'So that means one of you is guilty,' Longo said, his eyes doing another sweep. 'One of you orchestrated this.'
The detective looked at Underman. So did everyone else. The defense attorney sat on a stool they'd dragged in from the kitchen, the knees of his silk trousers bloodied by his fall. He returned their sullen looks, seemingly as perplexed as everyone else.
'I had nothing to do with this,' he stated flatly.
Longo bellowed like a mad bull. 'You think I'm going to take the fall for this? Get real, asshole. My reputation isn't going down the drain because I got snookered by some smart-mouth attorney. This is your problem. You're under arrest.'
Underman shook his head. 'You're crazy.'
'Am I? Look at the facts. You were the only one who knew where this was headed. Nola was your baby.'
'I was just along for the ride,' Underman said lamely.
An evil laugh came out of Longo's mouth. 'You think I can't talk some jailhouse snitch into saying he saw you and Frank Fontaine together?'
'It will never stick.'
'You'll do four years minimum. And not in a country club, either. The federal pen. With a three-hundred- pound cellmate named Bunny.'
'Stop it!' Underman roared at him. 'I won't stand for this.'
'Want to call your attorney?'
Underman began to reply, then hesitated. 'No,' he mumbled.
'Oh,' Longo said, turning playful. 'Now we're getting somewhere. Like to cut a deal instead?'
'What kind of deal?'
'One that keeps you out of prison.'
Underman's lower lip began to tremble. 'I'm listening,' the defense attorney said.
'Find Nola for us,' Longo said.
Underman's face twisted in confusion. 'How am I going to do that?'
'I'll give you a hint. She's with Fontaine.'
'But he's invisible.'
'Only to us,' Longo said.
'What is that supposed to mean?'
'Fontaine is a criminal. You deal with criminals. Talk to them, ask them to sniff around. Someone will know where he's hiding.'
'All right,' Underman said. 'I suppose I can do that.'
'You'll find him?'
'I'll try.'
'That's not good enough.'
'All right. I'll find him.'
'We have a deal?'
The defense attorney nodded stiffly. TV reporters were knocking at the front door, their garish van parked in the driveway. The cruisers Longo had radioed for were nowhere to be seen.
While Longo went to deal with the reporters, Valentine caught Higgins's attention and the two men slipped into the kitchen. Touching his friend's shoulder, Valentine said, 'This is some of the worst police work I've ever seen.'
'Longo was never the sharpest knife in the drawer,' Higgins admitted. 'You think Underman's involved?'
'Of course not,' Valentine said.
'How can you be so sure?'
'What does he stand to gain? He's got to be as rich as Croesus. Nola set him up.'
'You think she orchestrated her own kidnapping?'
'No, Sonny did. But Nola's still involved. She has to be.'
Higgins and Valentine stood in the doorway, watching Longo and Underman. The chubby lieutenant had his hand out. The defense attorney reluctantly shook it, sealing their deal.
'What a prick,' Valentine said.
'You never extorted a suspect?' Higgins asked.
No, he hadn't. Nor had he ever stood up in court and lied under oath or taken a bribe to look the other way or robbed the dead. By today's standards he was a square, and he wasn't afraid to admit it.
'Never,' Valentine said.
'You're a better man than I am,' Higgins said.
'I didn't mean that, Bill.'
'I know you didn't. You want a ride back to town?'
'I'll hitch one off Nick. Thanks anyway.'
Valentine rode shotgun in Nick's Caddy, the vent blowing hot air on his face. His heart was pounding, so he took his pulse while staring at the clock on Nick's dashboard. Ninety-four beats a minute. There was a reason cops retired young: The work ruined your health. Nick was equally flummoxed and mumbled to himself as he drove. Wily sat in back, still wearing the borrowed bathrobe.
Valentine watched the monotonous scenery, wishing he were home. The rules were different out here and always would be. The casinos were built by gangsters and bootleggers, and although the mob's influence was gone, their way of doing business remained. Ruthless men still ran the town; they just happened to be small-time thugs like Nick or renegade cops like Pete Longo.
Nick stopped at Wily's house so Wily could change. The pit boss bolted from the car and hopscotched across the lawn, the in-ground sprinklers shooting his robe open. At the front door, he was met by his wife, a big blonde in spandex. She pointed at his robe and demanded an explanation. Just then, his two stepdaughters walked out of the garage wearing postage-stamp-size bikinis. They pointed and laughed at their stepfather like he was a freak. Valentine did a double take: He had never seen two young girls dressed so provocatively.
Nick shook his head sadly. 'Somebody once said that marriage was the single biggest enemy of love.'
'I think it was Sinatra,' Valentine said.
'Old Blue Eyes said that? Sinatra sure knew dames.'
'Wasn't he married a bunch of times?'
'Four or five,' Nick said. 'Why?'
Valentine shrugged. Nick was not the person with whom he wanted to have a conversation about the virtues of monogamy. No one ever said marriage was easy, or that raising kids was particularly fun, but it was what you did because it worked better than anything else. He gave Wily credit for toughing it out.
Finally, Wily managed to get into his house and the commotion died down. Turning, Nick said, 'Mind my asking you a personal question?'
Valentine eyed him. 'Go ahead.'
'I noticed you don't drink. You a rummy?'
'My old man,' Valentine said. 'I swore it off before I had my first drink.'
'You've never touched the sauce?'
'No.'
'I admire people who don't drink,' Nick confessed. 'It screwed up my life in a big way. Your father a jerk?'
'Pretty much.'
'You ever patch things up?'
Valentine fell silent, wishing his employer would drop the subject. He had tried to patch things up and had chased his old man around Atlantic City for years, bailing him out of jail and cleaning him up dozens of times, only to watch his father drink himself into oblivion and, eventually, to death. Clearing his throat, he said, 'No.'
It was Nick's turn to start clearing his own throat. Valentine stared at his watch, then the dashboard, then out the window.
