Kill City USA

by Warren Roberts

  He pointed his cigar at me. ‘Now listen to me. You and me, we gotta talk. I ain’t got nuttin’ but grief since you come into town. First you fuck around out at the Gables. Then you fuck with my men in front of me at my home. Then you start nosing in other stuff that comes to my attention. You know what you fuckin’ with here or you have some strange death wish?’

  I was relieved he did not specifically mention my trip to Michigan. That would have been a grief too far.

  I said, ‘I’m here to help Tomas who is the brother-in-law of my friend and business partner. You of all people must understand these family commitments,’ not holding my breath that my entendre would register.

  He called out. ‘Sal. Get the fuck in here.’

  The fridge reappeared with a hangdog expression and his hands flapping at his sides.

  ‘Boss?’

  ‘Put some music on that don’t give me the shits.’

  ‘Yeah, boss.’

  Sal shuffled out.

  ‘Where were we?’ said Quaranto, paying his cigar more attention than me.

  ‘Family commitments.’

  Fresh music started. It was opera and Quaranto put his head back, his cigar pointed to the heavens.

  I said, ‘Placido Domingo. Puccini’s Tosca.’

  He raised his head above the waterline. ‘What the fuck you know about Italian opera?’

  ‘Like many things Italian, it’s the best.’

  ‘So what else from the old country meets with your Limey approval?’

  ‘Er, women. Cars. Clothes. Food. Restaurants. Barolo. Michelangelo. Da Vinci. Style. Some Italian cities. Benellis. Berettas –’

  ‘You know Italy?’

  ‘Been there a bit.’

  ‘What’s your favourite part.’

  I thought a bit. Tuscany before it became Chiantiville. Naples but for the crime and grime. I said, ‘Lake Como. The northern part, round Bellagio.’

  He wasn’t listening as he didn’t give a shit.

  ‘Where’re you from?’ I said.

  ‘A place you never fucking heard of.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘It’s where Il Duce went to school.’ Then he said, as he was talking to a moron, ‘Mussolini. He got expelled for carving some guy in the ass with his shiv.’

  ‘I give up.’

  He wondered whether to bother answering. ‘Forlimpopoli. Near Cesena,’ he said, eventually.

  I said, ‘That’s where Pellegrino Artusi was born. Science in the Kitchen and the Art of Eating Well. His magnum opus.’

  He shook his head. ‘You shittin’ me you know that. La Scienza in Cucina e L’arte di Mangiar Bene. The cooking bible the friggin’ Frogs stole their cuisine ideas from. Artusi. The Puccini of the kitchen.’

  I said, ‘The Dante. He was a professor of literature as well as a foodie.’

  He was concentrating again on Tosca and his cigar. You didn’t get to be a mob boss by listening to other people showing how smartass they are. He had the attention span of a starfish.

  His mind had now left Forlimpopoli. ‘Cops were as degenerate then as they are now. In this scene that fucking corrupt Rome cop Scarpia tries to fuck Tosca who thinks that the scumbag will free her lover if she does so. Nothing’s changed. They’re still liars. Asshole cops. All on the take. Want something for nothing.’

  ‘You mean her lover Cavaradoss, held in the Castel Sant’Angelo.’ God, I can be a pain when I want.

  He looked at me intently again with his mouth a little open. He didn’t wish to proceed further with this conversation if it meant having a rapport with me, even if it was merely a mutual respect for Puccini.

  ‘OK. So you know your opera. Now let’s get this fucking business back to order here.’

  He sat more upright with his upper arms resting on the edge of the tub, the cigar in his left hand. His eyes had the enchantment of a stagnant watering-hole.

  ‘Listen to me. I want you and your jig out of town. Pronto. That happens and nuttin’ll happen to you. Ernie’s outta town a couple of days. Some business outta state. So you can leave in peace and sing your opera before you become a castrato. Capice.’

  ‘I think he’s already tried to disturb my peace.’

  ‘Whatya mean?’

  I told Quaranto about the Yardies.

  ‘I know some of these Jamaican dopeheads. Which gang it was?’

  ‘The Fireblades. The guy in custody is one Delroy DeLeon Denton aka Rankin Dread.’

  He absorbed this and he yelled, ‘Sal.’ The fridge appeared. ‘Get Hyrone on the blower. Tell him I want his ass on his bike and here in five minutes.’

  ‘OK, boss.’ Sal shuffled out.

  ‘That wasn’t us,’ said Quaranto. ‘We don’t fuck up. Probably one of their cugines trying to get made.’

  ‘Ernie? Maybe he arranged it.’

  He laughed. ‘He’d do it himself ‘cos he’d want you to know for sure it was him. Why us anyway? You seem the sort of fuckwit who would attract resentment wherever you go. Like you gotta big neon sign around your neck. It says, I’m here to aggravate you.’

  I took that as a compliment. Sal appeared with the Chivas bottle and topped up our glasses.

  ‘He’s on his way, P.’

  ‘How do you know the Fireblades?’

  ‘They do a few small jobs for me from time to time. A little housekeeping here and there. Help on the cash-and-carry side of the business. Plus some troubleshooting.’

  I said, ‘Troubleshooting. That mean shooting whoever’s causing the trouble?’

  He wasn’t impressed. ‘Fuck your smartass cracks and just listen to me. I want you outta here in forty-eight hours. Before Ernie gets back. You can then enjoy opera some more. They got an opera house in London?’

  ‘Covent Garden. With surtitles in English for the uninitiated.’

  ‘I’ll be fucked.’ He lay back and pondered this remarkable fact.

  Sal reappeared with a cell phone.

  ‘It’s Ricky.’

  He spoke cryptically for a couple of minutes, more talking than listening. A conversation that would make sense to Ricky, himself and no one else. He hung up without arrivederci.

  We sat in silence listening to the music. Sal refilled our glasses. This was thirsty work. Quaranto made a couple of brief opaque calls.

  I lay with my eyes closed until Sal walked in with a tall lean Yardie guy who showboated with a Caribbean swagger that was more gangsta rap than calypso. Scars ran down both arms and his left cheek like scored pork crackling. A black hat, Borsalino style, had its brim turned up. He had the fit of his gangstered-up gear.

  ‘You know the fucking drill. Get your ass in here,’ said Quaranto to Hyrone.

  He undressed, carefully folding his Armani jeans and his waistcoat then placing his hat precisely on top. A lucky woman that marries a neat guy like him. He climbed in the tub in his black Calvins, sitting at right angles to Quaranto and me.

  ‘Hey Hyrone. You heard this Jamaican joke.’ Quaranto was grinning.

  ‘This guy. Limp dick. Probably English. Meets this broad called Wendy. So he gets her name tattooed on his prick to impress her. So she can read her name when it’s hard. Except until it’s a boner you can only see the wy part of the name. Not that his Limey dick ever gets to bone. Anyway, he’s having a piss in Grand Central one day when this big nigger comes in. Limp Dick stands in the stall beside him and looks down at the jig reeling out his dick to piss. Thinks he’s at The Salami Of The Month Club. Fucker’s hung like a rhino. The Limey sees some tattooing way out there. A wy as well. “So you got a girlfriend called Wendy too?” he says to the nigger. The darkie turns and looks at him. “What you mean, mon. This says Welcome to Jamaica and have a nice day”.’

  Quaranto laughed loudly. Hyrone nodded, having heard it a hundred times before. I smiled. I’d only heard it a few.

  Quaranto didn’t give a shit what we thought of it. ‘This is Milo. Some Fireblade tried to clip him last week. He’s now in the can.’

&nbs
p; I said, ‘Actually he’s still under guard in hospital, I think.’

  Quaranto stared at Hyrone. ‘Whatya gonna tell me about it?’

  Hyrone looked at me to size me up, wondering about my relationship to Quaranto and whether maybe I was a made guy.

  ‘What you want to know?’

  I said, ‘Who hired you?’

  ‘What’s in it for me?’ he said, giving me the Yardie eye now he’d decided I looked about as Italian as an H&H bagel.

  ‘You get to walk outta here with your fancy hat. That’s what’s in it, asshole,’ said Quaranto.

  Hyrone looked back at me wishing he was smoking skunk somewhere else.

  ‘Some brothers in London. They were owed a favour by us so this was a freebie for them.’

  ‘What brothers?’ I said.

  ‘Some bro-thers.’

  Seeing Quaranto about to say something he didn’t want to hear, he said, ‘Some guys from the joint in England. Somewhere south of London. You put ‘em in there and fuck things with their paleface bitch Sally.’ He nodded at me.

  ‘Wandsworth?’

  ‘That’s it. That’s the place.’

  I nodded.

  ‘How’d they know I was here?’

  ‘You hang with some chunky monkey with a gym. In London. The brothers there knew he be here with you. So we look up the phone book and find you. It was that fucking difficult. You lucky to be here, mon. My boys don’t usually do no fuck up.’

  Quaranto said, ‘You can call this off?’

  Quaranto’s loaded question suggested deeper water for Hyrone than the tub’s. Hyrone thought it over.

  He said, ‘You gonna testify against our bro?’

  ‘I gotta to go to a line-up. Pick him out when he’s up to it.’

  ‘Maybe you don’t see him there. You pick one of the fillers.’

  I said, ‘See who?’

  He deliberated.

  ‘Well,’ said Quaranto. He was impatient and wanted us out of there.

  Hyrone wanted to protest. To show he was somebody. Quaranto took his cigar out of his mouth to say something.

  Hyrone got in first. ‘’S’cool,’ he said.

  I said, ‘You get a message to those gangbangers in Wandsworth. Tell them they’re dealing with some heavy shit here.’

  Reluctantly. ‘No problem, man. Done.’

  Quaranto motioned with his head for Hyrone to leave. He dried himself and dressed quickly, dropping his wet Calvins into a bin. He admired his cornrows before adjusting his hat in front of the mirror until he got the right angle. I gave him a hand slap from the tub as he walked towards the door.

  I said, ‘Cool runnings, Hyrone.’

  He trod out with less swagger than his entrance. Quaranto ignored him.

  ‘Satisfied? See who you dealing with here? Someone who fucking gets things done in this town.’

  I said, ‘Well that’s one piece of trouble I hope has gone. Thank you.’ Ever polite.

  He blew cigar smoke in my direction. ‘Now remember, opera lover. You want a squeaky voice or not. I say this once more. You got forty-eight hours. Now get outta here. I ever see you again, it’s too fucking soon.’

  I dried myself and dressed.

  ‘I’ll think it over,’ I said to Quaranto.

  He held up his hand in a whoa there position. ‘Look at me and listen hard. There’s nothing to think about. Except you don’t want to breathe no more. It won’t be no Yardie fuck-up next time.’

  I brushed down my wet hair with my hands. Quaranto motioned to me to leave with a flick of his hand.

  He called out, ‘Sal. Send in Bunny with a bottle of Dom. A cold one.’

  I went back into the club. Jonah was at a table near the door drinking beer. One of the dancers was sitting with him. She surreptitiously gave him a paper coaster which he slipped into his pocket as I approached. Damn, that man moves quickly. The bar area had filled since we’d arrived. It was a cool refuge from the afternoon humidity. Sal nodded to the guy at the door who held it open for us and we stepped out into the harsh sunshine.

  Jonah said, ‘Who was the bro with the hat?’

  I filled him in.

  ‘I’ll make a few calls and get it sorted.’

  It was in good hands.

  ‘What about this forty-eight hours shit?’ he said.

  ‘What about it?’ I said.

  23

  Cza agreed to meet us back at the South Beach juice bar. She ordered something in Spanish that was hand-gestured complicated. I noticed Jonah’s friend preparing three glasses so I presumed we were having the same.

  Cza said, ‘Hola. Que pasa?’

  ‘Apart from hot tubbing with Big Pauli and a well-hung Yardie in a girlie club, not much. Lest we forget some transves – trannys, in Detroit.’

  She smiled and nodded as if expecting nothing less. ‘I spoke to South Fed today. They seem happy with your report,’ she said.

  ‘Good. That was an easy one. Always nice to have a contented customer. Especially one who looks like they will pay us for our efforts.’

  ‘Lori Reichardt liked you guys. You been trying to pull that endearing English naivety bit again?’ she said. Then, ‘Did I say endearing?’

  I let it pass. It was eating into my forty-eight-hour deadline.

  I said, ‘Thanks for the Johnny Steaknife snaps. Any progress there?’

  ‘Nothing. We want him before we move against anyone, so we can also reopen a couple of hits he scored in ‘85. And we’ve met the woman at the WPP offices downtown. You’re right. She would never get to the witness stand. First you and then us and then Bezzant to look forward to. She’s not a happy camper.’

  I said, ‘I need something from you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A head shot of Maria Viscione. There’s someone I want to send it to, to see if she looks familiar.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Just a hunch I have. I’ll let you know if I’m right.’

  ‘I can do that.’

  ‘Good. I need it quickly. Can you e-mail it to our office? Today.’

  ‘Done. Anything else I can do for you while I’m in the mood,’ she said. ‘Business, I mean. This is after all a public place.’

  I shook my head.

  The Fed stare. ‘Milo. Anything you think we should know, you tell us before people get in over their heads. Particularly you. That’s what we’re here for. That’s what we do.’

  ‘I will. I promise.’

  Her slow head shake said she was unconvinced. ‘I’ve also checked up on your English friends. Sayers has no form, but his name’s cropped up adjacent to a couple of arms deals. MI5 and 6 have a watching brief on him. He’s also known to Interpol, on a list of people to keep an eye on. The type of guy who registers an amber light at passport control. His goon, that’s another matter. He’s got form almost as long as her legs,’ she said, looking at the girl behind the counter. ‘Assault and battery. Robbery. Three stretches, etcetera. The INS here would be interested. I’ve got friends at Immigration.’

  The waitress brought our drinks, green concoctions with orange chunks. They looked genetically mutated.

  ‘Drink this,’ said Cza. ‘It’s full of organic things you don’t know you need.’

  I did so. It wasn’t bad.

  ‘This arms deal you told me about. We’ve heard rumours as well. You got anything more than you had last time?’

  I said, ‘You’ll be the first to know when I do.’

  She didn’t believe me. ‘Listen Milo. I’ve put my ass on the line with the information I’m giving you. I hope you’re being straight with me.’

  She adjusted her FBI face to make sure I got the picture. I decided not to tell her she was far too cute to be so goddamn serious, so I said, ‘Much as people are about to screw someone when they say trust me. Just trust me.’

  Hesitatingly. ‘OK.’

  I told her about my meeting with Quaranto and Hyrone.

  ‘You trust this guy Hyrone to call the contract off
?’

  I looked at Jonah at the bar. ‘Sorta. We’re looking into it as well.’

  ‘What about Quaranto’s deadline?’

  ‘Well, I guess I must be getting some results. I’ll just have to be watching my back.’

  ‘What did you get up to in Detroit?’

  I didn’t want to tell her about the MCP business until I’d heard from Les Cargill. ‘I think I’ll shortly have some news for you about Detroit. I’ll tell you then.’

  She gave up. ‘Where’s your English lady rose these days?’ She smirked.

  ‘You mean my client, Jay?’

  ‘If that’s your name for it.’

  ‘Visiting her sister in New York. Doing whatever people do in the Big Apple.’

  ‘So you’re free in the evenings?’

  ‘I’ve never been otherwise.’

  She simpered melodramatically. ‘So. Shall I keep tomorrow night free?’

  I said, ‘Sounds good to me.’

  ‘Come round and I’ll cook dinner. Something simple. I’ll send you directions with my e-mail.’

  ‘So I’ll see you mañana, then.’

  She said, ‘I think I hope so.’

  The photo of Maria Viscione arrived an hour later. It was a recent shot of her in a Chinese restaurant. Attached were precise instructions on how to find Cza’s apartment.

  I called Pandora at her downtown address. It was her afternoon retrieval period but she picked up after vetting me on her answer machine.

  ‘Oh darling. You miss me already and couldn’t wait to call. Our meeting is the talk of the town. Now I’m all aquiver.’

  I pictured her in her Jimmys and a pink-feathered boa wrap and a long black cigarette holder.

  ‘It’s good to talk to you too, darling. ‘Tell me, you have e-mail?’

  ‘What a romantic thing to say to a girl on a first date. Is that code for something I maybe need to go and have a check-up for?’

  ‘You know – e-mail, internet, World Wide Web.’

  ‘Oh that. We have all that at the office – e-mail, she male, he male, you name it, hon, I’m sure we got it. But the girls look after those things. Far too nouveau 21stcentury for me, darling.’

  ‘Then I’m going to send you a picture over the internet. The girls will show you how to download it so you can see it. Please then call me to tell me if the face looks familiar.’