Date Unknown:
-"You haven't answered the question." The woman's voice jolts him awake. He groans. It's always the same woman. "When did you first realise you were being betrayed?"
"I don't know," Ray mumbles into the darkness. There's someone else in here – he can feel it. Some other eyes watching him. Shit, I can't get the ropes undone… Not rope, too tight … duct tape.
"When did you first realise?
"I don't know."
"Sure you do. That's why you went to the Feds, isn't it? In revenge for your family?"
Oh, thank God, whoever they are, they still think I'm Armando –
"The Feds can fuck themselves. I don't care who you are, you know I'd never betray my brothers."
Someone strikes him hard about the head, and he sees stars. Not the woman. That's a man's fist. It slams into his face again, and she laughs. "We don't care."
28th April, Monday, 1997. 3:30 pm
Johnny opened, as always, by using his name. "How you doing, Ray?"
Ray answered, as usual, by lying. "Fine." He unstrapped his watch, and handed it over to the waiting technician. The woman quietly left the room, to download any images Ray had managed to take. Most of it was useless, known associates talking to other known associates, though he had at least managed to start snapping images of the actual accounts. Armando was more controllable these days. Oh, he turned up, like a bad smell, or a lingering headache, but he didn't seem to have a lot to say.
Of course, the doctor thought it was the meds. And there might be something to that – the sleeping tablets helped. Ray had discovered other ways to shut up the dead fucker – downers helped even more than what the Feds prescribed. Not that he wasn't going to tell the Feds about that, though it was their fault he'd figured it out. He'd never have thought of pills before they started doling them out like candy.
As for Pa – well, maybe the old fuck had gone for good, now that he'd succeeded in ruining Ray, as well as Armando. God, I hope he leaves Paulie alone… Ray shrugged it off. What was he worrying about? Pa had never paid any attention to little Paulie… that was half the reason the schmuck ran off to Florida and never called. Besides, why was Ray even thinking about Paulie? He didn't have a family anymore.
"You sure you're okay?" Johnny proffered a cup of coffee, and took one of his own. "You're looking tired."
Ray sat, and said nothing. He was always tired, and Johnny fucking knew it. The doctor knew it, the brothers knew it. Everyone who mattered knew it. What did the Feds think he was anyway? A robot?
Johnny sat down, smiled like they were regular friends, and commenced the interview.
"What's been happening?"
"Well, no thanks to you, the police finally closed the official investigation into Sarah's death. Lack of evidence."
"Yeah," Johnny's face went tight. He was probably sick of Ray bringing that one up. "Well, we couldn't come trampling all over that, or we'd have risked blowing your cover. We wouldn't have let you go to prison."
"So you kept telling me." Ray sipped his coffee. Not that prison would be any worse than this. "Anyway, Jackie's decided that this calls for a celebration, but apparently we have some business first."
"Did he say what kind of business?"
"No. He didn't." Ray watched Johnny closely, and oh yeah. There it is. That moment of discomfort. Johnny looked away, and Ray had a moment's ugly gratification knowing the guy felt bad. Yeah, you should feel bad. Johnny knew, just as well as Ray did, what that kind of business was. Ray gave a one-shouldered shrug. "So, I'll probably be up all night, and shot to shit in the morning."
There were two great unspoken secrets between Ray and the Feds, which both sides knew, and neither could admit. This unspoken didn't matter nearly as much as the fact that Ray had become a murderer. In fact… it didn't matter much at all. Ray danced around admitting it outright – he hadn't told them but they probably guessed. He knew he was drinking too much. As for the rest of it, even if they did guess – well, how else was he meant to get up in the middle of the night after he'd taken a sleeping pill?
It wasn't a problem. He'd only had to do it a few times.
Johnny turned his head away, and said nothing. Oh shit. Maybe he knows. Ray looked at him, and felt unaccountably dizzy. When the fuck did this become my life? Boring paperwork for the most part, but at any moment he might be called on to kick the crap out of some poor bastard. Most of the time he was the Bookman, then he was talking to the Feds. Ray couldn't figure out whether these debriefs were more about sharing information or keeping secrets. There was a lot of stuff he didn't tell the Feds – and yeah, he could see it in Johnny's eyes, the swift flicker sometimes when he tightened his mouth to swallow a word. What was it that Johnny wasn't allowed to tell Ray?
"We'll book you an appointment for the afternoon, if you think it will help."
"What, like a therapy session?" Ray laughed. "I'll try to make it." He paused. "Though, you know, the brothers don't like it. Specially Jackie. You know what he's like." Ray looked down at his scarred hands, clenched and unclenched them. Better now. "We can't look weak, and me visiting the hospital so much looks weak. It's been a couple of months."
"Okay," Johnny nodded. "We've been thinking the same, and are working on a couple of solutions. But we need your medical records to look realistic, in case someone comes digging them out."
"Would they?"
"You know they would."
"Yeah."
"So, another month at least. A miraculous recovery might make them suspicious. Another month, we'll have a new venue." Johnny smiled. "We're securing a diner we can meet at. I think you'll like it. So, don't worry."
"Oh, you know me, I don't worry about anything." Ray lifted his coffee mug and said it, just because he knew it pissed Johnny off. "Eight weeks, three days in. Still not dead."
9:55 pm
Jackie was lounging at the carport, beneath Ray's office building, smoking a cigarette.
"Cuz."
Shit. He really is in a bad mood. The guy looked like he'd just swallowed a wasp.
"Jackie. So. What's happening?"
"I wanna go for a drive. You coming?"
"Yeah," Ray said, feeling his mouth go dry at the coded reply. So, they really were going to kick the ever loving crap out of somebody. "Sal coming along too?"
"We'll meet him there."
Sometimes 'there' was a warehouse, a basement, or an empty office after dark. This time 'there' was in the desert. As they got further from Vegas the sky changed, and the stars came out, sharp as glass. A different light entirely from the colourful dazzle of the Strip, which dropped, and dropped into the valley behind them. Ray looked at the night, seeking out familiar constellations. He wasn't like Benny, he couldn't have drawn them all from memory, but he knew the Bear, the Hunter. That's what Nonna Esposita had called them, when she spoke English. For a moment he was overwhelmed with homesickness, although now he was remembering Canada – sitting by a campfire as Benny arranged pebbles, trying to teach him the houses of the Zodiac.
'Gonna read my horoscope, Benny?'
'Oh no,' tongue in cheek. 'As a method of divination astronomy leaves a lot to be desired.'
Jackie drove, taking routes that branched ever further away from well used paths. The track turned to gravel as they rose from the valley. By the time Ray's ears had popped the road was dirt beneath them, the four by four had slowed down dramatically, and still Jackie hadn't said a word. Two of Ray's bodyguards, Rosso and Mark, rode in the back. Ray kept his window down, to let the dry air blow away the stench in the car. The men must have been working on the victim already. They smelled of sweat. Jackie stank of booze. He shouldn't be driving, specially not on roads like this. Ray closed his eyes, thinking of a car flipping over in the dark, the night his brother died. A car crash would end it, he thought, clinically. Jackie didn't seem impaired though. Just grim, and silent.
"Here," Jackie said, pulling up next to a car Ray recognised – one of Sal's. Jackie flung his door open, and stood, waiting for Ray and the bodyguards to join him.
Oh fuck. Panic rose Ray's chest, abruptly, a sick wash of fear. It hit him in the stomach, a spike of acid, sharp as a stab. It's me. Automatically Ray stepped out of the car. Apparently he did care if he died tonight. Jackie's made me, and he's got me out here to kill me.
Run. I should run now. I should…
Where would he run anyway? He looked behind him – Rosso and Mark, faintly illuminated by the half moon, and the distant glow of Vegas far below. He looked ahead. Jackie, with the mountain to his back, his face in shadow. He glanced at the car, then back at his cousin. Jackie has the keys. I'd have to hotwire it. He didn't have the tools, and so what if he had? Stupid, bastard Vecchio. He wouldn't have time to get the car started, even if he lunged for it now. Stupid, stupid. He had a gun, and his first thought was still to run. He couldn't outshoot these guys. He couldn't run. He didn't know the terrain like Jackie did, and even if he had, he couldn't get anywhere on foot. Not before one of the three shot him.
They're not as good a shot as me…
But oh fuck. The last time he fired a shot, and the time before, and the time before that…
Fredo, looking foolish, his father, trying to be brave. And Skoulodis… Skoulodis…
If they're gonna kill me, they're gonna kill me. At least die like a man.
Jackie started the ascent. Ray followed, jerkily for a few seconds, before finding his balance. He straightened his back, firmed his jaw. Please, don't let it take too long. Don't let me shit myself and cry like a fool. And oh, God – there was worse than that. He hoped that – hoped he wouldn't have to spend the rest of eternity with Armando and Pa. It hit him again. I'm gonna go to hell when I die. Jackie's gonna kill me, and I'm gonna go to hell.
The two bodyguards were bringing up the rear, and Armando kept pace on his left-hand side.
His brother's presence did not reassure him.
They came to a halt at a heap of barren rubble. The earth wrinkled up like folds in a crumpled blanket, rocks piercing the sand like old bones. Sal was sitting on an outcrop, a soldato standing on either side. His head was tilted back at the sky, eyes closed as though he was sunbathing. Behind him the earth continued to rise in complicated folds, twisting into barren peaks. They shaded into darkness and blotted out the stars.
At Sal's feet one man was kneeling, hog-tied. Another lay on the dirt, similarly bound.
Oh thank God. The relief made him dizzy. Not me. He closed his eyes, and hated himself. Two men were going to be tortured, and he was glad. Glad it was them, not him. Two months in, still not dead.
Ray got a hold of himself. "Who we got here?" He jerked his chin at the bound men.
"Herzog," Sal said. "The other guy's from Onofri's old crew."
"Onofri?" Ray laughed. "You mean one of those little rats is still trying to come after us?" Fuck, how long were the aftershocks of this war going to carry on for? Which sub capo or second cousin was it this time, trying to take over that fallen empire? Bet you're sorry now, Ray thought, and didn't know what was uppermost in his mind – pity or contempt. "You mean Herzog was working for Onofri?"
Sal nodded, and Jackie spoke up. "Yeah, Cuz. That Lady Shoes crap got me thinking. You know, when you said, was he doing it deliberately? So I took a look, and –" he kicked Herzog in the small of the back, "here we are."
Oh great, this is my fault. Everything was his fault – Sarah dead, these two men, beaten and bloody. Shit. How'm I gonna do this? Ray looked at the prisoners. Onofri's man completely prostrate, Herzog kneeling, bent over his stomach like it hurt – a courtier kowtowing to his king. Sal even looked like a king, perched upon a stony throne.
We'll rough 'em up, Ray thought, leave 'em to find their own way home. Or… I'll get a message to the Feds… I'm seeing Johnny tomorrow. I'll make it morning, I don't care how wrecked I am. Get someone up here to look for 'em before they die of dehydration. We do a good enough job on their faces, we'll still get the message through – don't mess with the Iguanas.
Okay. That was some kind of plan. I can get 'em outta here, Ray thought, assessing his options. I stopped 'em killing Murphy, I can do it again.
Ray nodded at Sal and Jackie, to show he understood the situation, and flexed his hands, letting the knuckles crack. Nobody's gotta die here, he told himself. I just gotta make 'em think they will.
Ray stepped up swiftly to the prisoners and grabbed Herzog by the hair. "You were dealing with Onofri?" Herzog moaned what sounded like 'no' through his gag.
"What's that? I can't hear you." Ray twisted his fingers through the guy's hair, and jerked his head back, hard. Shit. I'm interrogating a guy in a gag. That's kinda pointless... Someone was laughing. He felt it in his face and chest. Laughing fit to cry. He turned to Sal and held out his hand. Sal leant forward, casually, still perched on his crag, and pulled a knife out of his boot.
Herzog started moaning through the gag.
Ray stopped grinning, and caught his breath. "Shut up, you fucking girl." Pa was in his head – no. Not in his head, because he was standing at Ray's shoulder. Oh fuck. Now you turn up. Where was Armando? Shit. Just me and the Old Man. Ray turned from his father's approving smile, back to Herzog. "How about you grow a fucking pair? You wanna die like this?" He sniffed, and pulled a face. "Oh, fucking hell." He stepped back, horrified, the Bookman still speaking through his mouth. "He's only gone and pissed himself."
"God's sake. You fucking baby." Jackie moved in and stood on Herzog's other side. "Look at you," the man said, "screaming like a whore in heat." Ray made a disgusted noise, though whether at Jackie's language, or Herzog's cowardice he didn't know. Maybe it was at how vile he had become to himself. He knelt in front of the prisoners, showed Herzog the knife.
"Shut the fuck up," he said, calmly, laying the flat of the blade against Herzog's cheek.
The man went quiet, and his eyes went wild.
Ray smiled, and cut off the gag.
"Oh, oh, oh, God, thank you, God, sorry, thank you…"
"What part of 'shut the fuck up' don't you understand?"
Herzog shut the fuck up.
"Now, you only speak when me or my brothers tell you to. You start blubbering, and I might just cut your eyes out."
Herzog whimpered, but didn't say anything.
"You've seen the vultures out here, haven't you, Herzy? Big things. Wings wider than you're tall. Bald things. Gotta be said, they're ass-ugly." Ray sat comfortably opposite him, folded his legs at the ankle, and smiled, like he was telling Maria's kids a ghost story. "Well, me – I kinda like bald." He passed his hand over his skull, as though he was making a joke, and shrugged. "These guys though, these vultures? You know why they're bald? It's so they don't get blood stuck in their feathers. And you know what else? Their heads are red. Kinda cool – you can't see the blood that way."
Ray lifted the knife again, pressed the tip, lightly, at the base of Herzog's eye-socket. "I reckon a blind, bleeding man wouldn't last long, when the sun comes up, and the vultures see you."
"Oh, Jesus," Herzog whimpered. Ray jerked the knife, just a little bit. In the moonlight you couldn't see the colour, but a tiny drop of black began to bleed down Herzog's face, looking like a tear.
Poor bastard's been crying for real, Ray thought. He couldn't see it, but he knew.
"Jesus?" Ray laughed. "I didn't take you for a religious man, Herzy. Dunno why you're talking to Him though. He won't help you." He pulled the knife back, got to his feet, and stared down at his victim. "We might help you though." He jerked a thumb at the other prisoner. "You been working with this guy?"
Herzog was shaking. Ray glared at him. "You got my permission to speak."
"I… I…"
"Speak!" Jackie shoved the man on his front, and kicked him in the side. "You heard the Bookman. Speak."
"Hey, Jackie." Sal finally stood, and joined the group. "He's not gonna say much if you break his ribs.
"Fucking piece of shit doesn't know anything anyway," Jackie sneered. The brothers stood on either side of Herzog, Sal playing good cop to Jackie's bad cop. Ray watched, still strangely fascinated after all these weeks by the dynamics of their act.
"Well, maybe. But give the guy a chance to talk." Sal smiled down at Herzog, looking his usual gentle self. "You okay there?" Herzog moaned, and Sal shook his head, and winced. "Sorry, I guess I tied those ropes too tight. Mando – gimme the knife."
Ray handed the knife back to Sal. Herzog made a sound in his throat, like some small creature, drowning.
"Hey, don't panic, I'm just gonna cut the rope. You're not gonna do anything stupid, are you?"
"No. No, Sir."
"Good man. Okay." Sal squatted, sliced the rope that bound Herzog's wrists and ankles, then slid the knife back in his boot. "Your hands'll hurt," he said. "When the blood flow starts up again." Herzog's hands were still pressed against each other, as though in prayer. Sal took them between his, started chaffing vigorously. "It stings, I know. Just rub 'em, like this. They'll feel better soon."
"Thank you, Sir."
Sal waited a moment while Herzog wrung and shook out his hands. Ray's own hands tingled in sympathy. "So. You feeling better?"
"Yes. Yes, Sir."
"Good. Okay then…" Sal put a reassuring hand on Herzog's shoulder. "How long were you working for Onofri?"
"I wasn't," Herzog squeaked.
Sal shook his head, slowly, looking very disappointed. "Don't lie," he said. "We can forgive a lot, but not lying." He jerked his head sideways at Onofri's man. "This guy, he's dead whatever happens. But you, you got a chance. I like you, I always did. So, Onofri suckered you somehow. He was a clever bastard. Not as clever as us, but still… Manipulative. That's the word, isn't it?" Sal looked to Ray for confirmation.
"Yeah, that's it," Ray replied, his tongue feeling numb. "Manipulative."
Sal nodded, thoughtfully, like he'd learned something new, before returning his attention to Herzog. "Just tell us what happened, and we'll work something out. It's not as bad as you think."
"Oh… oh… okay."
"Okay? Good. So, how long were you working for Onofri?"
"Three months."
"Yeah? Before Mando got back?"
"Yes, Sir. That's when –" he broke off for a moment, and retched. Sal moved back slightly to avoid the splash.
"Hey, it's okay," Sal soothed him, rubbing a hand on his back. "In your own time."
"I'm sorry, Sir. That's when Mr Onofri came to me. Before Mr Langoustini … disappeared."
"You mean before someone sabotaged my car and killed my kids," Ray snapped.
"Don't worry, Cuz," Jackie said. "We got the guy. Herzog here had nothing to do with it."
"That's right," Herzog stuttered. "I didn't know. I… I wasn't trying to hurt anyone." The man turned his head, his eyes pleading at Ray. "I'm so sorry, I had nothing to do with what happened to your family."
"I believe him," Jackie said. "He wouldn't have the balls."
"It's okay," Sal agreed. "He wouldn't betray us like that anyway. This was just money, that's all. That's all it was, wasn't it?"
"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir."
"Okay. Don't sweat it. Money's not the most important thing. So, anyone else working for Onofri that we should know about?"
"There's Simon, works on the floor. And – and Patrick."
"Irish," Jackie snorted, contemptuously. "First that fat bastard Murphy, now Simon and Patrick. Fucking Micks, you can't trust any of 'em."
"I know, I know, I'm sorry." Herzog's head was bobbing up and down, eagerly agreeing with Jackie. "I won't do it again, I promise. I just, I didn't… I didn't think."
"Yeah, it happens. Anyone can make a mistake." Sal touched Herzog's wrists, and pulled a face at the abrasions. "We should get those looked at," he said. "Jackie, we got a first aid kit in the car?"
"Yeah. You want me to get it?"
"Yeah, in a minute." He looked back at Herzog. "Is there anything else we need to know?"
"That's all I know, I swear."
"And – you know. Just so we know, did you tell him anything? Onofri, I mean. Did he want information?"
"There wasn't much," Herzog looked embarrassed. "I – uhm. Fudged the numbers a couple of times. When there was a big win, I put different figures in the account. The, uh, the winner would pass on a percentage. And then Onofri would, we would, uh, divide it up –"
"Is that what you were doing with Lady Shoes?" Ray interrupted, just to confirm what he already guessed. The Feds would need to know if Denny Scarpa was deliberately involved in crooked games.
"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry. When Mr Onofri… when he and his son…" The man stuttered to a halt, and Ray finished his sentence.
"Died."
Herzog's eyes widened with fear. "Yes…" he whispered.
"Keep going," Ray ordered.
"When Mr Onofri and his son… when… well, I just carried on, for myself. Not every time, just… I recognised Miss Scarpa, and I thought… it had worked before. And she…" He flashed an urgent look at Jackie. "You know I meant no harm."
"Okay. I understand," Sal said, gently. "She's a very pretty woman."
"Yes, Sir. Yes, she is."
"Okay. Well. I think we're about done here. Jackie, Mando – what do you think?"
Jackie nodded.
"Yeah," Ray said. Okay, don't panic, he thought, quietly panicking. Sal's got what he wanted – Herzog's gonna have to get out of town, but he'll live. Too late for Onofri's guy but... No. Maybe he'll live till morning. Maybe the Feds'll find him. Shit, I've got to get him under shelter somehow, and hope the damn birds don't find him first. "Yeah," Ray nodded. "I think we're done."
"Me too." Sal grinned at Ray with brotherly affection. He turned to Herzog, still smiling, putting his big hands on either side of the other man's head. "Thanks, Herzog," he said and…
Ray heard the cracking noise before his brain caught up with what he had just seen.
Herzog kneeling, looking pathetic, looking grateful, and Sal's hands on Herzog's head …
Hands on his head, and Sal twisting.
Ray's heart stopped. Sal broke Herzog's neck with a clean snap, stood up and let the body drop. Herzog fell limply, backward. Rolled, for a moment on the slope, and bounced.
"Simon and Patrick," Sal mused, brushing his palms against his trousers' legs. "I suppose we gotta do them next. Give it to one of your soldati, Jackie. If he does a good job, we might move him up to capo."
This is happening somewhere else. I'm not here.
"What about this one?" Jackie was prodding Onofri's man with his foot, as though he was trying to decide if it was worth kicking him or not.
It's not happening. I'm someone else.
"Him? Oh, won't take much to finish him off." Sal looked at the bodyguards. "You know where to take 'em."
"Yeah, Boss." Rosso grabbed the body round the chest. Mark took the legs. Ray watched numbly as they started up the slope, carrying Herzog's corpse between them like a carpet.
"Hey, you." Jackie crooked his finger, commanding Sal's bodyguards to approach. "This one here," he pointed at Onofri's man. "I reckon he can walk. If he can't, you'll have to drag him. Don't care how you do it, just get him up there, give him a shove after his friend."
Ray stared at the soldati. One of them looked barely out of high school. The other man was in his fifties, but seemed as innocently cheerful about the task before him as Ray had been about his first driving lesson.
"Someone finds the bodies," Jackie was saying, "they'll reckon maybe they were climbing, fell down and broke their necks." He laughed. "Well, they're a bit overdressed for hiking, but no-one will be able to prove otherwise."
"Sure thing, Boss," the older man said.
"Make sure you untie him before you push him in though. Okay. Me, Sal and Armando are travelling back together. You guys, make your own way home. You got the car keys?"
"Yeah. Thanks, Boss."
"Solid guy," Sal said as they started back to the car.
Jackie grunted assent. "Alan's useful. Been thinking of promoting him – I'll get him to do the Micks."
"You okay, Mando?"
'Keep walking.' For the first time since their birthday, Armando spoke in his head. 'Keep smiling. You'll be fine.'
"Fine," Ray heard himself say. He was probably smiling. He sounded normal.
"Only, you don't look too good."
"I'm just –"
"Tired," Jackie snapped. "God, you're always tired."
Pa was walking along next to him. "You know what your problem is," the Old Man said. "You need to get laid."
"You know what my problem is," Ray repeated. "I need to get laid."
Jackie started laughing, and pounded his back. "Come on then," Jackie said. "Let's go celebrate."
"Gimme the keys," Sal said, disapprovingly. "You been drinking, Jackie."
"Yeah. And Armando's tired." Jackie put an arm across Ray and pulled him into a sideways hug. "Don't worry, Cuz. I know just the place. You'll feel better in the morning."
One of the dancers was gyrating and swaying as she made her way through the tables to Jackie and Ray. She was smiling – not Sarah's 'oh my God, she's really smiling' smile, but a hooker's professional smile. Lips curved lusciously, eyes blank as obsidian. She was amber and bronze beneath the lights of the strip joint, her hair a black and jagged cloud. She looked like a statue of Venus come to life.
"Hey," Jackie nudged Ray's ribs with his elbow. "I think she's coming for you."
"You think?" Ray was doing better since he'd had a couple of drinks. He'd remembered how to speak.
"Yeah. She's looking at you." Jackie smirked. "Reckon we should screw the brains out of Onofri's old whores tonight – serve the old fuck right."
Ray lifted his whisky and swallowed. God… she'd been in Onofri's stable before Jackie took it over. Before he took it over. After all, he was the one who managed the accounts for this place.
I'm filth.
Jackie drained his glass. "You take Honey," he said. "She likes you. I'll take that one." He pointed. "See her? She's new. I'll break her in for you. You can have her next time."
Ray nodded, finished his drink, plonked the empty tumbler on the table next to him. Honey had finally woven her way past her admirers. She spread her legs, and straddled his lap. "Hey, Handsome," she said, put her hands on his shoulders, and started to writhe.
"Hey," Ray choked out.
"I'll leave you two alone." Jackie reached out with his left hand, and gave Honey's right breast a possessive squeeze. Honey pushed into it, and moaned.
God, can Jackie not tell when a woman's faking? Jackie pushed his head between Ray and Honey – Oh for the love of heaven, he's kissing her. Ray shut his eyes against the sight of Jackie's neck, the thought of that man's tongue in the woman's mouth. Of course he knows she's faking. He just doesn't care.
When he opened his eyes, Jackie had gone. Honey was brushing her breasts up against his shirt. Still with that phony smile, and a little bit of hurt behind it. "I missed you, Baby. Not seen you for a few months."
"What?" Ray squeaked. Oh, shit. Armando slept with her.
She looked offended. "You don't remember?"
"Yeah, I remember." He heard his voice go cold. "I've had more important things on my mind."
Fear flickered across her face. It wasn't a good thing to offend the Bookman. "I'm sorry, Baby," she murmured. "I know, we all heard." Ray said nothing, and Honey stopped grinding her hips, settled onto his lap, with something almost like innocence. "Your poor children," she said. "I'm so sorry."
Ray cupped his hands on her buttocks, for something to hang onto, and buried his head on her shoulders. What the fuck am I meant to say?
She was stroking his back and his neck, like real comfort, like a real caress. "You wanna go somewhere with me?"
"Yeah," he muttered. "Yeah."
"Okay," she said, and kissed him. He tilted his head back, and opened his mouth. She tasted of sweetness – coconuts and pineapple. Someone had been buying her cocktails. Ray didn't shut his eyes. At the next table the bodyguards were watching – everyone was watching.
"Let's go," he whispered, pushing her off him.
"Okay, Baby," she said, smiling sideways for the benefit of the other men. "Anything for you."
He slid his arm around her, and let her lead him away.