Dane tried not to sigh and failed.
Sort of funny, the way the warden started staring at his hand, like he thought it might become transparent. Bringing it up to his eye, looking at the palm and inspecting the other side, touching his fingers together. What would those fuckin' doctors tell him now?
Howards bent forward and said, “How odd and unique, to be born with this gift.”
“It's not unique and I wasn't born with it. At least I don't think I was.” He still wasn't sure. Maybe the burden was always there, like with his grandmother, and the crash just made it heavier, stronger. Who knew, maybe Vinny was right, and they'd both been dead since the accident.
“Someone else has it?”
Dane found himself measuring his words. “Similar anyway.”
“Who?”
“Vinny Monticelli.”
“Ah, I see. I've heard strange stories about him. How he believes he has visions and the gift of prophecy. So it's true, then? My God, how awful that'd be.”
“He doesn't seem to mind.”
“And you?”
“I get along,” Dane said.
“How did you both acquire such facilities?”
“We went through a windshield together,” Dane told him.
Looping over to the parkway, heading down to the beach. When he was a kid his parents used to take him out there to go swimming, the waters a lot cleaner than the sludge over at Coney. They'd build sand castles and his father would make sounds like the seagulls, his voice echoing among the dunes.
Almost nervous now, thinking about it all a little more, the warden asked, “What happens if I wake up?”
“I don't know.”
“Might I die?”
“I suppose it's a possibility.”
“Oh, this is terrible. You don't understand what Edna's snoring is like. I must wake up twenty times a night. I suggest you get me back soon.”
“In a minute. I need answers first. What have you heard about the Monticellis' action lately?”
“What makes you think I'll tell you the truth?”
“You don't have any choice.”
“Oh my.”
Howards thought about it and appeared to consider his options at the moment. Deciding whether he should say anything more to an ex-con released only this very morning. Sitting in the backseat of a Buick trying to stare through his hand. Scared that his wife's nasal drip might inadvertently kill him. But Dane meant what he said. Nobody on the night ride could lie to him.
“Almost nothing,” the warden said, wagging his unwieldy head, looking out both windows, hoping they were on their way back to his house. “You must know that their business operations are almost completely legitimate at this point.”
“More or less. But our problems aren't business, they're personal. And they still had some reach into your prison. They put a hit on me this morning while a couple of your boys looked the other way.”
It rattled Howards and got him refocused. “The incident with Mako and Kremitz? In the showers?”
“Yeah.”
“They said they'd attacked each other because of pilfered cigarettes.”
“They're trying to save their skins. The Monticellis still have enough muscle to cause trouble. I'm just not sure why they'd bother going about it like that.”
“Give me the names of the offending officers and I'll look into the matter.”
Dane told him, just to nettle the bulls a little. The charges would never stick, but maybe it would shake them up. Word would get back to the family.
“If what you say is true, Mr. Danetello, then I'll make sure these men are properly dealt with.”
“Okay. Anything else you know that might help me?”
“The FBI did inquire about you. There was some discussion on whether you'd be willing to wear a wire for them.”
“What? If the family is so legit now, then why would the feds care enough to wire somebody? What are they after?”
“Almost completely legitimate, I said. I assumed they wanted information about past activities, unsolved murders, that sort of thing.”
“When was this?”
“After the fire in your cell.”
“So why didn't they approach me?”
“I only dealt with a single agent. A man by the name of Cogan. He read through your case file and seemed to feel that contacting you was either unnecessary or could wait indefinitely.”
That sounded like a fed all right. Plays it close to his vest, even in front of Howards. Makes some kind of a show about getting Dane to wire up, then just lets it drop. Something was stirring in the Monti camp.
Dane drew up in front of the warden's mansion again. He checked the rearview and nodded to Howards. “Thanks for your help.”
“Am I going to remember any of this? On a conscious level?”
“No, you'll pass most of it off as a dream.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“We'll see.”
The warden began to make his way back up the walkway, outside of the car without opening the door, gait unnatural and his ass cheeks clenched. Scared that his neighbors might be watching.
Dane let out a chuckle and Howards's shoulders tensed. Like he might turn around and say something else, but he vanished before hitting the pool of light surrounding front door.
Mostly a wasted trip, but he had nothing better to do. Dane started to pull away from the curb when a blur of motion caught his eye.
Coming straight for him, running across the lawn, was Aaron Fielding, the dead grocer.
The old man appeared as despondent as when he'd shown up in Dane's cell. Holding his arms out and waving them, his mouth moving but no sound coming out.
“Ah, shit.”
Like Dane didn't have enough troubles already. Now he had to get into the middle of this, whatever it was.
Fielding had almost reached him when the guy started to dissipate, becoming dim and ashen, evaporating step by step until, only a few feet away, he dissolved into the fog.
“Okay,” Dane said. “I get it. There's something important you want help with. I'm sorry I didn't listen before. Come back and tell me.”
Dane waited there another five minutes, hoping Angie or Fielding would return. Or anybody else who wanted to come and talk with him. But no one did.
All this, and some prick named Cogan skirting around in the shadows too.
EIGHT
Staring down at his grandmother's list, written in her crimped script, Dane walked into the La Famiglia Bakery and asked the girl behind the counter for ten anisette-almond
