“It's good for laundering. A lot of these wiseguys, they like the idea of being entertainment stars. Puzo, Coppola, Tarantino, HBO, they all make it look like it's downright fun to be in the mob.”
“My grandmother says the same thing.”
“And except for James Caan, almost all the real interesting folks live, at least to the end of the movie. The ones who turn up in the bay, well, those there are the squealers, the ones who ain't clever enough to make it with the rest of them. You got yer little kids growing up thinking, ‘Hey, I can be witty and fire me off a few one-liners while I'm beanin' some old boy on the head.'”
“I think it's because his sister, Maria, wants to be in the movies. Vinny was losing money on drugs so Maria could be in film.”
“That girl's pretty enough to be a box office bombshell without the mob backin' her up.”
“You're right.”
“You sound sorta sweet on her, and I can't say I blame you 'bout that right there. Maybe you can help her out some.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Cogan grinned. “I'm just sayin'.”
Look at this. You're trying to get information from the astral self of the Kentucky cornpone fed who's messing around in your life, and now you've got to switch the subject.
“You staking out Glory Bishop?” Dane asked. “She says she's got cops and feds all over her.”
“Naw, nothin' like that,” Cogan said, sort of bouncing around on the seat like a kid on a family trip. “My boss at the Bureau wants me to keep an eye on her, see if she's connected to everything her husband and his buddies was into, but it hasn't happened yet.”
“What do you mean ‘yet'?”
“She hasn't made the move so far, but I think she will. That's why she's using you.”
Dane glared into the rearview. “What was that?”
“Hellfire, son, you really think you're lucky enough to land a beautiful sex kitten like her on your own? Without even working for it?”
Dane scowled, feeling vaguely insulted. “She likes me. Who the hell are you to comment on it anyway?”
“She don't like anybody too much, that there girl. I think she's only using you to get an upper hand on the Monticelli family.”
“I haven't even talked to her about Vinny and the crew, not even once, so what could she use me for?”
“I reckon she has her reasons. Maybe to take over where her husband left off. Wait for it. She'll hit you up eventually, when she's got them hooks in deep enough. She ain't been askin' a lot of questions?”
“Yeah, she has lately.”
“There it is, son.”
Dane didn't like how this was going, everything being thrown back at him. It felt as if Cogan was somehow still able to deceive. But that was impossible on the night ride. What was the point of stealing someone's soul if it could still lie to you? Dane studied Cogan's smirk in the rearview and couldn't really be sure what was going on with the guy. Maybe he'd gone through a windshield too. Or was more capable at carrying his burden.
“You said you weren't staking out Glory's apartment,” Dane asked. “Now I get the feeling you have her place wired.”
“Naw, that ain't it. I've followed you lovebirds around here and there, but so far you ain't done much to whet my interest. Weird coincidence though, ain't it? You hooking up with her, and her under surveillance because of some things leading back to the Monticelli crew? And you and Vincenzo with all the history?”
“Yeah,” Dane said.
“My blessed granny, she'd call that a curious happenstance of fate.”
“Mine would say somebody's thrown the
“Maybe so.”
Dane glanced into the rearview and saw Cogan back there with an expression of knowing amusement. “Did you check on the JoJo Tormino hit?”
“That there Roberto Monticelli, he covers his tracks pretty good. Like you said, the boys that did the deed were brand-new to the crew, so there's not much connecting them to the family. And he got hisself an alibi.”
“Playing poker with five other guys?”
“Exactly right. And none of them Brooklyn folks had anything at all to say about the matter. Not even the girl working the counter at the time.” Cogan sat up straight and started hopping around on the seat. “Hey, hey, there's that bakery again. Pull over. I want me some more of them napoleons.”
They were already in Headstone City. He'd been driving without thinking, cruising with a fluidity of force and motion, and his instinct had brought him right home. “The place is closed right now.”
“Goddamn.”
“Besides, you're not in any position to eat anything at the moment.”
“Oh, tha's right, 'cause I'm not really here in the flesh. This is my soul, and you've gathered me up like an angel of death, in your fiery chariot. My mama used to have walkin' dreams like this, she told us, 'fore they locked her away.”
“Why'd they do that?”
“The good churchgoing folks of Hazardsville don't put up with craziness like this. The Right Reverend Matthew Colepepper had my father commit her when I was just a boy.”
“You ever have words with the reverend about that later on?”
“No, he died a long time ago. But I did kick the hell out of my daddy when I turned seventeen, the drunken, deceitful bastard. And I ain't been back to Hazardsville since.”
So much for Cogan's daddy skinning his back for poor manners.
“We anywhere near Coney Island?” he asked.
“Not really.”
“Hellfire, I was hoping to see that, I heard so much about it. The roller coaster, and that dang hot dog place. And the freak shows, though I suspect some folks in Hazardsville might give those fellas a run for their money. I seen my share of pumpkin-heads and flipper babies. Where are we?”
Dane had never taken a night ride with someone who enjoyed it so much, and he didn't know what to think of it. “The Heights.”
This was the neighborhood of choice, glowing across the East River from lower Manhattan. The most famous view of the Brooklyn Bridge came from these aristocratic brownstones.
Cogan had his hands splayed on the window, staring at the ironwork patterns on heavy wooden doors. You could look inside the arched windows and make out the ceiling molding and chandeliers in those homes.
“What's that right there?” Cogan asked, pointing at a massive building. “I've never seen the like.”
“The Bossert. You've got to be a Jehovah's Witness to live there. They have their headquarters in the area, and own about a third of the Heights.”
“Lordy. You think they go door to door and hand out them
“They use midnight-blue vans to transport their members all around, including to the printing plants where they print up their pamphlets.”
“That must be a sight.”
“Yeah.”
“You don't do much besides drive, do you?” Cogan asked.
“No,” Dane admitted.
“I had a cousin like you, name'a Cooter. He used to run moonshine across three counties. But then the shine makers, they decided to call it quits on account'a the law, and he had no one to haul for anymore. So ole Cooter just drove around the back hills every night, without a reason, never stopping.”
“It relaxes me.”
“Sounds like you've spent too much of your time bein' relaxed. Man like you is nice and calm until the day he snaps. I seen some like you go to pieces more than once. Everybody says, ‘My, he was so nice, that considerate child, we never expected something like this of him. Rampage through the Thanksgiving Day parade, shooting old
