Bennie stood beside the glossy casket, trying to stand up straight while the priest droned away, and when he was finished and it came time for her to place the red rose over the brass nameplate, she realized that there was no other person in the world she truly needed, except one. And, oddly, it was someone who could offer her nothing but her own needs, and somehow that had been enough.
CARMELLA ROSATO.
Who rested, finally, in peace.
52
“You
“No! Don’t kill me! Please, God!” The dude’s hands flew up to where his head got hit and he crumpled in half like a paper doll, falling to his knees on a pile of rotted wood and greasy drywall. The corner was filled with garbage spilling out of Hefty bags. “No, please. Star! It’s fixed, it’s fixed! It’s already fixed!”
“You fucked it up, asshole.” Star came at the man, grabbed him by his skanky-ass hair weave, and slammed his head back against the wall. The man screamed in agony. “You think you’re gonna get a second chance?”
“I said, we fixed it,” the dude whispered, his voice weak with pain. “It’s a done deal. T-Boy and me, it’s all square.”
“T-Boy? T-Boy?” Star tightened his grip on the hair weave and started to pull. “T-Boy was the one said he’d get it done. Said nothin’ would go wrong, remember? Well, somethin’ went wrong, real wrong! I can read the newspaper! You think I wouldn’t see? The fight is next week!”
“Wait. No. Please. Listen.” The little shit clawed at Star’s hands as he pulled the weave. “No, oh, no. Please. My plugs, that kills. Please!”
“Everything went wrong, didn’t it? Con’ly whacked your bitch, bitch.” Star kept yanking on the shit’s hair weave. The dude squirmed like a catfish so Star pulled harder. “Con’ly’s alive and your bitch is dead!”
“We’ll fix it, you’ll see. We’ll get her after the trial, inside or out.” The dude went up on tiptoe. His scalp stretched like salt water taffy.
“You gonna look like Don King, bro!” Star shouted, and felt the plugs start to come free in his hands. “How you gonna get to Con’ly in the fuckin’ courthouse?”
“Aah! Stop! No!” Tears rolled down the dude’s cheeks. “My hair! You’re
“No shit, motherfucker!” Suddenly Star yanked with brute force and a fistful of hair came out. Bloody scalp, hair, and skin stuck to it like glue. “You and T-Boy get to Con’ly, motherfucker! Finish the job you fuckin’ started! I’ll call you and tell you ’xactly what you’re gonna do. You’ll do her and bring me proof!”
“God help me,” the man moaned. Blood bubbled out of his head and dripped over his forehead. He lost consciousness and slid down the brick wall.
“Don’t forget your wig-hat, mama,” Star said, and slammed the rat hair on the dude’s bloody head.
53
“Bennie, I’m real sorry about your mother,” Lou said, riding in the passenger seat of Bennie’s Ford, heading with her to Connolly’s apartment. She had called him at home after the funeral. She told him they had something important to do, despite the hour.
“Thanks. Sorry I called you so late.”
“Don’t matter. It was just me, with a beer and sunflower seeds in front of the Phillies game. They’re losing anyway.” Lou loosened his tie, looking suddenly uncomfortable in his navy-blue jacket and khaki slacks. “You sure you feel up to working?”
“I’m fine.” Bennie steered through Saturday-night traffic, heavy because of the suburbanites heading to the restaurants. They’d drive in from Paoli and other ritzy neighborhoods to gawk at the pierced nipples and purple haircuts. Take a look at the gritty city through the tinted window of a Jag. “Trial’s Monday.”
“But you just had the funeral-”
“I know that, Lou.”
“Gotcha,” he said, and looked over at Rosato, still dressed up in a black suit. Her eyes looked red, but they stayed straight ahead over the steering wheel. She had a job to do, she was doing it. The broad was tough, but Lou respected that. She’d make a good partner, in a way.
“The canvassing went bad, I hear?” Bennie asked.
“For the defense.”
“That’s what Mary said. I read her notes. DiNunzio’s a good lawyer, isn’t she?”
“Whiny, but okay.”
“She gave you a hard time?” Bennie smiled. “For that she gets a raise.”
“You know, if you weren’t having such a bad day, I’d make it worse.”
Bennie laughed, for the first time in years, it seemed. “So what else you doin’ for me?”
“I’m gonna finish canvassing around the block tomorrow.”
“That was my thought. Winchester Street, where the alley comes out. See if anybody saw the arrest. Anything.”
“I know.” Lou looked out the window at the mirror on his side of the Ford. A line of traffic crawled behind them like a caterpillar, and two cars back cruised a black TransAm. Lou had seen it behind them before, around the office. Funny it should be going down South Street, too. He kept an eye on it out of habit. Once a cop, always a cop. Lou couldn’t drive a highway without checking license plates, trying to pick out which car was stolen or had drugs in it. He kept his eyes on the TransAm. “I been thinking about your case, Rosato.”
“What do you think, champ?”
“I think Connolly killed a cop and she’s goin’ down for it.” Lou watched as a navy Town Car behind them peeled off to the right, leaving only a sky-blue BMW convertible between them and the black TransAm. The BMW was a nice little car, a two-seater. “The neighbors I met, they knew what they saw. They’re eyewitnesses, and she ran from the collar.”
“She was afraid of the cops. She had good reason.”
“Only bad guys are afraid of good guys.” Lou’s eyes stayed on the outside mirror. The BMW was sweet, and behind it he could almost make out the driver of the TransAm in the streetlights. A blond kid, good-looking. Lou remembered when he was that young. He owned a used Chevy Biscayne, two-tone, turquoise and white, with a push-button shift on the dash. They didn’t make cars like that anymore. Tanks.
“I agree. Connolly’s as bad as they come, badder than bad, but I don’t think she killed Della Porta. Too much else is going on. Too much I can’t explain.”
Lou didn’t say anything. He’d heard about the twin thing. He figured Rosato was getting manipulated by a con. She wasn’t the first lawyer; she wouldn’t be the last. Somebody like Rosato, she wanted to believe, inside. The Ford turned onto Tenth Street, and the blond kid in the TransAm turned, too. Keeping his distance, farther back than he had to. It was standard surveillance procedure, Lou recognized it instantly. “Take three right turns, Rosato,” he said quickly.
“What? That’s a circle.”
“Old cop trick. Humor me.”
Bennie blinked, but steered the Ford right at the next street. “We being followed?”
“Tell you in two right turns.”
She took a right and glanced in the rearview. A convertible sports car. Then a black TransAm. “The sports car?”
