scurried away, he raised his wineglass toward Justin and said, “Salut.”
They sipped the excellent wine and made small talk for a bit. Justin told Bruno that he was now the police chief, which got a laugh out of the big man. Bruno told Justin that he was screwing the female star of the movie he was working on-the married female star-which got an equal laugh in return. During the banter, Justin got the feeling that Bruno had something else on his mind. He waited, and, sure enough, Bruno soon held his hand up and said, “You know, this is kind of hard for me, I’m not good at this stuff, but I wanna get this out in the open. I know I’m years too late, but I’m really sorry about what happened to Alicia. I didn’t know your little girl but I’m sorry about her, too.”
“Thank you.”
“I wanted to come to the funeral, you know, but I didn’t think it was appropriate.”
“I appreciate it, Bruno.”
“I want you to know something else. We told that shithead to stay away from you. We told him to leave them alone, too.”
Justin didn’t need a name to know who Bruno was talking about. Louie Denbo. He was the thug Justin had arrested, had spent a year investigating, compiling enough information to send him to prison for the rest of his life. On the night before his trial was to begin, Denbo was the one who’d sent two men to Justin’s house. The men who’d shot Justin four times. The men who’d killed his daughter and driven his wife to suicide.
After spending two years in prison, Louie Denbo had been stabbed to death by a fellow inmate. The prison authorities never found the man responsible.
“Anyway,” Bruno said, “I just thought you should know. We warned him. And he got his, the stupid prick.”
And now, for the first time, Justin realized what had happened. He knew what Bruno was telling him. It wasn’t an accident-or even a prison brawl-that caused Denbo’s death. It was a hired hit. Retaliation for crossing the line and disobeying orders.
Justin was surprised that this news didn’t change anything inside him. There was no sudden gratification or sense of closure. The man who’d ruined his life was dead, had been for several years. It didn’t matter to Justin how he’d died or who’d killed him. It didn’t bring back the people he’d killed. So he just nodded at Bruno, acknowledging the info, and took another sip of the superb red wine.
The food came and they shifted the talk to more normal topics: cop and killer talking about movies and music-Bruno enthused about the new Roman Polanski movie and the live bootleg Phish CD of their farewell concert; he was a major Phish fan and until they’d broken up he’d followed their concert schedule whenever possible-and sports and politics. Eventually, the conversation got around to the bombing of Harper’s.
“I saw the guy, you know,” Bruno said, polishing off the last of his side of broccoli rabe.
“What guy?”
“The bomber. The guy with the briefcase.”
“What do you mean, you saw him?”
“We were shootin’ a couple of blocks from the restaurant. Second unit crew, buncha extras, couple of the actors. He walked right by.”
“How do you know it was him?”
“Well, I didn’t know fuck-all when I saw him. But I been readin’ about it. They traced the guy’s path. So I know I seen some Arab guy with a briefcase walkin’ past the shoot. I noticed him ’cause I saw him stop when he saw all the extras dressed as cops. It scared him. He must’ve thought they were real. I remember thinkin’ he was a guy who was doin’ something wrong somewhere or other. Some people look at stuff, know how much it’s worth. That’s their skill. Some people see things, tell you whether they’re beautiful or not. Me, I know when people are scared. It’s my talent. Useful in my line of business. And I noticed this guy ’cause he was scared. But I’ll tell you somethin’ else. Guys who do shit like this, I mean, ready to kill themselves for whatever, they don’t get scared when they see a bunch of cops. They think, ‘Fuck them, they hassle me I’ll take ’em with me.’ This guy was scared. Too scared to blow himself up.”
“You don’t think he did it?” Justin sounded incredulous.
“I’m just saying there’s more than meets the fucking eye, Jay. There usually fucking is.”
“You tell this to the police or. .?”
“Oh sure. I waltzed in to the FBI and explained all my theories to them ’cause we’re such good buddies.”
“Bruno, if you’re convinced you’re right, this is the kind of thing you have to tell somebody.”
“What? My hunch that the guy was too chickenshit to blow himself up? Anyway, I’m tellin’ you. You pass it along. You’re goin’ up to see your FBI buddy tomorrow, ain’t ya?”
Justin let his fork clatter down to his plate. “How the hell do you know that?”
Bruno sat back in his chair, let an easy grin spread across his wide face. “Gimme some credit, Jay. I know a lot of stuff.”
“What, do you have the Feebies’ phones bugged up there?”
Bruno kept the grin on his face. “Hey, they bug us, don’t they? It’d only be fair if we did.”
Justin regained his composure enough to signal the waiter and ask for a double espresso.
“You eatin’ dessert?” Bruno asked.
“I’m trying to watch my weight.”
“Yeah, me too.” Bruno turned to the waiter. “So just bring me one piece of cheesecake instead of two, okay?”
9
Justin met Chuck Billings at eleven o’clock the next morning, two blocks from Harper’s Restaurant.
“I’m just here as a consultant,” Billings said. “I’m the only outside expert. Everyone else, at least everyone in my area of expertise, is from inside the Bureau.”
“Why you? I mean, other than your natural genius.”
“Signatures,” Billings told him, and when he saw Justin’s puzzled expression he said, “Not like handwriting. Bomb signatures. Things that tell us who’s responsible. Let’s say I’m kind of obsessed with that sort of thing.”
“How does one get obsessed with bomb signatures, exactly?”
“I’ll explain when we’re inside. I want to prepare you for what you’re gonna see,” Chuck said. “That’s why I thought it’d be better if we walk a little bit first.”
“It’s been cleaned up already, hasn’t it?”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s clean. Well. . it’s clean compared to what it was. You’re not gonna see any body parts or anything. But it’s still pretty disturbing.”
“Okay. I appreciate the preparation.”
“I want to prepare you for some other stuff, too.”
“Such as?”
Billings slowed down a bit. His walk turned into more of an amble. “I’ve never been involved with anything like this. I mean, I’ve worked with the Feds before, I know the kind of assholes they can be, but this is something different.”
“Different how?”
“I can’t explain it. I’m going against strict orders by bringing you into this restaurant, but one of the reasons I’m doing it is ’cause I hope
“What is it I’m trying to explain, Chuck?”
“I don’t want to say anything more. Let me just show you around, give you my impressions of what happened, then you tell me what you think. Fair enough?”
“More than fair. Anything you want to give me is fair. Like I told you, I’m just trying to get some info so I can help a friend sleep a little easier.”
“Good,” Chuck said. “Maybe you’ll wind up helping two friends.”
