Chapter Six

Date Unknown

He smells it, and his mouth goes so dry it hurts. He hears the click of his adam's apple as he gulps, and is ashamed.

"Here you go, good boy." A paper cup. He tries not to, but he swallows. The liquor burns his tongue, scalds down his throat. Some cheap crap – no point wasting the good stuff on him. His cheeks go hot, with a combination of alcohol and humiliation. "If you want more," the woman says, "you'll have to give us something."

"There's nothing to give," he tells her. He hears more liquid splashing into the cup. She puts the lip of it against his mouth, then withdraws it. "There's nothing to give," he says.

"Maybe if we get him drunk," she mutters. There is obviously someone else in the room. Ray tries to imagine them – can't. Can't even imagine her, as anything other than a voice, soft shoes and the smell of lilac. She puts the cup back against his mouth. He jerks his head away, hard, and the cup spills, the liquor, wasted, running down his front.

She clicks her tongue. "We'll have to think of something else."

Tuesday 29th July, 1997: 4:15 pm.

Ray paused outside the door to Hannah's apartment, and closed his eyes. What the fuck am I doing here? She'd avoided him for the last few days – she'd never done that before. She'd made excuses. Was she talking to Jackie? Asking him for advice? What? He didn't know what he'd do when he got through that door – please God, don't let me hit her. But – oh shit. He couldn't do it, he couldn't stay away.

He'd managed three days, and here he was, half tranqued, standing in the hallway, listening to her sing.

She sang like an angel. He thought so anyway. Half the hookers in Vegas arrived here dreaming of becoming a performer. Well, that hadn't worked out quite the way Hannah'd planned.

She had hopes though, now that she was with him. Since he'd started introducing her around she was playing the piano again, working on her 'set.' She'd told him her Grandmother taught her – well, he coulda guessed that. Every time she played, she warmed up with old hymns before she got onto the good stuff.

Right now she was singing Ella Fitzgerald, Aretha Franklin or something... Her voice was a little too thin for it, but oh –

'If you wanna do right, all night woman, you gotta be a do right, all night man.'

Did she have to be so – so fucking lovely?

'She talked to Jackie,' Armando told him – or it might have been his own voice. He didn't know. 'She's a bitch.'

'Leave it, Mando. There might be a perfectly innocent explanation.'

'Oh, yes, there's an explanation.' This time it really was his brother's voice. 'She's a traitor, just like you.'

Ray stared at his brother. "Do you know something I don't?" he asked, aloud.

'She's a woman,' his brother shrugged. 'Of course she's going to screw you over.'

"That's no fucking help." If Mando knew the truth he wasn't saying, and Ray was as in the dark as ever. Maybe she had her period. Maybe she was like Frannie and didn't show her face if she came out in pimples, who knew? She didn't have to be a spy for Jackie. Besides, how would she know that Ray knew about her? But, she had been avoiding him.

Maybe I talk in my sleep, he thought, with a sudden jolt. No… the Feds would have told him. He barely dreamt anymore, the stuff they had him on. If he'd been made he'd be dead – no. He hadn't talked in his sleep.

Still… she shouldn't be talking to Jackie, even if there was an innocent explanation. He'd paid Jackie to take over her contract, after all. There was no reason for them to talk.

She might still be a traitor though; before she became Ray's – whatever the fuck she was – she was one of Jackie's girls.

I thought she was my girl. Everyone knew that – I looked after her.

He leant his head against the door, and listened to her finish off her practice by running through her scales. She stopped playing, and started walking around the apartment still singing. Her footfall, though soft, was distinctive. She was dancing.

He could see her, in his mind's eye, spinning on the spot, and before he could stop himself, let out a groan. The singing stopped, and he heard her, scampering down the hall to let him in. He steeled himself, and straightened as she opened the door.

"Armando," she said, her face wreathed in what seemed like a genuine smile. "I didn't think I'd see you tonight."

"Yeah." Despite everything, he was smiling back. He followed her to the living room. His heart hurt. God, she made me happy. How could I be so blind? "I finished up early today. What…" He sat on the expensive couch, looked at the expensive furniture, looked out the window onto the expensive view. "What you been doing?"

His brother sat on the arm of the couch, next to him, and nudged him with a chilly elbow. 'What do you think she's been doing?' The voice in Ray's head was spiteful. 'She's been running around all over Vegas spending our money.'

"Went to lunch with Clara… you sure you don't mind her spending your money?"

'See? What did I tell you?'

"She's not spent as much as you think," Ray said, trying to ignore his brother. "I can afford it." Clara spent more than Hannah, actually, but Hannah liked to have her friend around, and Ray couldn't grudge it. It wasn't his money anyway, and even if it had been, so what? He wasn't about to run out of it any time soon. Enough people had suffered and bled for the damn stuff – at least it was making someone happy.

Yeah, he thought bitterly, and it was his own thought, not Armando's. The ghost had gone. But she betrayed you.

"If you're sure," Hannah said, chewing the knuckle of her thumb. It dawned on him for the first time how studied that childlike gesture was – she wanted to chew her nails, but they were too expensive. He thought of Sarah, and her practical hands, her blunt thumb.

"I'm sure. What else you done today?"

She snuggled in next to him on the couch. "I was just playing the piano."

"I know you were." He lifted his arm and let her nestle against his shoulder. "I heard you." She laid her head on his chest. Despite the calmers he'd taken, his heart was beating very hard. Any minute now he was either going to kiss her, or run from the apartment. Stop, stop, stop it. Don't let her hold you. Don't hold her. Let her go.

"That's what you were doing?" She'd wriggled up, and was kissing him, little feathers of touch against his face. "Listening?"

"Yeah."

"You can come inside to listen. You don't have to stand outside all by yourself."

He was kissing her back…

God Almighty, I think I love her. He jerked his head back, like he'd been scalded.

"What?" Her face fell. "What happened? Why are you upset?"

Ray stood. "I gotta go."

"What's wrong?"

She jumped off the couch, and ran around in front of him, put her hands on his shoulders. "Armando, what happened?"

"You…" God, what do I say? "You went to Jackie behind my back."

He turned his head away from the sudden terror in her eyes. He couldn't look at her. Why the hell did you say that, you piece of shit bastard? So, even if she is a spy – so what? So are you. It's what you do.

She was hyperventilating. "Oh God," she whispered. "You're… you're going to kill me."

That shocked him back into the room.

"No. God no. I'd never hurt you." Except that, oh hell – I already did.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry – it's just – I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I know."

"It's just, you never told me not to… not to… And you never said anything. I mean, when it happened with Jackie, you and me, I didn't know what we were, so I didn't know whether you'd care."

"Hang on." Ray's heart stuttered. "I meant you talked to him behind my back. You're saying you –"

She bit her lips so hard they disappeared.

"You fucked him." Realisation rushed up on him, and the room went cold. "You've been fucking him."

"Not since we've been together. Properly together I mean. Not since…" She gestured at the apartment. "Not till you seemed serious. And I mean – only once. And we, I mean, you and me, we weren't even properly together. You were just fucking me in hotels. So, I thought – he told me – he said you didn't care. He said you'd told everyone what a – what a good – what a whore I was, and that I might as well give him a ride for old time's sake."

"And you believed him?" Ray was dizzy, somewhere between fury and fright. His hands clenched, and he shoved them in his pockets. Stop, God's sake Vecchio, stop. "You fucked him."

Tears were running down her face and she turned her head away. "Only once. And I didn't think you cared."

"You bitch," he blurted out. "Everyone knew you were my girl. I bought you out of Jackie's stable, I put you up in hotels, rented you this apartment, took you round to see everyone in the music business… what's he doing touching you? What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Yeah." Her voice was thick with misery. "I guess I did know you'd care."

Ray paused, put a fist to his chest, willing his heart to calm down. He hadn't meant to shout. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Why?" The word jerked out of her like a sob, then she really was crying. "I'm the one who did it."

"I'm sorry you didn't know –" shut up Vecchio, you'll only make this worse – "sorry I didn't tell you that –"

"Tell me what, Armando?" Her voice was very quiet, and her face was very still.

"Tell you that I care."

"You care?"

"Yeah."

"Can you ever…" She closed her eyes, pulling such a wretched face that she was almost ugly. He couldn't tell if she was acting. "You can't forgive me," she whispered. "You'll never touch me now."

Oh God. Such a fool for crying women, even if they are lying whores. He should ask her when it started – had Jackie aimed her at him that first day but instead…

"Come here," he said, desperately. He held his arms wide. "Come here, come here, stop it. Stop crying. Stop crying, sweetheart, please, don't cry."

He knew, he absolutely knew that he was the biggest idiot on the fucking planet – that she'd talked behind his back to the enemy, that she'd literally screwed him over, but…

Oh God. I just can't stop.

"Armando?"

He said nothing, staring up at the ceiling.

"Armando? Honey?"

"I thought you were 'Honey,'" he said, as though they could ever joke around again.

"Nah. You're the sweet one."

"You know men don't like being called sweet."

"Yeah, you told me." She chuckled low in her throat. "But it's true." Pause. "You know what? I wanna do it again."

He closed his eyes. Opened them again. Shit. The dark. He didn't want to be in the dark.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Her voice took on concern. "Why are you crying?"

Am I? He put his hand to his face. His skin was dry. What's she talking about? You can't cry without tears. "I'm not crying," he corrected her. "I don't cry."

"Okay, Armando. You don't cry." She shifted, propped herself up on her elbow, and looked down at him. Her fingers were playing with his cross.

"Why do you always wear this?"

He rested his hand over hers, pushed so he could feel the metal press against his skin. Ma had been so proud of him that day.

"To remind me who I'm going to hell for."

"You're still angry," Hannah whispered.

"No."

"What is it?"

"I… I shouldn't have done that. We shouldn't have just done that."

"Didn't you like it?"

"Yeah. It's not that. It's…"

"Is it… is it still your wife?"

He covered his face. Let her think that. It's just as well. "So you can run off and tell Jackie how messed up I am?"

"No – and I never told him anything bad. Just that you loved your wife and kids. That's not bad, is it?"

"You told him I talk to ghosts."

"Well, he wasn't surprised. He said you've done it since you were a kid."

"Did I?"

"Is it interesting?" she sounded like little Tony asking to see his cop badge. She snuggled up to him –playing the little girl again, he thought bitterly. "Seeing ghosts, I mean? Or does it just fuck with your head? 'Cause sometimes you sound awful cross with them."

Ray turned his head and glared at her. "You're gonna tell Jackie, aren't you?"

"No," she said, and her face became intent. "That was before you said you cared. You cried for me. You never said you cared before. He told me you didn't care. Now I know you do. So, I won't fuck him, or anyone else, and I won't ever trust him again. He's not my pimp – I don't owe him anything anymore."

"Is that why you let him do it?" The Bookman should know this kind of thing, but Ray couldn't stop himself from asking. He was almost sure he knew, but he needed to know for sure. It would make a difference to what Hannah had done – if she'd thought Jackie was still her pimp and she had no choice. He wanted, he so wanted, to believe her. "Do all Jackie's girls have to –?"

"Well, yeah, he's the Boss."

"He's a prick," Ray gritted out. "And you don't owe him a thing."

She started smoothing her hands across his chest, teasing the hair, and singing, low in her throat. Some Spanish thing he didn't quite understand. Sounded like a lullaby. Where her hands touched him he felt – warm. He closed his eyes, and the darkness felt safe somehow.

Happy. He drifted for a while, then looked at her. Her makeup was all messy with sweat, and her hair was spiked up like a windswept thundercloud. The remaining highlights ran through the edges like golden threads of lightning. His face ached – oh God, he was smiling again. Why was he smiling? He rolled over on his side, facing her, and buried his head on the pillow. His shoulders were shaking.

She patted his back. "Armando," she said, "it'll be okay. I'll get you a drink."

"Please," he mumbled. Fuck, I'm such an idiot.

After a moment she padded back. "This one's your medicine, isn't it?"

"Yeah." The Feds had told him to try not to take it too near alcohol, but the Feds told him a lot of things. They could fuck themselves.

He gulped it back, not even pulling a face at the bourbon anymore.

"You want this?"

She had her pills in her hand.

"I'm taking some," she encouraged him.

"Yeah, I know." Poor bitch. He should be trying to stop her, to help her. He turned his head away.

"Well, you know where they are if you change your mind," she said, and kissed him.

He held his hand out. She smiled, reassured, and dropped the little white pills onto the scar in his palm. He didn't even know what these ones were. For all he knew, he was taking an overdose.

"You know you'll feel better."

His glass was empty, so he swallowed them dry. "Yeah," he said. "I'll feel better soon."

Friday 1st August. 10.30 am

"Okay." Johnny sat and fiddled with his jacket. "I'm miked up," he said, "so we can start the interview now. Ready?"

"Yeah, that's fine." Ray glanced around the deserted coach car. He still couldn't get over the fact that the Feds had set it up. It wasn't the most extreme thing they'd done, but somehow it got to him the most – such a normal place to eat, and it was bugged to high heaven. Ray had even got Sal out here a couple of times to talk business over a nice juicy steak, right where the Feds could hear them, and the brothers had taken to meeting the Irish and Polacks out here. "You know, this is the rattiest diner in the US, but someone's bound to notice something one day."

"It's our ratty diner," Johnny smirked. "No-one's gonna notice a thing."

"I still can't believe you set this up in the middle of the Nevada desert so I could meet up with you and what… eat junk food?"

"Why not? You must be getting sick of all that haute cuisine. Besides, I thought it was time we bought you a meal."

Ray stared at the tray in front of him. "You call this a meal," he said, though he was practically drooling. French fries loaded with cheese, a big fat burger… All that was missing was Dief, for him to drop scraps to when Benny wasn't looking.

Johnny smiled. He glanced at his watch and started his spiel. "Interview commencing at…" Absently he licked ketchup from his fingers, and leant his elbows on the formica table top. Ray looked away from the tray of food in front of him, and stared out the window. All I seem to do since I got to Vegas is eat, he thought, or watch other people eating. Why can't I ever have a meeting some place original, like a bowling alley or a skating rink? "So," Johnny asked, "What's happened since we last met?"

Hannah fucked Jackie, Ray thought, out of the blue, and flushed. He wasn't going to tell them that, even though they had to know. They were more interested in the business dealings.

"Muldoon's still not biting. We've got buyers lined up from here to China, but apparently he thinks we're amateurs because of some problem we had with the East Germans a while back." He paused. He couldn't believe how casually he'd said that, how easily he said 'we,' when referring to the Iguanas. He took a swig of coke to cover it, as he tried to recover his equilibrium. "I don't know what the problem was. Jackie pissed someone off, I know that much, but it'd help me bullshit some if you'd let me know what you got."

"Okay. We'll get what we can together, and Amelia will coach you on it tonight at the hotel, in case it comes up."

"Right. And then, we're still having trouble with border control, getting the weapons physically out of Russia. Jackie seemed to think the Japanese might have some contacts, but I told him, they're only really good for drugs. I know they're looking to branch out, but this is too ambitious for them." He paused. "Honestly, I think it's too ambitious for us. And –" he shook his head. "It's not like I can ask them, but I can't for the fucking life of me figure out why the brothers even want to do it."

"They want to make money."

"Yeah but – why not legally? They're clever enough. And I mean, even Jackie seems like a human being at times. And Sal –" Ray shook his head, honestly bewildered. "You should see him with his kids. I don't get how he can be into all this. Prostitution, when he's got daughters he adores, weapons that – hell, they're gonna blow up other people's children. I don't know how he turns a blind eye to it."

"Sociopaths can be very charming."

"You're saying he's a sociopath?"

Johnny scratched the back of his neck, and made a huff noise. "I don't know. Probably. I'm not a psychiatrist. I have no idea how their minds work. I do know Sal loves his family, including you, and I know you shouldn't trust him as far as you'd throw him."

"I don't." Ray sighed. "He's told me to my face if I fuck up he's going to have me killed. Believe me, I'm gonna be real careful around him. And Jackie. You know…" he flushed again. Johnny had warned him about Hannah. "She, er…"

"She?"

Fuck, why did I start this? Ray looked at his burger, and wondered if he should try to eat it. His stomach was sour again. "There's something else. Uhm…" Shit. This wasn't going to be fun to say, even though they did already know. "I'm sorry but…" He looked out the diner's window at the broad vista. Cars and trucks were going past. He could feel them rattle through the floor of the trailer. "You were right what you guessed about Hannah. She talked to Jackie." It was easier to say that than 'Hannah screwed me over, and maybe I'm a fool, maybe she's still screwing my cousin.'

"I'm sorry." Johnny looked frustrated. "They never told me who it was." He cleared his throat. "You know this thing with Honey –"

"Hannah," Ray corrected automatically. Johnny winced.

"Okay. This thing with Hannah – I know it helped your cover at first, but –" Johnny jerked his thumb at the ceiling to indicate the higher ups, "they don't think it's a good idea anymore."

"Well, 'they' can go fuck themselves." Ray smiled at the waitress over by the till. For all he knew, she was Johnny's boss.

Johnny covered his mouth for a second, as though stifling a grin at Ray's insolence, then looked serious again. "Look, Ray – from where you're standing it probably seems Hannah's been good for you in some ways. She gave you space. But – "

Oh great, not Johnny too. "But what?"

"But, well – she's talked to Jackie, and there's the drug thing."

Ray turned his face, looked out the window. He wondered how much they knew about the drug thing… Johnny was still talking. "I know you're functioning, you're not escalating. Your blood results came back – well, not good but okay. But you're always worse after you see her. And, they don't trust her, because of that. Besides which, she's working for Jackie."

"That was just her contract. She couldn't help that. And now she's out."

"She…" Johnny sounded uncomfortable, and Ray looked back at him. The man was scratching his head, and staring at his half eaten burger.

"What?"

"Come on, Ray." Johnny went bright red, looked for a moment like he was going to lose his temper. Ray stared. That had never happened before. "She's a drug addicted prostitute working for a Mafia boss. What are you thinking?" Johnny stopped talking, and stared at his lunch, like he was counting the french-fries.

"Well, that's fine, isn't it? I'm a drug addicted Mafia boss, so who gives a flying fuck what I do?"

"You're a policeman."

"Yeah, right. You don't wanna hear it, but you can't bullshit me, Johnny." Ray knew he was pushing it, but he was angry, wanted to make Johnny angry too – "You know the day and hour I stopped being a policeman."

Johnny lifted his head and stared at him levelly. "Are you in love with her, Ray?"

"Am I…" What? "We don't even sleep together," he lied, idiotically. Of course, they'd know the truth.

"That's not what I asked."

"No," Ray blustered. "No, I'm not in love." He shook his head, suddenly furious. God's sake – these people. Who the hell do they think they are? How many of them were tracking his movements, speculating about his motives, listening in on it while he slept in Hannah's bed?

"Well, it does sort of look that way." Johnny sighed, and dropped his voice, as though he could somehow keep this conversation private. "I'm sorry, Ray. You told me once that you were drowning. They think – well, so do I – that you're hanging onto Hannah to keep yourself from going under."

"I…" What the hell could he say? "No."

"And I know you're seeing Rossetti regularly, but the brothers worry about how 'serious' you and Hannah seem." Johnny continued, implacably. "You're going to have to be more casual in your relationships, see other women too…"

"I don't want to see some Vegas whore," Ray snapped.

"Well, technically that is what you're doing. You saw Hannah last night, didn't you?"

Ray's hand was on Jackie's windpipe and squeezing and…

"Oh, shit. Shit, shit." He was kneeling on the table, and Johnny was choking in his hand. Ray let go, slid off the table with a thump; stumbled. Food and plates clattered to the floor. "Oh, shit…" He backed away, appalled. The broken crockery crunched under his shoes. He blinked, and realised that three men had entered the room – God's sake, is that a Taser? Johnny was clutching his throat with one hand, had the other hand up in a 'stop' gesture, holding the Feds at bay. Fuck, I'm surrounded. "I didn't… I didn't mean to do that," he stuttered. "I didn't mean to. I… I forgot who you were." Oh God help me, I forgot who I was… "You shouldn't have called her a whore."

"I didn't use the word, but I know what you mean." Johnny shifted in his seat, and coughed, rubbed his neck. He turned to the men looming by the table, made a dismissive gesture with his hand. Reluctantly the men took a step back. Johnny darted them an angry look. "Go on, get outta here," he snapped. His accent slipped, and Ray finally placed it. Iowa. "We're all good."

Ray sat back in his chair, and stared down at his clothes. He'd got ketchup, and burger juice, and coke all over the knees of his trousers.

Johnny turned back to him. "Ray, are you alright?"

"No."

"Is there anything we can do?"

"You can get Hannah out for me." He'd been working up to asking them this for weeks. Part of him had been dreading it, because he needed to know he could see her, but he also knew that the one thing he wanted, more than anything else, was for Hannah to be safe and happy. "You can help her get clean, get her a job somewhere –"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, Ray." It didn't sound like Johnny cursing at all, it just slipped out of his mouth so naturally, and with such pity. "You know we can't do that."

"What do you mean?" Ray leant his head on his hand to cover his face.

"She doesn't want to get clean. She doesn't want another life. If you told her to change, she wouldn't understand why you wanted it."

"She doesn't want to be a whore," Ray said.

"I know." Johnny reached out, and patted Ray's free hand. "She's ambitious. She wants to be the Bookman's wife."

Ray looked up at Johnny, and forgot that his face was wet, that the other man could see.

"She wants… what?"

"You say you're not in love with her, but what if she's in love with you?"

Oh, God. Ray wiped his face. I shoulda known that. I shoulda seen it.

"What the hell am I gonna do?"

"You're going to have to stop seeing her."

"I…" Holy God, they're right. I am in love with her. "I can't not see her."

"Okay," Johnny said, and withdrew his hand. "We thought you might say that. Just…"

"What?"

Johnny shook his head. "Think of her. You don't want her anywhere near the Iguanas. Anyone trying to hurt you is going to try for Agent Rossetti or Hannah. Agent Rossetti can look after herself, but –"

"Sarah couldn't look after herself."

"She could. She was just unlucky.

"Unlucky? She's fucking dead."

"Ray – Listen to me, Ray. Listen."

"Okay," Ray muttered, dropping his gaze to a puddle of cola. "Go on."

"You need to back off from Hannah. For her sake. And you need to let everyone know she's been dumped."

"You fuckers."

"It's the best way to protect her. Stop seeing her."

Ray covered his ears. He was shaking. "Shut up," he whispered.

To his left he heard the waitress – FBI agent – approaching. He opened his eyes, and she was putting a cup of coffee in front of him.

"Thanks," he muttered. "Sorry," he said to Johnny, and clutched the cup between his hands.

"Hannah's a human being," Johnny said with relentless compassion, "and you don't want her to get hurt."

"No," Ray said, blankly. "I don't want to hurt her."

"So, you've got to stop seeing her."

I've got to let her go.

"Okay."

Date: 9:27pm

"Oh God," Jackie was comfortably drunk, and puffing on a big cigar. "Your castoff whore's coming over."

Ray looked up from his drink, and saw her at a distance, Hannah, determinedly weaving her way toward him through the tables of the strip club. She was wearing the golden slinky dress that Ray had picked out for her to go to the opera with him. She'd had her hair done, smoothed and straightened. It made her look older, less beautiful, but she was still being gazed at appreciatively by other men. Ray caught one of the other dancers smirking as she walked past, and knew the kind of mockery Hannah had been enduring in the fifteen days since the 'breakup.' He'd closed her accounts, though he was still paying rent on her apartment. He couldn't bear to put her on the street.

The first time he'd seen her, he'd been drunker than he was now and she had looked like a goddess with a terrible smile, some kind of beautiful strega come to punish him. This time she was not smiling, and her real face was showing. Stupid, Hannah, never show them your real face. She was little-girl terrified, despite her clothes and makeup. Her heavily lashed eyes were flicking in Jackie's direction, and back to Ray. Fear and hope, and desperation. Oh God. Ray felt a tug in his chest. Fish on a hook might feel like this… God, I'm maudlin. He poured himself another.

"Just what we need," Sal groaned, "that bitch to cause a scene." They were waiting to talk one of Muldoon's 'emissaries.' Finally. Hannah had chosen the very worst moment to make an appearance.

Ray sighed, knocked back his drink, and stood. "Don't worry," he told his cousins. "I'll get her out of here."

"Whatever," Jackie shrugged, watching the naked dancers. "You'll have to farm her out to someone else, or she'll always be causing scenes. It's not like she can go back to this –" he gesticulated at the hookers. "You've ruined her."

"What do you mean?"

"Last time I fucked her, she was fucking useless. Couldn't even get her to pretend to come. All mooney about 'Armando.'"

"Last time you what?" Ray turned and glared at Jackie. Bad enough the fucker had done it, but now he was bragging about cuckolding Armando in public. Ray felt himself go white.

"Few months back. Didn't think you'd mind. I mean, she's just a whore. It's not like she was your goomah or anything."

Sal's jaw dropped. "Jackie, you sick fuck. He was keeping her. Everyone knew she was his girl."

"What? She's a prostitute, she's gonna fuck other men. Why not me?"

"Che casino!No wonder Mando's been off his game. You know about this, Mando?"

Ray said nothing.

"Mando," Sal's voice was gravel. "I asked a question."

"Yeah," Ray said. "Yeah." He set his face in a bitter smile, and leant toward Jackie, just to put in a sting. "You're not the only one she tells tales to," he lied without thinking. There was a flash of fear in Jackie's eyes, and Ray straightened up. Hannah had made her way to their table. "I'll not be long," Ray told Sal.

"No, it's okay. You two got a lot to talk about." Sal glared at Jackie. "And I got a lot to talk to my capo bastone about. Matters of discipline, amongst the rank and file."

Ray managed not to smile. Jackie had stepped out of line, and Sal was going to tear him a new one. Mind you –

"I'll miss the meeting with the guy."

"The guy?"

"Yeah, the guy."

"Try to get back in time. If you can't, I'll fill you in on it." Sal gave Hannah an unreadable look. "Honey."

"Sal."

"Prendi cura di questo, Mando." Sal said in smooth tones. "Non voglio che i due di voi di andare botte da orbi."

Ray flushed, and caught Jackie's angry glare.

"Yes, Boss," he bit out, then took Hannah by the arm, and steered her from the room.

She waited till they were out of the club and on the street before saying anything. "Armando," she sounded bunged up, as though she'd been crying a lot, or doing more coke than she should. Her eyes were puffed up. "What did I do?"

Ray felt his hand tighten on her bicep – shit, I'm gonna bruise her – and let go. Now that he was standing outside he realised that he was actually quite drunk.

"What did you do?" His voice was most un-Bookman, so he dropped it into a growl. "What did you do?" He had to say something to get rid of her. What could he say? He wanted to grab her by the hand and run. He had the money – they could run from the Feds and the Mob, go to South America or something, change their names… "You just embarrassed me in front of Sal, right before a business meeting – and now I'm out of the meeting because I have to babysit you. How high are you?"

Astonishingly, she started giggling.

"Hannah, seriously, how fucking high are you?"

"Sorry, sorry. I just – I was scared and I had to see you."

"Well, you're not seeing me again."

"Because of me and Jackie?"

"No." He couldn't let her walk around thinking it was her fault. "Because…" Fuck it. He was going to tell her the truth. Not all the truth, but some of it. "Because someone's trying to hurt me. And last time someone tried to hurt me everyone ended up dead. I don't want them coming at me through you."

"You're trying to protect me?" Her voice wobbled with hope.

"I'm going to protect you, whether you want me to or not. Here – come with me."

Okay, so the Feds weren't going to get her out, but he would.

His office, in darkness, looked like a hollow cave. He didn't put the top light on. The lights of Vegas streamed through the windows and painted the dim room in mockery of stained glass. Hannah stood nervously in the doorway looking around her, while he opened the safe.

'That's my money,' Armando said.

"You can't take it with you," Ray answered, tipping open his suitcase and dropping the contents on the floor. "It's my money now," he added, as he slapped notes into the case. "I can do what the fuck I like."

'I earned it for my family, not for you to give some cooze of a stripper.'

"Why don't you just shut the fuck up and stay dead? You don't hear Onofri complaining."

"Oh God," Hannah's voice, little in the big room. "It's not your family you talk to at all, is it? It's people you killed."

Ray said nothing, and turned to face her. She flinched. "I'm sorry," he said.

"You did, didn't you? You killed Onofri? And…"

"What are you? Miked up?" Even if he wanted to confess, he fucking couldn't. "Here. This is for you."

"What is it?"

"What does it look like? Money. You get yourself out of Vegas. Go back to your grandmother. If she's half the woman you told me she is, and if she believes half those hymns she taught you, she's probably been looking out her living room window every day waiting for you to come home."

"But I – but you –"

"Just go home. Eat some fatted calf. Make your grandma the happiest woman on earth. Get yourself in rehab, get clean. Teach little kids piano, and how to dance. Meet some nice guy who doesn't knock you around, or turn a blind eye when you shove crap up your nose."

"But…" her voice trailed off, and he almost didn't hear it. "I love you."

"Well, I love you, you stupid bitch." His voice caught in his throat. "I love you, okay? So do what I tell you to, and go. Before some bastard kills you." He looked at his briefcase, and realised how tawdry it all was. "Look, I'll send one of my bodyguards with you. You get back to the apartment, pack, I'll make your flight arrangements. They'll take you by limo and put you on my plane." He thrust a bank card at her. "You can use this for your expenses until you open an account for the…" He stared at the briefcase again. God, I'm paying her off like she's nothing but a whore. He heard himself start to babble. "Once you get home, don't… I mean. And –"

She was weeping. Stop that – he managed not to shout it at her. Instead, he gathered up his scattered papers, tossed them into the safe, and slammed the door shut. Automatically it reset itself. Clunk, click, clack. Her crying jag was getting worse – big heaving sobs juddered through her frame; her shoulders shuddered. I did that to her. I do nothing but hurt her.

"Armando?"

Ray leant his head against the steel and chrome of the safe, and breathed steadily.

"Hannah," he said, "they're coming after me. I can't protect you. Go home." He turned, walked rapidly toward her, grabbed her by the arm, and pushed her through the door. "Marco," he said to the bodyguard on duty, "I want you to see Ms Morison home, help her pack, and bring her to Henderson's. Put her on the plane, and tell the pilot they're going to New York."

He looked at Hannah. Her head was bowed in shame. He clenched his hands behind his back, and didn't stroke her hair.

"Go on then. Leave."

10:13 pm

He made it back to the meeting just after Muldoon's emissary arrived. Sal gave him a sharp look, then nodded, apparently satisfied that Ray hadn't just been doing drugs in the men's room. Okay, so I'm someway passed drunk, but I can carry that these days. Ray sat at the table, and smiled, offered his hand. 'Johnson' (if that was his name) shook it, and like most people covertly snuck a peek to see the scar. Yeah, it really is me. I really am the Bookman.

Sal made a gesture with his head, and Jackie stood. "You've met us all now," Sal told Johnson, "but I'm afraid my Captain here has to deal with other matters. I'm sure you understand."

"Certainly." Johnson was a cheerful looking man – florid faced with a grey beard like an oversized garden gnome. He didn't look like a gun runner, or weapons' dealer – he looked like he should be up a hill somewhere, counting sheep. "My client just wanted me to make contact at this time, and now I can tell him that I've met you all." He lifted a hand in salutation as Jackie nodded and walked off. Ray watched him go. Sal had probably banished him, for the sake of peace.

Ray relaxed, and turned back to Johnson. Sal nodded, indicating that Ray could start negotiations.

"So. Your 'client.' He's aware of what an opportunity we're offering him, to be in on this operation?"

"Yes." Johnson moved forward, "and he's aware that you've had trouble getting across customs. That bothers him."

"It shouldn't. That's what he's for."

"Quite." The old man's voice was much less cheerful now. "And frankly he's not impressed with the percentages that you've been offering him."

Ray looked at Sal, who lifted one eyebrow slightly. That was pretty much as they'd expected.

"What does he suggest?"

"Eighty percent in his favour."

Ray and Sal stood simultaneously. Sal extended a handshake. "It's been nice doing business with you," he smiled. "Tell your associate that I'm sure he'll find equally lucrative opportunities elsewhere."

Johnson got to his feet, flustered – "excuse me," he called after them. They ignored him as they walked out the door.

"You sure that was the right thing to do, Mando?" Sal was looking less confident by the time they got to their limos.

"It had better be –" The Feds had looked at Muldoon's psychological profile, and run various scenarios through their probability guys. They had predicted an insulting offer, and were convinced that this was the best response. Ray smiled. "I'm staking my life on it, after all."

"Well," Sal said, and slung his arm around Ray's shoulder. "At least your reputation." He cleared his throat. "So, you sorted things out with Honey?"

"Yeah," Ray said, and stared at his feet. "Yeah, she's leaving town."

Sal looked at him, curiously. "You really liked her, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Just as well she was a moulignon then, or you'd a slapped a ring on her finger."

Ray smiled as Sal laughed. "No," he admitted, though in his wildest daydreams he'd thought of it – eloping to some place nobody could ever find them. Some place with a lot of water – an ocean perhaps to wash them clean. "I was never gonna marry her."

Sunday, 17th August: 6:23 am

Ray woke to the sound of Nero protesting, and the unmistakeable voice of Detective Burns. "We have a warrant for the arrest of Armando Langoustini. We have permission to search these premises, and…"

Ray rolled, and fell off the couch. A warrant to what?

"What the fuck is going on?" he said, as he made it out of the door of the rec room. "Haven't you bastards done enough already? What now?"

"Mr Langoustini. You are wanted for questioning in the death of Hannah Morison. We have permission to…"

Hannah?

Ray's knees went out from under him, and he fell.