirror was still fogged, the air steamy with a touch of lavender. It might have been cozy until Paris remembered what was happening on the other side of the door. She rubbed her palm on the glass, cleared an oval for her face.

In the other room, Deluca stepped closer to Maria and stood over her. “We could have made things work.” 

Maria craned her neck to see his eyes. 

He reached out to stroke her cheek and ran his thumb from her temple to her chin. “God, you were something back then, you know it? Really hot.”

She blinked her large eyes at him.

“Yeah, you still got it, don’t you? I remember the first night we were together. When you came to me. You stood there in my shit-box apartment wearing that black raincoat.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “That black raincoat, and nothing underneath. God, you were beautiful, so damned beautiful.” He opened his eyes. “You asked me—you begged me—to help you. And I did, didn’t I? I would have done anything for you back then, Maria. All you had to do was ask.” 

He stepped back and murmured, “It wasn’t just about the sex.”

Maria scoffed. “It’s always about the sex, Eddie.” She stood up, wrapped the robe tighter. “Why would God give me this?” She ran her hands over her body. “If I wasn’t supposed to use it?”

She lit another cigarette, smiled at him. “I like to think of it as a barter. A kiss for a favor, dinner for a blowjob, a few minutes in the coat closet for a passing grade in science. A night of fun in a shit-box apartment on Franklin Street to keep me and my mother out of prison.” 

She walked away from him. “See, Eddie, everything has a price. And for most of my life, I could afford it. This time, the bill’s too high. It’s time for somebody else to pick up the tab.” 

Facing the window, Maria saw Deluca’s confusion reflected in the glass, his mouth open like he wanted to say something, his eyes hurt, then angry. She shifted to block the reflection, and waved her cigarette to the dark room across the street. 

There was a rustling sound behind her, then Deluca said, “You never really loved me, did you, Maria? Gallo was right. You’re a cold-hearted bitch.”

“Me?” Maria spun round, “What about you?”

Deluca held the Colt, the gun from the baggie. The same gun Chancy had used on King. The same gun Gallo had used on Moreno. He raised it and smiled.

“There’s something ahead.” Sailor pointed down the road.

Banning slowed down. “Local cops. Probably just a barroom brawl.”

“Stop.” Jeremy put his hand on Banning’s shoulder and leaned his face over the seat back. “Might be worth a look.”

Banning glanced at Sailor. She shrugged.

“Park over there.” Jeremy directed Banning to a dark corner of the convenience store lot. He pushed the duffle bags to the floor.

Sailor stepped out, stretched and looked around. It would have been pretty here if someone had cared enough to keep it up. She was no stranger to the country. Her Dad still took her to the lake house every year where they fished and paddled into tiny coves and bought their groceries from small stores like this one. Although in Connecticut they parked their Mercedes next to Range Rovers and Corvette convertibles, not pick-up trucks and Oldsmobiles, and they finished their meals with cognac and Cubans not Camels and Budweiser. 

Sailor and Banning followed Jeremy across the parking lot to the bar. 

Jeremy stood at the open door, saw the jukebox had taken a few rounds. Someone had dragged it away from the wall and pulled the plug. Twinkling Christmas lights that used to hang neatly over the bar drooped and dangled in a heap on the glass-strewn floor, their pattern of light and dark sending out a mysterious Morse code. A big cop knelt on the dance floor, cradling a woman’s head in his wide lap.

Another cop was head-to-head with a bloody, disheveled blonde at a corner table. The blonde cried and wiped her eyes and nose with a paper towel, smearing snot and blood and tears across her face. 

Across the room a man lay dead on the dance floor. It was easy to see he was dead. He was the one no one tended to. The one no one looked at. The spotlight that used to illuminate Theater Date Barbie, in her exquisite emerald green satin suit with matching pillbox hat, now shined on the dead man. A man Jeremy recognized as JR Pantaglioni. Junior Pants. One of Gallo’s boys. They were in the right place after all.

Jeremy whispered something to Sailor then said louder, “You might want to wait out here.” He tipped his chin to Banning, motioning for him to go first.

Banning stepped over the landing. 

“We’re closed.” The voice came from the blonde on the barstool. 

She spoke to their fractured reflections in the broken mirror, and rolling a glass between her hands she added, “For repairs,” then drained her drink and set the empty glass next to an empty bottle and heaved herself off the stool. 

“I’ll be outside, having a smoke,” she said to no one in particular. 

The cop with the bloody-faced blonde said, “Don’t go far, Kenita. We’ll need your statement too.” 

She raised her hand halfway, as if the rest of the gesture was too much effort, and kept walking.

Banning and Jeremy stepped out of the doorway and into the bar to allow her to pass. They looked around trying to appear thirsty, not curious. 

“I’m going to have to ask you fellas to leave.” 

The guy was like a lizard blending into his surroundings. Small little guy like that. What was he, a midget? Jeremy hadn’t even seen him there. 

“Need to protect the crime scene,” the cop said, waving his arm over the shot-up bar. “You understand, now.”

Banning said, “Hey, is that a 1971 Live Action Ken?’ He walked past Officer Tiny, past the overturned tables and over the broken glass. He glanced at the dead man, the fat cop and the wounded woman.

The small cop made noises with his mouth, then gave up and turned his attention to Jeremy. The other cops weren’t sure what to do with this Ken-loving guy and his beefed-up pal.

“He was a birthday present from my Dad,” Barbie said. She tried to sit up; the fat cop helped. “He said it would give Barbie someone to argue with.” She laughed sharply then winced and grabbed the bandage on her side. “Go ahead, batteries should still be good.” 

Banning ran his finger over the fringes of the doll’s suede vest and his molded plastic hair, then hit the switch that set the stand vibrating and made Ken dance. 

The fat cop yelled, “Hey!”

Banning turned the switch off and looked over his shoulder.

But the cop was speaking to Barbie, not him. “I didn’t know he could do that. How come you never showed me before?”

Barbie shrugged. “You never asked.”

The cop was about to say something, then remembered he wasn’t here for a history of collector dolls. He called to the tiny cop, “Duane, get these guys out of here, will you?” 

“It’s okay. We were just leaving,” Banning said.

Duane stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, and watched Sailor, Banning and Jeremy drive away. Kenita tipped her chin at the low-slung car. “Hope he doesn’t hit a deer in that thing. He won’t stand a chance.” 

In the car, Banning looked from Jeremy to Sailor. “What are we looking for?” 

Sailor glanced back at the bar. The small cop sat on the steps with Kenita. “She told me Reilly’s in a white van. The guy went after him in a red pickup.” Sailor looked at Jeremy. “He’s got a gun.” 

Jeremy smiled. “So do we.” He told Banning, “Head north. That’s where they’ll be. Then all we have to do is listen.” Banning looked confused. 

  

Paris heard Maria’s voice change from calm, cool and confident to something unfamiliar: hesitant; questioning.

She cracked open the door. Deluca had his back to the bathroom. Maria stood by the window, her face in shadows. There was a bright light on them from the building across the way. Paris checked her watch. Damn that Taylor Dunne. She was early. Paris was about to close the door and dial Taylor to give her an earful when Deluca shifted his position and she saw the gun. 

“Shit,” she whispered, easing the door shut. “Shit. Shit, shit.” She stabbed the buttons on her cell phone and sucked in a big breath.

Taylor answered immediately. “Paris! Sweetie! Where are you? The light is fantastic! I’m getting the whole thing. This is going to go national! You know that, don’t you? My God, you are brilliant. How did you know he’d go for the gun? This is my Pulitzer.”

Paris tried to muffle the bubbly voice of Taylor Dunne by jamming the phone harder against her ear. She cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered, “I didn’t.” 

Finally, silence. She steeled her jaw. “Taylor, listen to me. The gun is loaded. Do you understand? It’s loaded and it’s old. This is not fantastic, Taylor. Maria could get hurt. I could get hurt. This wasn’t part of the plan.”

“No. This is better! See, it’s more than you exposing Deluca, more than you bringing down Montgomery. This is big, Paris. This is Mafia-big. ”

Paris whispered, “Just get the cops up here, will you?” She hung up then looked at herself in the mirror. What the hell are you doing? She braced herself on the edge of the sink, took a deep breath and came up with Plan B.

Bursting from the bathroom, Paris said, “Damn cell phones!” She kept her eyes on the phone’s display. “I can’t get a signal in there. I’ll just step out in the hallway and make the call.” 

“Wait,” Deluca said.

Paris kept walking. It was only the sound of the Colt’s slide being drawn back that stopped her. She squeezed her face up, exhaled through her teeth then turned slowly. 

She said, “What are you doing?” She walked toward him gesturing broadly with her arms, to both make her point to the armed attorney and send a message to Taylor and the room of TV cameras across the alley. 

“Come on,” she said. “You got what you came for, let’s go. Don’t do this.”

Like all things unexpected, the miniature tape recorder chose that precise moment to click off. Deluca snapped his head toward the sound, dropping his bead on Paris. 

Maria saw the opportunity and lunged for Deluca. They went down in a flurry of terrycloth robe and imported pinstripes. Maria lashing out with her long nails, Deluca bloody-cheeked and throwing slaps and wild punches with his free hand. They rolled around, with Maria getting in a good gouge to Deluca’s eye. When he fell back, she went for the gun. He got to his feet, pulled his arm free and slapped her with the back of his hand and the gun barrel, cutting her lip and cheek. Then he switched hands and yanked her up with a fistful of hair. 

“Still feisty as ever,” he said, panting. Then he grinned. “But who has the gun now?’ 

She pulled against his grip. He released her suddenly, sending her stumbling backward and falling into the air conditioning unit beneath the window. She slid to the floor, her chest heaving. She touched her bloody lip, pushed the hair from her eyes then pulled herself upright. Her robe hung open exposing her large breasts and dark triangle of hair. 

Deluca adjusted his grip on the gun. “I know how to use one, in case you were wondering. Working for Gallo teaches a man all kinds of things.” He stepped toward Maria. “It could have been different. Jesus! It should have been. This—” He waved his empty hand, dropped it limply. “This isn’t where I’m supposed to end up. Not here. Not like this.”

Maria stood facing him, her back to the window.

Paris edged to the door as Deluca spoke. She reached behind her for the handle and started to push it down, only to have it yanked from her grasp as the door smashed open, pinning her between the wall and the painted wood.

“Freeze! Police!” 

Deluca pulled the trigger.