Pinching her own cheeks for color, she takes the last ten paces to Hector’s Café unaided. Simon follows close enough behind that if she drops, he can grab her.
The café is a redbrick box under the elevated rail line, plainer than dirt, but the inside is shaded and cool. Brown linoleum that looks unchanged since the sixties, red stools fixed in place at the counter, tables with granite-look tops and padded metal chairs.
Four men are clustered around one table, having pushed aside coffee cups and plates of egg scraps and sausage fat. They’re having postprandial cigarettes and tiny glasses of some clear spirit. Simon finds it easier now to recognize when people are speaking Italian, and that’s what these guys are speaking.
“You can tell me what they’re whispering behind my back,” Nomi mutters.
“And help you stay upright.”
“See? You’re multifunctional, like a Swiss Army knife.” She steps forward with the appearance of confidence, her voice gaining normal volume. “Hey, Leo? You got a minute?”
One of the men at the table—black trousers, gold satin shirt, brown tinted sunglasses—looks over and does a double take. “Harriet? What the fuck happened to you?”
“Bumped into a door,” Nomi deadpans. “Can we talk?”
The other men chortle. One of them grins. “You gonna say the magic words, princess?”
Simon straightens involuntarily to his full height.
He keeps his tone jovial. “‘If you laugh at her again, I will shove that steak knife in your eye’—how’s that for magic words?”
“Don’t oversell it,” Nomi murmurs to him, before looking back at the men around the table, who have suddenly become much quieter. “Leo, just get the fuck over here, okay?”
Leo extricates himself and slouches closer, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. Nomi directs him outside to a spot near a trash can on the corner, under the riveted beams of the overhead rail line. Simon shadows her, his arms crossed, watching and curious.
“Okay, I’m here. What’s your problem?” Leo pulls a cigarette out from behind one ear, lights it with a gold Zippo, eyes tracking warily between Nomi and Simon. “Who’s your friend?”
“Gee, I don’t know—my personal valet?” Nomi’s lip curls as she points at her injured eyebrow. “Look at my face, Leo. Who the fuck do you think he is? I’m walking around my own goddamn neighborhood withsecuritybecause of your last conversation with Ricki Cevolatti.”
She said this would be a fake-out, and now she’s playing it to the hilt; Simon makes an effort to follow her lead and appear more coldly menacing. Apparently, it works, because Leo glances over, then takes a step back.
“Whoa. What?” Flustered, Leo squints, his cheeks reddening. “What are you talking about? I didn’t have no conversation with Ricki—”
“Do you think I’m stupid, Leo?” Nomi steps into his space, fronting the guy in a way he seems unused to. “Do I look like a stupid person to you? Everyone knows you and Ricki cut from the same source. So what the fuck did yousay?”
Leo’s full lower lip drops. “Nothing! Last time I saw Ricki was, like, Thursday last week, and your name didn’t come up!”
“So what were you two chewing the fat about on Thursday?” Hands on hips, she somehow looks more cop-like.
“Nothing, I swear! We were just having some drinks with Janice—”
“Janice?”
“Yeah, Janice.” Leo swallows. “She’s Ricki’s main girl. He says, come over to Janice’s place after her shift for some drinks and stuff, so I go.”
“This Janice, she’s got auburn hair?”
“Nah—Janice D’Addario, with the brown hair.”
Nomi frowns, which Simon is sure must hurt. But the way she’s manipulating Leo into spilling his guts is both fascinating and masterful.
“Right,” Nomi says. “So there you are, having drinks and snorting blow with Ricki and Janice, and my name comes up—”
“No!” Leo’s obviously a guy who works hard to maintain a cool image, but right now, his defensive twitchiness is just making him look petulant. “No, I told you, no way. We didn’t talk about you or nothing, we just talked work. You know how it is—Ricki’s moaning about how he’s getting the same amount of gear, but his boss expects him to stretch it. He’s got some special delivery that’s eating into his cut.”
Nomi sucks her teeth and glowers. Considering the state she’s in, it’s a remarkable performance. But it’s working on Leo; his bottom lip is wet, and his eyes keep lowering to his shoes.
“So if it wasn’t you and Ricki talking, then why’ve I got a fuckingblack eye?” Nomi sighs heavily. “I’m getting it from all sides here, Leo—my old PD boss is breathing down my neck, and now I’m dodging Ricki’s boss’s pals ... I’m feeling a little like the meat in the sandwich, you know?”
