During the ride back from the hospital, Ray studied his reflection in the window of the limousine. The face staring back at him was painted black against the night. It was unmistakably his own, but the expression was nothing like any of Armando's. He'd seen his brother looking wretched and unhappy, but he'd never seen him scared.
Maybe he's just better at hiding it than me.
Ray turned away from the troubled image and instead stared at the back of his bodyguard's head. Next to the bodyguard sat the chauffeur, both of them 'made men,' both armed to the teeth. Two more soldati followed in another car. Perhaps that kind of protection would have made Armando feel safe.
Armando was a powerful man. He must have thought he was invulnerable.
Yeah, well. He was wrong. He was vulnerable alright. And so am I.
What was it Cash had said? 'Nobody's going to get past your people, let alone ours.' He meant well; it wasn't like the guy was lying to make him feel safe. Cash had faith in the FBI. Reminds me of a certain Mountie. Ray smiled for a moment, but he knew it wasn't true.
What if one of the guards already saw my hands? They wouldn't have to get past anyone to kill me – they're right here. Bet the Feds didn't think of that.
No… they must have thought of that. The probability guys would have played out a thousand scenarios, including that one. Run the numbers, balanced the odds, and decided it was worth the gamble. They just hadn't told him. Yeah. Thanks, guys.
Ray looked at his hands, clenched on his lap.
Somebody's gonna see them. Maybe they've already seen 'em.
He had to stop being so self–conscious – damn. The way he was holding them was a dead giveaway that something was wrong. He was going to draw attention to himself.
He stared at his fists, and willed them to relax. Come on, you're alone in the back of a limo. Nobody's looking at your palms.
His hands uncurled and he rested them on his knees.
There. See? Unclenched. You can do it, Vecchio.
He looked out the window again and focused on his breathing. Inhale, exhale. Calm down, he told himself, and breathed. In, out.
See? You're still breathing. It's not so bad. He made himself smile at his reflection.
When he looked back at his hands, they were clenched again.
Thirty-six hours in, and still not dead.
Here he was again, in Armando's bedroom. As before, Ray couldn't sleep.
Maybe I should try another room, he thought. This one's haunted.
It wasn't the room; it was him. Who cares? I'm going to sleep. The crazy-ass brothers had another early start tomorrow – though at least it wasn't as bad as five am. Seven, he thought. I've gotta be up at seven. He glanced at the clock. Just past midnight. That's not so bad. You're tired. You'll sleep.
He couldn't. He lay staring at the ceiling, willing sleep to come. The house was too silent. I wonder how they're sleeping in Chicago? Never thought I'd miss the sound of Vito teething.
When he looked, the clock said three in the morning. Oh God... Ray turned his head away, quickly, because that was right around the time Armando died. No, he corrected himself. Two hour time difference.
He shifted uneasily. I've slept on more comfortable floors than this. It was the bed, or the mattress... or maybe the damn ceiling pressing down on him. How could Armando stand it? He felt like he was choking.
Shit... He looked at the clock again. The brothers are going to be here in less than four hours. Who does paperwork that early in the morning? And how the hell did they screw it up in less than a month? Ray was no Bookman but at least he could count.
Okay, so it was half past three now, and he was wide awake. But it wasn't what the doctor had said, circadian rhythms and that crap. He just couldn't figure out what to do about his hands. What the hell were the Feebies playing at? They'd obviously seen the scars during the autopsy. What was he supposed to do, wear stage makeup?
'Don't worry,' Armando said in his head, his words vivid and clear, like Ray's own thoughts. 'I'll tell you what to do.'
"When?" Ray spoke out loud. He was in his own room, he could do what he liked.
'When they come for you.'
"Yeah?" Oh, just great. Now he decides to leave. "Well, that clears things right up," Ray told the empty room. "Thanks for that."
It suddenly hit him why he was still awake. He was scared, yeah, but it was more than his hands – he was scared to dream. What the hell happened last night? Before he could remember, he was asleep.
Pa was standing in the lobby of Caesar's Palace. The place was empty and no music played. There was no happy chatter from the crowds – there were no crowds at all. It was a big golden cave, a hollow maw, and Pa was standing by the fountain all alone.
"This is the life, ain't it?"
Shit, Pa was talking to him like a human being for once. It knocked Ray sick.
"You're dead, Pop, and besides, what did you ever know about life?"
"You play this right, you're a made man," Pa admired the empty grandeur, apparently oblivious to Ray's tone. "Just give the Feds a little bit of information here and there, string 'em along. You could wipe out the Onofris, clear the board for the Iguanas."
"You can fuck off," Ray snapped. "You're not even real. It's only a dream."
Pa turned and his face changed. For a moment there he had been looking pleased with himself. Now he had the more familiar look of rage.
"You don't get to talk to me like that."
"What you gonna do about it? You're dead."
Pa smiled, cruelly. "Not here," he said, folding his belt into a loop –
Ray bolted upright, screaming. Damned if the backs of his thighs and everything else didn't sting from the belt. "Sorry, Pa..." He couldn't stop shaking. He put his hand on his chest, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it was knocking against his ribs. "Ah…" he sucked in breath. "God."
Armando was sitting at the foot of the bed.
Ray flinched when he saw him, then glared. "Do you have to do that?" He rubbed his face with his hands. "I mean, you could try knocking. Or you know, how about you rattle some chains?"
Armando seemed unimpressed with Ray's humour.
"How about 'woooh?'" Ray grabbed the pillow, started punching it into shape. This was as bad as when Pa turned up, the week after his funeral. Ray had been sure that he'd lost his mind. And then, at some point, he'd become so used to the damn ghost he took it for granted. Jeez, he thought. I'm getting used to Armando. I'm talking to him like we've known each other all our lives. He looked at his brother. "Next time, try going, 'woooh.' Give a man some warning?" He shook his head. "As if Pa ain't bad enough."
Ray didn't know if Pa had been just a dream, but damn, it felt real. At least the memory of the belt had faded, and his back, from the waist down to the knees, wasn't stinging anymore.
"Hey," he laughed at a sudden thought. "If you're gonna intimidate someone, you thought of scaring the Old Man? I mean, you gotta hold a grudge. Take it out on him. I'm just trying to get some sleep here." He lay back down, and closed his eyes. Okay, so technically it was morning, but he'd not had much sleep, and the Iguanas weren't due to arrive before seven. He could manage an hour, surely...
There was a cold touch on his shoulder just as he was dropping off. Ray opened his eyes, and stared up into his brother's inscrutable face.
'Now.'
"Oh for fuck's sake," Ray groaned. "I guess that means 'no rest for the wicked?'"
Armando got up, and walked to the door. Ray rolled his eyes, and swung out of bed. Followed.
"What am I doing in the kitchen," he asked the ghost. Armando pointed to the window sill. A pillar candle and, next to it, a lighter, a lamp and some paraffin.
Ray had a bad feeling. It's not like he hadn't considered that as a solution for all of five seconds but...
"Hey, that's gonna really fucking hurt."
Armando shrugged, his gesture saying, 'So?'
"What the hell are you thinking? This ain't gonna fool anybody. They'll look at it and know it's recent."
'Trust me,' the not-voice said.
"Shit," Ray groaned. This was Armando's idea of looking after him?
The ghost was walking again and despite his reservations Ray grabbed the paraffin and lighter, and followed him. Followed him all the way to the pink door.
Chiara's bedroom. I can't go in there… He closed his eyes. Don't be such a fucking pussy. If Armando can bear it, so can I.
His brother was standing in the middle of the room, looking at the pictures on the wall. Kiddy scribbles, framed like Picassos. A big old rocking horse on gliders. Family photos. Ray turned from the images of his brother's family, and looked instead at the little girl's bed. It was a four–poster, pink, with lace curtains. For a moment he flashed on the image of Chiara, bouncing on it, squealing and giggling, being chased by little Joey.
'Look.'
Armando was pointing at a picture. In it, he was holding a baby in his arms, smiling so hard and so proud it must have hurt his face. Chiara, one day old.
"What? What do you want me to do?" Ray asked, although he already knew. Armando continued to point. With only that for an answer, Ray found himself walking toward the image. He took the photo from the frame, as though in a trance.
He knew what was coming. He felt it in his head.
Armando stepped inside. He poured the paraffin on the photo, crumpled it, and laid it on Ray's left hand.
What am I doing, why am I doing this? Ray was shaking. I don't want to do this...
Armando flicked the lighter. The photo flared up and… Ray's hands folded together as he dropped to his knees. He was a supplicant, swearing his devotion to the cause. Ray kneeled, the image of Armando and his saint pressed between his palms. He kneeled and let them burn.
xXx
He must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, the brothers were bundling him through some guy's front door.
"What the hell?" Oh, fuck. Did I just set fire to myself?
"The doc's gonna look at you Cuz. Sit the fuck down, and let him do his thing."
Doctor Simmon's hair, so white it was almost transparent, clung to his head like cobwebs. The brothers had got him out of bed before he'd had a chance to get dressed or even put in his teeth. He seemed unfazed though, like it was perfectly normal to have mobsters pile in unannounced, take over his living room and demand medical treatment.
He didn't ask questions, just examined Ray's hands, expressionlessly, before starting to dress them, and giving instructions.
"Change the dressings every day," he said, in a reedy voice. "You'll want to use sustained silver release gauze to prevent infection, and the first sign of swelling, come back immediately."
"Okay." God, what the hell was I thinking?
"Your left hand's worse. It's hard to tell how deep it went." The doctor tightened the bandage, and Ray bit off a curse. "If you look after it, it'll take about three weeks to heal. Longer than that, see a specialist. The skin will be fragile, so don't tear it."
"I'll try not to," Ray gritted out.
The doctor nodded, then continued. "Splint up the left hand at night to stop the fist contracting. And I want you to do these stretches." He took Ray's hand by the wrist and pushed the fingers straight. Ray bit his lip. "Can you remember all that?"
"Yeah, yeah. Thanks Doc."
"Stop doing this every twenty years," the man said, bitterly. "I won't be here next time."
"I'll keep that in mind –" Ray stopped. It hit him. Doctor Simmons had been treating the Iguanas, father and son, for fifty years. If the man was someone the brothers trusted, their father trusted, what about Ricardo Langoustini? This guy might actually know that he – that – Armando, had been bought.
Shit. He did know. Had to… Someone had helped Langoustini fake his wife's pregnancy, forge medical documents. If anyone was going to realise Ray wasn't Armando, this was the guy.
Don't panic.
"Are you alright, Cuz?" Jackie was watching him closely.
"Yeah. Yeah…" Ray shook his head to clear it and smiled.
"Good." The doctor sat back on his couch and closed his eyes. "Given your history, I can only recommend ibuprofen for the pain. Keep them elevated whenever possible." He shrugged. "I know it doesn't look good, but keep the left hand in a sling."
The doctor was right. This wasn't a good time to look weak. Not a good time to be weak.
"See you tomorrow, Armando."
"See you tomorrow, Doc."
xXx
Jackie was driving, because 'you couldn't trust the chauffeurs with this shit.' Sal had insisted on letting Ray sit up front, buckling his seatbelt for him, before taking the back. Nobody was speaking. Ray kept his head turned to the side window, watching the desert flow past.
Fuck... that's twice the Feds nearly got me killed with poor planning. First the thing with the hands, now this. If the doctor had seen the 'gunshot' wound he would never have been fooled for a minute. He'd have remembered Armando was a twin, realised Ray wasn't who he said he was, and Ray would be dead.
"Why didn't we tell Doc Simmons I'd been shot?"
"Shit." Jackie pulled up on the side of the road. "Do we need to?"
"No, course not. I'd say something if it was playing up. What do you think I am? A masochist?"
Jackie shot him a look loaded with contempt. "I think you're a fucking mental patient."
Oh God. This ain't good. Contempt from Jackie – from any mobster – was not good at all. Ray glanced over his shoulder. Sal was slumped, dejectedly, taking over most of the back seat. When he saw Ray looking, his body language changed instantly. He straightened and gave Ray an encouraging smile.
"Mando's okay," he said, cheerfully, "ain't you Mando?"
Sal was feeling sorry for him; no humouring him. That was worse than Jackie's contempt.
Thanks a lot, Bro, he thought at Armando – wherever he was. Great plan you had there.
As if things weren't bad enough. Now he had to get the brothers to trust him again. In their different ways, and for their different reasons, they'd both be watching him for any sign of weakness. Shit...
"'Mando's okay,'" Jackie mimicked his brother and sneered. "Just what we need – a fucking lunatic as an accountant."
Ray refused to rise to Jackie's tone, and made himself laugh. It sounded pretty damn natural. "Let's keep that to ourselves," he said. "No, I just wondered why we didn't call the doc yesterday."
Jackie started the car up again. "You know what he's been like since the last bout of chemo. He's only got a couple of months left, and now he thinks everyone else is dying too."
The doctor was dying? Now that Ray thought of it, the guy did look like he was on his last legs. Good, Ray thought, venomously. I hope it fucking hurts. All he could feel was spite and satisfaction. That old man helped ruin his brother and break Ma's heart. Besides – with Simmons dead, Ray would be that bit safer. There would be nobody left who knew about Armando.
Jackie was still talking. "If we told him you'd been shot, he'd want to get you checked out at the hospital. Old men overreact to everything."
"Yeah. How about Onofri," Ray chuckled. "You see the look on his face yesterday?"
Jackie almost smiled, relaxing just a fraction. He was still tense, but for the first time all morning he didn't look angry.
"Hey," Sal quipped from behind him. "At least the old bastard got a good meal out of it."
Ray looked in the rear view mirror. Armando was riding in the back next to Sal. It was weird, but the way Sal was sitting, it almost seemed he could see his cousin. His arm was slung out along the top of the car seat, as though he was resting it on the the ghost's shoulders.
'See,' thought Armando, meeting Ray's eyes in the mirror. 'I said I'd look after you.'
xXx
Things calmed down after that. The day felt almost ordinary. They went to Jackie's compound and Ray went over the accounts.
"Sorry, Mando," Sal said, as Jackie opened the safe. "I know they live in your office, but when you went missing we tried to do what we could, and... uhm." He looked at Jackie, and cleared his throat. "Well, you'll see."
Ray did see. The accounts were a damn mess. It wasn't Armando's fault: the handwriting changed a few weeks ago, and whoever it was seemed to have trouble with numbers. Ray looked at the scribblings, then back at the brothers.
Jackie went red and tried to cover his obvious embarrassment with his trademark scowl.
Ray tried not to smirk. At least he knew he was smarter than Jackie at something.
Don't get too cocky, Ray reminded himself. You don't know if you can make sense of it yet... He spread the papers out clumsily with his best hand, preparing for the biggest bluff so far. Fake it till you make it, he encouraged himself silently, and bent over the accounts.
"Wow," he said, staring at his brother's handwriting.
"That bad?" Sal sounded nervous. Jackie stomped off to the liquor cabinet.
"No, no..." Ray smiled reassuringly. It's damn freaky, that's all. We even write the same way.
Not quite identically. Armando's was neater – fussy, but close enough for Ray to imitate. He just had to slow down and pretend a nun was going to smack him if it was too scruffy.
I should get started, he thought. Shit... where? Ray looked at the accounts and felt a reluctant pride at his brother's meticulous work. Wow, that's one organised mobster.
Armando had been confident enough that he had used a pen. Seemed he didn't worry about needing to erase things and start again. Shit, that's gonna be a hard act to follow. I barely got through college.
What with night shifts at the canning factory and family drama, Ray was surprised he finished at now he could hear the Old Man, yelling up the stairs: 'You're a fucking loser. You'll never amount to anything.' In the end, he only got through finals to prove Pa wrong.
Armando, on the other hand, had gone to 'La Sapienza' in Rome – which Ray had never heard of, but apparently meant his brother was really, really smart.
Jeez... I'm in way over my head. Math had never been Ray's favourite subject at school. He hadn't liked the teachers, they hadn't liked him. He'd never seen the point of quadratic equations and all that crap. He could do basic accounts though, nothing to it. In fact, he'd even considered accountancy as a career, studied it at college for a while, before he decided to do what he really wanted for once, and be a cop. To hell with the Old Man.
"What you staring at, Cuz?" Jackie perched on the edge of the table. Ray shifted slightly, moving away from the smell of the man's bourbon. "You forgotten how to read?"
"No, no." Ray had heard Armando talking numbers. The Feds had caught him and a Mexican counterpart on tape. Ray found himself imitating his brother's intonation – absent and professorial. Not like Ray at all – not even like Armando, in any other context. "Everything's fixable."
Yeah, right. I'm the king of all bullshitters. Ray's face was schooled, but his heart sank. He could read the numbers fine, but the columns were peppered with... well... squiggles. His brother had used a code.
Fuck's sake. How am I going to figure out what they've been buying, or who their customers are? Yet another thing he hadn't been prepared for – of course the damn accounts would be encrypted. Why hadn't anyone thought of that? What did they think he was? A code breaking supercomputer?
I'll just go slow. It wouldn't look good if the Bookman couldn't read his own ledger, but the brothers didn't understand it either. They won't know if I fuck up – not immediately anyway. He took a deep breath to steady himself.
"Okay," he said. "You guys had better tell me what's been happening." He prodded at a date three weeks back. "We'll figure out what's gone wrong from there."
Fortunately, there was a method to Armando's madness. Working backward from what the brothers told him, and making a few lucky guesses, Ray was surprised to find that he could tease out the meanings behind most of the symbols.
That one doesn't need much interpreting. All those weird signs and down near the bottom, after a particularly successful transaction, a smiley face. Ray chuckled.
"Where's the cash-flow statement for December?"
"Uhm... somewhere."
"Jackie! How can you have lost it already? It was two months ago!" Okay, in the real world Ray was always drowning in paperwork, but that was Ray. At this point, the Bookman would be mightily pissed. Ray glared. Jackie folded his arms, bullishly, said nothing.
"Don't worry, Mando. It's in here somewhere." Sal started rifling through folders. "I saw it earlier."
"God's sake, why didn't you just hire another accountant?"
The brothers went still.
"What?" Ray stared at the silent men.
"You would think it's that easy," Jackie said with a snort. "You stupid fuck." He pushed himself off the table, and got another drink. Sal looked at at Ray, as though disappointed.
"You know better than that, Mando."
What did I say wrong? It was a good question. Why hadn't they hired someone else? Armando couldn't be the only bad guy in Vegas who could count.
You idiot, Vecchio, he thought as he carried on working. Of course they couldn't hire just anybody. Sure there were people out there who could do the job – people who would jump at the chance. Given time, the brothers would have found another consigliere, assuming they survived the fallout of Armando's death. Ray could think of several good candidates for the job – one lawyer, in particular, stood out from the herd. So, yeah – they could have found a beancounter, they could have found an advisor. All the Families had accountants and consiglieri, after all. And consiglieri were trustworthy, by definition, or no–one would survive.
The Iguanas had the Bookman. That was what set them apart. Armando was more than trustworthy; he was devoted. He would have done anything for his cousins. Shit, the man was dead and he was still trying to protect them.
What am I meant to do now? Apologise?
He shook his head at the thought. Well, that would be stupid. Like Armando would apologise for anything. It would blow over if he kept his mouth shut.
It did. Jackie sat back on the table, like nothing had happened.
"Here you go, Cuz," he said, putting a drink by Ray's elbow.
"Thanks," Ray said, and took a sip, to show there were no hard feelings. Jackie visibly relaxed, and Ray went back to the accounts.
By the time he'd sorted everything into chronological order, Ray realised that his brother was in his head, had been for a while. Hey Mando, he thought. You come to help me with my homework? Armando settled in and started shifting numbers and symbols. Better not tell the Feds I've got a ghost in my skull – they'll put me in a padded cell. It was equal parts comforting and terrifying to know Armando was helping maintain his cover. Of course, he wasn't just doing this for Ray. He was trying to help his cousins.
"See here," Ray pointed. "Looks like someone's been holding back." The caporegimes and associates brought their revenue directly to the capo bastone. He couldn't see how Jackie had missed it. Give the man a break. Poor bastard was distracted. "Starts almost three weeks ago," he added. "When I disappeared. Income drops by fifteen 's a hell of a lot."
"What fucker did that?" Jackie took a swallow of his drink.
'The Greek,' Armando whispered. Absently Ray repeated it. "The Greek." Next time Ray saw that sigma sign, he'd remember what it meant. Okay, so, he didn't know the name of this Greek, but the brothers would. He fished around and tried to ask Armando, but his brother had moved on, juggling figures in his head. This was making him dizzy…
"Piece of shit," Sal growled, staring at the accounts. "Who'd a thought he'd dare?" His face was clenched with anger. "He musta thought you weren't coming back, and he could take advantage."
"Well, he'll have to pay up now," Jackie said. "By God, we'll make him pay."
Ray looked at the Iguanas, and felt a cold clutch of fear. Somehow, as they'd been working, he'd forgotten that the brothers weren't his family. He'd just been catching up on paperwork, stopped thinking about what the numbers represented.
Oh God, I shouldn't have said anything. They're gonna kill this guy. There were a lot of Greeks dealing with the Iguanas – he had to figure out who this one was. A bad guy obviously. Judging by the brother's reaction it seemed unlikely that the man was going to survive the week. If he did, he might wish that he hadn't.
There was nothing Ray could do about it now. He'd pass the information onto Cash, and hopefully the Feds would do something – but if the Iguanas wanted to play hardball, Ray had to play right alongside. He shrugged. "Like I say. You don't want to mess with us."
"Yeah, well by the time we're done, everyone's gonna be real clear on that." Jackie stood, and stretched. "Come on. Time for a break. We need to show our faces."
Ray nodded and stood, glad to escape from the vicious turn of conversation. Not just that, but eager to get to the gig, do something completely innocent for a change. He looked at his sling, regretfully. His hand was a lot more comfortable when it was elevated, throbbed less, but he had appearances to think of. "I'd better lose this."
"Nah," Jackie said, with a wolfish smile. "I thought how we can work it to our advantage."
"Oh yeah?" Sal looked doubtful. "And how's that?"
"Just tell the truth. The Bookman got shot." Jackie rubbed his hands in anticipation. "And then he came back to town like the Terminator. If that don't scare 'em, nothing will."
"Hey, Armando!" One of Onofri's soldati must have spotted them because he was swaggering over to their table from the far side of the club. He looked smug.
Must think he's found a weak spot.
"Heard you were back in town. What happened there?" Onofri's guy gestured at the sling. "You have an accident?"
"Nah," Ray made a dismissive gesture with his right hand, and the other man followed the bandage with his eyes. "Got shot."
The guy – shit, what's he called? – stopped staring at Ray's bandaged hand and gaped at the sling instead. Apparently it wasn't quite the done thing to try to whack someone twice in the same month. "Really? When was this, sometime last night?"
Ray stared at him like he was a particularly dense six year old. "I thought you knew someone tried to take me out. When the car flipped, back when they killed Chiara."
"But that was weeks ago…" Onofri's guy was fixated on the sling. "Why's it strapped up now?"
"Well, you know how it is. You leave town for a few days, whole place goes to hell. I had a lot to do yesterday. Didn't have time."
"You didn't have time to… fuck's sake, you were shot."
"Saw a horse doctor when it happened, got him to stitch me up." Ray grinned at the man's discomfiture. "It's not that bad, it was a through-and-through."
The man swallowed. "What about your hands?"
"These? Oh yeah… burned 'em in the crash. Again." Ray laughed. "Doctor saw 'em this morning, thought I should keep 'em bandaged, just in case they got infected. They'll be okay."
"Oh. Well… glad to hear it. And sorry about…" He stared again at the bandages. "Sorry about everything. I mean… I was sorry to hear about Chiara too."
Ray nodded at the empty apology. Philip, he remembered.
"Yeah, thanks Phil. Hey, you see Pietro, tell him 'hi.'"
"Yeah," Philip grinned, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. "I'll do that."
"He will too," Sal muttered as the man walked away. "Onofri's gonna shit bricks, and the story'll be all over Vegas before Ray's finished his first set."
Ray flinched automatically at the sound of his own name, then felt a tingle of anticipation running up his spine – the first honestly good feeling all day. This was one thing he'd been looking forward to, ever since the brothers mentioned it partway through the accounts. Hot damn. Their table was so close he'd probably be able to smell the guy's sweat. Ray Charles… holy crap. I'm here at a private showing to see Ray Charles.
When Brother Ray walked into the room with his wraparound sunglasses and trademark smile everyone – the film producer and his latest starlet, the beautiful people, the celebrities and backstage players, even the hardened racist mobsters at his side – started applauding.
Ray couldn't clap, so he just stamped his feet instead, like the big guy would when he got into it at the piano.
Maybe this job has its perks after all… and then 'Brother Ray' was singing: 'Let the Good Times Roll…'
xXx
The Iguanas were supposed to have full schedules for the rest of the day. Sal had planned to meet with the lawyers about building regulations; work had already started on the new casino and some jackass at the City Council was still objecting. Jackie's caporegimes were due to visit him, and submit their tribute. It was already two days late – normally taxes were paidon Friday.
Instead, both Sal and Jackie insisted on following Ray to the hospital.
It wasn't a good sign. They're babysitting me. Oh, crap.
When they stepped into the room, Joey was still half out of it on painkillers. Armando was already there, sitting on the bed.
"Hey Joey," Ray smiled at his nephew. Poor kid.
"Hey, Pa." The boy blinked at him, his gaze unfocused, then looked back at Armando. "There's two of you again."
Oh, great. Right in front of the brothers. The last thing Ray wanted was for someone to put the idea of Armando having a double in their heads, even if that double was a little boy's imaginary friend. Who knew where that idea might lead?
Bit late now. He sat next to Joey and took his hand. The little boy started giggling, passing his other hand through his father's ghost. "Cool, how do you do that?" He looked back at Ray. "You're there and you're there. Wish I could do that."
Ray swallowed, and looked at the brothers. Sal was wearing his cheerful 'nothing is wrong' face – the one he'd been humouring Ray with all day. Jackie's mouth was pinched. He made a face and Ray realised he was trying to smile.
"Hey kid," he said. "What they got in that drip? Bourbon? Got you seeing double."
Joey laughed. "No. It's Sally stuff," he said.
"Nothing wrong with you, kid," Sal said. "You know that medical mumbo jumbo. Hey – maybe you could be a doctor when you grow up. Clever enough, ain't he Mando?"
"Yeah," Ray said, feeling his brother radiate pride. "He is that."
"I want to be a soldato." The boy shuffled a little. "Where's Chiara?"
"She's..." Ray's voice dried up.
"Did she get hurt?"
Sal squatted by the bed, took his nephew's hand. "Chiara's fine, Joey. She's in a real nice place, and she doesn't hurt anymore."
"That's good." Joey pouted. "Hurting sucks big balls."
Ray choked on laughter. It shouldn't be funny, but…
"Don't say that in front of your Ma," Sal told him. For a moment he looked stern, then his eyes crinkled in a smile.
"Bullshit," Joey snickered. "It's not my fucking fault. You taught me to say it."
"Got you there, Sal," Jackie said. "Can't argue with that."
"Yeah, can't fucking argue with that, Uncle Sal."
God, Ma would hate this. Ray knew all children swore, and he swore himself when he was stressed. These days that's all the fucking time, ha! But he didn't curse in front of the children. Maybe I'm a hypocrite, he thought, but Joey's only six.
Despite everything, his nephew was a nice kid. When Joey's dinner arrived he insisted on sharing every other bite with Ray, spoon-feeding him like he was the Pa, and Ray was the baby. Armando was smiling, and stroking Joey's hair.
"Remember when you did this for Chiara?" Joey said to the ghost, and the spoon missed Ray's mouth.
"Sorry, Pop."
"S'alright, Son."
"I got some on your tie."
"Doesn't matter."
Joey nodded, suddenly drowsy. "I wanna go to sleep."
On the way out, Sal put a hand on Ray's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mando," he said. "Most of the time he seems fine, then he starts seeing things. The doctors don't know if it's trauma or brain damage." He looked embarrassed. "I kinda thought he was seeing a ghost."
"You're too superstitious," Jackie mocked him.
"Yeah? What do you call this morning?"
"What about this morning?" Ray asked.
"Oh." Jackie rolled his eyes. "Sal got it stuck in his head that you were in some kinda trouble, phoned me up and told me to get my ass over pronto."
"Yeah, well," Sal muttered, and didn't look at anyone. "I was right."
Ray shuddered. His dead brother had way too much power. He jerked his head in a nod and changed the subject.
"How were Joey's MRI scans?" Sal was listed as Armando's next of kin, and during his absence had been in loco parentis for Joey, a fact which could hardly have endeared him to Lexie, though at least the poor woman was allowed to visit her son.
"They don't know yet, Mando. The swelling's gone down, and it doesn't look too bad, but you saw how he is. It might get better, but it's too soon to say."
How am I gonna cope when Joey comes home? I don't know how to be a father. He'd have to deal with Joey's mother for a start.
And there she was, frozen in the hospital lobby as though she'd been conjured up. Ray stopped and his heart dropped to his boots. She was terrified of him. There's my answer...
He accepted his brother had been all sorts of criminal, everything from thief to murderer, but he hadn't realised how much he'd been hoping Armando wasn't like Pa. Part of him had foolishly hoped that despite everything, his brother didn't beat his wife.
Yeah. But he does. He did. Look at her.
The worst of it was, if he let her, Lexie would come back now for Joey's sake. And Ray could feel it, aching in the back of his head – Armando loved her, but he wanted her to suffer.
'Well, go then.' A fragment of an old argument rose in his mind, Armando shouting, and the crack of his hand across her cheekbone. 'But if you want to see the kids again, you're coming back."
'You piece of shit,' Ray thought, appalled that the man had hit her, that he could use his own children to blackmail his wife.
'She left me no choice,' Armando whispered in his head, blaming the victim like any other abuser. 'It was her fault, she left me. How could the bitch leave me? I would never have left her.' Ray felt his stomach turn over. What, he was supposed to feel sorry for the guy?
Lexie's eyes were cast down, afraid to meet her husband's gaze. What Lexie felt for Armando, other than fear, was a mystery.
"I'm sorry," she said, quietly. "I didn't realise you'd be here."
"It's okay, Lexie." If the brothers criticised him for being polite to her, he'd just say he hadn't wanted to make a scene in public. "You don't need to ask my permission."
She looked at her feet. "I'm sorry about… when you came back. I wasn't thinking properly, and… I didn't know you'd been hurt. I just thought you'd run off and left them."
"He tried to save her, you know," Sal loomed. "They were shooting at him, and he still picked her up and ran."
"Yes," Lexie said, in a small voice. "I just heard that you'd been shot."
"I'm okay, Lexie."
She looked back up at him, timidly, taking stock of his injuries, then scared the shit out of him by standing on tiptoe and kissing his cheek. She's gonna know... Her lips brushed the corner of his mouth, and he stepped back. She ducked her head, seeming scared by her own audacity, and left for Joey's sideward. Ray stared at her retreating figure.
"Don't fall for her again," Jackie warned him. "She does this to you all the time. Walks out, walks back, and you let her walk all over you." He snorted. "You and Sal with your fairy-tale romances. Time you woke up. Both your wives left you."
Sal rounded on his brother, and dropped his voice, menacingly. "Margarita's safer in Italy."
"Whatever you need to tell yourself, Sal." Jackie was in a foul mood, spoiling for a fight.
"It's better for the kids," Sal smiled. They were in public after all. "And I was right. Look what happened to Mando's little girl. You just saw Joey. So I hate that Margarita's not here. But she's where I tell her to be, and she comes when I damn well say." Sal stepped a little bit too close to Jackie, and roughened his tone. Fuck, that guy's big. "She's not left me, okay? She's just…" his eyes went cold. "She's just not here."
Jackie obviously realised that he'd gone too far. He moved back a fraction, and slapped his brother's arm, like they were messing around. "Okay, Sal. I'm a dick. You're right. They're safer away from here, especially now."
"Yeah." Sal nodded, returning to his usual milder persona. "And besides, the kids get to learn the language."
Ray was sure that neither brother had really backed down, but for now it would have to do.
"Okay," Ray sighed. "Gotta go see Chiara."
"We're sticking with you this time," Jackie said. "We'll sit outside if you like, but when you're done, you're coming home with one of us."
"Yeah, okay. Though you know you can trust me to –"
"No, we can't," Jackie snapped, then added more calmly. "Just for a while."
"Okay." Ray's heart sank. The next few days were going to be hard if the only minutes he had without the Iguanas looking over his shoulder were when he was on the can or supposedly 'praying' for Chiara. He hoped Cash could figure out a plan to help him cope with this.
xXx
Ray stepped into the room and froze for a moment. Agent Cash was glaring at him. He looked furious.
What the hell did I do now?
Cash didn't say anything, and he didn't pull out the tape recorder. He just stared at Ray's hands and shook his head.
The back door opened and they were joined immediately by the woman Ray was now thinking of as 'Doctor Grey,' similarly grim looking. She grabbed Ray by the good shoulder and propelled him to a chair.
"Hands," she said, opening her medical kit. "Show me."
"Do we have to do this? I've already seen a doctor."
"Show me."
Damn. He slid the left hand out of its sling, and extended it, turning his head away as she examined it.
"Okay." She started dressing the whole thing up again. "You'll need to do some stretches…"
"Yeah, yeah. Doctor Simmons showed me. Like this." Wincing, he demonstrated. "And don't worry," he reassured her, "I've been doing them on and off all day."
"That's good. And you know about the dressing, and keeping it elevated, and –"
"Yeah. I got all that. Keep it clean and covered, and wear a splint at night."
"Good. Now the other one."
The other one, as Doc Simmons had said, wasn't as bad. She gave a relieved sigh. "Good. Maybe a week for that one before the bandage comes off."
"Okay," Cash butted in, speaking for the first time since he'd entered the safe room. "We need some answers, and don't lie to us, it won't help."
Ray stared at him, startled by his tone. "What? Why would I lie?"
"Yesterday," Cash said, "we managed to get some bugs in Langoustini's house. Nero called a company to come and repair the game room. We intercepted the call, got it through to our guys so we could send in a team to do it."
Ray smirked. Sometimes the FBI were clever bastards after all. When they came to fix the damage, Armando's butler just opened the door and let them waltz right in.
"Well, that's great, isn't it? It means you'll get anything they say in the house immediately, you won't have to wait till you can see me."
"Exactly." Cash stared, pointedly. "Anything you say."
"What's the problem?"
"You were talking to yourself this morning."
"Oh." Shit… he'd almost forgotten about that. "I was half asleep."
"You were talking to Armando. And your father."
Ray gritted his teeth. Just what I need. If they didn't think I was a maniac before they'll be damn sure of it now.
"The thing with my father was just a nightmare," he said. "And anyway…" he added, glancing at the doctor. "You were both there when I saw Armando's body. There's no way I could have known how he died if he… if his ghost wasn't real. You get that, don't you?"
He realised even as the words left his mouth that he'd said the wrong thing. Why the hell did I tell them that? They don't believe this shit.
'Doctor Grey' and Agent Cash shared a glance that Ray wished he couldn't read. Just like Jackie and Sal, this morning. Oh God. These guys are gonna humour me too.
Cash's voice sounded tired as he spoke. "I don't know." He wasn't looking at Ray. "I mean… maybe. Maybe it was just some twin thing. But the problem is, if you talk to it… him… whatever it is, and the Iguanas hear, they really are going to think you've lost it. They might kill you, they might not. Either way, you're not going to be safe."
"Safe?" Ray's voice sharpened – he didn't know if it was anger or fright. "You guys nearly killed me yesterday. All those fucking mobsters kissing the back of my hand. Thank God I didn't do something stupid like, I don't know..." He lifted his hand and waved by way of an example. "Anybody could have seen my hands were okay. It's a miracle I'm here."
Cash conceded Ray's point. "We know," he said, "and if it's any consolation, we've found out who's responsible. Nothing like this is going to happen again." He sighed. "The thing is," he returned to topic, "you can't talk to yourself. Not the way you did last night. The brothers are obviously worried about you as it is. You need their confidence to do your job properly."
"I know that," Ray growled. "I'm not stupid."
Cash sat opposite Ray. "I never thought you were. But if Nero or one of the staff hears you, and someone starts gossiping, then you're in real trouble."
"I don't suppose I could just go home, could I?" Oh God, I'm pathetic. Cash looked away.
"If it was up to me…" He shook his head. "But it's not. You know how far they went to get you to do this. They've burned through the budget setting this thing up. They're not about to let you stop now."
Ray gave a bitter laugh. "Even though I'm obviously insane?"
The doctor cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, Mr Langoustini, but even if I told them that you were suicidal, I don't think they'd pull you out now. Not," she hastened to add, "that I think you're suicidal." She stared at his hands. "Self-harm is usually a very bad sign, but in this instance it was probably the only thing you could do to preserve your cover."
"So why are you two looking at me like I'm loony toons?"
"Because you scared us half to death!" Cash ran a shaking hand through his hair.
Fuck, Ray thought, I really did scare him.
"You should have seen the techs this morning listening in." The man closed his eyes and blew out a breath in a whoosh. "Okay," he said, sounding calmer. "When we get out of here, myself and Doctor… the Doc here, we'll tell them you were talking to yourself as a coping mechanism, because you knew it was going to hurt, but you'll be okay. Otherwise they're going to micromanage this whole thing to death, and probably you with it. You don't want to have to meet up with handlers and psychiatrists every minute of the day. But just… Try not to frighten us again."
"Okay." Ray looked at his bandages. "Believe me, I didn't do it because I thought it was a fun way to start my morning."
"I know." Cash gave a sudden smile. "Quick thinking though."
I'm not sure it was my idea, Ray thought, keeping it to himself.
"One more thing," the doctor said. "If you're staying with your cousins tonight, you'll need to take a sleeping tablet."
"No!" Fucking hell, I've got no control over anything else. At least let me fall asleep naturally.
She lifted a hand to silence his objections and continued. "Mr Langoustini, listen to me. The pain in your hands is likely to keep you awake. And you should take some prazosin as well."
"Some what?"
"It will stop you talking in your sleep. That's a real danger at the moment."
Ray slumped. "Okay," he said. He didn't see that he had a lot of choice.
She looked at him critically. "I need to take your blood pressure again before I set the dose."
"Or what? I start bleeding out my ears?" He held out his arm, resigned, and let her do her job.
"Actually," she said, "your blood pressure's still quite high."
He stared at her. Why the hell did she sound pleased? "What did you expect?" It had been running high for weeks – no surprises there.
"It just means I don't have to worry about you fainting."
"Fainting? What the hell is this stuff?"
"It's actually a blood pressure medicine. It has the side effect of suppressing nightmares, which is why it's often prescribed in cases like this."
"Cases like what? How many hallucinating Italians do you guys have working for you?"
She looked at him, confused for a moment, as though she'd taken him literally.
"Look, I'm sorry," Cash broke in. "You'll have to come back tomorrow. We don't have any more time to debrief now. Think you can get here?"
"I can get here. What about after the funeral?"
"We'll think of something before Wednesday. How about confession? Would Armando go to confession?"
"No," Ray said. "Maybe for show, sometimes, but if he took too long it would freak out his family. They'd think he was going soft and spilling his guts – and if he was spilling his guts to a priest, he might start spilling to someone else."
Cash nodded. "So, we'll think of something else."
"Yeah, well, you'd better."
"Don't worry. We're looking out for you." Cash didn't sound as confident as he had yesterday. "Next time, we need to figure out how you can get some pictures to us." He looked at Ray's hands and winced.
"And how am I gonna work a camera?"
"Let the tech guys sort it out. I'm afraid time's up."
"I know." Ray pushed himself to his feet. God, I'm tired. "See you guys tomorrow."
"Try not to kill yourself."
Ray thinned his lips in a smile. "Fifty-five and a half hours in," he said. "Still not dead."
He saw from the corner of his eye the doctor turn her head away, distressed. She musta seen some good guys go.
It wasn't a comforting thought.
xXx
The brothers were waiting in the lobby. A very pretty girl was chatting them up and she smiled when she saw him enter the room. He smiled back – of course. Agent… what was her name? She had been sent to distract the Iguanas, so that they didn't come knocking on the door early, and she'd clearly done her job. Sal wasn't too impressed, but Jackie was smiling like a pumpkin when they left.
"Only you could pick someone up at a funeral home," Sal muttered. Jackie looked smug.
"Jealous?"
"Fuck off."
Jackie grinned, then sobered. "You okay, Cuz?"
"Yeah. Fine."
"Okay." He glanced at Sal, as they settled into the back of the limo, Sal again sorting out Ray's safety belt. "So." Jackie cleared his throat and glanced sideways at Sal. It was clear the brothers had discussed the best way to look after their crazy cousin. "We're gonna hang out at my place tonight. Watch the game. You wanna order in?"
"Yeah." Ray's brain automatically went back to watching basketball or hockey with Benny, even cricket, once. They were both bewildered by that. Why ruin a perfectly good game of baseball? Remembered sitting on the floor, back propped against the bed, watching a borrowed TV with no sound.
'What's wrong with you, Benny? Buy a couch already.'
'No need, Ray. I'm perfectly content to sit on the floor.'
'Yeah, but I'm American. My ass gets numb.'
And Dief curled up between them, and they ate pizza from a box.
The thought made him homesick. "Pizza," he said, even though he knew it wouldn't be the same. Jackie nodded.
"We'll just order the usual then," he said. "Come on, Cuz, let's go home."
And they went back to Jackie's, and ate pizza, and Armando's usual was very like Ray's own. They sat on a comfortable leather couch, and watched basketball on a TV that was as wide as Sal was long. Sal yelled at the players and told the referee that he was blind. When the game was over Jackie did his amateur doctor thing, and put Ray's hand in the splint, making sure to remind him that he was a moron, as though Ray might forget.
Thank God for small mercies, he thought when the day was finally over, and he was settling into the guestroom. No buttermilk. He took his ibuprofen, then stared at the pills the doctor had given him. One to help him sleep and one to stop him screaming.
Fuck it. He took the pills.