“Right. But ultimately, Joel rules him out,” I said.
Tori didn’t answer. She was reading what Joel had written.
I had a copy of the executive summary rolled up in my hand. I unrolled it and read the pertinent part. “‘Nearly five years ago, Peter Ramini was diagnosed with a disorder known as “essential tremor,” an involuntary shaking disease that, in his case, has left him with a nearly permanent tremble in his hands. Ramini’s nickname, “Pockets,” stems from the fact that he almost never lets anyone see his hands. In fact, federal agents believe that his disorder is unknown to virtually everyone within the Capparelli family.’
“So,” I said, “it’s not Peter Ramini. He probably can’t even hold a gun in his hand.”
“So it seems.” I saw Tori toss the binder back onto the couch. “Tell me what this has to do with you and me.”
I turned and faced her now. “Funny thing. Joel did bios on the main suspects in the body of the report. According to Joel, ol’ Peter never married or had kids. He had a brother Joey who died young. Joey left behind an eight-year-old daughter. Peter’s niece.”
Tori blinked. She started to answer but thought better of it. Her eyes darted about the room and into the hallway.
“She’d be twenty-seven today,” I said.
“You don’t say.”
“Her name is Ginger,” I said.
The temperature dropped in the room. Tori watched me for a long time. Her features had hardened. She was still wearing the long coat and her hands were hidden inside the pockets.
“No, it isn’t,” she said. “It’s Victoria. Victoria Virginia Ramini.”
She removed her right hand from the pocket and produced a handgun.
“Unfortunately, my aunt was also named Victoria, so they called me Virginia. And ‘Virginia’ became ‘Ginger.’ I always hated that nickname, for the record.”
“And now you’re Tori Martin,” I said. “So ‘Tori’ comes from ‘Victoria.’ What about ‘Martin’? Just a name you dreamed up?”
“My mother’s maiden name.”
“Ah. Came in handy. Let me see if I have this right. You killed your husband, went into a little spiral, then came up for air with a new name-Tori Martin-and better yet, a new job helping Uncle Peter kill people. He gets the contracts, but he can’t fulfill them personally with shaky hands, so he farms them out to you. Nobody knows it’s you. Nobody would even suspect you. And the cops and the FBI, they may like Peter for the various murders but they can’t prove it. No prints, no trace evidence-hell, Peter’s probably twenty miles away with an alibi when the hits go down.”
Tori studied me before answering. “Actually, he likes to watch. He’s weird like that. I don’t know if he’s protective of me or he wants to stay close to things, even if he can’t pull the trigger himself. But he watches every one of them. Do you want to psychoanalyze my uncle some more, Jason?”
I didn’t. Tori kept the gun at her side but watched me closely. I was behind my desk. She knew I owned a gun. She didn’t know where it was. Not that she seemed particularly worried. She had proven herself to be an expert shooter. She could put one between my eyes before I could get anywhere near my desk drawer.
“So the Capparellis see that Lorenzo Fowler’s getting nervous, maybe getting some loose lips,” I say. “They find out he’s made an appointment with me, an outside lawyer, someone the Capparellis don’t use. So they want someone close to me. Someone who can find out what I know. And that someone is you. You and those goons stage a little scene at Vic’s so I can intervene and play the hero. And then you do a masterful job of playing hard to get, but ultimately you and I become close. I share everything with you. I tell you everything, and you tell them everything.”
I laughed at a memory. “You even saw me investigating the identity of Gin Rummy and talked me out of pursuing that angle. I actually thanked you for your intelligent insight. You must have thought I was the most pathetic mark you’ve ever-”
“Don’t say that.” Tori’s eyes welled with tears. “You don’t know how I feel about you.”
“You’re right, I don’t. Because everything was a lie.”
“Not everything.”
I took a couple of deep breaths. I moved slightly to my right, within reach of the desk drawer. I couldn’t tell how closely Tori was noticing.
“Why did you tell me you shot your husband five years ago?” I asked. “That was true, right?”
She nodded.
“Why did you tell me that? Why would you reveal something truthful about yourself that could expose your secret?”
She cocked her head, blinking away tears. “Because I wanted to share it with you.”
She said it as if it were an obvious answer. I shook my head. I was furious and humiliated and confused.
“If you’re going to tell me that my actions didn’t make sense, Jason, I won’t disagree. I didn’t plan this nearly as well as you think. I was supposed to become your friend and keep an eye on things. Everything that happened after that, it just happened.”
“Bullshit.”
“Move away from the desk, Jason. And keep your hands where I can see them. Don’t make something happen here that doesn’t need to.”
“I’m turning you in,” I said.
“No, you’re not. You could have already done that.”
“I still can.”
“If you call the police, I can’t protect you.” Tori walked toward me, cutting the distance between us in half before stopping. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for me to keep you alive? My uncle pleaded with Paulie to spare you. And when he couldn’t stop it from happening, I stopped it. I’ve known Sal and Augie most of my life. I killed two of my friends in that alley.”
I took a breath. Anger and embarrassment had clouded my thoughts, but I did see her point. She did save me in that alley when those two goons tried to kill me. Clearly, she had gone against the Mob’s wishes there. The top brass had ordered a hit on me and Tori had jumped in and stopped it.
“This job with Uncle Pete-I only killed people who deserved it,” she said to me. “People who robbed and murdered and cheated and did all kinds of bad things. Anyone I killed shouldn’t have been too surprised when it happened.”
“Kathy Rubinkowski,” I said.
She nodded. “I was told she was blackmailing her boss, that she’d found damaging information and was looking for a million dollars. I didn’t know anything about Randall Manning or Global Harvest. I just took the assignment from my uncle. As soon as I found out the truth, I did everything I could to help you figure out your problem.”
“Everything but turn yourself in. You could have just raised your hand and the case would’ve been over.”
“And if I had, the worst terrorist attack in the country’s history would have taken place.”
I laughed harder than was warranted. My emotions were riding a roller coaster now. I was raw and exposed and looking for a way to make it hurt less. But as my mother used to say, I was born at night, but not last night.
“So you’re the killer with a heart of gold.”
“No,” she said. “I’m someone who made bad choices that I have to live with. Someone who wants things to be different now. I can be different, Jason. I…”
I waited her out. I was pretty much done with my end of the conversation.
“I love you,” she said.
“No.”
“Yes. I do, Jason. You’re strong and decent and ethical and, yes, you’re damaged but you have this tremendous heart, this sense of right and wrong that I’ve never known. All I’ve ever known in my life are people looking for an angle, people who hurt and kill you if you don’t go along with them. But not you. I didn’t know people like you existed. I can be that person, too. I’m more than what I’ve been so far. I can be better at-at life, I guess.”
