Deadly Embrace (31 page)

Keeping his face blank, Michael said nothing.

"This is the first I'm hearin' of it," Vito continued, slurping
his drink. "My wife," he added, indicating Marnie, who was now
slumped on the couch, still glaring at Michael, "she comes to me
hysterical. Take a look at her."

Michael stared straight at Mamie, his eyes sending her a message.
Yes, I shot Roy. And I'd shoot him again if I had the
chance
.

"Roy was everythin' to me," she sniveled. "I
want
the
person who shot him. I want revenge."

"I know how you feel," Michael said, repressing the urge to spit
in her over-made-up face. "I'd like revenge for my mom's murder." He
took a long beat, his mind racing. How had the story got out so fast
after all these years of silence? Was Bone responsible? And if
so—why?

"An' while we're talkin' about word on the street," he continued,
deciding to go for it, "I heard a mention that
you
might've
had something to do with that robbery. Bullshit, Marnie? Or the
truth?"

She glanced quickly at her husband. "Where'd you hear that?" she
asked, narrowing her red-rimmed eyes.

Now it was Vito's turn to stare at her. "
Did ya
have
anything to do with it, Marnie?" he demanded. " 'Cause if you did,
you'd better fuckin' fess up."

"No," she said guiltily.

"Doesn't it seem to fit?" Michael said, pressing ahead. "You were
datin' my dad. Then he met my mom, knocked her up, married her, an'
the next thing, somebody's robbing the store. The newspapers said the
cops were lookin' for a blond woman an' two men."

"Marnie," Vito said, his voice hardening, "you'd better tell me
the fuckin' truth here."

"I came to you for help, not to get the third degree from this
punk kid," she spat, full of venom.

Vito suddenly laughed. "You did it, didn't you?" he said
incredulously. "You fuckin' did it."

"No, I didn't," she said through clenched teeth.

"Oh yeah, you
did
," he said, putting down his cigar and
getting up. "You never was good at lyin'. What happened— Roy
pull the trigger?"

"It wasn't Roy," she said spitefully, letting out her venom. "Roy
couldn't handle a piece. It was Bone killed the tramp, an' only
'cause she was tryin' to attack him. He
had
t' do it. It was
self-defense. There—" She glared at Michael. "Satisfied?"

He stifled a desire to smash her fucking face in. "You sick
bitch
!" he said. "How can you live with yourself?"

"So that's the thanks I get for takin' care of you all these
years," she said, her face contorted with fury.

"You didn't take care of me. You
used
me t' try an' get rid
of your guilt."

"Ungrateful loser!" she shouted. "You're exactly like your
no-count daddy. You're
both
losers!"

"Jesus Christ, Marnie!" Vito exclaimed in disgust. "Get the fuck
outta here." He clicked his fingers. "Luigi—drive her
home."

"An' what'll you do to
him
?" she asked, pointing at
Michael, her voice rising. "He
murdered
my Roy. My own cousin.
You're not lettin' him get away with it, are you?"

"Retribution is a strange an' wonderful thing," Vito said. "It
always has a way of comin' back an' bitin' you on the ass."

"You'll pay for this," Marnie screamed at Michael as Luigi took
her arm and began leading her from the room. "You'll pay good."

"Women—you can never trust 'em," Vito said as soon as she
was gone.

"I'm sorry—" Michael began.

Vito held up his hand. "No apologies. You did what ya thought was
right. Only now you'd better take care of Bone." He laughed dryly.
"You might've gotten yourself a new job."

"What job would that be?"

"You wanna be a hitter? You'll get paid plenty."

"It's not what I do," Michael said slowly.

"You're happy to be nothin' but part of a crew in the Lucchese
family, huh?" Vito said, cradling his drink.

"I got no complaints," he said, not about to reveal his other
lucrative business.

"I was thinkin' you might wanna work for me again," Vito said.
"There was a time I had big plans for you."

"That's what I thought," Michael said. "So as soon as I got outta
the joint, I came t' see you. Problem. I was told I had to make an
appointment six weeks in advance."

"Didn't know nothin' about that."

"I would've come back to work for you, even though it was Tommaso
an' Roy set me up."

"They did?"

"You must've known about it."

"Shit, no."

Michael wasn't sure whether he believed him or not. "Where is
Tommaso anyway?" he asked.

"In the hospital," Vito said. "Poor bastard got caught in the
crossfire."

Michael nodded. A couple of weeks ago he'd read in the newspaper
about a shooting outside a gambling parlor. Apparently the shooter
had missed Vito, and the bullet had caught Tommaso in the shoulder.
Too bad it wasn't a direct hit.

"How about it?" Vito said. "You comin' back?"

"I'm makin' good money where I am."

"You'll make better money with me."

"I always liked being close to you, Mr. G. I felt a loyalty. Thing
is—when I couldn't get near you, it kinda soured me."

"Loyalty," Vito said, rubbing his hands together. "That's what's
important. When you got power, you gotta have people watchin' your
back. People who care."

Michael nodded his agreement.

"You wanna think about it?" Vito said.

"I'll do that."

"Good, good. Only don't make me wait. I'm not a patient man."

There was something Michael had to do, and much as he dreaded it,
he got on a plane and flew to Miami, where his father had taken up
residence in an oceanside apartment. He knew exactly where Vinny was
living, he'd kept tabs on him over the years, even though they'd not
spoken since Vinny had packed up and left him with three hundred
dollars and nothing else.

When he told Beth he was planning on visiting his father, she'd
pleaded to go with him.

"No," he'd said. "It's not necessary."

"Oh yes, Michael, please!" she'd said, throwing her arms around
his neck. "It
is
necessary. Miami. The sun. The music. The
food." A long, meaningful pause, and then that seductive smile of
hers. "The sex."

"No, Beth," he'd said firmly. "You're stayin' here."

"Does he know about Madison?" she'd asked, playing the family
card. "Surely he'd like to see her? After all, he's her
grandfather."

"Vinny's not the grandfather type. He's ... y'know, got a bad
attitude. Besides, I don't want him knowin' anythin' about
Madison."

"That's not fair," she'd said, sulking. "I
want
to come to
Miami. It's a cool place, it'll give me inspiration for my
designs."

"Sorry, honey, fair or not—you'll just have to live with
it."

"Fuck you, Michael," she'd said, brown eyes flashing major danger
signals.

One thing about Beth, she certainly had spirit. And a mouth. She
was completely different from any woman he'd ever known, and he loved
her for it.

"I'll be home tonight," he'd said. "Don't wait up."

"Like I'll be waiting up," she'd said scornfully. "
I'm
going out. Catherine will baby-sit."

"Why can't you stay in?"

"Why should I? You'll be in Miami without me."

"What's that got to do with anything? I'm seein' my dad."

"I know, Michael, so while
you're
there,
I'll
hit
the town with friends. After all, as
you
pointed out, we're
not married."

Why had he suddenly felt jealous?

There was something about Beth that made him want to keep her all
to himself.

* * *

Miami was hot and humid. Michael took a cab from the airport straight
to Vinny's apartment. The cab pulled up outside an old, sturdy
building painted a lurid pink. He paid the driver and walked into a
musty lobby. Then he got into the elevator, which smelled of
overcooked cabbage and stale cat piss. It slowly creaked its way to
the third floor, where he got out and knocked on the door of Vinny's
apartment. He was startled when a woman opened it.

"Yes?" the woman said in a none-too-friendly tone. She was in her
mid-forties, thin, with lank brown hair and a long nose. She wore an
old flowered housecoat and once-pink fuzzy slippers on her feet

"I'm lookin' for Vinny Castellino," he said, wondering if he had
the right address.

"You're not the only one," she said sharply.

"Excuse me?"

"If you're lookin' to collect on a debt, you're outta luck. He
went bankrupt last week, so screw off!"

This was not exactly the greeting he'd had in mind. "I'm Michael,"
he said quickly, blocking the door with his foot before she slammed
it in his face. "Vinny's son."

"Oh," she said. "In that case... you got any money? 'Cause your
daddy's stone broke."

"How can he be broke? He sold the house an' the shop. He must have
plenty of money."

"Medical bills," she said vaguely. "Crap like that." A weary sigh.
"An' then there's the gambling."

"Gambling?"

"A man's gotta have
some
pleasure in life, don't he?"

"Is he around?"

"You'd better come in," she said, throwing open the door.

The apartment was bright enough. So bright that he immediately
noticed thick layers of dust on all the surfaces, and a kaleidoscope
of stains decorating the worn carpet. A large balcony overlooked the
ocean.

Vinny sat out on the balcony in his wheelchair, a portable TV
perched on his lap, a mangy orange cat curled up by his feet.

Michael approached him warily. "Dad," he said, the word almost
sticking in his throat.

Vinny turned his head. Not a flicker of surprise crossed his
once-handsome face. "I heard you was in jail," he said brusquely.

Nice greeting. Michael hadn't expected anything else.

"Wasn't surprised," Vinny continued. 'Your grandma always said you
was gonna turn out no good. I tried to keep you on the straight and
narrow. Trouble is, you wouldn't listen to nobody."

"I came here to talk to you."

"About what?"

He glanced at the woman who was hovering by the balcony door,
eager to hear every word. "It's personal," he said. "Do you
mind?"

"Get lost," Vinny said, waving her away.

She marched inside.

"Your, uh ... lady friend said you recently went bankrupt."

"Don't tell me y'came here expectin' money?"

"
You're
the one took all the money and left me with three
hundred lousy bucks, an' you're
surprised
I got into trouble,"
he said heatedly. Then he realized he was getting off track, and that
was not his intention. "No," he said, determined to forget old
grudges, "that's not why I'm here."

"Spit it out, son."

He groped in his pocket for a cigarette and lit up. "You never
really told me exactly what happened that night."

"What night would that be?" Vinny asked, squinting at him.

"The night Mom was shot."

Vinny fiddled with the TV aerial. "What's left to tell?" he said
at last.

"Plenty," Michael said. "I need to know the details."

"Told you everything."

"No, you didn't. I asked, an' you never wanted to talk about it.
Neither did Grandma."

"What's so important that you wanna know now?"

"I have my reasons."

"Dunno why I havta go through it all again," Vinny grumbled.
"Don't want to. Don't have to."

Michael placed his cigarette in an old tin ashtray on a rickety
table, slid his hand into his pocket, and produced a wad of money. He
counted out ten crisp hundred-dollar bills. "Here," he said, offering
Vinny the money. "Maybe this'll help you remember."

"Where'd
you
get this kinda money?" Vinny asked
suspiciously.

"I robbed a bank," Michael deadpanned. A beat. "Seriously, Dad,
it's legit. I got lucky in the stock market."

"Whadda
you
know about stuff like that?"

"Plenty," Michael said, getting impatient. "You want the money, or
not?"

Vinny couldn't resist. After a moment's hesitation he grabbed the
money, shoved it in his pants pocket, and started talking.

"I was in the shop by myself when two punks busted in an' started
shovin' me around. One of'em puts a gun to my head while the other
one's robbin' the cash register."

"Go on," Michael said, encouraging him.

"Then Anna Maria comes walkin' in," Vinny continued. "She was
supposed to be home. It was snowing, she had flakes of snow in her
hair an' on her coat. Anyway, when she saw what was happenin', she
threw herself at the one with the gun." A long pause while he
recalled memories of that fateful day. "I yelled at her not to, but
she did it anyway." Another long pause. "Then the bastard shot her."
His voice began to quaver. "I tried to save her. It was too damn
late. They shot me, too, snatched the money, an' ran."

"Fill me about the guys."

"What about 'em?"

"Were they tall? Short? Fat? Thin?"

"One was shortish, the other one was a tall bastard. I saw them
well enough. Described 'em to the cops. They never caught 'em."

"Which one had the gun?"

"The tall, skinny one with the crazy eyes an' the long, thin scar
down his cheek."

Damn! Vinny had just described Bone.

"You're
sure
?"

"'Course I'm sure. I'll never forget that night."

So Marnie was telling the truth for once. Bone was the shooter.
Bone was responsible for both his mother's death and Vinny being in a
wheelchair. Christ! He'd shot the wrong man.

"What's all this about?" Vinny asked. "Why're you dredging up
somethin' I'm tryin' t' forget?"

"Remember your old girlfriend Marnie?"

"Who?"

"Marnie. She married Vito Giovanni. Turned up at Grandma's funeral
an' pissed you off."