Lassiter

equivalent of jaywalking, this would be it. But what was really interesting was the photo. It was taken in the corridor outside this very courtroom. There was Lansky with his pal, Perlow, along for moral support.

Spine straight, Castiel extended his arm and grabbed the clipping as if it might be radioactive. A second later, he smiled and his body relaxed. “Jesus, forty years ago, Jake.” He read the headline aloud: “ ‘Judge Dismisses Charge, Slams Prosecution.’ ”

“I’m going for the same result in this case,” I said.

Castiel moved closer, leaning over me, letting go of his Inspector Javert persona. “I remember that trial,” he whispered.

“How? You were, what, eight years old?”

“Just turned nine. Uncle Max brought me to court.” He tapped an index finger on the photo. “Wanted me to meet Meyer Lansky.”

I understood Perlow coming to support his pal. But yanking precocious little Alex out of classes at Tuttle- Biscayne? What sense did that make?

“Are you gonna make me beg or just tell me?” I said. “What was Lansky like?”

“A tiny man. Very polite, very soft-spoken. He wore a sport coat. Soft fabric. Black and white; herringbone, maybe.”

“You have a helluva memory.”

Castiel smiled, eyes far away. “Something memorable happened.”

“Yeah?”

“It was the week of my birthday. Max had given me a Swiss Army knife, and I showed it to Lansky.”

“Yeah?”

“Lansky said he’d give me a hundred bucks if I proved I was a brave little boy.”

“He asked you to stab the prosecutor?”

“He told me to carve my name under the judge’s bench.”

“No way.”

“The emmis, Jake.”

“Most kids go to Chuck E. Cheese on their birthdays. You cut deals with the FBI’s Most Wanted.”

“I waited till the lunch recess, and as soon as the judge was out of the courtroom, I crawled under the bench and carved my name. At least I think I did. It was pretty dark.”

A great story, I thought, picturing little Alex Castiel, crouched on his haunches, using all his strength to scratch at the wood with his shiny new knife. “Lansky pay off?”

“A hundred dollar bill. Only time I ever took a bribe.”

I thought again about Castiel’s theory of the duality of man, the thin line between good and evil. He believed you could step across the line, then step back again. Or maybe just straddle the line, one foot in heaven, one in hell. He had never explained precisely how he put that theory into practice.

“Helluva story, Alex,” I said.

“When I crawled back out from under the bench, Lansky asked me, ‘Were you scared, boychik?’ ”

“And you said …?”

“ ‘No way, Jose.’ Lansky got a big laugh at that. Told Max to take me to Wolfie’s for a hot fudge sundae.”

“Was it the truth, Alex? You weren’t scared?”

“Petrified! But I wouldn’t show it. I knew Lansky was a tough guy.” Castiel handed back the clipping. “I wanted to be just like him.”

53 A Pay-or-Die Deal

“I love you,” Ziegler said.

Melody Sanders laughed. “Pillow talk, baby. All pillow talk.”

True enough, they were in Melody’s bed. They had just had sex, and Ziegler was still basking in the glow, feeling as if he were floating on a raft in a warm, calm sea. But that wasn’t the reason his emotions were gushing. He’d had these feelings for a long time. This was the woman who understood him, who accepted him just the way he was.

Melody’s bed was his sanctuary from an increasingly cruel and heartless world. But today he couldn’t stop thinking about that prick Alex Castiel.

“There are only two people who could have killed Max. Amy Larkin and you, Charlie. It’s completely up to you who goes down for it.”

“Mel, I want to take you to Buenos Aires,” he said.

“Really?”

“Or Rio. I think I meant Rio.”

Argentina or Brazil? He could never remember which one refused to extradite fugitives to the United States.

“Or Casablanca.” He was pretty damn sure there was no treaty with Morocco.

“What are you talking about, Charlie?”

“I can sell the cable channel. Fox is always in the market for more sleaze. And Rodney Gifford would buy the porn distribution business if the price was right.”

Melody propped up on an elbow, her face close to his. When she frowned, her nose wiggled like a rabbit’s. She was so all-fire cute Ziegler wanted to kiss her from head to toe and frequently did.

“A fresh start for both of us.” A youthful bounce to his voice.

“What about your wife?”

“She’s not invited.”

“Slow down, Charlie.” She traced figure-eights on his chest with an index finger. “You’re under a lot of stress.”

“Damn straight.”

“It’s not the time to make major decisions.”

She was right, Ziegler knew. So damn smart. And supportive. Not just a good lay. His relationship with Melody had always been more than just sex. As the years went by, he relied more on her for advice and counsel. If he had a problem with cable operators or DVD distributors, he’d discuss it with her. She was also the only person in the world Ziegler trusted completely.

“Alex is threatening me and Tejada’s strong-arming me.” He took her hand in his and kissed her fingertips. “A man can’t live like that. Not for long.”

“Running away? It’s not like you, Charlie.”

“I’m talking about a new life. Right after the trial, let’s do it.”

“Not until you have some breathing room, some time to think. Maybe a couple weeks in the islands, let you unwind. You might see things differently then.”

Right again, he thought.

“I have some new toys we can bring along.” Showing her salacious smile.

“You’re on.” Lately, he’d ceded the dominant role in the bedroom to Melody. As he got older, he took pleasure in surrendering power. Ball and gag, rubber mask, clothespins, he loved it all. Who knew that ass beads could add twenty megatons to his orgasm?

“Did you want to talk about the trial?” she asked, gently.

He knew that was her sweet way of saying, “We have to talk about the trial.”

“Sure.”

“I’m worried, Charlie.”

“I screwed up that night, but I can make it right.”

“So you’ve been thinking about what you’re going to say on the stand.”

“Constantly.”