Date Unknown
The woman is back. He can smell her perfume. He nearly says something, then he realises that his only advantage here is that he knows something she doesn't. He can feel the prickle of her gaze upon the nape of his neck as she watches him. After a moment she starts to move, her shoes a soft shuffle as she circles him like a cat watching an injured bird.
"When did you go to the Feds?" she says, her voice devoid of emotion.
He doesn't give her the satisfaction of flinching. He smiles beneath the hood, glad that he has denied her the satisfaction of seeing his fear.
"Was it before or after your children died?"
"Screw the fucking Feds." He pauses, braces himself. "And fuck you."
2nd June 8pm 1997
"What do you mean 'you know?'" Ray's voice unintentionally cracked. He stared at his friend, his… no. Just his handler. A friend would have said something. "You bastard. If you knew I was in trouble, why didn't you fucking help?"
"My superiors –"
"Oh, fuck the higher-ups." He shouted, and didn't care if his voice carried down the highway. "Mother of God, I can't believe you guys knew."
"This kind of thing happens a lot more than you'd think," Johnny said, in matter of fact tones "even with operatives who've been trained for deep undercover."
"Oh yeah?" Ray swallowed. He couldn't believe how calm the other man was about this. What - had the probability guys factored it in and determined it was worth the risk? Of course they did. "It ever happen to you?" He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"No." Johnny sounded almost apologetic. "But I do know guys it's happened to, good guys. It's not the end of the world."
It is to me, Ray thought. "I hit a woman today," he blurted out, and looked away down the empty road. "She hadn't done anything. I didn't even…" Oh shit, I didn't even hit her. I tried to choke the life out of her. "I don't know what to do."
"Is this Honey?"
"Hannah," Ray corrected him. "Her name's Hannah." And she's twenty-four, if you can believe her. Mom died when she was twelve, brought up by her Grandma, came to Vegas three years ago, hooked, and whored and strung out – and now the Bookman is knocking her around.
"Sorry." Johnny looked annoyed by the interruption. "In all the other surveillance people call her Honey."
Guy doesn't seem to care what I just told him. For a moment Ray wanted to scream, or maybe just eat his gun. Instead he laid his head on the steering wheel. "Why the fuck didn't you guys do something?"
Johnny rubbed his forehead, and grimaced, as though he was having trouble finding the right words. "Sometimes a job gets messy. You have to do what you have to do. If you stay too clean in this kind of work, they start to look at you funny."
"At least nobody's gonna think I'm a Vice cop," Ray commented dryly. Not when I'm getting high and fucking a prostitute. He shook his head, and tried to swallow his anger. "I coulda got myself killed. I mean… Jackie fucking knows about the drugs." He sat back up and glared at Johnny. "That's fucking bad."
"That's pretty bad," Johnny admitted, "but at least he still thinks you're Armando. Did he say what he's going to do about it?"
"He says he'll keep his mouth shut and not tell Sal."
"Hmm." Johnny stared off into the distance, puzzled. "That's odd."
"Yeah, I thought so too."
"Okay," Johnny cleared his throat. "I'm not supposed to say anything, but I'm sure you guessed anyway. We think that Jackie's been watching you. We're not sure how, but someone's passing information to him."
"Give me some credit. Of course I guessed. What sort of information?"
"Mostly nothing – stuff he'd already know, like who you're meeting with, nothing he'd be able to use against you. But it's how we first found out about the drug problem."
"So, how long has he known?"
"Weeks."
Weeks. Perfect. "Who's he been talking to?"
A flash of irritation crossed Johnny's face. "They let me read the transcripts, but the name of his informant is redacted. I don't even know if it's a man or woman. There are big chunks missing. They say they're trying to reduce your anxiety – they think you have enough to worry about. And…" Johnny let out a bitter laugh. "They don't trust me not to tell you. They're obviously correct."
"Oh, great, so I'm not the only one they're keeping in the dark."
"That's true," Johnny agreed. "But you're the only one with his life on the line." He cleared his throat. "Look, I've been thinking about it – I think it's Hon – Hannah."
"Yeah?" The thought made Ray's flesh creep. "It can't be her." He dismissed it. "She'd be afraid to make me angry." His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I'm a vicious son of a bitch," he added, only half joking.
"Okay, so maybe it isn't Hannah." Johnny still sounded doubtful. "But someone's out to get you." He cleared his throat. "Listen, this assignment won't last forever –"
"Oh, fuck off. It already has." Both men fell silent. "So, that's it, is it? I'm stuck here till some magical day when the higher ups decide to take me home?"
"They think this weapons deal could be it."
"What do you mean? I thought the Yakuza contract was 'it,' but they haven't done anything about that."
"Don't worry about that, it's under control. We don't have to know what's happening there, just trust me, it's happening." Johnny sighed. "This thing with Tarasov though, it's huge. We pull this Russian deal off, you have no idea how many lives it will save. We need to get the names involved, the sources –"
"I've given you everything I know." God Almighty. "I don't know what else I can do."
"There's a name that keeps coming up," Johnny persisted. "If you can get him –"
"If. Who is he?"
"Holloway Muldoon."
"Okay." Ray sighed. He knew the drill. "You need me to get close to him, get him red-handed."
"That's it, pretty much."
Ray protested. "Well, I've heard of him, through the grapevine, but he's like the Scarlett Pimpernel, you can't get hold of him. He comes to you, if he comes at all."
"So you have to make him come to you."
Great, Ray thought. Just what I need. As if there aren't enough bad guys in my life, now I got to pull in another one. The worst thing was, he knew just how to get Muldoon to come to him – and he didn't like it. It sounded like a cliché but it was true – Muldoon was a big fat spider sitting in the middle of an international web. The Iguanas must have tripped over one of his threads by now, particularly since they'd got so much bigger. They'd become a much more attractive proposition lately. The trick now was to wait, gently put out feelers, not blunder in like a bull in a china shop. Jackie's gonna love that.
"Fine. He'll come to us," Ray promised. "But, in the meantime, what the hell am I supposed to do about the drugs?"
"Your best," Johnny said. "Look, give us a few days. I'll talk to you tomorrow, at the diner. Let's say four. We've a plan for when you told us, but it will take a day or so to get in place. Can you hang on till then?"
"Guess I'm going to have to." He levelled his gaze at Johnny. "What would you guys have done if I hadn't come to you?"
Johnny paused, looking uncomfortable. Ray shifted in his seat, reading the other man's silence. They'd 'a done nothing, he realised with shock. I could do anything, I could fuck up entirely, and they'll just… pretend I never happened. Cut me loose.
"The official line is that they'd that they'd leave you alone and only pull you out if it started affecting your game. It didn't." Johnny cleared his throat. "Unofficially…"
God, I'm right, ain't I?
"So, if I decide I've had enough and run away, what will you people do?"
"To be honest… I think they'd leave you to the mercy of the Iguanas."
"You guys are bastards, you know that?"
"Yeah," Johnny laughed, sounding a little bitter, like maybe he meant it. He moved his hand to his car key, the meeting clearly at an end. "We'll meet up tomorrow, as usual, talk about ways to manage your problem."
"Okay."
"Look, thanks for telling us." Johnny really did sound sorry now. "A lot of guys never do. So – you know. Good man."
"I'm not so good," Ray said, and turned the ignition on his car. He knew for a fact that he was going to go home, or to Hannah's, take his prescription meds, anything else he could find, and drink himself stupid.
I can't believe they fucking knew.
Friday, June 20th 1997. 9:25 pm
Amelia Rossetti. He spotted her the moment he walked in. It was hard not to. Her dress was as red as Benny's uniform and she dominated the stage like a rose in a field full of daisies.
The previous day Ray had met Johnny at the diner, as instructed, and been shown this woman's photograph. The Fed's solution: introduce a new goomah, someone Ray could go to when things got too bad. Someone he could see openly, whenever he wanted. That was going to be Sarah's role, before he got her killed.
"Well, fuck me, would you look at that piece of cooze." Jackie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and propped his chin on his hands. The Feds had predicted that Jackie would fixate on Rossetti. The brothers, apparently, had been complaining behind his back that Ray was too attached to a moolie. Yeah, well, Jackie was nothing if not predictable. Seemed the Feds' psychologists had made the right call. Jackie was definitely fixated.
"I'm looking," Ray said.
"Oh yeah?" Jackie was doing his 'too casual' act – trying to pretend he wasn't watching Ray's reactions from the corner of his eye. "You could do worse than her."
"Who says she'd be interested?"
"She'll be interested," Jackie said, confidently. "It's all round town. You're an animal in the sack."
"Shut up." Ray knew not to look too interested too early on. "The only people who are saying that are the hookers, and nobody believes a hooker."
"Yeah, they do," Jackie said, "'cause let's face it, if anyone would know, it's those bitches. You can learn a lot from whores."
"Apparently."
"Drink up. God, Sal's rubbing off on you. You hardly touched that. Bad enough he's got you lifting weights."
"I gotta do something when I'm bored." Ray looked at the tumbler, and looked away. "Besides, I wanna listen to this."
"Oh yeah?" Jackie grinned slyly. "You wanna listen, or you wanna look?"
Ray glared at him. "I said shuddup. You're spoiling it."
Jackie sat back and smirked. Ray turned and stared at the stage.
There was a lot to stare at. Rossetti was completely clothed, but her dress was so tight she managed to look naked. Her hair was a tumble of curls that reached half way down her back. She reminded him, uncomfortably, of Victoria. She didn't move like her though. She moved like the jazz she was singing, with rhythm and sass. Her voice was throaty and deep – yeah. He could see why the Feds had picked her. Whoever she was, she oozed charisma – every man in the joint was staring at her, wishing she'd turn his way. The women in her backing band looked like they hated her. It was a good act.
Hannah's gonna be pissed.
He took a swig of his drink and discovered it was empty. He'd meant to slow down. He couldn't afford to drink too much. He was seeing the Feds later. They'd seen him hung-over, but they'd never actually seen him drunk. Johnny was going to be there. He didn't want Johnny to see him like that, even though, by now, Johnny knew he was a fucking train wreck.
He looked back at the stage. Rossetti was on the floor now, wending her way between the front tables. She singled out a man in a sport coat, sidled up next to him and sang. The guy looked like he was in heaven.
Jackie took the glass out of his hand, and Ray heard the liquid glugging as he topped it up. He shut his eyes. There was that weird feeling in his chest again, like there was a hook in there, being pulled. Jackie tapped his shoulder, and Ray reached out for his drink automatically. His stomach was scalding, like he really did have an ulcer, but the little tugging sensation in his chest eased off when he swallowed. Thank God, he thought, as the drink warmed through him. That's better…
He nearly dropped the glass with shock.
"Hey, you haven't had that much to drink," Jackie said, chuckling.
When the fuck did that happen? Ray thought, looking away from the singer, to the tumbler in his hand. I used to hate this stuff. He stared at the amber fluid, horrified. I've only been here four months, how the hell did this happen? When did I start to actually wanting it? He'd been more worried about the pills, he hadn't been paying attention to this one…
Jackie started hooting and hollering, clapping his hands enthusiastically as Rossetti finished her song. Ray was clapping too, but his hands felt very distant as skin hit skin. What am I doing here? God's sake, what the hell am I gonna do?
Rossetti was singing again.
Jackie leant toward him, and whispered. "You want me to find out if she's interested in you?"
"Yeah," Ray said, following the script without even thinking about it. "I suppose."
"You suppose. Fuck's sake, Cuz, grow a pair."
I gotta get outta here…
"Hey."
Ray was on his feet, and Jackie had closed his hand around his forearm. When did I stand up?
"Hey, Cuz, sit down, she's booked to come to our table. You're gonna miss it."
"I need to go to the john."
"Oh come on, hold it in. You don't wanna offend the lady, do you?"
Ray sat. There was no point his walking out – where would he go?
Rossetti had turned, and was now singing in their direction. Jackie nudged Ray again. "She's looking at us. Who do you think she's interested in? You or me?"
"You," Ray said, numbly. Jackie really was so damn easy to predict, at least when it came to women. He was going to preen, and then offer Rossetti to him as though she was his to give. Going to pretend it was charity he was offering Ray from the goodness of his heart…
"Yeah, well. I reckon you're right. But, you know, I've got enough going on. I'll send her your way."
Ray grunted. Shit. He was drinking again. He drained the rest of it in one gulp, then plonked the glass back on the table, upside down. Jackie reached out to offer another refill, and Ray put his hand over the tumbler. "Leave it," he managed to say, and God Almighty, how could he sound so normal? "If you're gonna aim her at me, I wanna have all my wits about me."
Jackie was settling back in his chair, legs stretched out, and grinning again. "Good man, Cuz," he said. "More for me."
Saturday, June 21st 2:30 am
Johnny was already there when they got to Rossetti's hotel room. He shut the door behind them as they stepped in and turned the lock.
"How you guys doing?"
"I'm fine, Johnny," Rossetti said, her accent surprisingly different. A minute ago it had been all New York. Now it was a nasal Texas drawl. Ray blinked, disconcerted, as she sank into an armchair, kicked off her high heels, and started flexing her feet. Somehow, she'd managed to turn the sex appeal off, and despite her clothing, she looked like an ordinary brunette, nice curly hair, kicking back in her living room, wearing a jogging suit.
"Ray?" Johnny's voice prodded him back to the moment.
"Yeah. Fine." Ray studiously didn't look either one of them in the eye.
"Come on. Sit down."
Johnny put a hand on his shoulder and steered him to the couch. "Seriously, Ray, how are you?"
"I need some water."
"Okay – gimme a minute."
Ray watched as Johnny pulled bottles out of the minibar.
"Will sparkling do?"
"I don't care."
"Okay." Johnny turned, and threw one of the bottles. To his surprise, Ray caught it. He also caught the flicker of relief on Johnny's face.
He's testing my reflexes, Ray thought. Trying to figure out just how bad I am.
"Alright," Johnny said, sitting on the couch beside him. "Let's get the introductions out of the way. Amelia – as you know, this is our agent undercover as the Bookman. You don't need to know his full name, but in private, call him Ray."
Ray stared at his shoes. The Feds had realised he needed to be reminded who he was. That's good, isn't it? That should help.
Amelia leant across to him, with a wide grin, and shook his hand. She had a firm handshake, like a man. Of course she did, she was sure of herself – a career Fed. "Nice to meet you, Ray," she said.
Ray grunted an acknowledgement. It wasn't her fault she'd been helicoptered in as his babysitter. And it wasn't her fault that he hated her guts.
"Okay then. Ray – this is Amelia. She's a highly experienced operative, and she'll be able to help keep an eye on you between our meetings. She'll watch out for you, and I think you'll find you have a lot more support than you've been getting."
Ray grunted again.
"Ray?"
"Yeah. Great, thanks." He twisted the top off his water, taking a long moment to drain it to the last drop. "Listen," he said, when he'd finished, "I'm really grateful and everything, but I gotta say this again. Why the fuck did you let it get this bad in the first place?"
The two agents exchanged a glance. Rossetti cleared her throat. "Ray," she said. "This ain't as bad as you think. You're undercover in a culture where drug taking is normal."
"The brothers don't think it's normal."
"That's because Armando was an addict. It's not like neither of them have used recreationally –"
"You're kidding. Sal? Mr. Clean?"
"When he was younger. That's not the point. From your family history it does look like you're at risk of addiction, but when we get you out of here, your whole life will change. Drugs won't be all around you, you won't be in such a high stress environment –"
"You never came to Sunday dinner at my house, did you?" Ray grinned at Johnny, who laughed. That's right, Johnny met Ma, and she threatened to kill him. He listened in on Sunday dinner. For once, Ray didn't resent it. Johnny felt like the closest thing he had left to Chicago. His heart ached, suddenly. They were laughing, but it wasn't funny. He was never going to attend another family meal.
"Ray," Rossetti said. "You may not believe it, but our P-docs were looking out for you. If they'd thought it was bad enough that you couldn't do your job, they'd have pulled you. But you were doing okay."
"I shoulda fucked up and got myself killed then. You'd a let me go home if I'd done that."
"Ray," she stiffened. "I have to ask this – you just made a suicidal joke. Is that something you'd ever consider?"
"What?" Oh shit, Vecchio, you just put your foot in your mouth. He tried to lighten the moment. "Making a bad joke?"
"I mean, have you considered suicide? Because if you have, I could make an argument that you should be pulled from the case."
Ray stared at her. What, now they give me an out? I could lie and tell 'em I'm gonna kill myself, and they'll have to let me go home. He snorted contemptuously at his own thoughts. Yeah, right. He wasn't getting off that easily. She didn't say 'home.' She said 'out.' They won't send me home. They'll put me in a padded cell… Rossetti was staring at him intently and Ray's blood went cold. He had to say something.
"You couldn't a told me this before you turned me into a murdering, junkie, woman-beater?"
"Ray," Johnny interjected, as though he wanted to make an excuse, "you're not a – "
Ray raised his hand to shut him up. "I know exactly what I am. And if I leave now, and these bastards get away with it, then I've spent all these months being a monster for nothing." Four months, five days. "Three men I murdered –" He made a 'zip it' gesture at Johnny and kept going. "They killed two men right in front of me, for something I'd said, and I did nothing. I've tortured people."
"You saved their lives," Johnny interjected.
Ray leant forward, smiled, and pointed straight into Johnny's face. "I cut out a man's tongue to teach him not to gossip." He paused for a moment, but Johnny seemed to have run out of loyal things to say. Ray nodded, simultaneously bitter and glad that the point was getting through his friend's thick skull, when Johnny blurted out again:
"You got him to the hospital."
"So?" Ray exploded. "So? I got him to a hospital, yeah, go me. I'm a saint. Told the brothers it was funnier that way – every time Murphy speaks now, people laugh at him, and remember not to mess with the Iguanas. I'm supposed to be a good guy because I let him live?" Ray shook his head and turned back to Rossetti. "Don't you dare pull me out till the job is done, or I sold my soul for nothing."
"Okay." Rossetti nodded and sat back, with a look of respect. Respect? How dare she? "Right. That's your choice. And you shouldbe proud of what you've achieved so far. You've got guts. And about this problem you have? We can manage it."
"Proud of myself? Manage it?" he shook his head, incredulously. "You know what junkies are like. I'm gonna carry on using. Fuck's sake, I want a bluey now."
"Yeah, well, you ain't getting one, Buster." He blinked, then laughed at her directness. She grinned. "Sorry. It's all we can do. So, you're gonna see the doctor next, she'll change your meds, to help with any cravings, and you got a problem, you come to me. Not Hannah."
Ray dropped his head, stared at the mouth of the bottle between his knees, wishing it wasn't empty, wishing it was something other than water, and didn't say a word.
Rossetti started talking again. "Look, I'm sorry to be so harsh, and I know you got feelings for her, but part of staying clean is changing your lifestyle –"
Ray barked out a laugh. "Like that's gonna happen here."
"You'll have to try. I know you can't completely cut it out, but you're gonna cut it down. Okay?"
Ray gave a single nod. "Okay."
"When your assignment is over, we'll get you good counselling and support for your recovery."
Is this woman insane? She thinks I'm gonna recover?
"Look at me."
Oh God – For a moment Ray flashed on Herzog, kneeling in the dirt, and his own voice, sharp as he bullied the man. 'Look at me. Look –' He blinked, and looked up at her, frightened.
Her voice gentled. "I want you to know that I'll never say anything I don't believe. I'll never sugar coat anything. You need to know you can trust me, Ray. I can be a real bitch sometimes, but I'm on your side."
"I'll remember that," Ray whispered.
She stood. "Anyway, I'm gonna leave you now so you can talk to Johnny and the doctor privately. I'll be through those doors." She pointed toward the adjoining suite. "In the morning, I come back through, and we leave together. We can either have breakfast in here, or we eat downstairs, but the important thing is, we make sure someone sees us."
Ray nodded, said nothing. There was nothing to say.
Thursday, July 18th 3:52 pm
Hannah hadn't left the apartment in a week. She'd hardly got out of bed.
"Hey, sweetheart," Ray said, heart hurting. "Come on. Smile."
She looked at him, and smiled. A hooker smile. It wasn't anything like her real smile. He'd only just realised how much he looked forward to seeing her smile.
God, he thought, I figured she'd be pissed, but I never thought she'd be so upset. I mean, I pay her – what, did she think she was my girlfriend?
He sat on the mattress next to her and stroked her hair. Her highlights were growing out.
"You know she doesn't mean anything to me."
"That's – that's –" she hiccupped, then blew her nose messily on the sleeve of her pyjamas. "That's not what it looks like."
"I've got to see her. You know my cousins. They think…" God, he hated this, "they think it's better for business."
"Better than me? Because I'm a whore?"
"You don't do that anymore," he pointed out, bending down to kiss her. She turned her head away.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't kiss me. Not when you've been kissing her."
Ray sat back, and sighed. He couldn't deny it. He had been kissing Rossetti. For nearly a month they'd been meeting two or three times a week, dining together in the best restaurants. Disappearing into their hotel, and not emerging till late morning. He'd even been enjoying some of it, sitting right where anyone could see him, covertly passing information to and fro. Made this stupid job feel almost like a game.
God, when I was a kid, I'd have thought this was the coolest job in the world.
And even though half the time he wanted to kill her, Rossetti was pretty cool herself. She was anything but fragile, and he needed that – some woman he could talk to without hurting. And sometimes she was so damn funny he even forgot to be sad. He had to admit, he liked the fact that this obviously unattainable woman was on his arm, and all Vegas knew it. He knew he was disgusting for thinking like that. He knew it wasn't real, it was just a job – and he didn't even want Rossetti. Not when –
He didn't love Hannah. They had nothing in common. She laughed at his jokes because he paid her, not because she actually cared what he said. At least – that was what he had thought, before today. He laughed at her jokes because he was stoned, not because he cared about coral pink lipstick, or how big some hooker's backside was. He liked her – that was it. She was a good kid, and too young for him.
So how come he couldn't stop thinking about her? And how the hell had he made he cry?
Fuck. What a mess.
"Fuck," he said aloud. "What a mess."
"You're the one who messed it up." She snuffled into the pillow, then flinched. "Maybe it was me." She turned round suddenly, eyes wide, and shocked, as though she'd seen something ugly. "Was it me? Is that why you go to Amelia? Is it because I… is it because I used to have sex with other men?"
"No," he said. Oh God, she thinks it's her fault. "No. I don't even think about that."
"You're not jealous?" she mumbled. "I'm not worth even that?"
"Jealous of what you used to do?" He touched her hair again, and she let him. "No." He started stroking his fingers up and down her face. "But jealous of you? Yeah. Nobody's allowed to hurt you." Except me, he thought, bitterly, remembering his hands on her throat.
She smiled a little. "Really?"
"Yeah. Really. It's not your fault." He knew it should bother him, but who was he to judge anyone? He'd done far worse than whore himself out. "It was your job. And you don't have to do it anymore. You're with me now. Why would I be jealous of that?"
Something strange flitted across her face – he couldn't catch the expression before it was gone.
"You know Jackie's nothing like you?"
"Yeah, I got that." Why's she talking about Jackie? Ray was shocked by the sharp stab of jealousy.
"I mean, you never hurt me. Not really."
His hand froze, just over her earlobe.
"Jackie hurt you?"
"I don't mean like that. He didn't – you know. He just… sometimes he was rough."
Ray kissed her forehead, and tried not to think about her and Jackie, or her job. It didn't matter anymore – nobody else would dare touch the Bookman's girl. Or his… pet, or whatever the fuck he'd turned her into. "You want me to kill him for you?" Shit, when had that line become a joke?
She managed a laugh. "No, he'll leave me alone now. Last time I saw him he said…"
"What?"
She bit her lower lip and her face twisted. "He said, 'You're not the Bookman's goomah. You're his whore.'"
Ray slid down, and lay beside her. She was shivering, and he wrapped her in his arms. "Hush, hush." I'm gonna kill Jackie for real. "Don't cry, Hannah. It's not your fault." No. It's mine, I shoulda left her where I found her, out in Nye County turning tricks. She was happier there. What the hell have I done to her?
"It is though," she mumbled into his shoulder. "It is my fault. I'm a whore."
"You're my girl," he said, helpless not to. What does that even mean? "Nobody's allowed to touch you."
"I'm not your girl, she is."
"Did I put her up in an apartment?"
"No."
"She's just business, Hannah. You're my girl."
"You really don't like her like that? Like you like me?"
"Oh, God, Hannah. I more than like you."
Her lips tasted salty from tears.
"I love you, Armando."
Don't, he thought, don't call me that. Not when you're saying you love me.
He knew she wanted him to say it, to say he loved her. But what good would it do? This couldn't go anywhere. They weren't going to get out of this together. He didn't even know why he came here, why he still lay down on her bed. He'd do anything for her, but he couldn't do a thing.
He didn't say it. He couldn't say he loved her. It wasn't even true. He was kissing her instead. Oh, stupid, stupid, Vecchio – don't. Worse, you're making everything worse…
He kissed her, and let her pull him down, and forgot he was breaking his heart.
6:50pm
"Are you going to answer that?"
"What?"
"Your phone." Hannah's voice was slurry with sleep, but happy again. "It keeps ringing."
"Oh fuck," Ray mumbled, and reached out blindly. "What?"
"Hey, Cuz. You were meant to come round to Sal's – family dinner, remember?"
"Oh. Shit. I forgot." Sal's wife and kids had flown over from Italy. Looked like a reconciliation was on the cards.
"Yeah? Well, you're a jerk, you know that? The kids keep asking why you're not here."
"I'm sorry – I'm really sorry. Look – they're here for another week aren't they? I'll see 'em tomorrow."
"Why don't you come over now?"
"I'm…" He flopped his head down. "I'm kinda tired."
"You're always fucking tired," Jackie shouted. Ray knew exactly what he looked like – brick red with anger, face snarling. He hoped the kids weren't hearing this. "It's not your ulcer," Jackie's voice dropped to a low growl, "at least, that's what you've been telling me. So, why are you still tired?"
Because I'm sick of all this fucking shit, that's why. Ray gritted his teeth, and didn't say it.
"Are you with that bitch Honey?"
He supposed he could lie, but Jackie might be having him followed. He wouldn't put it past him.
"I'm with Hannah, yeah."
"You turned down dinner with your nephew and nieces for that trash? You couldn't even have gone with Amelia?"
"Look, I forgot, that's all. You don't gotta make a big thing of it."
"I'll send someone round for you."
"I can't…"
"Can't what?" Jackie's voice rumbled, dangerous and low.
"I'm kinda wasted," Ray admitted. There was no other way round it. "You won't want the kids to see me drunk." He wasn't actually drunk – he'd not had much at all – but he'd doubled up on his sleeping tablet way too early, and it had gone to his head.
"So, you'd sooner get drunk and fuck a whore than have dinner with your family? Marco's really upset. He's already upset about Joey –"
"Oh fuck off," Ray yelled, finally snapping. "I can't be bothered with this shit."
The phone was ringing again, and Hannah was leaning over him, looking frightened. "You're going to have to answer it," she said. "That's Jackie, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"If you don't answer it, he'll come here." She hugged herself. "Don't let him in."
He sat up. "God – I'm sorry Hannah." You can do this, Vecchio. He picked up the phone.
"Jackie."
"You'd better have a damn good reason to talk to me like that."
A little bubble of nausea rose in Ray's throat. He sounds just like Pa.
"Look, Jackie, I'm sorry." He fought to keep his voice steady. Thank God he sounded okay. "I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, and I'm sorry the kids are upset –"
"Yeah, well, you get yourself over here, or I'm gonna come over and kick the door down."
"I'm coming. Okay?"
Jackie sounded a little bit calmer. "Okay. Twenty minutes. More than that and I'll get you myself."
There was a click on the line, and the phone went dead. Ray stared at it, dazed.
"I gotta go, Hannah."
"I know." She chewed the knuckle of her thumb, gazing at him blearily. "You need a pick me up?"
"I… I don't know."
"You took your sleeping pill, didn't you?"
"Yeah."
She shook her head at him. "You can't go like that, they'll know you're on something."
"If I don't go he'll send someone." He stood up, carefully, and steadied himself against the bedside table.
"Here. Take this. It'll fix you right up."
"I don't need fixing."
"Tell me about it." She sniggered suddenly. "Sorry. I guess I'm high."
"Hannah…" he sighed. "You ever think you're doing too much?"
She pouted. "You take 'em too."
He paused. "I know."
She rolled her eyes. "You are such a man. You don't want it then?"
"I'm fine. Just… where the hell are my pants?" God, he was wobbly. Shit, he realised, I just got naked with Hannah. He giggled.
"By the dresser."
"Er…" Where? "I'm gonna need those pills," he admitted as he finally found his pants.
She knelt up on the bed smiling, and popped the dexies in his mouth. God, he thought, swallowing. Her face was so happy it was almost blinding. I wish it was me who made her feel this good, not the damn drugs. He kissed her again, and nearly forgot why he was going.
Jeez, get outta here, Vecchio. You don't want Jackie coming here and thinking Hannah got you stoned.
"I'll try to get home later. You're okay now?"
"Yeah." She lay back on the bed, grinning. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine."
He stared at her for a moment, then managed to tear himself away. If he didn't go now he'd never leave.
7:23pm
As he walked up the cobblestones leading to Sal's front door, he braced for the inevitable confrontation with Jackie in the portico. But no one, not even a servant, was there to greet him. He let himself in, wandering through the house, sniffing. Jackie must be cooking – smelled like a really good meal for once. Sal would live on that powdered protein crap if you let him. They must be eating already.
And then he stepped into the dining room.
Ma was standing at the table, serving farfalle alla boscaiola.
No – that was Margarita Langoustini – Sal's wife. With her makeup, and big hair, and gold earrings, she looked nothing like Ma at all.
"Ma – Ma! You saw that! Nelly stole my bread."
"You don't need it anyway." Frannie – Nelly – was sticking her tongue out at Maria – Alicia. "Bread's full of calories. And you're fat."
God. It's like I fell through a hole in time.
"Children, behave – what must your father think?"
"I am not fat!"
"You are, you're a fat face."
"Ma, she's calling me fat!"
"Fat face, fat face, fat face!"
"Serenella Langoustini…" Sal's voice, stern but secretly amused. Nothing like Pa – "If you don't say sorry to your sister I'm sending you to your room."
"I'm sorry."
"She's lying Pa, she doesn't mean it. Send her to her room."
"Pa, she…"
The room fell silent.
"Uncle Mando!"
Ray blinked at the little boy's excited smile, and the next moment he had an armful of five year old nephew. Little Tony. Little Tony was hugging him, back when he was this small... He's not mine. He's Marco. I'm not his uncle. I'm not home.
"Marco," he remembered to say, as he knelt and hugged him back.
And then he was crying, like a fool. Like a failure. Pa didn't even have to say it – Oh God. Pa. He looked up, and sure enough, the Old Man was sitting at the head of the table where Sal had just vacated his seat.
"Mando?"
"Sorry. Sorry, Sal." He looked away, avoiding his cousin's eyes, stared at the floor.
Marco looked sad and confused. He patted Ray's face. "Is it because of Joey?" he asked.
Ray nodded quickly. "Yeah, sorry, Marco," he said, rubbing his cheeks and trying unsuccessfully to stand. Shit. He collapsed back to the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest. "I'm sorry..." he apologized again, to no one and everyone.
He heard a noise, a murmur of voices, and lifted his head. Sal was striding toward him, eyes full of fury.
Oh God, I'm high as a kite. And Sal knows it.