when they were together, not that he was one of those can't-stop talkers, but compared to Stevie he was Leno or Letterman.
'What're you gonna do?' asked the Jockey.
Stevie didn't want to think about his options, but he forced himself. He could gather whatever money he could, which was not all that much, maybe twenty-thousand or so if he could get it out of the bank after checking to be sure it wasn't being watched by the police. He could turn himself in, testify against Anthony and Dario Marco, maybe duck the murder charge, go into witness protection. What did he owe them now? He had given them total loyalty and they had tried to kill him.
No, even if he got a good lawyer and made a good deal, he would have to do some time. He had strangled a cop. No getting around that. Stevie was seventy-one years old plus a few hours. He'd die of old age in prison if the Marcos didn't get to him first.
Stevie could more than hold his own now, but in a few years maybe, he wouldn't be fast enough to stop a prison shank from being plunged into his back. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd be isolated from the population, live and die in a cell.
No, there was really only one thing he could do. He could kill Dario Marco. Killing Dario had no reward other than making things even. He probably should have killed the two who had tried to trap him in the doorway of Lynn Contranos's apartment building. Maybe he did kill one of them, the one he had punched in the stomach. Maybe he was off somewhere or in a hospital dying of internal bleeding. He had broken the nose of the second guy. Stevie seemed to remember his name was Jerry. Stevie had taken the gun from Jerry and thrown it away. Maybe he should have kept it, but Stevie had never liked guns. Maybe he should also kill this Lynn Contranos. When he put it all together, there really weren't many options other than to be the last man standing.
There was a knock at the door. The Jockey stood up suddenly, looked at Stevie, looked at the door.
'Who's it?' asked Jake.
'Police.'
Not many choices of places to hide. The closet or the bathroom. The Jockey pointed to the bathroom. Stevie got up. Jake whispered, 'Get behind the door. Don't close it. Flush the toilet.'
Stevie struggled out of the deep chair and limped toward the bathroom while Jake went to the door. He glanced behind him as he moved, checking the floor for telltale drops of blood. There were none he could see.
Stevie flushed the toilet and stood behind the open door.
'I'm opening,' the Jockey said, looking back to see that Stevie was inside the bathroom.
He unzipped his pants and opened the door. Jake zipped his pants back up. The cop was alone, plain clothes, leather coat.
'Jacob Laudano?' asked the cop.
'Lloyd,' the Jockey replied. 'Jake Lloyd. Had it changed legal.'
'Can I come in?'
Jake shrugged and said, 'Sure, I got nothing to hide.'
He stepped back and Don Flack entered the small apartment. One of the first things he looked at was the partially open door of the bathroom.
There were eighteen employees at Marco's Bakery in Castle Hill. They were all at work except for Steven Guista.
Stella had a list of names which she checked off as each man and woman came into the office supply room where the CSI investigators had set up.
By the time they had talked to and gotten DNA and fingerprint samples from the first nine, it was clear that every employee was either an ex-con or some kind of relation of the Marco family, or both.
Jerry Carmody was number ten. He was big, broad, about forty, going to fat, and wearing a bandage on his nose. His eyes were red and swollen.
'What happened to your nose?' Stella asked after Danny had taken a throat culture from the man.
'Accident, fell,' he said.
'Fell hard,' she said. 'Mind if I take a look?'
'Went to the doctor this morning,' said Carmody. 'He set it. It's been broke before.'
'You're lucky the bone didn't get driven back into your brain,' Stella said. 'You were hit hard.'
'Like I said. I fell hard,' Carmody said.
'You in Brooklyn last night?' she asked.
Carmody looked around at Danny and the uniformed cop who had brought him into the supply room.
'I live in Brooklyn,' Carmody said.
'Know a Lynn Contranos?'
'No.'
'We'll need some of your blood,' said Stella with a cough.
'What for?'
'I think Stevie Guista did that to you,' she said. 'You bled on Lynn Contranos's doorstep. We've got some of that blood.'
Carmody went silent.
'You do know Helen Grandfield?' asked Stella.
'Sure,' he said.
'She's Lynn Contranos,' said Stella.
'Yeah, so?' said Carmody without interest.
'Where is Guista?' she asked.
'Big Stevie? I don't know. Home, out getting drunk or laid. How should I know? It's his birthday. Yesterday. He's probably sleeping off a binge.'
'We'll talk some more about Stevie after we match your blood to the blood on the doorstep. Roll up your sleeve.'
'What if I say, 'no,' ' he said.
'Investigator Messer is very gentle,' said Stella. 'If you don't want to do it here, we go to our lab, get a court order. Who's on duty at the lab?'
'Janowitz,' said Danny evenly.
'You don't want Janowitz,' Stella said.
'Janowitz the Jabber,' said Danny.
Carmody rolled up his sleeve.
Ned Lyons was the twelfth employee to be led into the supply room and both Danny and Stella knew they had a bingo.
Lyons was lean, well-built, worn face older than his thirty-four years. He was also obviously walking with some pain, which he tried, without any success, to hide.
'You all right?' Stella said as Lyons sat slowly on the wooden chair at the table.
'Stomach flu,' he said.
'Should you be working in a bakery with stomach flu?' she asked.
'You're right,' said Lyons. 'Maybe I'll tell the boss I'm sick.'
'Lift your shirt please,' said Stella.
Lyons looked around, sighed and lifted his shirt. The bruise on his solar plexus was about the size of a pie plate. It was already turning purple, yellow, red, and blue.
'So what does that tell you?' asked Lyons.
'What did Mr. Lyons have for dinner last night?' Stella asked Danny, who, looking at Lyons, answered, 'Pepperoni, sausage, and a lot of pasta,' said Danny. 'Mr. Lyons likes his sauce spicy.'
'How do you know what I-?' Lyons began.
'Open your mouth, Mr. Lyons,' Stella ordered.
A now-confused Ned Lyons opened his mouth and Stella leaned forward to look.
