Chasing the Dragon (21 page)

An ugly, ugly world.

She worked in the Wu Benevolent Society, he knew. A thoughtless job that involved booking passengers to the Far East. True, it required a certain discretion, considering the nature of some of that travel, but she was paid for that discretion. Trouble was, Miss Lin was an ambitious girl. A little bit greedy. Her employer did not trust her anymore.

So now she was his problem. You would think a metropolis this size could get along without his intervention. That the world could run itself. But it just wasn’t so.

Wiesinski studied Miss Lin. She glanced around, looking for her rendezvous.
Looking for me
, he thought. But he let her sit. Let her fidget. She lit a cigarette and ordered herself a drink and when she had finished them both he walked up and said hello.

“I like the chrysanthemum.”

“Pardon?”

“I think you understand.”

“I am not sure I do.”

“I have a place for us back here. Where we can talk.”

“Shouldn’t we go somewhere more private?”

Wiesinski could not count the number of times he had heard this. But he liked to work out in the open. In a restaurant booth, drink in hand, people said things they didn’t say in private. The tongue slipped. Because you felt safe, maybe, in the public space. The bar pretzels, the ashtray, the cocktail glass—these were old friends.

“What is it that you would like to talk to me about?”

“I was told you might be interested in some knowledge I have. That I know something you might want to know.”

There were the intricacies only a man like him understood. You worked vice, you knew everyone on every side of the line. People got confused as to your loyalties, but they shouldn’t. Because ultimately you had the same number-one priority as everyone else.

“And what knowledge is that?”

“A policeman got in touch with me the other day. He asked me if I would get him some information.”

“The policeman got in touch with you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure that’s the way it went? What would cause him to do such a thing—to choose you?”

“He knows where I work. You know how it is. The police are everywhere.”

The woman batted her eyes. Her smile was coy, very demure. He felt his dick rise in his pants and he knew she was lying. It was a sure sign. She had called the cop, he figured, thinking to sell him something. Then she had changed her mind, figuring she could do better by turning against him. Despite her coolness, though, he sensed her fear and his dick got harder.

“I told my employer about the policeman. And they said I should come to you. That you would be interested.”

“What was the name of this policeman?”

“Detective Ying.”

“Ying?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“And he contacted you?”

“Yes.”

“Looking for information?”

“Yes.”

“About what?”

“Ru Shen.”

Wiesinski contemplated. He knew the avenue Ying’s investigation with SI had taken. He knew people at SI, just like he knew people everywhere. And he remembered Ru Shen. A self-righteous man in a business suit who had decided the world should be a sweeter place. Then Ru Shen had vanished, surprise, surprise. Now Ying was back on that trail again. Intelligent but not wise. Dante’s influence, no doubt. No wonder Love Wu was worried.

“What else did Ying say?”

“Nothing, just that he wanted to meet me.”

“I see.”

“What should I do?”

“Go meet him.”

“He’ll ask me questions. What do I say?”

Wiesinski grinned. “Tell him everything you know.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Then tell him that.”

“He won’t give me any money for that.”

She smiled then, and Wiesinski understood what she wanted.

“Meet with the man,” he said, though in fact he now had something else in mind for her, a different future. But it was best to humor her. Let her feel useful. “See what he wants to know. Try to figure out where he’s headed.”

“But—he’ll want something concrete. Some kind of information.”

“I leave that to you. Be inventive. Then come to me—you will be rewarded for your work.”

“Nothing in advance?”

He reached under the table and put a hand on her thigh. “Trust me,” he said.

She gave him that demure smile and gathered up her purse. She was haughty but beneath that haughtiness he knew she was afraid. If life was fair, he would come in his pants now, while his hand was still on her thigh, before she slid out of the booth. But life wasn’t fair.

It was a hideous business.

He was sorry for the girl. Sorry for himself. The tears welled. Crocodile tears, sure, but tears nonetheless. The burdens were tremendous. So much to mastermind. You could get all twisted up thinking about it. But either way, you had to keep busy. The fucking devil, his work was never done. The girl, handling her would be no problem. Ying, though, and Dante, they would require a little more finesse.

Lake Bracciano,” said Tony Mora. “There’s an the old village there. From the time of the Renaissance.”

Marilyn knew the story surrounding the castle. Paul Orsini, the duke of Bracciano, had strangled his wife, Isabella de Medici, throttling her at the dinner table for her infidelity. Shortly thereafter he’d brought his mistress to live at the castle, and she was murdered, too.

Nowadays, Bracciano was a popular retreat for newlyweds, and this was why Tony had brought it up. They were out to lunch, in a little restaurant in the Marina.

“We should schedule a date,” said Tony. “They book out in advance.”

Marilyn knew what she was supposed to do. Lean across the table. Take his hands between her own.

“Our wedding doesn’t have to be a big production,” he said. “But the honeymoon—we could stay in Italy for a while if you like. Take some time for ourselves.”

Tony’s eyes were hard and bright. He was a good-looking man, she had to admit. Unlike other men his age, he hadn’t let his body give way. His face was tan, his eyes clear—and there was that lock of black hair that curled and fell over his forehead in a way that was hard to resist. He smiled when he looked at you—as if aware of his looks, his charm. And this bit of self-awareness, too, was hard to resist.

“You want to do this?”

She smiled. The truth was she had been out with Dante the day before and was supposed to meet him on Saturday. The irony was Tony himself would be meeting with Dante later this afternoon. And Gary and Regina Mancuso as well. To discuss the disposition of the Mancuso estate.

“You and me?” Mora smiled. “Off to see the world?”

“Yes,” she said. “You and me.”

Part of Mora’s obsession had to do with her reluctance, she knew. He was drawn to the surface of things. Put on a sheer skirt, a silk blouse, a colorful scarf, and he wanted to make love to you. He wanted to crush you to the wall and touch your expensive clothes.

Marilyn had told him that her family money was all but gone, but she wasn’t sure he believed her.

“And there is always the Riviera,” he said.

She laughed. She wasn’t sure why, exactly—but when she saw a look of self-doubt cross Tony’s face, it gave her a fleeting pleasure.

“You’re lovely,” he said.

His eyes went all smarmy and she could see the boy in him. The boy who worked so hard at being liked. Who hung around the old Italians because he wanted their money, sure, but just as much he wanted a pat on the head. His father had been an estate lawyer, too, and it was his father who had made the connection with Romano’s firm, getting him the job in North Beach.

Tony glanced at his watch. “I have to go,” he said. “I’m off to see the Mancusos.”

Outside the restaurant, they kissed and separated. Marilyn was filled with a sense of loss. Glancing back at Tony, she suspected he had his own intuitions. He had to know this would not last. But as Tony turned the corner, he felt as confident as a man could feel. Swaggering. Glancing sidelong at a passing woman in a print skirt. Catching an eye back, then driving off in his red Alfa, telling himself he had Marilyn by the tits. He had seen her eyes water. And there was a part of him that longed for every woman he saw: the blonde on the corner, the Asian girl back at the office, the anchorwoman on TV, all of them. He ached with desire. He wanted to stick his dick up every ass he saw. He just couldn’t help himself. He wanted to fuck the goddamn world.

The legal offices of Romano, DeLillo & Mora were in the Alioto Building, in a little valley below Columbus, on a corner where the streets furcated up from the seawall, then angled back toward the financial district, into Chinatown and the remains of Little Italy. The TransAmerica Pyramid stood across the way—so close you had to crane your head backward to see its crux overhead. The bit of sky over the building’s peak was always white, overly pale, as if its presence somehow drained the color from the firmament.

Dante sat in Mora’s office alongside Aunt Regina and his cousin Gary. Alice was there, too, his cousin’s wife. Alice had short, peach-colored hair and a face full of freckles that made her seem younger and more amiable than she really was.

“We are fortunate,” Mora said, “in that Salvatore and Giovanni kept no secrets. My understanding is that you all know pretty much the contents of their testaments—at least as to the disposition of property. But there is an interrelatedness between the estates, as you know. Due to the family business. Some inevitable overlap—which leaves you with some options. Some decisions to make.”

“I hear you’re on your way to Italy,” said Alice suddenly. Gary’s wife had a gift for inappropriate remarks, and she seemed to take pleasure in exercising the gift. Her cheeks were wide and her smile cherubic.

“Word gets around.” If Mora was nonplussed, he did not show it.

“The Riviera?” asked Alice.

“What’s this about?” asked Gary.

“His honeymoon,” said Alice, cutting her eyes at Dante, so he understood at a glance that she knew the story of the Mancuso cousins and Marilyn Visconti, and how she had jilted them each in turn. “Tony and Marilyn are making plans.”

“Have you set a date for the wedding?” asked Aunt Regina.

“Not yet,” said Mora. “But who knows—we may take the honeymoon and skip the formalities.”

This got some laughter, and Gary’s face went crimson. The business with Marilyn was an old wound, but Alice had opened it.

“Well, congratulations.” Her voice lilted and her eyes glinted, but in her posture was a certain meanness. “I know that Marilyn’s a hard girl to tie down.”

“Thank you.” Mora turned his attention to the testaments in front of him. “I’m going to go through the various codicils, and I’ll explain as I go.”

The essence of it was this: Dante’s father had left everything to him, both the house—which was paid for—and Giovanni’s share of the family business. Uncle Salvatore’s estate was a bit more elaborate. He had set up a trust for Aunt Regina and another trust for the education of their grandchildren, and he’d given the business to his son. In the will, Uncle Salvatore also forgave the numerous personal loans he had made Gary over the years.

“The question the wills leave open, and deliberately so, is how you want to deal with the family business.” Mora addressed Dante now. “As to whether you want to go on as your father had—as a silent partner. Or if you want to become more active—since that’s specified as an option. You may become a full working partner.”

If Alice and Gary had been at odds before, they were not now. Alice sat up a little more pertly in her chair, and Gary slouched, but it was clear neither of them cared for this prospect. Neither did Dante.

“How about if I simply sell out?” he asked.

“That’s an option. You could try to agree on a price. Or you could find an outside buyer—and Gary here would have the option of meeting whatever offer you secured. But that might not be advisable in the current environment.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The way your uncle and father originally envisioned this, if one of you wanted to sell out, the other could take the equity from the building and use it to pay the departing partner. But that equity—”

“We’ve been running a loss,” said Gary.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we lost all the deepwater shipping years ago— and we borrowed against the property to keep the business going.”

Dante thought of Gary’s house up on Telegraph, with its marble and its views and its Italian furniture.

“Did my father know about this?”

“He signed the papers.”

“So what does this mean?”

“It means there’s not much equity. If you want to sell, I can’t pay you off. The business will leave the family.”

“Why bother to hold on if it’s losing money?”

“It’s the family business,” said Gary. “What else do I know?”

There was something wrong. The business was losing money, but Gary was awash in luxury. The money was coming from some other source. He wondered how long this had been so. And he wondered if his uncle had known, and his father.

Mora interrupted. “There’s no reason to decide now,” he said. “In fact, this might be the worst time to decide. Given the emotions of the last two weeks.”

“Yes,” said Aunt Regina.

Mora led them into the lobby. The lawyer took Aunt Regina by the hand, helping her along, and it was apparent to Dante that the old woman enjoyed Mora’s attention. She gestured across the lobby toward the old Montgomery Block, where the Pyramid now stood. “Little shops and men in suspenders. They swarmed the streets back then. All those men in suspenders. I remember meeting Salvatore and Giovanni down here for lunch.” She laughed, and in the laugh Dante could hear the grief. “They were wearing suspenders, too.”

Mora laughed, also, and Dante could not take it anymore. The man was unctuous. He went outside to wave down a taxi.

Alice joined him on the street. They exchanged watery smiles.

“I wonder if Mora knows. He must, of course. How could you marry someone without telling him?”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“Marilyn can’t have children, you know.”

He looked at her then. “I wasn’t aware.”