hair and bad breath.
He had to talk to Vinnie face-to-face.
Ray wasn’t sure where Tony was, but he had to assume he was probably at the House. From a doorway alcove across the street and half a block away, Ray spent twenty minutes watching the front door of the House, making sure Tony wasn’t dicking around outside, greeting customers, acting like a big shot. The key to Ray’s plan was to get in and out without running into Tony.
Getting in turned out to be easier than Ray thought. He just strolled in. The new doorman, a guy Ray had never seen before but who definitely looked Italian, even opened the door for him.
Inside, the first floor was packed. On the stage, a couple of the girls were doing their oiled-up, titty-rubbing routine. No one even looked at Ray as he drifted past the bar, past the empty stool where he used to sit, and climbed the stairs. The pistol wedged into the back of his pants felt heavy.
Same thing on the second floor. From the stairwell, Ray saw the players jammed around the tables, throwing down money and chips.
On the third floor, he caught the eye of one of the girls draped across a chaise. The refurbished and resized rooms where the girls got down to work were spaced along a central hallway, but the area near the stairs was set up as a lounge. If a guy couldn’t find a girl in the strip club or casino, all he had to do was go up to the third floor and he could find one waiting for him on a love seat or reclining on a sofa. Vinnie liked to keep two or three girls there all the time.
When the girl on the chaise looked at him, Ray didn’t know what else to do, so he pressed a finger to his lips, pleading for silence. She shrugged and rolled her head back against the cushion.
On the fourth floor, Ray crept down the hall to the sitting area outside Vinnie’s apartment. A leather couch and two wingback chairs were arranged around a coffee table. Ray checked his watch. Five minutes past midnight. Vinnie wasn’t much of a night owl, so the odds were good that he was tucked in for the night, with or without the missus, depending on whether it was bridge night.
The door to Vinnie’s suite was solid, made of dark wood, and heavy, the kind normally found on the exterior of a house. An old-fashioned brass knocker was centered just below the peephole. Ray glanced around the sitting area, hoping for some inspiration, some idea how to get the door open. Knocking was out of the question. Even if Vinnie didn’t know about his brother yet, as soon as he saw Ray standing outside his door, he would at least call Tony, or, at the very least, if Tony was out, summon a couple of muscle heads up to put the grab on Ray until he could find Tony.
No inspiration came. Ray thought about the lock-picking kit he used to carry around in his briefcase. He had carried it for years, maybe used it twice. Now that he really needed it, he couldn’t remember what he had done with it. When you get arrested, denied bond, then later sent to prison, your possessions seem to have a way of disappearing.
He raised his foot and kicked. The door flew open. Whoever had remodeled the place had hung the heavy door on the hotel’s original door frame. The cheap wooden jamb splintered as the lock’s strike plate tore through it.
Ray had been in Vinnie’s penthouse before and rushed straight into the bedroom. In the light that spilled from the open bathroom door, Ray saw Vinnie sitting up in bed, eyes wide, wearing a just-woken-up-in-the-middle-of- the-night look on his face. The spot next to him was empty.
Ray held both hands out and open, imploring Vinnie to stay put. He left the Smith amp; Wesson tucked against his back. Last time he had pulled it out things hadn’t gone so well. “Where’s your wife?”
Vinnie glanced at the spot beside him. “Playing bridge,” he said, not fully awake enough yet to demand what Ray was doing breaking into his house in the middle of the night.
“I’m just here to talk, Vinnie. All I’m asking for is two minutes.”
Vinnie tensed and shot a glance at the nightstand beside him. There was a telephone on top. Below that a single drawer. Ray didn’t think it was the telephone Vinnie was thinking about grabbing.
“Vinnie, I have a gun, so if you’re thinking about reaching into that drawer for a piece, don’t. You’re not going to make it.” Ray waved his open hands back and forth. “I just want to talk.”
Vinnie was old, fat, and slow. He looked toward the nightstand one more time, then sighed. He slouched against the headboard and looked up at Ray. “So talk.”
Ray backed up and dropped into a chair that sat next to the wall, just inside the bedroom door. From Vinnie’s point of view, having a man towering over you while you sat in your bed wearing a pair of silk pajamas had to be intimidating. Ray didn’t want to intimidate him. He really did just want to talk. He wanted to find out the truth.
“I didn’t kill your son,” Ray said.
Vinnie didn’t respond, just stared across the room at Ray with a pair of sad eyes.
Ray went on. “But I’ve got to ask you something.”
“What?”
“Why was there so much money in the counting room that night?”
“I gave you a job when you got out. I paid you good money. I even trusted you.”
“Vinnie, I didn’t do it. If I did, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d have taken the money and disappeared.”
Vinnie folded his hands across his paunch. “Tony warned me about-”
“Fuck Tony! He’s the reason I’m in this mess.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why was there so much money in the counting room?”
Ray watched Vinnie’s eyes. They moved up and to Vinnie’s left, the analytical side of the brain, searching for a memory; not toward the right side, the creative side, the side where lies came from. It was something Ray had learned in interview and interrogation class.
Vinnie said, “This year Halloween fell on a Friday. We figured we would get real busy. We were right.”
“Whose idea was that?”
Again, Vinnie’s eyes cut up to his left as he pulled down a memory. “Tony said we needed extra cash.”
Bingo.
“Tony’s the one who set this up. He’s the one who got your boy killed.”
“Bullshit,” Vinnie barked. His eyes cut to the nightstand drawer.
“Think about it, Vinnie. Who was it who was really doing the pushing to have me work this thing?” Ray was guessing, but he could tell by the way Vinnie’s face changed that he was guessing right. “When we thought Hector might know something, Tony shot him. When I started tracking down the four gunmen, they all turned up dead before I could get to them.” Except for Dylan Sylvester. He wasn’t dead before I got to him, but that’s another story. “What you said was right, you gave me a job and you pay me well. I got no complaints, and I got no reason to violate your trust.”
Vinnie stared straight ahead. His face soft. He was thinking about it. “The money is reason enough,” he mumbled, but it sounded more like a reflex. “Everybody needs money.”
Ray thought about something Tony had said, Vinnie couldn’t afford to buy a grilled cheese sandwich. Telling him about Vinnie’s financial problems. “Tony set it up so it looked like I did it, and then he led me around by the nose until he had me thinking it was you.”
“Me!”
“He told me Pete’s school was tapping you out. That and your wife’s shopping. You were basically broke.”
“Tony’s been telling me it was you who set it up and got my son killed.”
“He told me it was your decision to have so much money that night.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“And whose idea was it to skip a couple of pickups?” “Tony said picking up bags of cash with so many people in the club was too tempting, like asking for trouble. So we cut back some that night.”
“Which left a lot more in the counting room.”
Vinnie nodded.
Ray said, “He was planning to put it off on both of us.”
“Why would he do that?”
Ray wondered if Vinnie could really be so stupid that he didn’t see the ambitious fuck he had working for him. “He wants to run the House. At least that’s what he wants right now, no telling what he’s going to want
