Headstone City

was time to talk to the Don.

TWENTY

The forsaken understood the tactics of cruelty.

A pressure at Dane's side grew worse block after block until he thought maybe Phil had gotten a shot off and winged him. It came from the pocket where he carried the diamond ring he was supposed to give to Maria Monticelli. The pain intensified until he looked over and saw JoJo Tormino there beside him, his finger pressed into Dane's pocket.

“Give me a break, JoJo,” Dane said. “I'll get to it. I've got a lot on my mind right now. Go visit my grandmother, I think she's got a thing for you.”

But JoJo didn't buy that and shoved even harder. With love in his eyes and a tormented grimace, and all the regrets that a man with an unfinished mission might have, even under the mud, he stuck it to Dane.

They didn't turn over in their graves. They stood up and came after you, and they prodded you in your softest places.

JoJo opened his mouth as if to say something and suddenly Angelina was there, wearing a wild smile. She said, “Wow, you two really went at it in that swing! You deserve to have some fun, don't be ashamed of it.”

“I'm not.”

“You are, and you shouldn't be.”

It was like living in a sideshow, where they watched your every move. You stared at them and they stared at you, gasping at the things you did.

The old ache revisited itself on him, his chest feeling huge and hollow, like he'd been embalmed, side by side in the morgue trays with all the rest of them. The mansion on the hill loomed above him, the sound of the heavy waves roaring in the bay.

“You still haven't come by to visit me,” she said. “But that's all right, you've been having fun. I'm glad.”

“It hasn't all been fun.”

“No, but you've been doing okay so far. And I can see you're enjoying yourself now.”

You really couldn't ask for more than that. Not from a girl you'd driven to the people who killed her.

“Your mother-” Angie slid closer, trying to curl across his lap.

“That's right. You said she had something to tell me. What is it?”

Now, the dead playing coy, she nibbled her bottom lip and let out a soft purr, the kind of sound he'd never heard her make when she was alive.

“You don't really want to know, Johnny.”

“You're probably right.”

“Are you going to kill my father?”

“No.”

“Yes, you are. You're going to murder them all.” A titter eased free, thick with lust, like she wanted it done. “Send them to me.”

Maybe he couldn't keep her sane in hell. Maybe he'd only driven her ghost out of its mind.

“My mother, Angie, quit sidetracking and tell me what she wants.”

“She's finished with you, soldier boy. But I'm not.”

He already knew that. She breathed against his ear, and he heard her mad desire there. The dark hair fell against him, floating in front of his mouth, stifling him with its heady scent, until he was nearly panting. He almost took his hands off the wheel. She moaned against his neck and he was hard and crazy and it didn't really matter a goddamn.

“I need you,” she said.

“To do what?”

“Make things right.”

He swung up the hill toward the Monti estate, gunning it hard, the Caddy's engine humming smoothly, rushing like his blood.

“We love you, Johnny. You're going to find that out.”

It started to rain, and the water washed down the lengthy cobblestone driveway in heavy rivulets. There was a guardhouse at the front of the private gates to the estate, where he used to phone Vinny and ask him to come outside on summer days. Vinny would always say he had to stay in and practice, but every once in a while would sneak away, steal one of the patrol jeeps, and they'd go down to the beach.

Instead of Dane having to talk to someone or yell into a speaker, the gates opened as he approached. He drove right on up. Seemed like Phil Guerra was a welcomed guest.

Angelina drew closer, until he couldn't be sure where she was anymore, on top of him or under him or sinking farther inside. It got tiring trying to figure out which ghosts you carried, and which ones carried you.

He pulled up to the Monticelli mansion. Looked around for any overt action. Guns, goombas who'd read The Valachi Papers too many times, with a bit too much vino in them. Wanting to crack wise and throw down with a machine gun. Or maybe they were all sleeping in front of the television, empty plates in front of them on the coffee table.

Dane cruised up to the door. Just a nice Italian boy coming out for a visit. Maybe they were asking him in.

He parked, walked up to the door, and rang the bell. Why not? Don Monti had manners, at least. Before he did anything else, the man would want to talk. The Monticellis liked to talk.

Georgie Delmare, the consigliere, met him at the door bordered by two younger Monti thugs. He was surprised to see Dane but hid it well. His chin stiffening only the slightest bit. “Mr. Danetello. My, you certainly do come seeking trouble, don't you?”

“Never my intention, Georgie, believe it or not.”

“As Daniel told the lion. What do you want?”

“I think you know. Vinny here?”

“If he were, you'd very probably be dead by now.”

“You popping off one-liners like the wiseguys now? That was pretty good, I gotta admit. You gotta loosen your shoulders a little though, you know? Work your neck. Hey listen, there's this movie called Under Heaven's Canopy. Watch for the scene with the chick with the rocket launcher on the bridge. You can pick up a few pointers.”

One of the thugs glared at Dane, but the other had a thousand-yard gaze going, probably thinking of Glory Bishop and the look on her sweaty face when she pulled the trigger. I'm gonna rock your world, baby! A stupid grin started pushing his lips out of shape, but he caught himself in time and began glowering again.

Delmare stared at the Caddy, glowering, mouth open, then closing, then opening. “Isn't that Phil Guerra's Cadillac?”

“No, it's mine.”

The tiniest change of expression, which in Georgie Delmare was pure shock. “Yours? But, no, I'm quite sure that it's-”

“Yeah, mine. Listen, I love gabbing with you, Georgie, but I want to see Don Pietro.”

“That's quite impossible. Don't be ridiculous. Leave now and you might save your skin for a few days more. I suggest you leave the city immediately.”

“The man taught me to play five-card draw when I was seven. I've had about five hundred meals here and attended every baptism, confirmation, and graduation in the family for the last two decades. Minus the last couple of years anyway. He'll talk to me.”

“I don't think this is in your best interest.”

Dane took a breath, feeling his impatience welling and about to break the surface. He'd always hated being edgy before, but now it felt kind of good. “You want to check out a real show of force?”

It perked up the legbreakers, who both sneered because they thought it was the thing to do. Dane wondered why no one bothered to teach them anything nowadays, content just to have muscle milling around without any