David Hewson - The Villa of Mysteries

He got up and walked over to the kid, took him in his arms, kissed him on both cheeks.

“Mickey, Mickey. Son. Why are you looking so fucking miserable? This is what you wanted all along, isn’t it? To become a made man?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

Neri tweaked his cheek. “You’re still mad at me? Over our little falling out earlier? Mickey. If I hear stuff like that I got to ask. You understand that, don’t you?”

Mickey stared at the floor. “That was asking?”

“Yeah.” Neri laughed. “So your old man’s a bastard. Why d’you think you live in a place like this? Why d’you think you never went short of a damn thing? That little scene is behind us now. I’m giving you the present I should have given you years ago. This is your coming of age, son. You got to go through with it. I blame myself for not letting you get on with it earlier. I’ve pampered you, Mickey, and that was wrong. A father wants to shield his boy from all the shit you get in the world. Can’t blame him for that. But it don’t work. Not forever. Every man’s got to prove himself sometime. Now’s your chance.”

He embraced him again, squeezing hard.

“You’re not scared, are you?” Neri whispered. “Tell me. You can be frank with your own father.”

“No.” He looked terrible. He was back on the dope again, Neri guessed. “It’s just—”

“There’s nothing wrong with being scared, Mickey. It clears your head sometimes. First time I killed a man I was real terrified. He was some old asshole who was pimping out in Monti. Wouldn’t pay his dues. Thought he was bigger than he was. I stood outside that pit of his with a shotgun underneath my coat for ten minutes, wondering if I’d got the guts to go inside. Then you know what?”

“What?” Mickey wondered. His blonde hair looked more stupid than ever. Neri wondered if he’d been piling on the dye that evening, as if it might protect him from something.

“I realized if I didn’t kill him, some fucker would come along and kill me. That’s the way it works in this business. Sometimes you don’t get choices. You just go out and do your job. And…” Neri drew Mickey close and whispered in his ear, “… you want to know something else? It gets easier. The first time, you got doubts, you wonder what it’s like when the light goes out in some poor bastard’s eyes. You’ll be thinking that, won’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“No. For sure. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t. The point is… second time it ain’t so bad. Third time out, you’re curious. You’re watching, wondering what’s going on in his head. You’re looking into his face and thinking, hey, maybe I’m doing the moron a favour! He gets to know some big secret quicker than me. Huh?”

He grinned and slapped the kid on the shoulder. “Except there is no big secret. Fourth time out you know that for sure. They’re just breathing one moment and gone the next. Which is as it should be. So after that you don’t even think about it at all. If it’s some scumbag you hate you even get some pleasure out of it too. Trust your old man. It’s in your blood, Mickey. Once you get the feel it just comes natural.”

He didn’t look convinced. He didn’t look as if he were all there. “Why a cop?”

“Because that’s what I need. Does that worry you?”

“No one likes it when a cop gets killed.”

Neri wrinkled his nose, not liking what he was hearing. “Depends on the cop.” He nodded downstairs. “You got to make your mark. You’re the boss’s son. Don’t ever forget it. You’ll never get to lead them if they think you’re on the same level. Understand?”

Mickey nodded. Neri leaned forward and took the gun from his son’s jacket. He examined it carefully, checking the magazine, ensuring it was fully loaded.

“Killing someone’s the easiest thing in the world, provided you do it right. Just walk up, pop the bastard quick in the head, and it’s done. Work on it, Mickey. It’s a talent you’re going to need. On your way now.”

“And afterwards?”

A shifty look crossed Neri’s face. “Didn’t I mention that? Afterwards things get a little hot for all of us around here. Best we don’t hang around this place for a while. We’re going to be flexible for the next few days. You just keep that phone of yours switched on.”

“What? Where am I supposed to go?”

He was so slow. Sometimes Neri wondered whether he really was the kid’s father at all.

He handed the gun back. “I’ll call. Trust your old man. He’s got your best interests at heart.”

Mickey shoved the pistol back into his jacket. “OK,” he murmured listlessly.

“And when you see Adele tell her to come up here. I want to talk to her.”

Neri had been thinking about this side of things. Maybe there was another way of dealing with it. But that would have been indulgent. That could have wider repercussions. He didn’t want to complicate matters any more than necessary. “You know, now I come to think about it, I never should have swallowed that story about you and her. I always did believe the bad stuff about you and that’s unfair. I owe you an apology, son. You never did get on with Adele, did you? You and her just rub each other up the wrong way.”

“Never did,” the kid said, not quite able to meet Neri’s eyes.

COSTA WAS WALKING down the corridor to the big conference room for Falcone’s briefing when she came round the corner.

“You look terrible,” Teresa Lupo croaked.

He stopped and squinted at her, trying to work out what was going on. “I do?”

“No. I just wanted to say it first.”

Then she coughed into a fistful of tissues and stared at him with pink, watery eyes.

“Actually,” he said, “you don’t look bad at all. It’s amazing what drugs can do.”

“Lying cop bastard—” she mumbled.

“Ah, ah, ah. You’re feverish. You have to try to keep the temperature down.”

“I ought to be in bed feeling sorry for myself. But then that asshole Falcone did the worst thing. Unbelievable.” She looked hurt for a moment. “He apologized. Can you believe that?”

Costa thought about this. “No. Do you have it on tape?”

“I wish. I doubt I shall hear its like again.”

“I doubt any of us will. So what are you doing?”

“Oh, just came in to fill in an expense form. Pick up my mail. Scratch my ass. Doesn’t seem much for the likes of me to do around here. Or did I get that wrong?”

“Teresa—” he said, and took a step towards her.

“Don’t stand too close. Germs. If I start infecting his men he’ll just get mad at me again.”

“Are you OK?”

“No.” She shrugged. “But I’m back to being as mad as I was before. I’m sorry, Nic. I don’t know what came over me. It was the thought of that poor kid being out there somewhere, abandoned, all because of me. And with you guys thinking about nothing but the lovely Barbara. Having people try to kill you is somewhat unsettling, I find.”

“I’d go along with that.”

“Of course!” She brightened a little. “Finally, we do have something in common. We could discuss it over dinner. Nightmares we have known.”

“Not till this is over,” he said. “Which it will be. Soon, I hope.”

She nodded towards the room. Officers were steadily filtering through the door. A lot of them. Most of the Questura’s denuded complement by the look of things.

“You have that look about you, I must say. Is it promising?”

He tried to look confident. “I think so.”

She sniffed again and didn’t look too convinced. “That’s good. So what am I supposed to do if you smart-asses have it all wrapped up? Why is boss man practicing his apology routine on me?”