"I made a mistake," Sharon said.
"I make one every once in a while myself," Joey said. "Nobody's perfect. Let's go. Train's leaving in five minutes. We better get on."
"I'm not going."
"You're not going? Come on. We're finally together. Don't worry, I'll buy you some new clothes." He put his arm around her shoulders, tried to move her but she wouldn't budge. You want me to get tough, Joey thought, okay. He grabbed her arm and pulled her.
"Get your hand off me." She said it loud.
People were turning, looking at them. "Take it easy, will you? Jesus. Everything's going to be fine." He tried to smile but it was tough 'cause he was pissed off now. She'd never acted like this and he was trying to figure out what was going on. "Listen, straighten out. Cut the bullshit. You're coming with me. You're going to get on that fucking train if I have to carry you."
They were still thirty feet away when Ray saw Joey holding her arms, her biceps. It seemed like they were having a fight. Seeing it sent a blast of adrenalin through him. He'd followed Joey down the Spanish Steps, over the wall to the apartment balcony, through the apartment and across town, losing him in traffic and then seeing his taxi pull up in front of the train station.
Joey was pulling her and Sharon was resisting when Ray got to them. Joey saw him and let her go, and now they were squaring off.
"Come to save the little woman?" Joey said. "I think you're too late."
Sharon looked embarrassed, caught with her boyfriend unexpectedly, and the scene was ugly.
"What're you doing with him?" Ray said to Sharon. "You like being treated this way?"
"I'm not with him," Sharon said. "It's over."
"It's over when I say it is," Joey said.
"You remind me of your father," Ray said. "Same tough- guy attitude with nothing to back it up."
That stopped Joey, got him thinking.
"What're you talking about? You didn't know my old man."
"I met the little guy one night at his house in Bloomfield. We were in that nice paneled room with the fireplace off the foyer. Know the one I'm talking about?" He paused. "I asked him where you were and he said he didn't know. Imagine that? I said okay, you don't want to talk, I'll go upstairs see if Mrs P wants to be more co-operative. Your little Mafia dad threatened me. Got all worked up. I thought he was going to take a swing. Then he leaned back against the desk, a strange look on his face, grabbed his chest and fell on the floor and died."
Joey glared at him.
"I was surprised you weren't at the wake or funeral. What kind of son are you, you don't come to your father's grave, pay your respects?"
Joey made his move, came at him as expected, threw a big right hand Ray blocked instinctively with his left, his bad arm, and felt the pain shoot up through his shoulder. Joey followed with a left hook Ray blocked with his right, and threw Joey over his hip and saw him land on his back on the hard floor, dazed, turning his body, trying to get up.
"My God," Sharon said. "You're bleeding."
She looked at his arm while Joey got back on his feet. Blood had soaked through the bandage and through his shirt and sport coat, dripping on the tile floor. He could feel a dull throb. "I'm okay."
Joey pulled a gun now, eyes wild, and the people around them shrieked and moved back, moved away.
Sharon stepped in front of Ray and said, "What're you going to do? You shoot him you're going to have to shoot me. Put it down."
"You're coming with me," Joey said.
Sharon didn't say anything. She didn't have to. Four GIS in dark-blue fatigues appeared, aiming automatic weapons, shouting firm commands in Italian. Joey dropped the Beretta and they cuffed his hands behind his back and took him away. That's what happened when you pulled a gun in a public place in a country on terrorist alert.
They each gave police a statement, and thirty minutes later Ray walked Sharon back through the train station and they went outside and stood looking at each other as cars drove up and people passed by with their luggage.
"You going to tell me what's going on?" Ray said.
"I took a vacation," she said. "It's been a while."
"That's it, huh?" His mouth was dry. He ran his tongue over his teeth, shifted his weight, put his hands in his pockets. "How long have you been seeing him?"
"Ray, what're you doing here?"
"You disappeared."
"You did too," Sharon said.
"I know and I'm sorry."
"You're about three years too late."
"Well I've got time now," Ray said. "I quit the Service."
She gave him a puzzled look. "You serious?"
He nodded.
"You think it's going to make a difference?" Sharon said.
"You tell me."
"You really quit, huh?" She shook her head. "I don't believe it." She smiled now, and he did too.
It was a start.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Early afternoon, McCabe was glancing out the window at the rolling hills of Lazio, Angela driving the Lancia, smoking a cigarette, window cracked a couple inches, wind at high speed rustling her hair. She took a final drag and pushed the cigarette through the opening and closed the window.
He was replaying the conversation he'd had with Captain Arturo Ferrara, the captain saying, why didn't you tell me you were in trouble?
It was complicated. What could he say? I kidnapped Angela Gennaro and used her to collect the ransom. He couldn't say that so he didn't say anything.
Captain Ferrara said, "I still do not understand. How you recover the money?"
"All I can tell you is it worked out," McCabe said, waiting for the captain to give him a hard time, demand the truth and confiscate the ransom.
He said, "Are you Catholic?"
"Yes," McCabe said, although he hadn't been to mass in three years, confession in five.
"God was looking out for you, uh?" the captain said.
They were at carabinieri headquarters in downtown Rome, the captain loose and relaxed, McCabe sitting across the desk from him, listening to music that sounded like opera. He could see an iPod in a speaker dock on the credenza behind him.
Captain Ferrara packed his pipe with tobacco and lit it, blowing out sweet-smelling smoke that drifted over the table.
"Will you return to the university?"
"My scholarship's been revoked," McCabe said. "Mr Rady kicked me out. I go back there I'll probably get in a fight with him."
"I can speak to him for you."
"I appreciate the offer, but I don't think so."
"What will you do?"
"I'm not sure."
"It is unfortunate you cannot stay in Rome."
McCabe wanted to tell him about Angela, tell him he'd been hit by the lightning bolt, and they were living together, but he obviously couldn't. Ferrara puffed on his pipe. They talked about Chip. He'd gotten out of the hospital, hand in a cast and was back at school. They talked about Mazara and his gang, arrested and in custody in Rebibbia Prison, awaiting trial, all except Psuz, who was killed by GIS marksmen. Nothing about Joey Palermo. The conversation ended. Captain Ferrara stood up and they shook hands.
He looked McCabe in the eye. "I can trust you with the money?"
"I was thinking of buying a villa in Tuscany." McCabe said it straight, then broke into a grin and now Captain Ferrara did too.
"Tell me where, I will visit you." He paused. "Keep the money in Banco de Roma until you transfer it."
McCabe had to admit that made more sense than hiding it in Angela's closet.
Now an hour and a half later, he and Angela were approaching her father's estate outside Mentana. He was going to ask the most powerful man in Rome for the missing ransom, the sixty thousand euros Mazara had given him. There was a car blocking the entrance and half a dozen men with guns, standing around. "What's going on? Looks like a scene from The Godfather," McCabe said.
"Someone broke in last night," Angela said. "My father has tightened security."
The guards recognized Angela, opened the gates and moved the car and now they were on a pea-gravel driveway that wound through the woods to the villa. Angela parked on the circular drive in front of the house. She turned off the car and looked at McCabe.
"What are you going to say to him?"
"I'll think of something," McCabe said.
"You're not giving me a lot of confidence." She looked concerned. "I want to help you but this is business. You have to do it or my father will not respect you."
They got out of the car and the front door opened and there was Mauro, the bodyguard. He greeted Angela in a shy formal way. She didn't introduce McCabe and he didn't say anything.
Mauro led them through the house to a big room that looked like a museum with all the paintings and statuary. McCabe recognized the don from the night he had seen him outside Al Moro. The man got up from his desk, moving across the room, gray styled hair, black designer glasses and a blue dress shirt with gold cuff links, and a gold watch that looked expensive. He approached Angela, kissed her on both cheeks. He didn't smile but McCabe could see that he liked her. There was affection in his eyes behind the stern gaze.
"You hear about Joey?" The don frowned. "My sister loses her husband and now this."
"Have you told her?"
The don shook his head.
"Where is he?"
"Rebibbia," the don said. "The lunatic pulls a gun in Stazione Termini. He is out of his mind, crazy."
"I never thought he was very smart," Angela said. "What can you do?"
"I agree with you, but he is my responsibility."
"Are you going to use your influence?"
"What influence?" The don flashed a grin.
They stood staring at each other until Angela glanced at McCabe.
"This is the friend I was telling you about."
Don Gennaro turned and looked at him now for the first time.
"Nice to meet you," McCabe said, offering his hand, but the don looked away, his attention back on Angela.
"He has to talk to you," Angela said. "Listen to him, will you? I'll wait in the salon." She gave McCabe a quick glance and walked out of the room.
Now the don focused his attention on him, and McCabe had to admit this gray-haired old dude made him nervous. He was about to say, you owe me sixty thousand euros, but decided he'd better be a little more diplomatic. He could see Mauro about fifteen feet away, watching him. "Roberto Mazara gave you some money," McCabe said. "But it was not his to give. The money belongs to me and I need it back." He thought that summed it up pretty well.
The don stared at him, studying him. "Who are you, come into my house, talk to me this way?"
McCabe shifted his weight, took a breath, thinking it couldn't be going any worse. Walk out right now don't say another word. He looked past the don at the paintings and sculptures behind him. "Forgive me, Don Gennaro. I have nothing but respect for anyone with such an impressive collection of art."
The don eased up, let out a breath, seemed to relax a little.
McCabe looked at the wall. "Is that Madonna and Child?" He had seen photos of it, created in marble relief.
The don moved toward it and McCabe followed.
"Do you know who did it?"
"Desiderio."
The don looked at him and nodded.
Next was a bronze porphyry sarcophagus by Verrochio, and an early Renaissance sculpture of David the shepherd boy who killed Goliath. McCabe had seen earlier versions, knew the distinctive style. "Donatello, of course."
Carlo Gennaro grinned. "What is your opinion of this one?"
"It's a Tintoretto," McCabe said. "Unmistakable." It was a Quattrocento action figure stroked out of charcoal, conveying so much energy and emotion. "I wouldn't mind having it in my collection."
"You have a collection?" The don perked up.
"Five days ago I was a student."
"What are you now?"
"A former student."
There was a glint in the don's eye.
"And this one?" He pointed to a painting.
McCabe knew it. "Bronzino's Allegory with Venus and Cupid. Commissioned by Cosimo de' Medici and given it to King Francis I of France. But it's supposed to be in the National Gallery in London."
The don smiled. He seemed amused. "Do you understand its meaning?"
"It's a male allegory of syphilis," McCabe said. "Look to the right, you see the face of a beautiful girl, but she's really a monster with a serpent's tail and the legs and claws of a lion."
The don's expression was serious for a beat until he broke into a grin.
Don Gennaro said, "No, I do not think so. The winged creature is Father Time. Look. He pulls back the drape to reveal Cupid kissing his mother and touching her breast, while Jest or Folly toss roses on the incestuous pair." He paused. "Look here," he pointed, "you see the female allegory of jealousy."
McCabe decided not to disagree, tell him it was the oldfashioned interpretation, or tell him the painting was a reproduction.
'How did you do?" Angela said as they walked out of the villa and she closed the door.
"I'm making progress," McCabe said.
She stopped and looked at him. "What does that mean?"
"He's talking to me," McCabe said. "We discussed his art collection."
"Did you ask for the money?"
"I did."
"And?"
"He got mad." "What a surprise."
"Then things were going good and I didn't want to blow i McCabe paused. "But your father invited me to come back." "What do you mean?"
"He's getting a painting he wants to show me." "So you're going to give it another try, uh?" "We'll see how it goes," McCabe said.
.
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All He Saw Was the Girl Page 23