them, his finger pulling down on the trigger. Holy shit, Mortimer steamed, they’d blow Abe’s head off if he pulled that fucking gun on them.
Okay, Mortimer thought desperately, okay, think, for Christ’s sake! Find a way out of this!
As he considered the situation, it seemed to him that Labriola was the real problem, the only guy in the whole deal that gave a good goddamn if this broad came back or didn’t come back. So the thing to do was get the Old Man to let go of this thing. He had to stop looking for this woman, because if he found her and came after her, Abe would try to stop him . . . with that fucking gun!
Mortimer tried to calm the storm within his brain. Caruso, he thought, Caruso was the only way to get to Labriola. But what could he offer Caruso that might persuade him to go back to Labriola, make him call the whole thing off? The guy, he decided, the guy Stark had probably nabbed off the street and now had behind that goddamn black curtain. Caruso clearly had a thing for that guy. Not sexual. Nothing like that. Jesus Christ, no! But a thing for him like a guy can have for another guy. Like friendship, that sort of thing. The kind of thing he, Mortimer, had for Abe, a need to make things okay. So, okay, maybe he could trade the guy for the woman, get Caruso to call Labriola off the woman if he, Mortimer, agreed to get the guy Caruso was looking for away from Stark, hand him over to Caruso safe and sound. It would be tit for tat: Caruso gets his friend and Abe gets his girl. Not bad if Caruso could just convince Labriola to give up on this thing, or maybe just that the woman had simply vanished, no way to find her. Dead end, so to speak, so the Old Man should just forget about it.
Mortimer thought it through again, decided it was worth a chance, grabbed his cell phone, and dialed the number.
Caruso answered immediately.
“That guy you told me about,” Mortimer said, “the one missing. Friend of yours. I think my guy may have him.”
He’d expected to hear a little jerk of relief or excitement in Caruso’s voice, but all that came back was a flat monotone. “What makes you think so?”
“I went over to his place . . . Batman’s,” Mortimer continued. “And there was this curtain pulled across the hallway. A black curtain. Thick. I think your friend may be back there somewhere.”
“Go on,” Caruso said, his voice still weirdly mechanical, like some human part of him had dropped away so that he was now flying on autopilot.
“Something wrong, Vinnie?” Mortimer asked.
“Get to the point, Morty,” Caruso told him.
“The point is, I figure your friend is still alive,” Mortimer said. “ ’Cause my guy, he wants to know who sent him, you know?” Again he expected Caruso to react strongly to this, but he could sense no reaction at all. It was as if Caruso had taken some kind of pill that numbed him somehow.
“It goes back to this thing that happened years ago,” Mortimer said, keeping Caruso on the hook while he looked for a way to get to his point. “Another missing woman. He found her, but somebody was following him when he found her, and the way it worked out, this woman he found, she ended up dead.” He waited for a response, but none came. “So he maybe figures the same thing here. That this woman might get hurt. He’d try to stop it, Vinnie, is what I’m saying.”
“He can’t stop nothing if he ain’t found her.”
“No, but that guy he has, this friend of yours, you’re worried about him, right?”
“If he got nabbed, he got nabbed. Nothing I can do about it.”
Mortimer felt the door close on his first idea of getting to Caruso; then he grasped for another. “Well, if you ain’t worried about that guy, there’s another guy you should be worried about.”
“Who?”
“You, Vinnie,” Mortimer said, now desperately trying to keep one step ahead. “Because if this friend of yours breaks, he could connect you to this woman. And if she gets hurt, my guy would—”
“What happens to her is none of Batman’s business,” Caruso said sharply.
“He’s already made it his business, Vinnie,” Mortimer said emphatically. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. That woman gets hurt, there ain’t nothing he wouldn’t do. He ain’t sane when it comes to shit like this. On account of what I told you, is what I’m telling you. He ain’t . . . rational is what I mean. So, the way I figure it, we got to make sure nothing happens to that woman once I find her.”
“Once you find her?” For the first time, Mortimer heard something spark in Caruso’s tone.
“Yeah.”
“You looking for her, Morty?”
“Huh?”
“You said once
Mortimer swallowed hard. “Yeah, right.”
“What makes you think you can find her?”
“Nothing,” Mortimer said. “No reason.”
Caruso’s tone grew hard. “Bullshit.”
“What?”
“You know where she is, don’t you?”
“Vinnie . . . look . . .”
Caruso’s voice grew strangely urgent. “You know where she is, Morty.”
Mortimer knew he’d inadvertently dug a hole he couldn’t get out of, one that suddenly seemed deeper and darker than he’d guessed. “Maybe.”
“Don’t tell me maybe,” Caruso barked. “You know where she is, Morty.”
“I think I know,” Mortimer answered softly, stalling for time. “Which means that we could be out of the woods on this thing, providing.”
“Providing what?”
“Providing she don’t come to no harm,” Mortimer said. He waited for Caruso to react but again found only silence. “So what I figure is, I’ll check her out, this woman I’m thinking about, and if it’s her, then maybe we could come up with some way to make sure nothing happens to her.”
“I got to see her myself,” Caruso said.
“Why?” Mortimer asked.
After a pause, Caruso said, “So I can tell Labriola you done your job. That way, you keep the money. And you and me, we make sure the woman ain’t hurt, so Batman’s satisfied, and everybody wins, right?”
“So, where is she?” Caruso asked.
Suddenly Mortimer felt something tighten around his brain, a leather strap going dry.
“Where is she?” Caruso repeated.
“Vinnie, you won’t tell the Old Man, right?” Mortimer asked.
“No, I won’t.”
“Because you do, and something happens to her, my guy’ll—”
“I told you I wouldn’t tell Labriola,” Caruso said sternly.
“You gimme your word on that?”
“My word.”
“Okay,” Mortimer said, then stopped, desperately trying to think the whole thing through again.
“Well?” Caruso snapped.
Mortimer started to give Caruso Lucille’s address, then stopped again and drew in a deep breath. Not there, he thought, someplace public, so he could get a good look at Caruso when Caruso got a good look at Sara Labriola. “Okay, this woman that could be her, she’ll be at that bar you followed me to. McPherson’s. She’s supposed to do a little act or something. Sometime tonight. I don’t know when exactly.”
“Okay,” Caruso said.
“I’ll meet you at the bar around seven,” Mortimer said. “We can wait around till she shows up.”
Caruso’s response fell like a dead man’s hand. “No, you don’t need to be there, Morty.”
A bell went off in Mortimer’s head, a warning that whatever dead end his own fucked-up life had led him to, there were now other people with their backs to the same dark wall. “What’s going on, Vinnie?”
