“The word is, they take care of problems themselves. The word is, they’re very prompt and very efficient. The word is, the Skards over the years have personally eliminated at least two hundred human obstacles to the family’s business objectives, not counting the nightclub massacre.”
“Nice people. With three sons, presumably Giotto had a wife?”
“Oh, indeed he did. Tirana Magdalena-the only member of the whole rotten Skard menagerie about which anything is actually known. And maybe the only person on earth who ever seriously inconvenienced Giotto and lived to tell it.”
“How’d she manage that?”
“She was the daughter of the head of an Albanian mafia family. I should say she
“How the hell do you know all this?”
“I don’t, really. Like I said, it’s mostly rumors from the guy at Interpol. Maybe mostly bullshit. But it sounds good to me.”
“Hold on. A second ago you said she was the only member of the Skard family about which anything is actually known.
“Ah. But I haven’t gotten yet to the part that’s
Chapter 55
“Tirana Magdalena was Adnan Zog’s only daughter.”
“Zog being the don?”
“Zog being the don, or whatever they call that exalted position in Albania. Anyway, his daughter was drop-dead gorgeous.”
“How do you know that?”
“Her beauty was the stuff of legend. At least in the seedy underbelly of Eastern Europe. At least according to my Deep Throat contact at Interpol. Also, there are photographs. Many photographs. Unlike the Skards, the Zogs, particularly Tirana Magdalena, had no problem with fame. In addition to being gorgeous, she was also high-strung, weird, artsy, and obsessed with wanting to be a dancer. Papa Zog didn’t give a shit about what she wanted. He just saw her as something of potential value. So when the ambitious young Giotto Skard took an interest in the sixteen- year-old Tirana at the same time as he was negotiating a business alliance with Zog, Zog tossed her in as part of the deal. Probably saw it as a win-win. Zog gives Skard something Skard values that costs Zog nothing, plus he gets rid of his nutty, pain-in-the-ass daughter. This makes him and Giotto like blood brothers without even having to prick their thumbs.”
“Very efficient,” said Gurney.
“Very efficient. So now this wacky sixteen-year-old who has been raised by a lunatic Albanian murderer is married to a lunatic Sardinian murderer. And all she wants to do is dance. But all Giotto wants is sons-a lot of sons. Good for the business. So she starts having Giotto’s babies, which turn out to be all sons, just like he wants. Tiziano, Raffaello, Leonardo. Which makes him pretty happy. But all Tirana wants to do is dance. And each kid is making her a little crazier. By the time she has number three, she’s ready for the loony bin. Then she makes her big discovery. Coke! She discovers that snorting coke is almost as good as dancing. She snorts a lot of coke. When she can’t steal any more money from Giotto-a very dangerous activity, by the way-she starts fucking the local coke dealer. When Giotto finds out, he chops him up.”
“Chops him up?”
“Yeah. Literally. Into little pieces. To make a statement.”
“Impressive.”
“Right. So then Giotto decides to move the family to America. Better for everyone, he says. What he really means is, better for business. Business is all Giotto cares about. Once they’re over here, Tirana starts fucking American coke dealers. Giotto chops them up. Everyone she fucks gets chopped up. She’s fucking so many guys he can hardly keep up with it. Finally he kicks her out, along with son number three, Leonardo, who is now about ten years old and either gay or schizo or just too fucking oddball for Giotto to deal with. She takes the money Giotto gives her as a good-bye-and-get-lost present, and she opens a modeling agency for kids whose parents would love to get them into commercials, TV, whatever-offers acting and dancing classes to enhance their budding careers. Giotto meanwhile settles down with his two older sons to focus on their sex-and-extortion empire. Sounds like a happy ending for all concerned. But there was a flaw in the ointment.”
“Fly.”
“What?”
“A
“Fly, flaw, whatever. The problem with cokehead Tirana’s modeling agency is that she’s molesting the kids. Not only is she still fucking coke dealers, now she’s fucking every ten-, eleven-, twelve-year-old boy she can get her hands on.”
“Jesus. How did it end?”
“It ended with her being arrested and charged with about two dozen counts of sexual abuse, assault, sodomy, rape, you name it. She ended up being committed to a state mental hospital, where she remains to this day.”
“And her son?”
“By the time she was arrested, he was gone.”
“Gone?”
“Either ran away or was taken back by his father or was spirited off through some kind of private adoption. Or, knowing the Skards, he could very well be dead. Giotto would never let sentimentality keep him from tying up a loose end.”
Chapter 56
Halfway between his Stewart’s stop and Walnut Crossing, Gurney’s phone rang again. Rebecca Holdenfield’s voice was smart, edgy-as reminiscent of the young Sigourney Weaver as were her face and hair. “So I guess you’re not coming?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Don’t you check your messages?”
He remembered. That morning there had been one text and one voice mail. He’d checked the text first-the message that had spun him off into a world of speculation about his brownstone blackout. He’d never checked the voice mail.
“Christ, I’m sorry, Rebecca. I’m running too damn fast. You expected me this afternoon?”
“It was your request in your voice mail to me. So I said fine, come.”
“Any chance we could do it tomorrow? What’s tomorrow, anyway?”
“Tuesday. And I’m jammed all day. How about Thursday? That’s my next free time.”
“Too far away. Can we talk now?”
“I’m free till five. Which means we have about ten minutes. What’s the topic?”
“I’ve got a few: the effects of being raised by a promiscuous mother, the mind-set of women who sexually
