“Rough night?” she asked in an undertone, leaning her elbows on the bar beside him. Rolf padded over and sat squarely between them.
“Better than some,” he replied.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
He looked at her. “Ought I to be worrying?”
“I don’t think so. I just need to pick your brain.”
“Very well. I’m at your disposal.”
“Vincenzo Moreno. Vinnie the Oil Man.”
Carlyle glanced around the bar. Erin reflected, not for the first time, on the strange privacy of being in a noisy, semi-public place. There was so much background noise, between the television and all the side conversations, that they could be discussing just about anything without fear of being overheard.
“He’s a colleague of Lorenzo Bianchi,” he said. “But you know that already, I’ve no doubt.”
“And they’re with the Lucarellis,” she added.
“Aye,” he agreed. “And with the family boss incarcerated, thanks to your lot, the Oil Man runs their business in Manhattan.”
“Really?” Erin was surprised a guy so high up the ladder would get involved with street-level operations.
“Aye,” Carlyle said again. He drained half of what was left in his glass. “He’s a dangerous lad. I can tell you a great deal you’ll already find in your files, but suffice to say, he’s likely second-in-command of his organization.”
“What’s he doing messing around the morgue?” she wondered aloud.
“You met him?” Carlyle asked. “Face to face?”
“Yeah. Smooth-talking son of a bitch. Good-looking guy, but uses too much hair gel.”
“Aye, that sounds like him. What did he want?”
“He collected Bianchi’s body. Probably so we couldn’t run forensics.”
“You’re not the only one thinking Sewer Pipe might have been murdered, it seems.”
She nodded. “Would he have a reason to take Bianchi out?”
“There’s always a reason if you look for it.”
Erin glanced sharply at him. “Was there trouble?” she asked in a lower voice. “At your meeting?”
Carlyle shook his head. “He wanted to discuss the altercation between Corky and Mickey at the game. I think he was primarily concerned that I keep a tight leash on Corks. Evan doesn’t want the two of them at one another’s throats.”
“Why does Corky hate Mickey so much?”
He shrugged. “They’ve very different philosophies of life. Corky’s a happy-go-lucky type, as you’re well aware. He’s never happier than when everyone’s having a grand time of it. Mickey’s the sort of lad who gets his pleasure from inflicting pain. If he’s happy, it’s a fair bet no one else in the room is.”
“He’s a sadist, you mean?”
“Oh, aye. Steer clear of him, Erin.” Carlyle’s face was deadly serious. “He’s not a safe lad to be around, no matter what. This isn’t admissible in court, but I’ll tell you, he’s personally ended more lives than everyone else who was in that room, put together. I’ve reason to believe he’s killed at least one woman, a girl Corky was interested in. Corky knows it, too. And to my knowledge, Mickey’s never used a gun to kill.”
“What does he use?”
He hesitated. She was coming right up against the line they kept to separate her work from his.
“Come on,” she said. “This bastard ever comes after me, I’m gonna need to know.”
“His hands,” Carlyle said.
“His bare hands? You’re shitting me. So, what, he strangles them?”
He shook his head. “He carries twenty dollars at all times.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Two rolls of quarters, one in each pocket.”
Then she did understand. “Fist loads,” she said. Some street fighters liked to use a roll of coins, clenched in the hand, to add extra weight to a punch.
“More legal than brass knuckles, and less suspicious,” he said.
“Nice guy,” she said.
“But we were discussing Mr. Moreno,” Carlyle said. “From the sound of it, he doesn’t want a thorough police investigation into Bianchi’s death. Do you know what he’s doing with the body?”
“Cremation, probably.”
He nodded. “Stands to reason. That’ll neatly dispose of most of the evidence. Are you investigating his death now?”
“We are. It’s pretty suspicious.”
“I’ll be glad to assist.” He smiled wearily. “Anything that causes mischief for the Italians will only make us look better in Evan’s eyes. And he is watching, Erin.”
She returned the smile. “You know, there’s plenty of girls nervous about getting along with their man’s family, but you take the damn cake.” She looked him over again. “You look tired.”
“I’m a trifle worn, darling.”
“Then I’ll get out of your hair. I’ll see you soon.”
“Take care of yourself, Erin.”
“Back at you.”
Chapter 10
Despite her run-in with the Mafia, her worries about the O’Malleys, and the accumulating bodies on their case, Erin slept well and woke up refreshed. She’d been feeling better ever since she and Carlyle had gotten together. There were any number of reasons for it, but she figured it mostly boiled down to not feeling alone. It felt so damn good to have someone who understood her, someone she could talk to about anything. It was completely crazy that the guy in question was a gangster, but that didn’t bother her as much as she knew it should.
After her early-morning run with Rolf, she grabbed a croissant from a bakery on her way in to the precinct. Not for the first time, she blessed the coffee machine in the Major Crimes office. It’d been an anonymous gift, but it was an open secret on her team that it’d come from Carlyle, a thank-you for protecting his establishment. Erin poured herself a cup and sat down at her desk. Webb and Vic weren’t in yet, and the place was quiet.
The first thing she saw on her computer was a message from Levine. Lorenzo Bianchi’s bloodwork was done. She bounced right back out of her chair and hurried downstairs to the morgue.
Levine was staring at her computer screen. She was wearing the same clothes as the previous evening. She didn’t look up.
“Morning,” Erin said. “Did you go home last night?”
“No point,” Levine said. “The bloodwork took most of
