Werner looked slapped for a second, like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. Then he burst into laughter. Jessica and Nicci laughed with him. 'That was good,' he said. 'That was really fucking good. I like that.'
Nicci couldn't leave it alone. She was a pistol. Full mag. 'We've met before, right?' she asked.
Werner looked even more encouraged now. He pulled in his stomach, stood a little straighter. 'I was thinking the same thing.'
'You ever work with Dante?'
'Dante Diamond?' he asked with hushed reverence, as if uttering the name Hitchcock or Fellini. 'Not yet, but Dante is a class act. Great organization.' He turned and pointed to a woman sitting at the end of the bar. 'Paulette has made a number of films with him. Do you know Paulette?'
It sounded like a test. Nicci played it cool. 'Never had the pleasure,' she said. 'Please invite her over for a drink.'
Werner was off like a shot. The prospect of standing around the bar with three women was a dream come true. In a moment he was back with Paulette, a bottle brunette around forty. Kitten heels, leopard dress. Thirty- eight DD.
'Paulette St. John, this is…'
'Gina and Daniela,' Jessica said.
'Pleased, I'm sure,' Paulette said. Jersey City. Maybe Hoboken.
'What are you drinking?' Jessica asked.
'Cosmo.'
Jessica ordered for her.
'We're trying to locate a guy named Bruno Steele,' Nicci said.
Paulette smiled. 'I know Bruno. Big dick, can't spell ignorant.'
'That's him.'
'Haven't seen him in years,' she said. Her drink arrived. She sipped it delicately, like a lady. 'Why are you looking for Bruno?'
'A friend is casting a film,' Jessica said.
'There are lots of guys around. Younger guys. Why him?'
Jessica noticed that Paulette was weaving a bit, slurring her words. Still, she had to be careful with her response. One wrong word and they could be shut out. 'Well, for one thing, he's got the right look. Plus, the film is hard S and M, and Bruno knows when to pull back.'
Paulette nodded. Been there, felt that.
'Loved his work in Philadelphia Skin,' Nicci said.
At the mention of the movie, Werner and Paulette looked at each other. Werner opened his mouth, as if to stop a Paulette from saying anything further, but Paulette continued. 'I remember that crew,' she said. 'Of course, after the incident, nobody really wanted to work together again.'
'What do you mean?' Jessica asked.
Paulette looked at her as if she were crazy. 'You don't know about what happened on that shoot?'
Jessica flashed on the scene in Philadelphia Skin where the girl opened the door. Those sad, haunted eyes. She took a chance, asked. 'Oh, you mean with that little blonde?'
Paulette nodded, sipped her drink. 'Yeah. That was fucked up.'
Jessica was just about to press her when Kilbane returned from the men's room, pink with purpose. He got in between them, leaned into the bar. He turned to Werner and Paulette. 'Could you excuse us for a sec?'
Paulette nodded. Werner held up both hands. He wasn't going to take anyone's play. They both retreated to the end of the bar. Kilbane turned back to Nicci and Jessica.
'I've got something,' he said.
When someone like Eugene Kilbane comes rushing out of a men's room with a statement like that, the possibilities are endless, and all unsavory. Instead of speculating, Jessica asked: 'What?'
He leaned closer. It was clear he had just splashed on more cologne. A lot more cologne. Jessica nearly gagged. Kilbane whispered: 'The crew that made Philadelphia Skin is still in town.'
'And?'
Kilbane raised his glass, rattled the cubes. The bartender poured him a double. If the city was paying, he was drinking. Or so he thought. Jessica would cut him off after this one.
'They're shooting a new movie tonight,' he finally said. 'Dante Diamond is directing it.' He gulped his drink, put the glass down. 'And we're invited.'
48
At just after ten o'clock, the man for whom Byrne was waiting rounded the corner, a thick ring of keys in his hand.
'Hey, how ya doin'?' Byrne asked, cap brim pulled low, eyes hidden.
The man found him in the dim light, a little startled. He saw the PDW jumpsuit and relaxed. A little. 'What's up, chief?'
'Same crap, different diaper.'
The man snorted. 'Tell me about it.'
'You guys got any problems with the water pressure up there?' Byrne asked.
The man glanced at the bar, then back. 'Not that I know of.'
'Well, we got the call and they sent me,' Byrne said. He glanced at the clipboard. 'Yeah, this is the right place. Mind if I take a look at the pipes?'
The man shrugged, glanced down the steps to the access door that led to the cellar underneath the building. 'Ain't my pipes, ain't my problem. Help yourself, bro.'
The man walked down the rusting iron steps, unlocked the door. Byrne glanced up and down the alley, then followed.
The man flipped on the light-a bare 150-watt bulb in a metal mesh cage. In addition to the dozens of stacked upholstered bar stools, disassembled tables, and stage props were maybe a hundred cases of liquor.
'Holy crap,' Byrne said. 'I could stay down here for a while.'
'Between you and me, this is all shit. The good stuff is locked in my boss's office upstairs.'
The man pulled a pair of boxes off a stack, set them down by the door. He consulted a computer readout in his hand. He began to count some of the boxes that were left. He made a few notes.
Byrne put the toolbox down, quietly shut the door behind him. He assessed the man in front of him. The man was a little bit younger, without question faster. But Byrne had something he didn't. The element of surprise.
Byrne flicked the baton out, stepped from the shadow. The snick of the baton reaching its full length caught the man's attention. He turned to Byrne, a questioning look on his face. It was too late. Byrne swung the twenty- one-inch tactical steel rod as hard as he could. It caught the man perfectly, just below the right knee. Byrne heard the cartilage rip. The man barked once, then crumbled to the floor.
'What the… Jesus!'
'Shut up.'
'Fuck… you.' The man began to rock, holding his knee. 'Motherfucker.'
Byrne pulled the SIG. He dropped onto Darryl Porter with all his weight. Both knees on the man's chest, two-hundred-plus pounds. The blow knocked the air out of Porter. Byrne pulled off his ball cap. Recognition alit on Porter's face.
'You,' Porter said between gasps. 'I fuckin'… knew I knew you from somewhere.'
Byrne held up the SIG. 'I've got eight rounds in here. Nice even number, am I right?'
Darryl Porter just glared.
'Now, I want you to think about how many things you have on your body that comes in pairs, Darryl. I'm going to start with your ankles, and every time you fail to answer my question, another pair is mine. And you know where I'm heading with this.'
Porter gasped for air. Byrne's weight on his chest didn't help.
