Crime Always Pays (10 page)

Rossi laid an arm along the back of the booth and took a sip on a joint that was no bigger, Melody judged, than a bicycle pump. 'You want in, Johnny, I'm talking ground floor, just say the word. We could get what they call an international dimension going.'

'Appreciate the offer, Rossi.' Johnny, Mel was disappointed to admit, wasn't exactly her idea of a gangster. Softly spoken, clean shaven, some old acne scars making him craggy but with neat strawberry-blonde hair. Sitting back now in the circular booth to consider Rossi's proposal with an ankle propped on his knee, wearing faded denims and penny loafers, no socks, a pale blue shirt open at the neck showing a tuft of blonde. 'And I'm grateful, don't get me wrong, you took the time to look me up. But things've changed since we celled, man. This,' he gestured around at the low-ceilinged club, Vatican Too, empty now at mid-afternoon, smelling faintly of stale beer and ammonia, 'this is where I'm at now. It's small, yeah, but it's mine and I'm not looking over my shoulder every three seconds. Y'know? So no disrespect, but the last thing I need is hooking up with ex-cons, charity or otherwise.'

'I hear you,' Rossi said. 'No harm done, right? I'm just letting you know it's there.'

'Much obliged.' He leaned in past the gently snoring Sleeps to accept the joint from Rossi. 'Good shit, right?'

'Not bad, yeah. What's this one called?'

'THX-1138.'

'Okay. What was the first one again?'

'Purple Craze.'

'Bit trippy, that. Not so sure I'm up for flying monkeys this early, y'know?'

'It's what they call,' Johnny said, sipping on the joint, 'value for money. You're chilled, you're tripping, you're covering all the bases. Mel? Want to try this one?'

'No thanks, Johnny.' Mel was half-stoned already, just sitting there, Johnny on a sub-committee assessing the long-list for something called the Cannabis Cup. She batted an eyelash again, hoping he'd catch this one. 'I'm afraid smoking doesn't agree with me.'

'No pressure,' Johnny said. 'It's there if you want it. Don't feel you need to ask.'

'I won't.'

Johnny nudged Sleeps' knee, offering the joint when Sleeps half-opened one eye. Sleeps just shook his head, closed the eye again. Johnny shrugged, handed the joint to Rossi. 'So you're driving all the way to Sicily,' he said, jerking a thumb at Sleeps, 'with the human dynamo here at the wheel. This is why you need the crizz.'

'Can you do it?'

'I can make a call, sure. No guarantees, mind, I'm not really moving in those circles anymore. So I wouldn't be able to vouch for the quality either.'

'Even your basic Billy'll do it. I mean, it's that or we find him a barbed-wire cushion.'

'I'll see what I can do,' Johnny said. 'So what's happening in Sicily?'

'I probably shouldn't say, man. You being clean and all, the less you know the better.' Rossi winked, tapped the side of his nose. 'Loose tips sink fish, dig?'

'Sure thing,' Johnny said, scratching his jaw. 'Okay, I'll make some calls, see if I can raise anyone.' He stood up, gestured at the low table. 'Make free with the samples, let me know what you think.'

'Will do,' Rossi said. Johnny moved off, went through a door behind the bar. Rossi grinned at Mel. 'Nice guy, huh?'

'Seems to be,' Melody said. 'Listen, Rossi – you think you should be smoking so much? I mean, with all we have to do?'

'Mother's milk,' Rossi said. 'Anyway, what's with this 'we' shit?'

Melody counted to ten. 'We've been through this,' she said. 'I'm the one staking you, so I get equal say.'

'How about,' Rossi said, 'and I'm just having my equal say here, you was to be dragged down an alleyway, slapped around a little?'

'I'm out of shape,' Sleeps mumbled, his eyes still closed, 'but I'm a big man. You don't want me sitting on your head too long.'

'Much as I hate to admit it,' Mel said to Rossi, 'I'm about twenty pounds heavier than you are. And what, four inches taller?'

'Maybe three,' Rossi said.

'I also have two brothers, just in case you're wondering if I've any actual experience in putting guys flat on their ass when they start acting out. Anything else you need to know?'

Rossi had a toke thinking it over. 'So it's okay for you to go slapping someone around, but not me.' He turned his head to exhale, keeping his eyes on Melody's. 'How's that work?'

'Self-defence doesn't count.'

Johnny came through the door behind the bar and crossed to the booth, eased in past Melody. 'You're in luck,' he said, rubbing his hands.

'Yeah?' Rossi said. 'Crizz?'

'Yep.'

'The good shit?'

'You tell me. The guy's bringing it over, he'll be here in a couple've hours. You don't fly, you don't buy.'

'Sweet. Hey, Sleeps? Guy's coming here with the crizz.'

'Gorgeous,' Sleeps said.

'Fuck's the matter now?'

Sleeps opened one eye. 'Narcolepsy's a condition, Rossi. It's not like I get tired, y'know, take a powernap. The shit's hard-wired. Except
you
want to pump crizz in, jolly it all up, see how it goes.'

'How else do we get to Palermo on time? You won't fucking fly, now you're bitching about driving …'

'So why don't you drive?'

'Because,' Rossi said, making an effort to restrain himself, Melody could tell, in Johnny's presence, 'you're the one took me to a vet after the wolf ripped half my head off, which is why I'm taking horse tranks. So I'm driving goofed to the eyeballs or blind with agony. That what you want?'

'Why don't I drive?' Melody said.

Rossi's eyebrows shot up. Johnny coughed. 'Rossi? Sorry to interrupt, man. But there's just one thing.'

'It's the dame who's paying, Johnny. Like she keeps saying, she's the one staking us.'

'It's just, this guy? Maybe I shouldn't have said, but I told him where you were headed.'

'Shit, Johnny. What'd we say about sinking fish?'

'I know.' Johnny held up a hand. 'Anyway, I told him about FARCO too.'

'Oh yeah?'

'He's got a proposal.'

Madge

'You got a good brief?' Terry said.

          'He's okay, I guess. I mean, for handling a divorce. But for something like this?'

          'See, what you're doing right there is thinking guilty. And until someone proves different, this is nothing like anything.'

Madge stirred her martini, chasing the olive around while she watched the tourists stroll arm-in-arm in the warm early evening, smiling, murmuring sweet nothings. Somehow she'd always imagined the conversation over a digestif on the terrace of a trattoria on a side street off the Piazza di Spagna being a little more romantic.

          'I shot him, Terry.'

          'No one's disputing that. Except between then and him actually croaking he was in the hands of the cops, the doctors, for what, twelve hours?'

          'Closer to fourteen.'

          'He wasn't even in ICU, Madge. If he had been, they wouldn't have been able to get to him.'

          'Get to him?'

          Terry paused while the waiter slipped sideways between their table and the low railing, the guy young and slim, whip-crack taut. Madge feeling old beyond years, a heaviness inside like her bones were fossilizing.

'We're agreed,' Terry said, keeping his voice low, 'Frank probably didn't die of natural causes. And okay, you blowing his shin out couldn't have helped his cause. But no one's dying from a capping, not unless it's deliberate.'

          'I knew exactly what I was doing, Terry.'

          'I'm talking about after. Like if he was just left there, no one puts in a call. Then, okay, you're talking shock, blood loss, hypothermia … Anyway,' he said, clocking the expression on Madge's face, 'Frank was cuffed to this cop when it happened, right? And she'd know your basic emergency procedures, what Frank needed. The fact that the guy didn't even make it to ICU, was in his own room when it happened, means he was doing okay. He'd probably never have walked right again, sure, but he was off the critical list.'

          'You're saying someone 
killed
 him?'

          'Maybe, maybe not. But that's not your problem. All you're concerned about right now is the post-mortem putting blue sky between you shooting out his shin and him dying. That's all you need, reasonable doubt. Worst case scenario, it comes down to it, you need an actual alibi for where you were at the time …' Terry reached across the table and took her hand, patted the back of it. 'I know of a guy, Madge, a brief, he's had some experience in cases like this. He'd stroll this one, eyes closed. You might have to bark once in a while, roll your eyes, froth up at the mouth when Frank's name gets mentioned. But this guy'll seal the deal.'

          'If you're so sure, why aren't we headed for the airport?'

          Terry, with a final pat, released her hand. 'Flying back,' he said, 'like the dutiful wife, the good mother.'

          'Actually,' Madge said, unwilling to add hypocrisy to her claim to infamy, 'it'd be more like I have nothing to fear, so I'm not running away.' 

          'That's one way to look at it,' Terry said. 'You're calm, you're rational. You're innocent, right?'

          'According to your brief I am.'

          'Except it'll look better in court if you panic a little first.'

          'Panic?'

          'There's a chance they might be charged with murder, they've already put a bullet in the corpse? Most people, by which I mean a jury of your peers, they'd be inclined to shit themselves a cartload.'

          Madge prodded gloomily at the olive. 'It'll look bad if I don't go back, Terry. If only for the twins' sake.'

          'See, this is how panicked you were. Except it's not your fault, it's evolution.'

          Madge raised an eyebrow. 'Evolution?'

          'What they call fight or flight. Yeah? And you can't fight it, all those cops, so your instinct is to shoot through. But only for a few days. Then, you get a chance to think it over, okay, it's the twins that bring you back.' Terry warming to his theme. 'Even though there's a chance you might be wrongfully convicted, you're taking that chance so they don't have to go through all the bullshit on their own. That's even supposing it goes to court.' He cocked his head. 'Hey, did you even know the gun was loaded? I mean, obviously it was, we know that now. But when this guy Rossi handed you the Glock, did you know for sure it was loaded?'

          'Well, I …'

          'How could you? You didn't 
see
 him load it, did you?'

          Madge shook her head. 'I don't even know where it came from. One minute I was looking at Frank, the next --'

          'Woah. Don't even 
go
 there, Madge. The trauma? You've blocked it all out.'

          Madge was a little overwhelmed by Terry's being so au fait with the amount of wriggle room in what seemed to her a cast-iron case. 'Terry? I don't mean to sound ungrateful, you being so supportive and all, but there's one thing I need to ask.'

          'Fire away.'

          'Well,' Madge said, 'and don't think I'm complaining, but how come you're being so supportive and all?'

          Terry gave a quick grin, clinked his glass on Madge's. 'What am I going to do, leave a damsel in distress?'

          'It's a bit more than that, Terry. You're offering your brief, an alibi … I mean, people'll ask about you, won't they? What you're getting out of it.'

          'They'll take one look at you and know exactly what I'm getting out of it.'

          'That's sweet, Terry, but seriously – aren't you taking on a lot here that you don't need to?'

          Terry picked up his silver cigarette case, offered it to Madge, then took one himself when she declined. He lit up, waving his hand through the smoke so it wouldn't drift over to Madge's side of the table. 'I'm clean, Madge. The thing with Frank? Unless you want me to say different, I hadn't even met you before you blew a hole in him. Fact is, or far as anyone can prove, the first I ever hear of Frank is that he's dead, you're telling me today. Which puts me in place to give you an alibi, you were with me last night, I'm a lucky dog.'

          'But won't they investigate you? Dig around, see if we had any motive for wanting Frank dead?'

          'Let 'em. There's no one can put us together before Frank checked out, it's not like we were having an affair, sneaking around behind Frank's back, especially seeing as how you were separated, Frank already with a new tart on board. And then, you're saying Frank was broke, the guy remortgaging and shit – I mean, that's why he was having you snatched, right? He was brassic.' Madge nodded. 'Okay,' he said, 'so what motive could I have? Anyone wants to look at my accounts, I'm in pretty good shape. And you were already getting divorced. So what do I gain from nailing Frank?'