conversation, something about Bobby holding a gun, then Popeye said: “Yeah, okay, he hired me.” “To knock off his wife?” “Yeah.” “And what about the college kid – the girl?” “T’was a bit of bad timing, as the tinkers say back home.” “And what about the cop?” “Him I would’ve killed for a shot of Jameson.”
Bobby pressed the stop button and said, “Oh, one other thing. I don’t want a quarter of a mill anymore.”
“Yeah?” Max said weakly. “What do you want?”
Bobby leaned forward in his wheelchair, then said, “Everything.”
Before Angela left for work, she checked to see how Dillon was doing in the bathtub. The Drano had burned through the top layer of skin on his face, turning it yellow and gooey, but at this rate it was going to take weeks until his whole body was dissolved, if it dissolved at all. Meanwhile, the room stank so bad she could hardly breathe. It figured that Dillon would come up with some stupid idea that had like zero chance of working.
Then she saw something glinting in the gooey yellow. For one awful moment, she thought maybe his gold tooth fell out and her stomach heaved. But it wasn’t a tooth, she realized, it was the pin, and she muttered out loud, “What’s with that feckin’ pin?”
She picked it out, real careful not to touch any of Dillon, going under her breath, “Sweet Jesus, oh Sweet Mother of all Heaven.”
She put the pin on the sink, figuring she’d stash it in her handbag later. The pin was tarnished from the Drano, but compared to Dillon himself it was in great shape.
Angela had already mopped up most of the blood off the floor and reluctantly she washed her hair in the kitchen sink. Even after she blew it out, it still looked flat. And, to make things worse, although the wound on her thigh had stopped bleeding, it still looked pretty bad and she couldn’t wear a skirt to work.
She was running so late she decided to take a cab. It was a nice, cool day and it felt good to get out of that stuffy apartment. As the cab headed up Third Avenue, Angela decided that she would have to slowly get her life back together. First she was going to have to get the apartment clean and wash Dillon down the drain, then she could start worrying about a relationship again.
But now that Dillon and Bobby were both gone, she wondered if she should go back to her original plan and get married to Max. She still thought he was an asshole, but the whole experience with Dillon had taught her that she had no idea what she was doing when it came to judging men. At least Max was rich and, when it came right down to it, what was more important than money?
It was ten-fifteen when Angela arrived at NetWorld. The door to Max’s office was closed and she didn’t feel like bothering him. So she turned on her computer and started to catch up on some work. When Max came out of his office he stopped and stared at Angela for a second or two, like he was surprised to see her.
“What happened to you?” he asked.
At first, Angela thought Max was talking about her being an hour and a half late, but then she realized it had to do with the bruise on her face. Where Dillon had punched her she had a big black-and-blue mark that her makeup couldn’t hide.
“Oh, that,” Angela said. “My roommate swung another door into me again. She’s a real ejit.”
“You should get rid of those swinging doors,” Max said seriously, “or that stupid roommate.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Angela said, thinking about Dillon dissolving in the bathtub.
“Why don’t you come into my office?” Max said. “I need to dictate a letter.”
Angela followed him into his office and sat down on the couch. Max was already sitting at his desk.
“First of all,” Max said, “I have to talk to your cousin.”
“My cousin? What for?”
“Never mind what for, just give me the goddamn number.”
“I don’t have it.”
“What do you mean, you don’t have it? You had it yesterday.”
“Why do you need to talk to him?”
“To find out if his friend Popeye – I’m sorry, Dillon, is still alive.”
“Dillon?” Angela asked.
“That’s Popeye’s real name,” Max said. “At least that’s what Ironside told me.”
Angela was confused.
“Mr. Average White Man in the wheelchair,” Max continued. He was here about a half hour ago. He told me that you ‘wouldn’t be coming in anymore’ and that Dillon was ‘out of the picture.’ But since you’re here I’m starting to think he’s full of shit about everything.”
“Bobby Rosa was here?”
“Yes,” Max said. “Don’t you pay attention to a goddamn word I say?”
“But he’s dead.”
“Then I guess it was a ghost who was just in here, trying to blackmail me again. And my question is, Why? If this Popeye – Dillon – is supposed to be on our side, why isn’t he killing the people he’s supposed to kill? Why is he telling Rosa that I hired him? The only thing that makes sense is they’re working together, and that they’ve been working together all along. Why else would Bobby go into that hotel room that night unless he knew we’d be there? So what I’m gonna do is call that little mick and say ‘Tell the cripple to back off or I’m taking you down.’ And I’m serious. I have the name of a top-notch lawyer now and I’ll pin this whole thing on him. I don’t need all this bullshit in my life right now – I have a business to run.”
Max’s face had turned red during his long speech and he was breathing heavily. He looked like he might croak at any moment. But Angela had something bigger on her mind – Bobby was still alive. She had to talk to him, figure out some way to get him off their backs.
“Sorry, Max,” Angela said standing up. “I have to go to the bathroom. Oh, but wait, I have something for you.” She rummaged in her bag and took out the book. “It’s a present. Sorry I didn’t have time to wrap it.”
It had crossed her mind to give him the pin too, but she kind of liked it.
Max took the book cautiously and Angela said, “Don’t worry, it’s not gonna blow up.”
Max gave her a look as if he wasn’t so sure. Then, squinting at the book, holding it at arm’s length because he didn’t have his reading glasses on, Max said, “ Wisdom of Zen? What’s this crap?”
“It’ll bring you peace,” Angela said, thinking about Dillon again, lying there in her bathtub, all yellow and Zen- like.
“I get enough of that Zen peace talk shit from my asshole chef,” Max said. He flipped the book onto his desk then demanded, “What about your cousin’s phone number?”
“I think I better call him,” Angela said.
“Why can’t I call?”
“He has a bad temper – you know how Greeks are. If you call and he thinks things got messed up he might start going crazy.”
“I thought your cousin’s Irish?”
“Half Greek, half Irish. Like me.”
“I don’t know what the fuck’s going on anymore,” Max said, shaking his head in frustration. “Just get me another meeting with Popeye today before five or I’m calling the cops. And close the door on your way out, will ya? I have to do my breathing exercises.”
Diane Faustino from Accounting was talking to Sheila in Payroll near Angela’s desk and Angela wanted to talk to Bobby in private. So she went to the back of the office, to the supply room. She called, but there was no answer. She went back to her desk, but it was impossible to concentrate. Max came out of his office every couple of minutes and asked if she had made “that call yet.” Angela kept saying, “Yeah, but he’s not home.”
Max was getting to be a real pain in the ass. Angela couldn’t believe that less than an hour ago she was seriously considering spending the rest of her life with that loser.
After waiting for about half an hour, Angela went back to the supply room and dialed Bobby’s number again. This time he picked up.
Bobby was about to get into the bathtub when the phone rang. He lifted himself back into his wheelchair and went out to the living room. He answered the phone on its sixth ring.
“May I speak with Bobby Rosa please?”
It was an official-sounding older woman. Bobby figured it was another one of those asshole telemarketers. Even though he’d put himself on the national do-not-call list, those fucking cold callers kept hassling him twenty- four-seven. If she was a telemarketer, he was going to do what he always did when those pricks called his
