Date Unknown
Silence, and silence, and silence. He's shaking.
Oh shit, this is so not good.
He focuses on the pain of the most recent beating, of the ache in his stomach where they kicked him, the pain in his ribs, because it's better than his growing need for…
"Oh God," he groans, "I need a drink."
Immediately, he realizes his mistake because the woman lets out a satisfied chuckle. He twitches against his restraints. It's an almost imperceptible movement, but he knows she sees it.
Stupid. Vecchio, you idiot. You just told them something they can use.
He wants the other stuff too, but he doesn't tell them that.
Friday 25th July, 1997. 1.20 pm
It was the kind of restaurant you'd see in a movie, but didn't exist in real life. The tables looked like lilies floating on the water. Ray wasn't sure, but he thought the tablecloths were silk. Imagine the cleaning bill, getting red wine out of that. The room was lit by – well, you couldn't call it a chandelier, because it wasn't hanging from a central point, and you couldn't say it was fairy lights because those shiny drops looked like they were made of crystal. It was like a cloud of shining icicles, dripping snow.
With this assignment, he took many things for granted - fancy restaurants, expensive suits, a retinue of servants - but Rossetti was not one of them. e didn't particularly like her right now, because she stood between him and a fix – but he knew he was lucky to have her. He was looking forward to a bad day. The Russian thing wasn't panning out, the brothers were antsy, and Muldoon hadn't bitten yet.
Fuck it. Don't worry, the Feds will have a solution.
Amelia shrugged off her furs and handed them to the doorman. "The casinos keep the air conditioning running full blast" she said as they were led to their table, "sometimes I want to put gloves on."
"Yeah, I noticed," Ray smiled, pulling out her chair. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "That's why my fellow mobsters and I still wear our coats inside. Not just 'cause we look cool."
She laughed. Ray took his seat opposite her, smiling into her eyes. They were supposed to be a romantic couple after all. "So, tell me, Ray." She reached across the table and touched his hand. "You disappeared off the radar yesterday. How did you do?"
Ray was used to the question by now and answered it without embarrassment.
"We had another meeting with Tarasov – he was on vodka. I stuck to water, and let Jackie think I was getting the guy drunk and staying sober so I'd have the advantage."
"I take it he approved."
"Yeah. So did Sal, when he heard."
"That's good."
"I had a couple of drinks with Jackie after the –"
"A couple?"
"Well, three." He wasn't sure it was only three, but he knew it wasn't more than five. Which wasn't that bad, really. "And nothing today." Yet. She nodded. She knew she'd get no better from him as things stood. He cleared his throat. "Tarasov is being cagey – apparently he did a dummy run, couple of months back, trying to get a small supply across border control, and it didn't work out like he planned. But he won't tell us what the problem was. Which pisses off the brothers like you wouldn't believe. Don't suppose you guys know, do you?"
"Yes –" She grinned at him. "Actually, I think you're going to like this."
"Oh yeah?"
"They tried smuggling them through Chicago, and a friend of yours stopped them.
"A friend…"
"A Canadian friend."
Ray stared at her, incredulous – then he started laughing. Oh my God, he thought, here I am, trying to smuggle weapons into the country, and Benny stops me. What are the odds of that? He covered his mouth, tried to calm down – shit, I can't stop laughing. The smile was fixed on her face now, and she was staring at him a little too hard. "Oh God, I wonder did he wear the uniform?" Get your act together, Vecchio. It was one thing to laugh, another to howl like a hyena. "Sorry, sorry," he managed, as he got himself under control. "But you gotta admit, it's hilarious."
"Okay," her smile relaxed. "Unusual at least –" She patted his hand. "Try to not to crack up like that when you tell the brothers."
"I'll try." He was just grinning now. "It'll make me look good, figuring it out. You'll have to fill me in."
"Yeah, I will. It'll help repair the damage from last week."
"I hope so." Ray paused while the pre-ordered dinner arrived. When the waiter had left he started talking again. "Though – they're gonna keep watching me. Specially Sal. Seems to think it's his fault for not looking out for me."
"Strange way he had of showing it."
Ray laughed, though not quite as hysterically as before. "Well, you could call it tough love, I suppose."
"Could do. He could have drowned you."
"Well, he scared me awake, that's for sure." Ray chuckled. "It's actually almost funny."
She tilted her head slightly. "You're finding a lot of things funny right now. People in this restaurant must think I'm the most entertaining dinner date on the planet."
He groaned. He knew where this was going.
"Are you high?"
He rolled his eyes. "Sorry. It'll wear off."
"What did you take?"
He glared. "What, am I on trial?"
"Just checking that you're not escalating or moving onto harder drugs.
"Fuck." He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "I'm an idiot, but there are two things I'm never gonna do. I'm never gonna inject, and I'm never gonna snort. So don't worry about coke or that shit." He sat back, and she was nodding.
"So what was it?"
"Just dexie," he muttered. He didn't tell her that he'd started opening the gelatin capsules so he could put the grains directly on his tongue. That was a junkie trick, now he thought of it. He'd first heard of it when he worked Vice, and thought, contemptuously, stupid bastards. Yeah, well, the joke was on him. And it did get the first hit to you quicker.
"How many?"
He lied to her. "Two."
"Why did you need 'em?"
"I took my meds late last night."
"Anything else?"
"That's it. I just couldn't wake up, that's all."
She had to know he was lying. Still, she smiled and leaned coquettishly across the table. "You can do better than this," she told him. "You know you can. Tonight, you come to the hotel, let us look after you."
I fucking hate you. "Okay." Shit, they'd give him that stuff that made him feel like a zombie retard, even if it did shut Armando and Pa up, and help him sleep.
"And about Sal," she said. "You know, if his kids hadn't been there, it wouldn't have been so funny. He might have actually hurt you."
That was true. Sal had looked like he wanted to kill him for a moment. Instead, he hoisted Ray up over his shoulder, marched out of his house, and threw him in the swimming pool. So that's why these guys have pools, Ray thought, biting down the last of his chuckles. To try to drown each other in.
'Don't you ever,' Sal had shouted, 'turn up like that again. In front of my kids. You sick fuck.' Of course later, after the kids had gone to bed, Sal had turned on Jackie. 'If you knew about this, why didn't you say something? Or were you waiting for the best time for Mando to embarrass himself? You wanna be glad it didn't happen in public.'
"I'm surprised I'm still consigliere," Ray admitted to Rossetti, feeling chastened. "I thought for sure Sal would drop me after that."
"We all did, but it seems Sal doesn't trust Pender."
"Pender?" Ray considered it. "Yeah, I've thought about Pender for consigliere. He'd be Jackie's choice."
"He is Jackie's choice. Don't think they didn't talk about it. Sal's main concern is that if there's a change in 'management' now the triumvirate will look unsettled. And he doesn't like Pender. So, you have a period of grace. Don't fuck it up."
"I won't." Ray was feeling well and truly sober now. He reached across the table, and touched her cheek. They were being watched, although the Feds had scoped this restaurant and reassured them that they couldn't be heard. Ray leant forward and pretended to whisper sweet nothings. "So what do I do to make Sal trust me again?"
"Just keep making them money hand over fist. And tell them about this Russian thing." She focussed on him acutely, but he wasn't laughing anymore. "Stay as sober as you can. Sal reckons Armando's still mourning his kids, and it only got that bad, because the children were visiting for the first time. Or at least, that's what he's telling himself."
"Fuck, that guy's got faith in his cousin."
"Yeah, well. Don't be too confident. He tries to have faith. Apparently Armando beat it before, he thinks you can do it again. Jackie's pissed about it – he definitely wants you deposed."
Ray nodded. "That one's kinda obvious." He played with his food. "What I can't figure out is if it's a new thing. We know he argued with Armando a lot, but do you think he knows there's something off with me? I mean, well – he doesn't know why I'm different but he senses it somehow?"
"We don't know. To be honest, Sal knew your brother better. If anyone makes you, the higher ups think it will be Sal."
"Sal?" Ray hadn't even thought of that. "Shit." He looked at the mineral water she'd ordered, and wished it was a real drink.
"Look, try not to worry about it, but just keep your phone on you if we need to warn you quick. Jackie wants you to slip up, Sal wants you to prove him wrong."
'Try not to worry.' Nice advice there, Feebie.
"I'll prove him wrong," Ray said.
Rossetti nodded. "You're doing a lot better." She paused. "You need to break it off with Hannah."
Ray bit his lip. Rossetti was right, he knew that, but –
Like everything else that had happened since he'd got to Vegas, once he started, he was out of control. Couldn't stop, even if he wanted to. Poor Hannah – somehow she'd become another of his addictions.
"No," he said. "I don't think I can do that."
3.27 pm
In the changing room of the upscale boutique, Hannah turned round and round in front of the full-length mirrors. She stretched her arms out, pirouetting like the ballerina on top of the music box Ma had owned. She looked like looked like Frannie, back when Frannie was seven, spinning around in her first communion gown.
Not that Hannah's dress was anything like Frannie's had been. It was the deep gold of Manuka honey, just a little lighter than Hannah's skin. The fine silk clung to her figure, leaving little to the imagination, before splitting at the knee to expose her long smooth legs. She was crooking her head over her shoulder now, to see what she looked like from the back.
Wow.
"You like that one?"
"Yes," she said, smiling at herself in the mirrors as she turned, then looked back at him. "Yes. I mean – are you sure you can afford it?"
Ray barked out a laugh.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to insult you –"
"I'm not insulted." He stepped up to her, and touched her arm. "And yeah, I can afford it."
"Really?" She looked at herself in the mirror again, like a little girl frightened her doll was going to be taken away. "I can really have it?"
"Yeah, Hannah. 'Course you can."
She tilted her head up, and let her eyes fall shut. Very gently he dropped a kiss on her smile. She sighed against his lips, and looked up at him, her eyes suddenly sad.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she lied and pasted a smile back on.
"Don't worry about it," he said, as though he knew what they were talking about. "You're gonna be the most beautiful woman there."
"You think?"
"I know." He glanced at the lady standing by the door. "We'll just ask them to take some final measurements, and they'll send it round to you when it's just right."
"Isn't it just right now?"
"Needs taking in a little here." He rested his hand on her waist. "Then it'll be perfect."
"You know we're all alone in here," Hannah said, softly. Ray looked over his shoulder. It was true.
"You've got a one track mind," Ray said, trying to sound disapproving.
"We should sit over here," Hannah said, and giggled. "Then when they come back in every one will think we've been fooling around."
"In that dress?"
"You'd have to get me out of it first."
She settled herself on the couch and gave a sultry smile. The effect was ruined when she started sniggering.
Ray sat next to her, amused, and lifted one of her legs, rested her foot on his lap. Those high heels must be real killers. He slipped her shoe off, and started massaging her foot.
"Oh, that's nice," she sighed and closed her eyes.
Yeah. It was nice. She looked almost as relaxed as when she was sleeping. Ray watched her face, and smiled. "You know what this thing is that we're sitting on? It's called a fainting couch. You're supposed to swoon on it."
"Like this?" She lay back, and put a hand on her brow. "Oh, Armando," she fluttered, sounding like Scarlett O Hara in Gone with the Wind. Ray bit his lower lip to stop himself from laughing, and started tickling her toes. "Hey," she squeaked. "Stop that!"
"Sorry," Ray chuckled. "Couldn't help it."
"Not nice to tickle."
"Other foot."
She wriggled, and presented the other foot.
After another five minutes she murmured, "How long can we stay here?"
"Not much longer," he said, apologetically. "I gotta see my cousins."
"Business?"
"Always," Ray said.
"Anything interesting?"
"Boring as all hell," he replied.
"Oh."
He gave her a narrow look. She had her eyes closed, and was looking oblivious, but he always had a flash of suspicion when she asked him about Armando's work. Stupid really – it wasn't like she was going to talk about him to anyone else, whatever Johnny said. She knew a good thing when she saw it, and kept her end of the bargain, and she was certainly enjoying herself. But paranoia was second nature by now.
"Here you go," he said, releasing her foot. "All done."
She looked down and wriggled her toes. "Shame, I was enjoying that."
"Me too," he admitted.
"They'll be sore again tonight, you know."
"Yeah? Well, I might have to drop work and look after them for you."
"Thank you, Armando." There it was again. That real smile… Ray reached out his hand to help her up, when the door opened.
"Oh, sorry, Sir, Mr Langoustini…"
The manager had opened the door, and was blushing furiously. Ray looked at her, then at the picture he and Hannah presented – her stretched out on her back, one bare foot still on his lap, him reaching over her.
What did it say about him that he wasn't even embarrassed? If anything, this would be good for the Bookman's reputation.
"It's alright," Ray said, standing up and brushing his jacket as he started his 'Armando' impersonation. "Shouldn't have got distracted. I got a meeting to get to. So, sweetheart," he turned to Hannah and helped her to her feet. "I'm gonna leave the limo out front. You come down when you're finished here. You got a girlfriend you wanna go shopping with?"
"Oh – yes. There's Clara. You know Clara?"
"Yeah. I know Clara." Jackie, Ray thought sourly, knows her better. "Well, pick up Clara, you girls go out for lunch, get yourselves whatever you like. You got an open account any casino you care to go. Just talk to the Floor Manager – tell 'em I sent you."
Hannah's eyes went big. "I couldn't…"
"Course you can. You gotta…" he flapped his hand in a circle, looking for the word. "Accessorise, or coordinate, or whatever you're meant to do when you get a new dress. Handbags and shoes and that shit. If you can't think of anything to buy, ask Clara. She'll think of something. Tell her she can get what she likes as well."
"Really?"
"Really. Go wild. You deserve it."
"Eeeeh!" She squealed, and he laughed as she bounced up on her bare toes and hugged him.
"Hey, come on." He popped a kiss on her forehead. "I gotta go. See you tonight."
He nodded at Valerie, gave Hannah the mandatory pat on the butt, and left.
That was my 'happy' for the day, he thought, as he climbed into the back of the limo. Now I gotta see the brothers.
Well, maybe he'd have another little island of happy later. The Feds would be waiting for him in Rossetti's hotel but…
He should go to Amelia, he knew that but –
Who was he kidding? He was having to put up with the brothers next. He knew damn well when he was finished he'd go to Hannah instead.
4:45PM
If I wasn't bald to start with, I would be by now.
Ray stood at his desk, hands braced against the edge of it, glaring at the papers. Somehow, someway, he had to make this situation make sense. And he had to get the damn shipment into the country.
Shit. If I'm not careful, Tarasov will sell to someone else, and then… Ray rubbed his forehead against the incipient headache. Yeah, well, if that happens the Feds can't control the damage, and get the fucking bastards. He had to get this right. If he got this right, those weapons couldn't be used against anyone.
If he got it wrong…
If he got it wrong, the Bookman would have failed the major contract of his career, they'd be out millions, and even Sal wouldn't trust him again. The Feds might try to get him out, but what would be the point? He'd have spent 4 months one week and a day turning himself into a monster, for nothing. He might as well let the brothers kill him.
I'm not gonna get this wrong.
"So, Cuz," Jackie strolled over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder, as if in friendship. Ray resisted the urge to shrug it off. "You look worried."
"Nah, not worried. Just thinking…"
Jackie snorted. "Looks like it hurts…"
"Leave him, Jackie," Sal warned. "Don't start. He'll think of something."
"Hope he does it soon."
"He always thinks of something."
"Yeah," Ray muttered, and scratched his chin. "Yeah, I always do."
Jackie rolled his eyes. "Modest, ain't you?"
Ray glared. "I'm thinking." Jackie made a huff noise, and wandered to the drinks cabinet. Ray bit his lower lip, ignored him, and turned back to the papers. It's a bit early, Ray told himself. You can have one later. So far that tactic had helped today. He'd wanted a drink at three, he promised himself one at four. And then, come four, he was distracted. Anyway, we're supposed to be working. "Damn Russians," he muttered, and spread the documents out on display, all across his expensive desk. He'd wanted this meeting at Armando's place, but some of the papers here were far too sensitive to leave the office. Later, when Jackie and Sal left, he'd use the watch-cam, assuming Armando didn't turn up to fuck with him. For now –
"I thought you said the numbers added up," Jackie challenged him, as he came back with his drink.
"The numbers do add up," Ray snapped. "I been over them twenty times."
"So, what's the fucking problem?"
God, he's carrying on like this is my fault… "Problem is the supply routes." Ray drummed his fingers on the map. He pointed. "Look at it. I don't see how this will work."
"They're the ones who suggested it."
"Yeah, well, they wanna think a bit more about their own geography. Border patrol's been all over this area lately. And I'm not so sure about some of their connections either. Think some of 'em might be under investigation."
"You think?" Jackie turned, looked at him narrowly. "What makes you think that?"
"A few of their top guys just vanished. Siberia's a graveyard, I get that, and they've had their own family wars, but I don't think all those guys are buried in the snow. The opposition can't have taken them all out."
Sal bent over the maps with a frown. "Where do you reckon they are, Mando? What's going on?"
Ray dropped onto his swivel chair, and kicked with his heels, scooting along to the manifest listings. He lifted it, compared it to the map, then looked at the 'family tree' of Russian personnel he'd figured out over the last few months.
He leaned back with a sigh, thinking about it. "I reckon it's the Russian version of the Feds," he admitted. "Got some of their guys in witness protection, maybe." Johnny hadn't told him that, but it was the only thing that made sense. "That's why these trade routes are crawling with border patrol all of a sudden." He leaned forward, and crossed out some of the names. "Someone high up in the organisation turned traitor and squealed to the authorities."
"Shit," Sal said.
"Fuck," snarled Jackie. "You think Tarasov is in on it?"
"Tarasov's middle management. It's not him." He shrugged. "Hey, I might be wrong. And anyway, there's gonna be a way round it. There's always a way round. Gimme a while to look into it."
Jackie was glaring at him, like he was personally responsible for the fuck up. Sal had a shrewd expression for a moment, as though waiting for Ray to make a mistake. He'd been 'off' with him since the incident at the family dinner.
Ray shook his head at them both. "Fuck's sake, what are you worried about? It's not like we ain't had crap to sort out before."
"You were on your game then," Jackie muttered. Ray shot him a sharp look. Jackie lifted his hands in a 'who, me?' gesture, as though he'd said nothing.
Ray turned his face away from him, looked squarely at Sal. "Don't worry," he reassured him. "We'll think of something." Ray slid one of the sheets out, and stared at the mathematical projections. He'd spent hours working this stuff out – okay, so the Feds had helped, but he was pretty damn proud of himself. Who'da thought I'd get so good at Math? Mr Kirby'd have a fit if he could see me now… Ray chuckled. All he'd ever needed was the correct motivation – learn, or you die painfully in the desert.
He grinned at the brothers."Gotta say though, Jackie, I'm liking these numbers."
Jackie nodded, slightly mollified, either by Ray's confidence or the bourbon. "I'd still love to know how Tarasov fucked up the dummy run."
Ray looked up at the brothers, with a smug grin on his face. "Didn't I tell you about that?"
"What, you know something?"
"I got my sources," Ray said, cryptically. "The Russians did get a sample across the border, probably luck more than anything, then tried to see if they could get it through Chicago."
"Why Chicago?"
"Beats me." Because the gods of irony are using me for target practice.
"So? What happened?"
"Some damn Mountie and a Chicago flatfoot stopped 'em."
"A Mountie?" Jackie looked suitably gobsmacked. "In Chicago?"
"Yeah." Oh shit. Ray bit his lower lip. I'm gonna crack up again… He'd kinda hoped it was out of his system, but this was more panic than humour.
"What's so funny?" Sal was peering at him intently.
Stop it you idiot. The last thing he needed was the brothers thinking he'd lost the plot. "Sorry." Ray pulled himself together, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm just trying to picture the look on the Russians' faces when a damn Mountie turns up and arrests 'em."
"It's not that funny," Sal said, staring at him too hard. "We still can't get the damn stuff in the country."
Jackie smirked.
"What's with that face, Cuz?" Ray asked. "You might as well have 'I told you so' written on your head."
"I did tell you so. We shoulda put more money into the Yakuza – drugs are easier to shift."
Ray opened his mouth, about to argue – then smiled. This was the perfect moment to pull the ace from the deck. "We'll shift it."
"What? You had an idea." Sal folded his arms across his broad chest. "See, Jackie? He's got that light bulb over his head again."
"We need another middleman."
"Oh yeah?" Jackie scoffed. "Someone else to split the proceeds with and –"
"Shush, hear him out."
"Not an other middle man, what I mean is a different middleman. What we do is, get an experienced guy. Not someone who can't get a crate of rifles from A to B." He snorted contemptuously. "When it comes to the deal, we'll cut Tarasov out entirely. After all, he's the one who let us down. We get the weapons across, Tarasov can't do anything." Actually, Tarasov's bosses will probably kill him for fucking up, but… don't think about that now. Ray blinked, and stifled a groan.
Armando was standing between Jackie and Sal, smiling and nodding with approval. In his head, Ray could hear his brother's voice. 'Good idea,' it said, 'I couldn't do better myself.'
Oh God, I didn't take my anti whatchamacallit from the Feds.
"Yeah? And who's this magical middleman?"
For a bizarre moment Ray wondered if Jackie could see Armando standing between him and Sal. He shook his head to clear it of the stupid notion.
"I've got some names." Ray pulled out a sheet. "There's the Irish, of course – we've been dealing with them on a small scale. Don't think they've got the experience for a big shipment, and besides, the British government are all over the IRA at the moment."
"Okay, Mando, so scratch the Micks off the list. We'd have to deal with them through the Boston Bastards anyway, and I don't like them." Ray sniggered. That wasn't the Irish Mob's actual name – they weren't even from Boston, they were the Paddies right here in Nevada – but somehow it had stuck. "Who else you got?"
Ray stared at the names. "I think we're best going with someone who has no political axe to grind at all. Customers – great, use 'em all. We can sell to the lot of them. But for our actual importer there's only one who's not politically invested. That's what we need."
"Well, spit it out, Cuz."
"Canadian guy," Ray said, with an odd feeling of resentment. Why did he have to be Canadian? Canadians are meant to be good guys. "Holloway Muldoon. He's our middle man."
"Oh, fuck me!" Jackie exploded. "What the fuck are you thinking, Cuz? The bastard's impossible to get hold of."
"I've made contact with one of his associates –"
"How?" Jackie's eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head, his whole body thrumming with distrust. Ray rubbed his face.
Shit, I'm in trouble, Jackie's dangerous.
"Look, Jackie" he jabbed his finger on a map for emphasis. "It's my job to have the ideas and do the research. It's your job to chase them down. I've got some numbers –"
"Yeah, but how the fuck do you do that, Cuz?"
"Like I said, I got my sources." Ray felt cold. If they kept asking he had a cover story, but the truth was, he'd got the contact details from the Feds. He forced aggression into his voice. "You want me to give you a list of all my snitches?"
Sal waved his hand dismissively. "Bad for business," he said. "We all got guys, they got to know we don't blab to anyone."
"Yeah, whatever." Jackie shook his head. "Just the way Armando's been acting–"
"Shut up about that," Sal snapped. "He knows what he's doing. Anyway," he exchanged a glance with his brother. "I need to talk to Mando alone."
"Yeah," Jackie nodded, and finished his drink. "Well, I gotta go. See you later, Cuz. We got that crappy opera to go to tomorrow. Remember?"
Ray gave his cousin a filthy look. "Of course I do."
"Just asking."
Jackie ambled from the room, leaving Sal and Ray alone.
Sal strolled around, and Ray realised, suddenly, that the man was looming.
"Looks like good work," Sal said.
"Yeah, well, it's taken months to –" Ray stopped talking. Sal was pointing a gun at him. "What the fuck, Sal –"
"Strip."
"Excuse me?"
"I wanna know if you're wearing a wire."
Holy Shit. Rossetti was right - Sal made me first.
"Why would I be wearing a –"
"Strip."
Okay, he'd always known this might happen, he might be strip-searched, and he'd never worn a wire, but –
"Oh fucking hell," he muttered and started pulling off his clothes. He was down to his underpants and socks when Sal raised a hand.
"Okay, that's enough," Sal said, his relief obvious in his voice. "No hard feelings..."
"Why would you think I'd do that?" Ray said, his voice shaking as he pulled his clothes back on. Fuck, his fingers were trembling. He couldn't get the buttons done up on his shirt. "Why would you think I'd set you up?"
'Because he's right,' Armando said, making him jump. 'You're a fucking traitor.'
"You're not the same, Mando. You've not been the same since you got back. I thought at first it was because of what happened…" Sal could still barely bring himself to admit what had happened to Mando's family. He turned and walked to the window, letting Ray finish getting dressed. "But then, it's like you've gone soft or something. That thing with Smithson – when Jackie told me – I still can't believe you offered him ten percent."
Armando sat on Ray's desk and glared at him. Shit, I really should have taken the anti-thingumy whatsit.
"Sorry," Ray muttered. They'd had this argument before. He wasn't up to a rehash of it now.
"After all the time and effort you took, pulling him in, and then…" Sal shook his head. "Never mind. We got him." He paused. "You done, Mando?"
"Yeah."
Sal turned at the window and looked at him. The lines of his face were taut with concern. "I gotta ask it. Are you – you know."
"Am I using?"
"Yeah."
Ray's mouth went dry. "A bit," he admitted. "I have been."
Sal dropped his head, and his shoulders slumped. "Shit," he muttered, under his breath. Ray chewed the inside of his cheeks. The worst thing any junkie could ever say was 'I'm sorry,' or 'I promise it won't happen again.'
"How'd you start?"
"Uhm…" He might as well tell the truth. "Doctor gave me some sleeping tablets. Because, I couldn't sleep. And then, because I was getting nightmares, he gave me something else. And then – I still couldn't sleep, so I…"
"So you got yourself other stuff."
"Yeah. And then I couldn't wake up. So –"
"You're not doing coke, are you?"
"Fuck no!"
Sal walked up to him, and stared closely into Ray's eyes. Shit, he's checking my pupils. "Yeah." The big man grunted. "You're telling the truth. Besides," he paused. "I know what you look like on coke. So, there's something at least."
Fucking hell, what kinda screw up was my brother? Ray looked at the ghost. The ghost shrugged his shoulders. Ray turned away in disgust.
"Here's what we're gonna do." Sal prodded him in the chest, almost a one-fingered thump. "You're gonna keep your shit together till this deal comes through. Do what you have to, don't want you jonesing in the middle of a meeting, but don't let anyone else know you gotta problem. Then your ulcer plays up, and we get you into hospital. Then you come out, and you never, ever pull this crap again. Or I'm gonna have to kill you. I'm not kidding around. You start up like this again after rehab, I am going to kill you. You got me?"
"Yes."
"'Yes,' what?"
Ray stared. Sal had never pulled rank on him like this – not before. "Yes, Boss."
"Good. Good." Sal's face broke out in a smile, though he looked suddenly tearful. "Shit, Mando," he said, and started straightening Ray's tie. "I know it's been hard but –"
Ray looked at the floor.
"We thought you were dead. And then you come back, you're not the same. It's worse than when your Ma died." He stopped, cleared his throat, stood back for a moment. "You're not –"
"Not what?"
"You're not gonna try again, are you?"
"Try what?"
"Cause this time, I won't save you. You try and kill yourself, I'll let you."
"I won't try," Ray said, a sudden lump in his throat. He looked at his brother. The ghost flinched – finally, something he was ashamed of – and vanished. Sal nodded, relieved.
"You're not that bad," he said. "God – look. I'm sorry I had to ask, but Jackie said you'd been talking to yourself."
Not in front of Jackie I haven't, Ray thought, and his heart was suddenly in his boots.
Only one person, other than the Feds, knew about his 'ghosts.'
"Come here," Sal pulled him into a fiercely famiglia embrace, kissed his cheeks, then patted them. "I'll leave you to sort this out." He gestured at the paperwork. "Jackie's waiting, so I'll not keep you."
Yeah, that's right. Jackie's waiting. They thought they'd need help disposing of my body…
When Sal left, Ray pulled open his drawer, shook out a handful of perc and took one of the Feds anti thingummy whatsits. He crunched them with his teeth and swigged them down with a shot of bourbon. With slow deliberation he walked round the table, and photographed every last document, twice.
And then, Ray went to the hotel to see Rossetti. He was early. By the time she met him at the bar, he'd lost count of what drink he was on.
"Bad day at the office?"
"Yeah, you could say that."
"I know just how to fix that," she said, for the benefit of the bartender. "Come on, sweetie, Amelia knows just what you need."
No, you don't. I need it to stop.
Rossetti brought him water from the minibar (carefully teetotal he noticed – the hardest drink in there was cola.) He debriefed with Johnny, told him exactly what had just happened, admitted he was wasted. He saw the doctor, and did every damn thing she told him to, including drinking charcoal because he couldn't remember how much he'd taken of what.
And he was stoned out of his skull, but he didn't sleep, and didn't sleep, and didn't – until he slept, and then he screamed some.
Rossetti was sitting next to his bed, with the light turned low, reading a book. He hadn't realised she wore glasses to read. Shit, they're keeping an eye on me… He rolled over, with his back to her, and didn't sleep…
Because, oh God – Hannah had been talking to Jackie.