And then I went out to face the music.
* * *
I beganto wish pretty quickly that I was facing the music with clothes on instead of just a towel around my waist. Angelo was distracted with something on his computer, so I was able to pull on some track pants without flashing my junk at him. Again.
I put on the TV news to break the dead silence in the room and was in the middle of pulling on a sweater when I realized that I’d made the morning bulletin yet again.
...police confirmed that Donald Greco, a reputed Enforcer for the Clemenza Crime Family, was found shot dead in his apartment early this morning, but would not give any further details. The police are still seeking two persons of interest in this case: FBI agent Baxter Flynn, and the rumored Morelli Family Underboss, Angelo Messina, but stressed that the public should not try to approach these men if they see them, but rather—
“Shit,” I sighed. On the television they were wheeling a body bag out on a stretcher, from the same apartment block I still saw even when I shut my eyes. I’d stared at that place so long it was burned into my retinas.
Angelo did not respond. I went over to him to look over his shoulder, and stifled a groan when I saw the same damn apartment building. He was going through the footage from last night at double speed. I opened my mouth to ask if he’d spotted anything, and then figured he would have said already if he had.
Maybe.
I decided that making coffee for us both could act as a peace offering. How hard could it be, after all? I asked myself, as I went into the kitchen area and stared at the machine. It looked like a NASA control panel. I stretched out one tentative finger towards it.
“What are you doing?” Angelo snapped, materializing behind me. He slapped my hand away from the coffee machine.
“Uh, I’m—”
“Come and sit down.”
I followed him mutely back to the sofa and sat, my legs close together, hands on my knees, back straight. The same feeling that I’d had with Ethan Villiers last time I’d seen him was coming over me, like I was about to get my ass kicked and then handed to me. The way Angelo’s eyes roamed around the room instead of looking straight at me was unnerving.
At last he cleared his throat. “Teaming up was a mistake.” I opened my mouth to respond, but he held up a finger and I shut it again. “And that is an understatement.” He paused, seemed to be wrestling with what to say next. “I suggest you leave. If you want to send your federal friends back to this place, that’s your prerogative, and I’ll have no hard feelings. I’ll be long gone anyway, and this place will be ash.”
“What are you talking about? I don’thavefederal friends anymore.” If I’d ever had in the first place. “That’s why I’m here.”
Angelo shook his head. “Being associated with me has only made you the prime suspect in a federal case. It’s time to guide you back to the shepherd, little lamb. You’re not supposed to be sheltering in the wolf’s den.”
I shrugged. He waited. Not even the flicker of an eyelid gave his real thoughts away. “No,” I said at last, and slumped back in the seat, folding my arms across my chest. “No way,” I added for good measure.
He looked at me then, his eyes black and unreadable. “Are you afraid of what they will do to you?”
I shook my head impatiently. “Of course not. They’ll see I’m innocent of everything, but it wouldn’t besoonenough, that’s the problem.”
“Oh,that’sthe problem?” For the first time, I thought that Messina might be mocking me. “You still have complete faith in your systems of law and order, Special Agent Baxter Flynn?”
“They’re your systems too, Messina, whether you like it or not,” I snarled back. “Theproblemis that they’ll waste months looking at me, and the killer will be able to cover their tracks in the meantime. And besides that, this shit is personal, since someone’s setting me up. So if you want to kick me out, fine, do it. I’ll run my own investigation if I have to. But I’m not going to turn myself in, not until this asshole is caught.”
Angelo meditated on that for a moment, his eyes closing as though he were thinking deep and terrible thoughts. I glared as hard as I could at him until he opened his eyes again. “Alright.”
“Alright?”
“Yes. Alright.”
“That—that’s it? Alright, we’re gonna move on and forget about the fuck-ups?”
Angelo gave a little sigh and stood, stretching wearily. “Do you think there is more value in throwing blame at each other now, or in working together?”
“Is that a trick question?”
“There’s one other thing,” he said, like he hadn’t heard me. “Kowalski.”
“Kowalski?” I repeated.
“Daniel Kowalski. We were considering him as a suspect?”
