Tom Piccirilli: Headstone City

Georgie Delmare grinned with interest, his thoughts moving fast. “Who?”

Dane remembered all the stacks of shitty scripts on the floor beside Glory Bishop's bed. The one where the serial killer runs across the river and doesn't get wet. Lots of topless broads capering around. “I don't know yet, give me some time. But start setting money aside. And get a list of the best-looking whores and strippers on the payroll.”

“There aren't many.”

“Yeah, yeah, because you're so legit now, I know.”

Big Tommy glanced over at the Don, looking contented there in his seat. “You really taking over, Johnny?”

You could only do what's given you to do. Dane thought about his grandmother's dream. About how Dane didn't get chased out of the village, but wound up running it.

Here we are, doing what we're meant to do. “Yeah.”

“You're not even a made guy.”

“That doesn't carry the weight it used to. You people held true for about a thousand years, but the last fifty have gone all to hell. I killed four people today. I think that qualifies me.”

“Not even close,” Big told him, hitching up his shoulders and getting some bravura back. “You did Berto?”

“It was sort of an accident.”

“The other families won't accept you, Johnny. Even this crew here.”

“That doesn't matter.” He glanced at the toughs, who he'd never be able to distinguish apart. “If they want to make a run at me, let them. You're welcome to try too.”

Dane tightened, holding the shotgun in one hand, setting himself. He shifted so he could swing on Big and take his head off with no trouble.

Big Tommy Bartone wasn't an idiot though, not anymore. “You want to live like that, Johnny? Never relaxed? Always on your toes?”

You could do worse. Dane thought about his life up to this point and how he'd walked through so much of it without giving a damn about anything. Like Vinny said, they'd already met death and gotten tangled in the veil. “It's something to do.”

Delmare said, “The police will be here soon asking questions about everything that's happened today. You need a cover story for why you're not at home.”

“Call the Marriott in Mount Laurel. I'll hole up there for a few days, then come back. I'll tell the investigators I had to hide for fear of retribution.”

“Who do we say whacked Roberto?” Tommy asked.

Delmare liked using his mind, letting his instincts run. “Joey Fresco. Joey did it all. He had bad debts catching up to him. He used to visit the Ventimiglia casinos a lot and owed them at least twenty large. We say he was a traitor who went to work destroying our organization from the inside.” Delmare gestured with his chin toward the Don. “He did this. And Berto. He also murdered Vinny. We lay it all at his feet, and we implicate the Venimiglia family in doing so.” Staring into Dane's eyes now. “You were Vinny's best friend. Joey Fresco knew you'd come after him, so he tried to ice you in your grandmother's house. But you were faster and killed him.”

“Actually, she did.”

“Holy fuck,” Big Tommy said. “I gotta meet this lady.”

Dane asked, “Does this place have a large kitchen?”

“What?”

“Is there a lot of room to move in the kitchen?”

“The hell are you doing talking about the kitchen for?”

“Just answer me.”

“Yeah, it's huge.”

“Good, my grandmother will like it.”

He imagined Grandma Lucia moving into the mansion, settling in upstairs, an old-world cafone peasant woman surrounded by all this wealth. So long as Dane had the strength to keep it all.

He'd get Pepe over here to act as his capo, help sharpen up these poor examples of la cosa nostra. Who knew, maybe even Fran, with all that awful hate inside her, could be put to good use. If not, then he'd have to kill her. He didn't want somebody like that walking around anywhere near him in this town.

Delmare stared over Dane's shoulder. Dane turned and looked down the corridor.

And there she was.

Maria Monticelli.

With her insanely black hair coiling and twining to frame her dark and eternal eyes, the luscious angles of her body shown off to perfection. Her blouse open one button too far. The hem of her burgundy skirt caught over her knee to give an enticing view of what he'd dreamed about most of his life. If this wasn't love, it was the next best thing.

This is what you've always wanted.

She moved from the bottom of the staircase, looked at her murdered daddy in the chair. She said nothing, but took another step closer. He breathed her in. His chest was constricted with the insane excitement of being so close to her again.

Of course you would murder men for her. You'd have to be crazy not to.

He drew the bloodstained box from his pocket and opened it, held the diamond ring out to her.

“What's this?” she said. “You… you're asking me…? You-?”

“Yeah.”

Those lips, drawing him in, as if he'd traveled a thousand miles but somehow the journey got easier with each step. Leading him to stand before her. The funny guy who wasn't so tough.

She said, “Everything you did today, Johnny. What they've been saying. About my brothers… and my father-my daddy?”

“Yes, Maria.”

Everybody just stared at him, maybe waiting for her to give the order to kill Dane.

Dane scowled at one of the toughs. Just another kid really, no more than twenty or so. Dane said, “You. You just got promoted. What's your name?”

“Nunzio.”

Jesus, all these old-world Italians and their names from the Olive Oil villages. “All right, Nunz, I want you to take the Don out of here. Use the Caddy out front. Vinny's in the trunk.”

“Holy fuck,” Big Tommy said.

“Bury them wherever you get rid of bodies, Big. The Meadowlands? Fresh Kills?”

“Yeah, Staten Island. There's no room behind Kennedy Airport anymore.”

“Go take them.” Gesturing to the muscle. “Both of you help him. Remember the spot though. In a couple of weeks we'll drop a call to the police, have them found and brought home. Give them a big funeral.” They deserved that, and both of them would've understood this had to come first. “Afterward, I'll have a list of more to do. And your salary's just been doubled.”

“Everybody in the organization?” Delmare asked.

“Everybody in this room. Get the troops together in the morning. I got a few things I can teach them.”

“Do you mean military tactics?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you planning to do?”

“To pay a visit to the Ventimiglias. We're going to take out Vito Grimaldi.”

“But why? They haven't done anything. By implicating them with all these recent crimes, they'll be smeared in the media and under continuous investigation for months. There's no reason to take a stand against them.”

Dane looked at him. “They're the last rough crew around.”

“Yes, that's right.”

“So that's the reason, Georgie.”

Everybody grateful now. The two thugs with the same expression on their stupid faces-giddy, sensing major changes ahead. They grabbed the Don's body and hustled him down the hallway and out the door. Big carried away the blood-smeared chair, and that was the only evidence that the Don had died in his own living room. Georgie nodded and left for his office.

Dane turned to Maria and saw real fright in her eyes.

He stepped closer and saw the lust there too, the reverence.

Rispetto.

She was looking at him as if noticing him for the first time since he was a child, and she was.

It made his pulse hammer and the sweat flood down his back. He took her gently but assuredly, encircling her waist and drawing her to him. She held her ground for an instant, then flowed against his body, squirming there, then yielding.