“Gonna getyourshot, eh, Finchie?” one of my new friends shouts, and they all laugh. They’re not so bad when you get to know them. Even the guy I punched has softened towards me; and by softened, I mean he was delighted to relieve me of $500 over one hand.
Sometimes you can win with a strategic loss.
I head over to Luca, who puts his mouth down close to my ear. “He’s close to breaking. But he says he wants to talk to you. Do you know the guy?”
“No? I mean, I don’t think so? Should I?”
“I don’t know. He’s not Italian.”
“None of these guys know him,” I say, glancing at the mobsters gathered around the card table. “They say he must be from out of town.”
“Maybe.” Luca looks troubled.Puzzled.
“Doyouwant me to talk to him?”
“No. But I wanted to give you the choice. Angel—it’s not pretty in there, you understand me?”
I look into his cool eyes. Luca is not a man who gets off on violence the way others in this room do, based on the conversations I’ve just had over poker.
Luca is not a sadist. He’s a realist who understands when pain and fear will be useful for him. If I can keep that in mind, I can keep my shit together.
“I understand.”
Luca studies me for a long moment, and I can see he wants to tell me no, tell me he’s changed his mind. But then, with a sigh and his eyes raised to the roof like he’s sending up a silent prayer, he hands me his gun.
“You stay back. You keep the gun aimed at his chest. You don’t get within three feet of the guy.”
“He’s half dead. How much of a threat can he—”
“You want to go in? You do what I’m telling you.”
I shrug. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll do what you’re telling me. You can even watch through the window.”
“You bet your ass I’ll be watching. I’d be in there next to you if he hadn’t said he wanted you in there alone.”
That gives me pause. But Idohave a gun. And I’ll pull the trigger if I have to.
“I’ll be in and out.”
Luca puts a hand on my shoulder. “If he doesn’t tell you anything useful within five minutes, he’s playing some game, and we just walk away. I don’t want to waste any more time here. Understand?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I understand.”
* * *
The room stinksof sweat and shit and blood. It occurs to me then that this guy, even if he spills his guts, is not getting out of here alive. Is he looking to take me out with him? Did he swallow a fucking time bomb before all of this went down?
My imagination’s getting the better of me. I close the door and press my back to it, standing aside only when Luca taps aget out of the wayon the glass. I shift over to the other wall so Luca can see me and the guy at the same time. I catch his eyes through the window. They’re alert, predatory.
He’s got my back.
I clear my throat. “I’m here,” I say. “What is it that you could only say to me?”
The guy’s head lolls back on his neck and he grins at me, only his front teeth are missing and his mouth is more blood than flesh. Both his eyes are closing, swollen and red, and his nose is crooked. “Hey, there,” he croaks. “Really didn’t think you’d come in here. Guess you got more balls than the rest of these guys give you credit for.”
“Oh, the macho mobsters are homophobic? Surely not.” I don’t mean to get into a snark battle, but it’s my natural line of defense. “What do you want to tell me?”
“Come closer, an’ I’ll tell you.”
