Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 08

by Justice

  Donatti frowned, threw Whitman his silk handkerchief.

  “Clean up your face. You’re a disgustin’ mess. I heard somethin’ snap. I break anything?”

  Whitman took the handkerchief and forced his hands not to shake. He wiped his face, spit a mouthful of blood and enamel into his handkerchief. He ran his tongue across his mouth, felt razor-sharp edges. “Chipped a couple of teeth.”

  “Front? Back?”

  “Front ones, I think.”

  “Good! I put a dent in that perfect, faggoty-ass smile of yours. You got a dentist out here?”

  Whitman looked at the handkerchief—it was drenched in blood. He examined his jail blues, found a clean spot, and swabbed his face. “No, I don’t have a dentist. I ruined your handkerchief.”

  “Fuck it.” Donatti held his son’s chin and examined his face. Whitman snapped his head back. “I’m bleeding like a slaughtered pig. I’ll ruin your suit.”

  “So I’ll buy another one. Don’t jerk away from me like that.”

  Donatti untucked his white shirt, spit several times on the tail, and began to clean Whitman’s face. “Your nose don’t look broke. Used to be I could crack a face in a single punch. I must be gettin’ old.”

  “You didn’t punch me, you slapped me.”

  “Good point.” Tenderly, Donatti dabbed his son’s bloodied lips. “You cause me nothing but grief, Christopher. First, you pork the school’s whore and she winds up dead—”

  “It was stupid—”

  “Shut up! Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking! Then you screw yourself up to save some nobody girl? What’s she do to you? Suck your brain out through your pipes?”

  “I never even slept with her, Joey.”

  “Then you’re real stupid! Make a smile.”

  Whitman smiled.

  “Yeah, I got both your front teeth.”

  “Bad?”

  “Nah, just small corner chips. Girls’ll think it’s kinda cute.” Donatti spit another wad of saliva onto his shirt. “Hold still.”

  Whitman didn’t move.

  Donatti said, “You put me in a bind, Christopher. You put yourself in a bind ’cause you know what I gotta do. I gotta mess her up, that’s what I gotta do. Except I don’t really feel like messin’ up a sixteen-year-old girl. Especially her. She’s very pretty.”

  “You saw her?”

  “Course I saw her. Moody tells me about the sketches, first thing I say to Tony is find the girl. I really should mess her up.” Donatti stood, studied Whitman’s face, then tucked his bloodied shirt back in his pants. “You pull shit like this, I gotta teach you a lesson big time.”

  Calmly, Whitman said, “Tell Benedetto that as punishment for disobeying you, I’ll marry Maria.”

  Donatti took a step backward. “What?”

  “Tell Benedetto that as my punishment for moving without your say-so, you’re making me marry Maria.”

  Donatti stared at him. “You seen Maria lately, Christopher?”

  “I know what she looks like, Joey.”

  “The girl’s moving to four hundred pounds. You’re my son! Benedetto knows that even I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “It’ll get you back in Benedetto’s good graces. And it’s proper. The older daughter should marry before the younger one, right?”

  “Except when the older daughter’s a retard.”

  “She’s not a retard, she’s just simple. That’s all right. She can cook, she can clean, and she can probably make decent babies.”

  “How you gonna screw her?”

  “With my eyes closed. If I marry Maria, you won’t have to pay Benedetto grievance money, will you?”

  Donatti shook his head. “He’ll owe me!”

  “So do it.”

  “What are you after, Christopher?”

  “You know what I want, Joey.”

  “Leave your pussy alone.”

  “That’s all I’m asking.”

  “How do I make sure you don’t bolt on me?”

  “Joey, I swear on my mother’s grave, I never even slept with her. Never.”

  Donatti peered into his son’s eyes. “Tell me that again, Christopher?”

  “I never slept with her. I knew I had to leave her. I figured, what was the point?”

  “What was the point?” Donatti squinted. “What was the point? The point is to fuck her, that’s the point. What the fuck is wrong with you? You been hearing strange voices again?”

  “No.”

  Donatti studied Whitman’s eyes. “Maybe you didn’t fuck her. But she did something to make you crazy. She gives that good a blow-job, I’ll take a round with her.”

  Whitman blinked several times. “She didn’t give me head, okay?”

  Donatti gave Whitman a firm slap across his swollen face. “What the hell is wrong with you? All of a sudden sucking’s too good for your faggoty ass?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “You spent too much time out here. All these faggoty-ass Hollywood types.”

  “They like blow-jobs, too, Joey.”

  Another slap. “Don’t wiseass me. What’s this girl to you if you didn’t do nothing with her?”

  “I love her, plain and simple.”

  “So how do I know you won’t bolt on me? It was bad enough worrying about Lorenza. I know you hate her guts.”

  “I don’t hate her.”

  “You hate her. Don’t argue with me. I know you hate her. She’s a bitch and a half, but at least she’s cute, right?”

  “Lorenza is very cute.”

  “At least she’s got a body. At least she ain’t a retard. So what do you got after you get out of the hole? Four hundred pounds of fat waiting to smother you in the sack? And you’re telling me you won’t bolt, Christopher?”

  “I won’t bolt.”

  “I gotta be a retard to buy that.”

  “I won’t bolt because I know better. I know what you’d do to me. I know what you’d do to her.”

  “She’s so special, maybe I’ll screw her myself.”

  Whitman closed and opened his eyes, but said nothing.

  Donatti grinned. “You fuck on me again, that’s exactly what I’ll do, Christopher. I’ll do it right in front of you.”

  “I swear I won’t. I get out of the hole, I go straight to the altar with Maria. You’ve got my word.”

  “That’s worth shit. You’re a liar.”

  “What can I do to convince you? You want me to sign my name in blood?” He swiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I certainly have an ample supply right now.”

  “And what about your piece of ass?”

  “She’s out of the picture.”

  “I’m supposed to believe that?”

  “Yes. Because I love her. I don’t want her hurt.”

  “You didn’t screw this girl?”

  “No.”

  “What’d you do with her?”

  Whitman put his hand to his face and grimaced with pain. Every facial bone was sore to the touch. “Not much.”

  “She give you a hand-job…maybe a little tongue along the rim—”

  “Joey, please!”

  Another slap. But this one was gentle. “You’re stupid for testing me. But I gotta say I don’t blame you. She’s a pretty one.”

  Whitman was quiet. Then he said, “You’ll leave her alone?”

  “She’s a pretty girl, Christopher,” Donatti said. “Pretty and lucky. And as long as you show up at the church, she’ll stay pretty…she’ll stay lucky.”

  Whitman closed and opened his eyes. “Thank you very much, Joey.”

  “In the meantime, you’re stuck in the hole for at least five years. That’s not great for me, Christopher.”

  “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “Damn right you will.” He waved him off. “What the hell? Five years won’t hurt you none. Maybe even give you some spine…a few points with the guys back home. They think you’re a closet queer.”

  “They think anyone who lis
tens to classical music is queer.”

  “They got a point.” Donatti grinned again. “Where are your cellos?”

  “At the apartment.”

  “I’m gonna send Davey down there. He’s good with an ax.”

  “The Rowland Ross is worth money, Joey.”

  “I need money? What I need is to teach you a lesson.”

  “It’s worth about ten grand.”

  “Well, it ain’t gonna be worth firewood by the time Davey finishes up.”

  Whitman closed his eyes and shook his head. “Whatever you want. You know best.”

  “I hope you really love her, Christopher. Because you just bought yourself five years extra service.”

  “Two.”

  Donatti furrowed his eyebrows. “You arguing with me?” Spittle sprayed from his mouth. “You got the nerve to argue with me?”

  “Five years is outrageous. You wouldn’t respect me if I didn’t argue. Two years is fair. Especially because you won’t have to pay Benedetto grievance money.”

  Donatti glared at him, then broke into laughter. “You may be something yet if I can train out all the faggoty-ass things that Donna, God rest her soul, trained into you.” He looked around the cell. “I can talk to some people if you want. Have you transferred back east. I got more pull over there.”

  “I’d rather stay here.”

  Donatti took in Whitman’s face. “You hate me, don’t you, sonny?”

  “No. Not at all. I know you’re doing what you have to do. I know it’s nothing personal.”

  “Ah, such beautiful words from your beautiful lips.” Donatti smiled. “You are so full of shit, Christopher. You hate my guts. That’s okay. You also fear me. That’s even better.”

  Whitman was quiet.

  Donatti took a seat on the metal bunk chained to the wall. “Okay. I’ll go with two years extra service. What do you say?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Kiss me.”

  Whitman planted a kiss on each of Donatti’s sagging cheeks. Donatti took Whitman’s chin and kissed his son’s forehead. Then he let go of his face and threw his arm around Whitman’s shoulder, rubbing it as he talked. “Okay, I won’t hurt your girl. You feel better?”

  “Yes, I do. Thank you very much.”

  “You know, you’re not a total fuck-up, Christopher.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I know you can do good when you put your mind to it. We both know that.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I do appreciate your help.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Yeah, but I still appreciate it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I do love you. You know that, too, don’t you?”

  “I know.”

  “It just makes me mad when I blow fifty grand. It also makes me mad when you sucker-punch a cop. Last thing we need is the law mad at us.”

  “It was stupid.”

  “Real stupid.” Donatti checked his watch. “I got about ten minutes before someone comes to get me. Your face looks like something out of a funhouse.”

  “I’ll tell them I fell.”

  Donatti smiled. “You’re trying hard, aren’t you?”

  “Very.”

  “I appreciate that, too.” Donatti paused. “I really do, Christopher. And you know what I think? I think you’ve done enough penance. So I’m gonna do something for you.”

  Whitman waited.

  “This girl, Teresa Whatserface…you really like her, don’t you?”

  Whitman felt his heart race. He was silent.

  “They’ll probably send you to Piedmont.” Donatti massaged his son’s shoulders. “I got some pull there. For the right price, I can arrange something.”

  Whitman didn’t speak.

  “Once a month, I could maybe arrange something. Get Moody to hire her on, get her a paralegal license. That way you could see her alone…attorney/client privilege.” Donatti grinned. “It’ll get you…about thirty minutes, maybe an hour alone with her…guards looking the other way. Make your stay in the hole a little less…frustrating. You know what I’m saying?”

  Whitman nodded, swallowed dryly.

  “You’re gonna marry Maria, I gotta get you some good memories. Want me to set something up, Christopher?”

  “If…if she’s interested, I’d like that very much.”

  “Course she’s interested. A stud like you.” Donatti ran his fingers through Whitman’s thick hair. “She’s interested, believe me.”

  “Don’t sic anyone on her, Joey. Nothing by force.”

  “I’ll handle it myself.” He wagged a finger in front of Whitman’s face. “But no more movin’ on your own. As soon as you’re out, Terry’s gone. You marry Maria, you hear me?”

  Whitman nodded. “Yes, I hear you, Joey.”

  “I figure, in the meantime, why not make you happy?”

  “Thank you, Joey.”

  “Kiss me, Christopher.” Donatti leaned in close. “Kiss me like you love me.”

  Whitman kissed one cheek, then the other, then gave him a long, closed-mouth kiss on his mouth. Donatti held his face, stroking Whitman’s puffy cheek, then broke it off. He peered into Whitman’s eyes.

  “You’re lucky you have your mother’s face, you know that?” Again, Donatti kissed him. “If you was a girl, I’d marry you tomorrow.”

  “I’m not a girl.”

  “I know that. But that’s not all bad. You got other uses.” Donatti gave him a final kiss on the mouth, then stood and straightened his tie. “Yeah, you got lots of other uses. But the only reason I keep you is because you got your mother’s face.”

  “God bless Mom.”

  “Don’t be rude, Christopher.”

  “I loved my mother.”

  “I know that, son.” Donatti closed his jacket to hide the bloodstains. “I know you loved her deep. So did I.”

  31

  Without ever seeing the man before, I knew instantly who he was. He fit the stereotype—central casting of the Mafia don, except his eyes weren’t acting. Cold and assured, they told me he meant business. I knew that if this was it, there wasn’t anything I could do to dissuade him. My heartbeat quickened and I broke into a cold sweat. He waved his hand, signaling me to step aside. I did and he walked into my house, closing the door softly. Then he turned the deadbolt. It clicked and I jumped.

  He wasn’t tall, maybe five seven or five eight, but he was very muscular. Big hands and wrists and a wide bull neck that strained his collar. His hair was a dense nest of steel wool but cut stylishly. He was swarthy and saggy, his cheeks shadowed despite a recent shave. But he was dressed nicely—a black wool crepe suit over a white shirt and tie.

  He glanced around my living room, then zeroed in on me.

  “Where are your parents?”

  His voice was surprisingly gentle. I tried to answer his question, but it took me time to find my voice. “Working.”

  “Christopher tells me you got a little sister.”

  “She’s not here,” I said quickly.

  He smiled. “What? You think I come here to hurt you?” He smiled again. “Like in the movies, huh? I rip out an automatic and start turning your walls into Swiss cheese?” He laughed. “Sit down. I just wanna talk to you.”

  Slowly I made my way to the dining-room table. Out of habit, I asked him if I could get him something to drink.

  “Someone with manners.” Again he smiled. His teeth were white and capped. “I like that. No, I don’t want anything to drink, thank you. Sit down.”

  I sat.

  “So you know who I am, huh?”

  I nodded.

  “You been expecting me? Christopher must have spooked you good. The kid has more sense than I thought.”

  I was silent.

  “So I don’t have to introduce myself, do I?”

  I shook my head no.

  “Christopher told you all about me?”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess? What do you mean,
you guess? It’s a yes or no question.”

  “He…” I swallowed hard. “He told me a little about you.”

  “Like what?”

  My head was ringing. “Like…” I cleared my throat. “He told me you adopted him after his mother died. He told me that you took him in when he had nowhere else to go.”

  “Yeah, only the good stuff, right?” He laughed again. “He also tell you I was a son of a bitch?”

  Again I shook my head no.

  “Nothin’ like that, huh?”

  “Only that you shouldn’t…be messed with. He really loves you a lot.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  I shut up, waiting for the bomb to drop. But he seemed unhurried—calm and relaxed. Of course, he had all the power. Why shouldn’t he take his time?

  He examined his knuckles. “Tell you one thing, little girl. Christopher means the world to me. This whole business about this dead girl…what was her name?”

  “Cheryl Diggs.”

  “Yeah, Cheryl Diggs. I know my son. Christopher didn’t do nothin’ to her.”

  I nodded.

  “Not that Christopher doesn’t have some growing up to do. But why would he bother wasting a whore? It’s stupid and pointless, and Christopher isn’t stupid or pointless. I’m not saying this Diggs deserved to die. But it ain’t Christopher’s fault if the little whore took some bum chances. So I’m not shedding tears for her, you know what I’m saying?”

  I nodded.

  “Some cop had something against the name Donatti; next thing I knew, my son was arrested, booked, and arraigned. Pissed me off, but I coulda lived with it. That’s why I got my lawyers on retainers. You wanna know what really pissed me off?”

  I waited, didn’t dare move.

  He said, “What really pissed me off was what Christopher did for you. Taking all this heat and time just to bury a couple of pictures of you spreadin’ your legs. You know what that means, girlie? It means I don’t like you much.”

  I felt sweat dripping off my forehead. He beckoned me closer with a crooked finger. I moved in until I was inches away from his face. I expected to be overwhelmed with the smell of garlic or cigar smoke. Instead, he was perfumed with good cologne. He waved his finger in my face.