So she stood on the stage, beside Fusco, who was there to accept on Parks’s behalf. It was the sight of Parks’s two young boys, sitting as if stunned in their suits and ties, on either side of their weeping mother, that broke Donna’s heart. The tears that ran down her face when the medal was placed around her neck, and the assembled officers saluted, were for them.
Fusco’s eyes were dry. When he looked down at the plaque and the little velvet box that contained the medal in his hands, he was only thinking of Victoria. “I’ll feel better when I bring them that bitch’s head. They can mount it next to these on the wall.”
“She’s long gone,” Donna answered. “And all we’ve got is a description and a lip print.”
Fusco nodded. “Well, we ain’t the only ones hunting.” He knew that for Gio and the other bosses, she was unfinished business.
“And you’re okay with that?” Donna asked him. “With them?”
“Okay?” Fusco laughed. “They scare me shitless. But I will say one thing, for better or worse. No matter how long it takes, they never let a debt go unpaid.”
47
DONNA’S MOTHER THREW A party on the roof. The view was fantastic, the river and the bridge and the city. They strung up lights and set out heaps of food—Yolanda and her friends cooked for days. (Gary sent lovely flowers, which were displayed on the table, and asked about another dinner date, but when she texted thanks, Donna didn’t mention it; God only knew what kind of fantasy he’d want to act out now.) Andy and Janet and an assortment of other cops and Feds came and mingled with her relatives and neighbors. Fusco and Blaze huddled in a corner, laughing darkly and sharing a flask that either of them might have produced. And Gladys came. Tom stopped by too and, at one point, Donna’s heart skipped a beat when she saw him talking to Joe’s grandma, but the old grifter charmed him, going on and on about what a wonderful girl Donna was. He assumed she was an old family friend, and maybe, at this point, that’s what she was, though Donna sighed when she saw a card game shaping up. But then they cranked up the music and the dancing started and she didn’t think about it anymore until after midnight, when Gladys came over and kissed her goodnight.
“How are you getting home?” Donna asked. “Let me call you a car.”
“I’ll call Joe. He said he’d pick me up.”
“Really?” Donna hadn’t heard or said his name since they last saw each other in the basement. Moments after Toomey fell, he was gone, blending into the crowd that was still fleeing the building. Seconds later a tac team and bomb squad showed up, Donna still standing over Toomey, gun in her hand. She smiled now at Gladys, keeping her tone light. Casual. “Tell him to come say hi,” she said. “Have a beer. Or a soda.”
“Joe up here?” Gladys rolled her eyes at the law enforcement officers dancing and drinking. “Like inviting a cat to the dog pound.”
“Or a fox to the hen house,” Donna said.
Gladys laughed. “Tell you what. I’ll ask him to meet me at your apartment. I’ll tell him I need to use the john. But don’t rat me out.”
Donna smiled. “I promise.”
Joe knocked. Donna answered the door.
“Hey,” she said. “Caught you.”
“Hey! It’s the national hero.”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t say national. New York City and Puerto Rico for sure.”
Joe shrugged. “Where else matters? You’re the princess of the city.”
“Exactly. I’m getting free Yankees tickets, if you want to come.”
“I’m a Mets fan,” Joe said. “Queens boy. Another tragic history keeping us apart.”
“Of course,” she said. “You’d pick the losing the side.”
He laughed. “Someone has to.”
“Really though, Joe,” she said, lifting off the medal that she’d been wearing all night, suddenly embarrassed by it. “You should have one of these too. Shit you should have a collection. Wear them all like a rapper. Here.” She tried, playfully, to put it on him, but he pressed it back into her hands.
“Not my style,” he told her. They were close now, and he was still holding her hands, with neither one letting go. “It looks much better on you.”
“That’s right, I forgot,” she said, looking up at him, their faces close now. “You already have a star, don’t you? Right here.” She touched the spot on his chest. “Can I see?”
“It’s nothing. It’s just a burn.”
“Please?” she asked. Her hand was on his heart now, her eyes on his. “Show me? Share that with me at least?”
He took a breath, about to say something, then changed his mind. He pulled off his T-shirt and raised his arm. He put her hand on his star.
“Here it is. You see. Just a scar. I’ve got plenty of others. It’s nothing. Yours is better.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, and tracing lightly with her fingertips. “Yours means much more. The people who gave it to you—they don’t make speeches and they don’t do PR.” She looked him in the eye now, both of her hands on his chest, his hands on her shoulders. “And you can’t ever take it off, can you? Not even for one night?”
He shook his head, as he slid her medal back over her head, and then wrapped her in his arms, holding her close, his mouth just a whisper from hers. “No. But we can both shut our eyes and pretend. For a minute,” he said, shutting his. She shut hers too, and clung to him tightly, as she felt his mouth on hers.
Neither of them spoke after that. Not when they clung to each other, arms and legs entwined, swaying together as their devouring mouths joined. Not when they found themselves, blindly, in her room, leaving their clothes in a trail. He spoke her name once in the dark, Donna, as she lay naked on top of him, pressing her skin against his. She laughed, feeling the medal knock against him, and tossed it on the floor. She gasped his name once, as he slid inside her, and moaned it once later, as he looked into her eyes, holding her face, and then whispered Donna again into her ear. After, they rested in silence, and slept for a little, and then made love again. Finally they lay still, her head on his chest, and she saw that the moon had set. It was very late. She glanced down at her phone: The party was over, Larissa was asleep at her mom’s, Gladys had been driven home by Fusco. But still she said nothing, just curled back up, and he held her close in silence, as if they both understood that the moment they spoke, it would break the spell and reality would come crashing back in. Time passed. Then, as the first flush of dawn began to glow outside her window, she saw a cat, her neighbor’s, a black tuxedo with a white shirtfront on his chest and socks like spats on his paws. He meowed and they both laughed which scared him and he darted away up the fire escape, but that was enough. Their night was over. She turned to Joe then, looked at him frankly, pale and rumpled in the dawn.
“Now what happens?” she asked.
“Now?” Joe repeated, returning her gaze. “Now our troubles really begin.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AS ALWAYS, I WANT to thank Doug Stewart, the world’s greatest agent, for his invaluable foresight and friendship, without which I’d be lost, as well as everyone at Sterling Lord Literistic, especially Szilvia Molnar, who has helped my books find their way around the world. Thank you also to Danielle Bukowski and Maria Bell for all their help. I am immensely grateful to Otto Penzler, my editor, whose idea it was to embark on this serial adventure, and who has guided me every step of the way. I am also thankful to everyone at The Mysterious Press and at the Mysterious Bookshop. Thank you to Matilde Huseby and William Fitch for reading the early drafts, and a very special thanks to Nesa Azimi, Antonio Chinea, Nivia Hernandez and Anastasia Lobanova for their generous assistance with the various languages spoken in this book. Lastly, I want, once again, to thank my family for their infinite love and support. I could never have done it without them.
AGAINST THE LAW
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First Mysterious Press edition
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ISBN: 978-1-61316-226-2
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Against the Law Page 30