Tom Piccirilli - Headstone City

He leaned his chin down on his fist and focused, feeling a little resistance at the back of his skull, where the metal doors hadn't quite opened. Cogan was in bed, fading but not yet asleep. Dane could feel him in there, starting to slip into the comfort of darkness.

It took half an hour before the music began to change, the voices shifting and growing harsher, like people starting to argue. The drumbeat got steadily stronger, more primal. The music dissipated until it became only static disturbed by faraway, forlorn cries. Dane leaned in, put his ear to the speaker, concentrated on trying to make sense of what they were saying, but he couldn't make any of it out.

For a second there though, he thought he heard his mother moaning, the way she did in the back room while she was dying, seeing angels with golden wings as shiny as coins.

Carefully, he snapped the radio off, hoping to avoid sparks. He settled back into the seat and waited, feeling Cogan up there coming closer.

Step by step, nearly here.

Dane looked over through the passenger window and saw Special Agent Daniel Ezekiel Cogan standing naked on the sidewalk.

The straw-yellow hair was a wild mess. It looked like Cogan was one of those types who didn't sleep well, thrashing around for a while before he got into REM. Dane clicked on the interior light. That hee-haw smile broke out on Cogan's face when he spotted Dane in the car. He fumbled his way to the curb, arms and legs moving clumsily. He sat in the backseat and said, “Well, ain't this somethin' special.”

“You said I should come by some night.”

“Tha's right, I surely did.”

“This is what happens when I come by at night,” Dane told him.

“My word, son. Some folks do have themselves special consideration under the Lord!”

“That what you call it?”

“My blessed granny would say so,” Cogan said.

“Mine calls it a burden. In Sicily they burned her with sulfur for having visions.”

“Even those graced by the angels got their hardships and trials.”

Dane took off, enjoying the ease of the empty streets, the rhythm of the traffic lights allowing him complete access. He was a touch surprised that Cogan was taking the situation so well. He looked happy back there, at perfect ease with the situation. Just enjoying the night ride.

“You spend a lot of time doing this thing right here? Moseying on along with all kinds of passengers in the dark? You can do this to anyone?”

“No. Hardly anyone at all.”

“Then how is it you know who all to pick up?”

“I simply know.” It sounded stupid, but just about everything did when you were driving around with somebody's soul in your backseat. “No real way to explain it, except that I feel a nudge inside my head.”

“The angels tapping at your brain. So what exactly is the purpose of all this, son?”

“I have some questions and I think you can help me,” Dane said. “You said Vinny was investing money. Did you mean movies?”

“Yes, that's a new orbit for the family.”

“Any idea why?”

“It's good for laundering. A lot of these wiseguys, they like the idea of being entertainment stars. Puzo, Coppola, Tarantino, HBO, they all make it look like it's downright fun to be in the mob.”

“My grandmother says the same thing.”

“And except for James Caan, almost all the real interesting folks live, at least to the end of the movie. The ones who turn up in the bay, well, those there are the squealers, the ones who ain't clever enough to make it with the rest of them. You got yer little kids growing up thinking, ‘Hey, I can be witty and fire me off a few one-liners while I'm beanin' some old boy on the head.'”

“I think it's because his sister, Maria, wants to be in the movies. Vinny was losing money on drugs so Maria could be in film.”

“That girl's pretty enough to be a box office bombshell without the mob backin' her up.”

“You're right.”

“You sound sorta sweet on her, and I can't say I blame you 'bout that right there. Maybe you can help her out some.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Cogan grinned. “I'm just sayin'.”

Look at this. You're trying to get information from the astral self of the Kentucky cornpone fed who's messing around in your life, and now you've got to switch the subject.

“You staking out Glory Bishop?” Dane asked. “She says she's got cops and feds all over her.”

“Naw, nothin' like that,” Cogan said, sort of bouncing around on the seat like a kid on a family trip. “My boss at the Bureau wants me to keep an eye on her, see if she's connected to everything her husband and his buddies was into, but it hasn't happened yet.”

“What do you mean ‘yet'?”

“She hasn't made the move so far, but I think she will. That's why she's using you.”

Dane glared into the rearview. “What was that?”

“Hellfire, son, you really think you're lucky enough to land a beautiful sex kitten like her on your own? Without even working for it?”

Dane scowled, feeling vaguely insulted. “She likes me. Who the hell are you to comment on it anyway?”

“She don't like anybody too much, that there girl. I think she's only using you to get an upper hand on the Monticelli family.”

“I haven't even talked to her about Vinny and the crew, not even once, so what could she use me for?”

“I reckon she has her reasons. Maybe to take over where her husband left off. Wait for it. She'll hit you up eventually, when she's got them hooks in deep enough. She ain't been askin' a lot of questions?”

“Yeah, she has lately.”

“There it is, son.”

Dane didn't like how this was going, everything being thrown back at him. It felt as if Cogan was somehow still able to deceive. But that was impossible on the night ride. What was the point of stealing someone's soul if it could still lie to you? Dane studied Cogan's smirk in the rearview and couldn't really be sure what was going on with the guy. Maybe he'd gone through a windshield too. Or was more capable at carrying his burden.

“You said you weren't staking out Glory's apartment,” Dane asked. “Now I get the feeling you have her place wired.”

“Naw, that ain't it. I've followed you lovebirds around here and there, but so far you ain't done much to whet my interest. Weird coincidence though, ain't it? You hooking up with her, and her under surveillance because of some things leading back to the Monticelli crew? And you and Vincenzo with all the history?”

“Yeah,” Dane said.

“My blessed granny, she'd call that a curious happenstance of fate.”

“Mine would say somebody's thrown the malocchio whammy on me.”

“Maybe so.”

Dane glanced into the rearview and saw Cogan back there with an expression of knowing amusement. “Did you check on the JoJo Tormino hit?”

“That there Roberto Monticelli, he covers his tracks pretty good. Like you said, the boys that did the deed were brand-new to the crew, so there's not much connecting them to the family. And he got hisself an alibi.”

“Playing poker with five other guys?”

“Exactly right. And none of them Brooklyn folks had anything at all to say about the matter. Not even the girl working the counter at the time.” Cogan sat up straight and started hopping around on the seat. “Hey, hey, there's that bakery again. Pull over. I want me some more of them napoleons.”

They were already in Headstone City. He'd been driving without thinking, cruising with a fluidity of force and motion, and his instinct had brought him right home. “The place is closed right now.”

“Goddamn.”

“Besides, you're not in any position to eat anything at the moment.”