The three men went away. Nucky leaned into the table and dropped his voice.
“Explain yourself, will you, Tony? The suspense is killing me.”
“My house got broken into this afternoon. The guy who did it wasn’t one of those four guys. And he was looking for something.”
“You think I know?”
“You run this town, don’t you?”
Nucky balled up his napkin and tossed it onto his bowel of unfinished pasta. “You’re not wearing a wire, are you?”
Valentine rose an inch out of his chair.
“Okay, calm down. Luther, take a powder, will you?”
The bodyguard excused himself from the table. When he was gone, Nucky explained the situation. “You’ve been seen around town with a couple of feds.”
“So?”
“People are getting nervous.”
“I’m helping the FBI find a guy who’s murdering hookers.”
“That’s the story everybody’s heard,” Nucky said.
“You don’t believe it?”
Nucky snorted contemptuously. “Who gives a shit about dead hookers? Take my advice. Stay away from those FBI guys. It’s making plenty of people nervous.”
“Did you order someone to break into my house?”
“No,” Nucky said.
“Then who did?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Tell me who they are, Nucky, or I’ll run you in.”
“
“You heard me.”
Nucky’s bald head turned beet red. He suddenly looked like a pressure cooker ready to explode. “You’re serious.”
“Damn straight,” Valentine said.
Nucky rose from the table, and motioned for Valentine to follow him. They walked through the empty restaurant and down the foyer, turned right at the maitre de’ stand, and entered the nightclub. It had been modeled after the Moulin Rouge, with a serpentine bar, a stage that mechanically moved up and down, and bar stools covered in zebra skin, their stripes highlighted by an ultra-violet light. The club was empty, except for the ancient mixologist, an old Sicilian named Arthur who’d been there since the beginning of time. They shouldered up to the bar.
“A Budweiser, Arthur,” Nucky said.
“Of course. And for your friend?”
“Tap water,” Valentine said.
Arthur smiled like Valentine had made a joke and he thought he was supposed to smile.
“Turn the TV on,” Nucky instructed.
“You wanna watch anything in particular?”
“I want to see the news.”
A big color TV hung from the ceiling behind the bar. Arthur climbed up on a chair and turned the set on. Then he poured their drinks.
“Talked to your old man lately?” Nucky asked.
“Leave him out of this,” Valentine said.
Nucky shrugged and sipped his beer. “I thought you were gonna drop by, see Zelda.”
“She still in her room?”
“Yeah.”
“You want something for her to do?”
Nucky perked up. “You got any ideas?”
“She can help clean up my goddamn house.”
The news came on. It was from a station out of Newark. One of the newscasters was a woman in her late thirties, the other a man about the same age. They spoke to the camera without acknowledging each other. It was like watching a marriage on the skids. After five minutes, a story about a killing came on. Nucky pointed at the screen.
“Here we go,” he said.
