opened it and pushed the power button and waited till it booted up.
He checked the document file, mailbox and address book. Everything was empty, cleaned out like the refrigerator and the closets. He stared at the icons lined up on the bottom of the screen. He moved the cursor with his left index finger and clicked on Microsoft Entourage. It brought up Mail and he clicked on 'Send amp; Receive.' Nothing there. He checked Deleted Items. Nothing. Clicked on Sent Items. Everything was erased. He stared at the screen. Scanned the icons again. It didn't look like there was anything in the trash but he clicked on it and opened it, and under Name, he saw: Re- 'I'm yours.' He clicked on it and took it out of the trash and put it on the desktop and opened it. The message said, 'I'll be a little late, but I can spend the night so we can take our time. Love, S.' It was from Sharon34@hotmail. com, dated October 2nd 2008. Ray felt sick to his stomach.
He walked out to the boathouse. There were ropes and dock lines on the wood plank floor. He turned a lever on the hoist and lowered the boat into the water. He stepped down on the bow and walked back to the cabin and went below into the galley. He opened drawers and cabinets. Checked the refrigerator. Like the house, it was cleaned out, spotless.
He went forward, looked in the bathroom, tiny closet-size room with a shower and a toilet and sink. He moved into the bedroom or stateroom, whatever it was called. It was dark. He found the switch on the wall, flipped it and half a dozen recessed ceiling lights came on. There was a queen-size bed, comforter tucked neat and tight over it. He sat on the bed, glanced up at a Mitsubishi flatscreen on the wall, then looked through a porthole into the boathouse. He got up, looked at a framed painting of a sunset over the bed. He turned to go and the glint of something caught his eye. He got on his knees. It was stuck in the corner between the carpeting and baseboard. He picked it up and looked at it, a diamond earring. It looked like one he'd given to Sharon, remembered buying it at Astrein's in Birmingham for their tenth anniversary. Sharon couldn't believe he'd actually gone into a store and picked something out for her. He didn't tell her two attractive salesgirls helped and advised him. The earrings had even more significance because he'd missed their ninth anniversary, completely forgot it.
He was coming out of the boathouse when he saw the two meatheads from the used car lot on the dock, coming toward him. Dom's face, after taking a dive through the plate-glass window, was covered with band-aids. Anthony was a step ahead of him. He had a crowbar in his hand this time.
Ray reached back, felt the bulge of the Colt under his shirt in the small of his back, but he decided not to draw it. They were twenty feet away when Ray said, 'What a surprise. You guys showing up at Joey's and you don't even know him.'
'We know you though, don't we?' Anthony said.
He moved toward Ray now, raising the crowbar over his head. When he got close he swung big and wild and Ray stepped back and he missed him, swishing air, Anthony puffing, breathing hard.
Ray said, 'Come on, you pussy, is that all you've got?'
Anthony came at him again, swinging and missing with his right hand, going all the way around with the crowbar and this time Ray stepped in, chopped him between his neck and shoulder, a karate shuto, and sent him in the lake.
Dom came at him, balancing prodigious weight on little feet. Threw a big angry, off-balance punch at Ray and Ray sidestepped it and hit him in the ribs with a body shot that drove him in the cold October water.
Ray moved down the dock, turned when he was halfway across the lawn and saw them drenched, coming out of the lake.
Chapter Seventeen
Angela put her purse on the kitchen counter and opened a bottle of Chianti Classico, her last '97 Antinori, and poured herself a glass. She was tense, nerves frazzled after a two- hour dinner with her father and his surprise guest, cousin Joey from America, visiting for a few months, staying at her father's villa outside Rome.
Joey had talked about himself through three courses: tagliatelle and fresh white truffles that the owner, Signor Moro, sliced on their pasta at the table. The secondo piatto was veal chops that were as thick as a Russian novel. That was followed by insalata verde and formaggio, tiramisu and espresso.
Joey had talked about his house on Lake St Clair in an area called Harrison Township. You should see the sunsets, Joey said. He talked about his boat and about his cars, talking with his mouth full. Her father did not seem to listen or pay attention. Sat hunched over his plate, shoveling food in his mouth, eyes moving around the room.
At one point, Joey said, 'What's with him?' Pointing to Mauro, her father's bodyguard sitting at the bar. 'What's the story, Unk, you don't eat with the hired help?'
He grinned and gulped more Amarone, drinking it too fast.
Her father said, 'Do not ask about matters that are not your concern.'
Angela liked that, her father telling him to mind his own business. She could see that Joey annoyed him too.
Joey grinned, 'Take it easy, Unk, I'm just having some fun with you, yanking your chain.'
He rubbed his eyes and wiped his fingers on his pants.
Angela said, 'What brings you to Rome?'
'You know, get away for a while,' Joey said. 'I been here four days, I've got to ask you where the hot spots are at? Deadest town I ever been to in my life. Lights out at like nine o'clock.'
Angela said, 'What are you looking for?'
'Action,' Joey said. 'What do you think?'
It had been a couple of years since she had seen him. He looked older, heavier, most of the weight around his middle like a tire that had been inflated, and his hair was thinning on top, but these imperfections did not seem to affect his confidence. He reminded her of an actor playing the role of a TV Mafia character.
When Joey got up to use the toilet, Angela said to her father, 'What is the matter? You have not said a word.'
'How can I?' her father said. 'He never closes his mouth — even when he is eating.'
He picked up his glass, sipped his wine. She could tell he liked it, his expression changing when he took a sip. His eyes looked across the room and then back to her.
He said, 'Are you still seeing that street punk?'
'Are you going to bring that up again?' He did business with Roberto, but did not approve of him. She had been so careful, trying to keep it a secret, and he had somehow found out. She was going to say: I see who I want, but said, 'Do we have to talk about this now, ruin the dinner, our evening?' Because of Roberto, he had stopped supporting her, so as far as Angela was concerned, she was on her own. She could see who she wanted.
Her father took another sip of wine and fixed his attention on her. 'Are you doing okay? You have money to live?'
'I'm fine,' Angela said. Which was not completely truthful. She was almost out of money, but with her share of the ransom she could keep going for a while. She just had to get it from Roberto.
'I want you to help me with Joey. You need money, I pay you to come over and take him out, get him away from me. He's driving me out of my mind.'
'Why is he here?' Angela said.
'He is in trouble.'
'What kind of trouble?' She looked up and saw Joey coming back to the table.
'I will tell you,' her father said.
Angela said, 'Why is he your problem?'
'What can I do? It's for my sister.'
After dinner her father ordered a glass of grappa. Angela and Joey walked down the street to see the Trevi fountain. Angela took his arm and they moved through the crowd, around the side of the fountain to the front to get a better view.
Joey said, 'What's this?'
'One of the hot spots, the big attractions of Rome,' Angela said.
'All I see is a fountain. When I say action I'm talking about nightclubs.'
