Callaghan said, “She shoots, she scores!” The two Irishmen laughed. Agostini glowered. Calhoun and Callaghan were immediately quiet.
Agostini said, “Callaghan, come and tell me about Pennsylvania land registry.”
As Callaghan approached the table, Agostini said, “Princess is going to have to come along with us tomorrow.”
Callaghan’s face furrowed. “But are you sure now, boss? Come with us to Marley’s?”
“To all three. There’s no other way. I can’t leave one of you behind, and if she’s here on her own, she’ll launch her own one woman flying academy.”
Callaghan said, “Right enough. If she’s left alone, she’ll do damage or harm or both.”
Agostini looked down at his screen. The matter was settled. “We’ll take the Grand Cherokee tomorrow, Calhoun.”
Princess wondered where it was they were going, and why Callaghan was so unhappy to have her along.
In the morning, Agostini made coffee and omelettes for breakfast and sent Calhoun to wake Princess. She shuffled out, bleary-eyed and grumpy, peered at the fluffy omelettes, and then at him.
“No steak?” she said, “No caviar?”
He shook his head slowly as he watched her take some coffee. “You really think you’ve got me pegged.”
“Sure. You’re a thug. A gangster in a penthouse.” She perched at the kitchen counter and took a bite of her omelette. “A gangster who makes a decent omelette and pretty good coffee, though. I’ll give you that.”
As she ate, she asked him, “We taking a trip today, Mr. Captor?”
He studied her puffy, insolent pout. Whenever he looked at her, he seemed to feel the opposite of what he ought to feel. When he first saw her in the club, he should have just seen her as baggage. A thing he would have to take, with the problem of keeping it safe to hold over old man Grace.
He had an uneasy feeling of complications arising. Pierce hated complication.
She was exactly what you’d expect as the daughter of an irresponsible gambler, the single parent father of a daughter just out of her teens. She was pretty in a careless kind of a way and she was spoiled.
But when he looked at her, something surged inside him. Something unfamiliar and disruptive.
“We have some errands to run, Princess, and we can’t leave you behind.” He saw her eyebrow lift. “Unfortunately.”
He sent Calhoun down to the garage to fetch the car around front. “Send the elevator back up after you.”
It took some of his patience to get her to be ready to leave. Callaghan, Princess and Agostini took the elevator and stepped out into the lobby. Agostini stopped at the sweeping reception desk. “How’s it going, Mikey?”
Mikey, filling his uniform white shirt and blue serge pants to capacity, gave him a wide open smile. “Everything’s peachy, thank you, Mr. Agostini. How are you today?”
“I’m great, Mikey. We’ll be out for the day. You know my number if you need to be in touch, right?”
He had nothing to say, but keeping a regular contact with the doormen, Mikey, Cyril and Georgey, was important. They were the building’s security, and if anything happened around the building or the apartment, he wanted them to call him first. Before the police, for sure.
To keep that relationship fresh, as well as finding excuses to give tips that were only a little over-generous, Agostini made a point to visit the reception desk and chat with them at least once every day.
Calhoun pulled up in front of the big glass front of the gleaming steel reception, and Agostini installed himself and Princess in the back of the big black SUV. She scowled and sulked in the corner of the back seat. That was okay with him. Maybe she could stay quiet and not cause trouble for a while.
In the morning light, Calhoun drove through Manhattan traffic to the Lincoln tunnel. Callaghan and Calhoun made what talk there was, and it was mainly about the roads and the drive. “New Jersey still feels like you’re in a tunnel.”
“For Highway Nine, you’ve to take the turn-off for Jersey City.”
“New Jersey is just a wilderness of chain-link, car lots, and pawn shops.”
“This part is, for sure. Here, this is the turn. You get to I-9 from here, and then it’s a straight shot.”
Pierce Agostini was occupied with his laptop, the case full of papers and some calls. He called the Marchmade estate office, said that he was from Springfield Land Assay Bureau.
He wanted to let them know that there was a discrepancy in the papers that had been filed on the farm for the land registry. It wouldn’t be too serious or expensive to solve—this was mainly a courtesy call. Just in case they were thinking of transferring ownership.
No, a notification of variance was incomplete, that was all. Probably an oversight, and it was only a formality. There was just the possibility of a federal criminal liability if they sold or transferred ownership before it was cleared up. No, it was no trouble at all. He was glad to be of help.
When he hung up, Calhoun said, “You’re one devious motherfucker, if you don’t mind me saying so, boss.”
“Yeah, that sounded very gangster,” Princess muttered.
“You want to hate me because I am a gangster, Princess, or because I’m not?” Agostini asked.
She stared out the window. “Either way works.”
Princess watched, uninterested, as on either side of the road, the boring ride got even more boring. The land flattened and the greens and browns gave way to gray. The few trees were black and bare.
Two lane roads stretched ahead under a big sky with a far-off horizon. Concrete and glass thinned and faded away. Left and right was mostly green and brown. Fields on one side, trees on the other, and very little traffic. Hills in the distance were covered in thick forest.
They drifted by clusters of white clapboard houses, Dutch barns and long, rickety fences. Wires strung high on poles dipped and rose alongside of the road. Rough walls. Occasionally some silos or factories would drift by. More than a few of them had the look of abandonment.
Calhoun pointed ahead at a sagging structure on an unshaded patch of dry dirt. The spindly skeletons of dead shrubs were all the decoration around it. Callaghan said, “Jeez, is that it?”
Agostini squinted. “It ain’t the Four Seasons.”
They approached the shabby building, drooped in the sun, and Calhoun parked up in front of the tattered awning. The windows were grimy, and inside, it looked dark and unnaturally still.
As he opened the door, Callaghan said, “Will I stay with Princess in the car, boss?”
“Nope.” Pierce sprang out of the car onto the gray dust with a briefcase and adjusted his shades. “We’re all going in together.”
From the way Callaghan’s lips tightened, Princess could see he wasn’t happy about it, but he held open the door for her to step out.
Judging by the dust on the porch, it could have been months since anyone came to the place, though from the look of it, Princess couldn’t see why anyone would. What painted signage there was had all faded into the old, gray wood. It would be almost impossible to read from the road.
The door to Marley’s Roadhouse and Grill squeaked a laughing chatter as Agostini pushed it open. Whatever Princess had been expecting, it couldn’t have resembled what they found in the gloom.
Inside, a fat bluebottle bobbed lazily on the hot, thick air. Wide shafts of hazy, greenish light exposed idle motes of dust and the dull wood and linoleum. The tables were marked and stained, and the chairs looked ancient.
Callaghan and Calhoun followed her and Agostini inside and stood by the door, one on either side. Princess watched Agostini prowl around the bar in the gloom like he had in Hotsteppa’s the previous day. She couldn’t get a hold of the fact that it was only yesterday. The whole world looked different.
A huge mirror behind the bar was matted and cracked right through the old-time “Jim Beam” lettering. In front of the mirror, an irregular row of smeared bottles stood like dull, gappy teeth. Princess
hoped their stay here was going to be short.
Deep in a corner behind the counter, Marley himself was in so much shade Princess didn’t see him until he moved. He was as gnarled as his bar and no more appealing.
Something about the man, something Princess couldn’t pin down about the look in his slow, hooded eyes, made her shrink inside her flesh.
Agostini strode around the bar room, looked at fittings and assessed what he saw, and Marley watched him. From the shadows at the far end of the room, he said, “You like it out here, Marley?” The old man just continued to watch him.
Agostini came toward the bar as he said, “You’re not from this part of Pennsylvania yourself, are you?”
“Moved out here when Reagan shut the mines.” Marley’s voice was scratchy like a nail on rusted metal.
The look in Agostini’s eye said, “Sure, but why the hell here?” and she caught herself thinking, I bet he was just as creepy back then as he is now. Then Princess shuddered as Marley’s eyes drifted onto her. Instinctively, she looked at Agostini.
Marley said, “Seems this place really hit the Manhattan map all of a sudden. Was another New Yorker in here.” He seemed to be working something in the back of his teeth. “Not too long ago.” He leaned on his elbows across the bar at Pierce. “Why would you suppose that to be?”
Agostini said, “Must be your hospitality, Marley,” as he reached the bar.
Pierce’s eyes held Marley like an animal fixing its prey. There was a tenderness in the look. The tenderness that a hunter might have for a deer. A deer that he knows he’s going to quarter and cook.
Marley was a tough old bird, and wily. “Well, Mister, they weren’t quite like yourself. Not sure there was too much more to them than a couple of shiny suits.” He poured a thick whiskey for Pierce and another for himself.
“Didn’t bring no pretty little fillies with them, neither.” The spark in his eyes made her want to jab them with a cocktail stick.
He didn’t offer anything to Callaghan or Calhoun. Nor to Princess, and she was glad about that.
“Can you bargain over a drink, Mister?” he asked Agostini. “I’m guessing you’re here to bargain.” Pierce remained standing as he lifted the glass to inspect the cloudy, amber liquor.
“I can, Marley.” Pierce showed his teeth as he smiled. “And thanks for the shot. Nothing but your finest rotgut, I’m sure.”
Marley said, “Mud in your eye,” like he meant it. The two men’s gazes stayed locked as they tipped the shot glasses straight into their open mouths.
As he set the glass down, Pierce raised an eyebrow. “You make that yourself?”
“Might be a better drink if I did.”
“I hope you’d use cleaner water.”
Marley poured again. “We can jab each other’s eyes all day if it’s what you want, Mister. I’m in no hurry to get down to it.” Princess’s stomach crawled as he looked at her again. “She part of your bargain, Mister?”
The side of Agostini’s fist banged on the bar. “You keep your eyes and your mind fixed on me.”
They both raised the shot glasses and drank again. Marley poured again. Princess was uncomfortable standing by the bar, but she didn’t want to sit on top of the sticky looking wood stools.
Pierce held his tumbler and said, “I’m interested in what you said back there.” Marley’s eye hardened.
“You said when Reagan closed the mines was the time that you came here.” Marley shifted his weight. “But the way you said it, you made it sound like it’s the reason you came.” Marley’s hand tightened.
“What of it?”
“You left for a different reason, didn’t you, Marley?”
“You a cop?”
Pierce smiled as he ran his thumb behind the lapel of his sleek suit coat. “You see a cop in a suit like this, that’s a man you want to do business with.”
“Do I want to do business with you?”
“I’d say you should consider it.” Pierce lifted the glass. Watched Marley as he sniffed the whiskey. “You should think about it very seriously. That would be my advice to you.”
Princess shifted uncomfortably. Pierce’s sinuous ease as he wrangled with the old man made her anxious and claustrophobic. It made her want to move about. To stretch. Hit something, maybe.
It seemed like a long time before Pierce said, “You mentioned somebody else came. I’m guessing they made you an offer.”
“Keep talking.”
“I’m also assuming that it’s an offer you haven’t accepted. I don’t know if that’s because you’re hoping for a bigger pot or better terms.”
“Could be I simply don’t want to sell.”
“If I knew the offer they’d made you, Marley, I would probably know that they didn’t aim to take anything away from you.”
Marley squinted. “Rights of excavation, is it? That was what the other guy told me. Maybe they didn’t know that I come from a mining town, but you do. Ain’t nothing to excavate under this blasted land.”
His lips pursed and he stared hard at Pierce. “Maybe there ain’t much on top of it, neither, but I’m no fool, and I know there’s nothing to be had from mining here.”
Pierce let his eyelids droop a little. Princess was learning him. She sensed his patience wearing thin.
He said, “You don’t want to worry about what the excavation might be for. As far as you’re concerned, it will bring you some trade while the work goes on.” Pierce paused as he looked around the bar.
“Get this place fixed up and offer some healthy food,” he continued, “you could have a few months of actual business from the men doing the work. All you need to know is that you’d have what you have now, Marley, only with a sack full of money to go alongside it.”
“So. You about to offer a bigger sack of money than the other guy?”
“Nope.” Agostini straightened. The hint of a smile pulled at his lips and eyes shone steady and firm.
“We could play that game. Go back and forth. We could do that for a long time. You might know the right number, the point in time to bring the hammer down, you might not.”
Agostini lifted his glass. Marley’s eyes narrowed as he reached for his own shot and listened. Agostini said, “Thing is, I’d have no way to know if you were going to sign with me at the end or not. That’s no good.”
Agostini put his glass back on the bar top.
Marley said, “Seems like you’ve got a problem.”
Agostini’s eyes shone. “No, Marley. You have the problem.” He lifted the glass again, rolling the last of the liquor to watch the shine. “You need to tell me right now what number you’ll accept, and you need to close it with me today.”
Marley drew back, straightened up. “Else what?” But then his eyes flicked up to Calhoun and Callaghan, who stood silent, barring the door with their hands clasped in front of them.
“Supposing I’m not minded to make a deal at all? Not with any of you. Then what?”
The silence was long and heavy. Agostini took a slow breath before he spoke. His voice was flat. “You don’t want to be answering with open-ended questions. Questions like ‘what if?’ Put all that from your mind, Marley. Focus on the answer.”
Pierce rolled the whiskey around in the glass. “You can be in the way of a big opportunity here, Marley. You tell me exactly what you want, we make a deal, and then you’d end the day a whole lot richer.” Their eyes locked.
Perfectly Damaged: Luka : A bad boy mafia romance Page 25