Tozzi was snickering, his bare foot crossed over his knee. Gibbons glared at him. Another asshole. This was his fault. If he hadn’t let himself get shot, Ivers would never have thought of this.
Gibbons was itching to yell at someone, but considering the company, he decided he might do better if he took a rational tack. “Look, Doc, no offense to you, but I just can’t afford to have you standing around collecting data while I’m trying to figure out who ordered the hit on Sabatini Mistretta. It’ll be dangerous for you, and counterproductive for me. I’m sorry, but what I do is not a game for intellectuals.”
“Obviously.”
Gibbons scowled at her placid face. Bad enough he was married to a female egghead, he didn’t need another one around his neck on the job.
A skinny Hispanic kid came into the room pushing an empty wheelchair. “I’ll be back for you in five minutes,” he said to Tozzi. “I just have to get the nurse with your release papers.” After the orderly left, Tozzi hauled himself out of the chair, using one of his crutches like a pole. Gibbons noticed that he’d slipped his shoe on without the sock.
Ivers moved over next to Gibbons and spoke into his ear. “I’m sorry, Bert, but this is from Washington. It’s out of my hands, really. Just bear with it for a few weeks and I’ll see what I can do.”
Gibbons chewed on his upper lip. He knew exactly what Ivers would do—the usual, nothing.
Cummings watched Tozzi wincing and twisting to get comfortable in the wheelchair. “May I ask you something, Agent Tozzi?”
“Sure. What?”
“Where will you be convalescing?”
“You mean, where am I going now?”
“Yes.”
Tozzi shrugged. “Home. Where else would I be going?”
She looked to Ivers. “Do you think that’s wise? The attacker exhibited deadly force with Agent Tozzi. Suppose his intention was murder. A determined personality will pursue his or her target until the goal has been achieved.”
Ivers raised his eyebrows. “You’ve got a good point.”
Lorraine covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, my God…”
Tozzi shook his head. “The guy was just a mugger. No one’s out to get me.”
“But you don’t know that for sure.”
“Well, no, you can’t be absolutely sure about anything, but logically—”
“Dr. Cummings is right,” Ivers interrupted. “I’ll put a man at your apartment for a while.”
Cummings adjusted her glasses. “If you’re suffering a genuine manpower shortage, you probably don’t want to lose another body to mere guard duty. I have an alternative suggestion.”
“Yes?”
“I’m borrowing an apartment just a few blocks from here from an old Barnard classmate of mine.”
Gibbons glanced at Lorraine. Her face lit up when she heard Barnard. Old school tie and all that crap. Cummings would be all right in her book now.
“Tozzi can stay at my friend’s apartment while he’s recuperating and I’ll stay at his place.”
Tozzi shook his head. “I really don’t think that’ll be necessary. No.”
Ivers rubbed his chin. “You just ticked off a whole laundry list of mobsters who might want to see you dead. Maybe your attacker was sent to kill you. As you said, you can’t be absolutely sure about anything.”
“Believe me,” Tozzi said. “This guy was not a shooter. If he was a pro, he wouldn’t have wasted any time. It would’ve happened so fast I wouldn’t have known he was there.”
Cummings folded her arms. “Maybe they’ll send someone better the next time.”
Tozzi dug the crutch into the floor like a paddle and turned the wheelchair to face her. “It’s very nice of you to offer, Dr. Cummings, but what about you? What if some guy does show up at my place looking for me and he finds you instead? You think he’s just gonna go away?”
“Well—” Cummings had an answer, but Lorraine cut her off.
“You could stay at our house, Dr. Cummings. We have room.”
Gibbons just looked at her. If Ivers hadn’t been standing between them, he would’ve strangled her on the spot. He hated having houseguests, and Lorraine knew that.
“I couldn’t impose, Professor Bernstein.”
Gibbons’s chest was heaving. You’re damn right you can’t impose. Not in my fucking house.
Lorraine smiled sweetly and shook her head. “It won’t be an imposition. We were already planning to have Michael stay with us, but this way I think it’ll work out better for everyone. Michael will be able to recuperate safely with his precious independence intact, and Gibbons will be able to prep you in the evenings for the next day’s work. It’ll be total immersion for you.”
Gibbons bared his teeth. I’ll give you total immersion, the both of you. Total fucking immersion till I don’t see any more bubbles coming out of your mouths.
“Why don’t we think this over,” Gibbons said.
Ivers shrugged. “Sounds good to me. Does this sound viable to you, Tozzi?”
Tozzi looked disgusted. “All I want to do is go home and take it easy by myself for a while. I know my place in Hoboken is gonna be a lot quieter than anyplace in Greenwich Village. More conducive to rest. And I have a hard time sleeping in unfamiliar places. You know what I mean?”
“You can rest fine in the Village,” Ivers said. “Try it for a few days and see how it goes.” Ivers’s tone made it clear that Tozzi didn’t have any options.
“But I—”
“Tozzi! Thank God you’re still here.”
Stacy Viera tripped into the room, tits first. She was wearing a black motorcycle jacket over shiny aerobics tights with wide red-and-white diagonal stripes—a life-size candy cane with boobs and gams. She whipped that curly mass of bronze hair over her shoulder as she squatted down on her heels to get on Tozzi’s level in the wheelchair. The ass end wasn’t bad either.
“I’m glad I caught you before you checked out. Roy told me they took you here to St. Vincent’s. I wanted to come see how you were doing, but they just told me at the nurses’ station that you were checking out. Don’t you think you should stay here for a few more days? Roy said he thought you lived alone. You shouldn’t be going home to an empty house. Loneliness creates bad energy, and that slows healing.”
“Oh, really?” Lorraine was looking down at her with the schoolmarm face.
Cummings looked sideways at Lorraine. “Bad energy?”
Ivers coughed and covered his mouth. He was trying not to stare down Stacy’s cleavage.
“Gee … it was nice of you to worry about me, Stacy. I, ah, appreciate it.”
She was gazing into his eyes. “I’m very concerned about you. You were shot, for God’s sake.”
“Well … yeah.” Tozzi was flummoxed. He didn’t know how to respond to all this concern. When he noticed all the eyes staring down at Stacy, he quickly started to make introductions. “Stacy, this is my boss, Brant Ivers. You know Gibbons. This is my cousin Lorraine. And this is Dr. Madeleine Cummings.”
“Hi!” Stacy stood up and flipped the hair over her shoulder. She did it that way models do, real loose and sexy.
Gibbons was having a hard time not staring at her himself, but the girl really was something to see.
Ivers smiled pleasantly as he shook Stacy’s hand, but Lorraine and Cummings eyeballed her like a couple of border guards.
All of a sudden Lorraine turned and glared at Gibbons as if she knew what he was thinking. Cummings was glaring at him, too. Gibbons glared right back at her. Whatever he’d done wrong, it was between him and his wife. What the hell business was it of hers?
Stacy must’ve felt all the bad energy they were generating because she looked a little dismayed all of a sudden.
“Don’t mind these two, Stacy,” Gibbons said. “They went to Barnard.”
“Really?” Stacy wheeled around to face the border guards, but she moved too fast and the aftersho
ck bobbled her boobs. She did that hair flip thing again. Her eyes were wide and sparkling, like dark amber jewels. “God, I went to Barnard, too. I graduated last year.” She ran a hand through her hair and looked at Lorraine and Cummings in disbelief. “Wow, alumnae.”
A mean grin stretched across Gibbons’s face. The boarder guards were not amused. But neither was he, really. His face sank as he remembered that he was gonna have to live with the two of them for the next month and a half. He balled one hand inside the other and looked for another knuckle to crack, but he was all cracked out.
Crap.
Chapter 5
The hallway smelled like rotten fruit, and the walls were spray-painted with graffiti so stylized Sal couldn’t make out what the words said. Probably kids’ names, he figured. They always do their names, these kids. Somewhere in this dump someone was playing a stereo loud enough for Sal to hear that it was that shit rap music. He could never make out those words either. Two o’clock in the morning and some jerk’s playing that shit like that. He shook his head as he followed Charles down the scuzzy hall to the moolinyam’s apartment. Things crunched under his feet as he walked. Sal frowned. They live like animals, these people. Animals.
Charles was jingling a big key ring that was on the end of a chain attached to his belt. “Man, I hope he being good. He shoulda had his pill two hours ago.”
“He better be good,” Sal muttered. He needed Emerick. Christ, this whole thing hinged on him.
“This gonna be all your fault if he gone cuckoo in there. There ain’t no reason for you to be coming out tonight. Just a waste of time. We ain’t gonna do nobody tonight.”
“No, Charles, this is your buddies’ fault. Ramon and Buster. What the hell took so long? You guys were supposed to get me out by midnight.”
“I already told you, Sal. Cops brought some guy down from Newark who shot his wife, then wanted to kill hisself. We didn’t know they was coming. Couldn’t get you out with all them cops around.” Charles turned down another long corridor.
“Jesus. Where the hell is your place?” Sal was anxious to see Emerick. He had to see for himself if the nut was all right.
Charles started picking through his key ring as he walked. “It’s true, you know. You ain’t got no business being out tonight, Sal.”
“I got plenty of business. You keep telling me Emerick’s a problem for you. I’m gonna have a little talk with him. Nut or no nut, Donnie boy’s gotta start listening.” Sal chewed on his bottom lip. Emerick had to straighten up and fly right, at least for a little while. If he acted too nuts, no one would ever believe he pulled off all the hits Sal had planned. You had to be at least partly rational to shoot four people and give them the sign of the cross.
“You gonna talk to him, huh? You think it’s easy handling Donnie. You wait. You’ll see.” Charles stopped in front of a dented metal door. The apartment numbers were gone, but the outline from the last paint job was still visible. 5L.
Charles unlocked the door and opened it a few inches. He put his mouth to the crack. “Donnie. Donnie. It’s me, Charles. I’m home.” He looked back at Sal. “Gotta let him know I’m here. He starts screaming if you sneaks up on him.”
Sal could see that the lights were on inside.
“I’m home, Donnie. It’s me…”
Charles opened the door all the way, and they both saw it together.
“What the—”
“Shit!”
Sal had to squint against the glare. It looked like every light in the apartment was on, and the shades were missing from all the lamps. The living room walls were covered, baseboard to ceiling, with pictures cut out of magazines and newspapers, all pictures of women. Crotch-shot pinups from raunchy nudie magazines. Housewives from Betty Crocker cake-mix ads. The Breck girl. A cute telephone operator with headphones on. Madonna. Mrs. Gorbachev. Leona Helmsley. Dr. Ruth. They were pinned up with all kinds of things—straight pins, safety pins, nails, forks, knives, the handle end of spoons, a corkscrew, wooden matches, pencils, pens, screwdrivers, anything that would go through the plaster walls—and each picture was pinned four times, through the forehead, the belly, and each shoulder. A Playboy Pet of the Month had an open pair of scissors piercing both her shoulders. An unwound coat hanger was sproinging out of the Pump-It-Up Girl’s belly button in a newspaper ad for Knickerbocker Spas. An aluminum turkey baster was embedded in the forehead of the vice president’s wife.
Donald Emerick was squatting in a corner of the room, his shirt off, staring at them like a kitten, total innocence. His skin was so white it was less than white, and he was so skinny his chest looked like it was caving in. His light brown hair was all mussed on top. A gooney smile crept around his face, but his eyes stayed dull and ignorant. He started nodding his head and his hair flopped around like a rooster’s comb. “God is happy,” he whispered.
“Goddammit, Donnie. I’m gonna break your muthafuckin’ head for this.”
Charles rushed the little guy, but Sal reached out and grabbed a fistful of jacket. “Leave him alone. Lemme talk to him.”
Charles shrugged his shoulder away and huffed. “Muthafuckin’ little geek.” He wanted a piece of the kid, but he wasn’t gonna get it. Sal didn’t want him messed up.
“Go get his pill,” Sal said. “Go ’head.”
“I’ll get him a fucking cyanide pill.” Charles grumbled as he went into the kitchen.
After Charles left the room, Sal looked the little fruitcake in the eye. “You remember me, Donnie?”
The kitten eyes just stared back at him.
“You don’t remember me? Sal? From the hospital? We took a ride together last week. You remember? We were in that basement and you were on the couch watching TV?”
Sal took a step forward, and out of the blue the nut case freaked. He jumped up on the couch and started screaming like a broad. “Get away, get away! You’re bad! You want to kill me!”
“No, Donnie. No.” Sal held his palms up to show he wasn’t up to anything, but he kept inching toward the guy. “I don’t wanna kill you. I’m your friend, Donnie. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“Get away! Get away!” he screamed. Emerick started to press up against the back wall, but there was too much junk sticking out of it.
“Stop yelling, Donnie. C’mon, it’s too late for this. People are trying to sleep.” Sal moved closer. He figured he’d get the little nut around the neck and pin him to the couch. Hold him down so he could talk to him. “C’mere, Donnie. I wanna talk to you.”
Sal reached out to grab Emerick by the hair, but the nut suddenly bounced on the cushion and kicked Sal’s arm.
“Why, you son of a—”
Sal snatched Emerick’s arm, but the nut leapt on him and sent him toppling back. He crashed over the coffee table and broke it, banging his head hard on the floor. Sal saw red. He was ready to break this little shitass’s nose. Then he stopped himself. He needed this guy.
Charles ran into the room. “What happened?”
“He’s crazy,” Sal said, getting to his feet.
“Shit, I know that.”
The skinny nut was running around the room, jumping on the furniture, screaming like a monkey in a cage.
“Shut him the fuck up before someone calls the cops.”
Charles knew how to handle nuts. He went after him, got him into a corner, and grabbed his wrist, but Emerick was wiry and he wormed his way out, screaming as he jumped up on a wooden chair.
Sal moved in fast and tried to kick the chair out from under Emerick, but the guy dove into the air like he thought he could fly, and would’ve sailed right over Sal’s head if Sal hadn’t caught him by the ankles and tackled him to the smelly rug.
“Gimme a hand here, Charles. I can’t hold him by myself.”
“Wha’d I tell you? I told you he strong when he off the pills.” Charles threw his body over Emerick’s.
Emerick screamed and struggled, got one leg free and start
ed kicking.
Sal took a heel in the face before he was able to grab the ankle again and hold down both legs. “Christ Almighty, together we must outweigh this guy by about four hundred pounds.”
“I told you.”
Emerick let out a scream like he was Ella Fitzgerald trying to break a glass. It startled Sal, and the nut broke free from his grip. Kicking his legs, Emerick was able to squirm out from under Charles’s weight and retreat to the couch. On his way he picked up a hammer from the pile of splintered wood that had been the coffee table. He must’ve used it on his decorating job.
“You’re bad! Get away! You’re very bad!” Emerick swung wild with the hammer.
Sal scowled. “What the hell’s he talking about?”
“I think he remember you. He remember you killing Mistretta and that other guy. He scared.”
“He should be.” Sal snatched up a leg from the broken coffee table on the floor. “You got the pills?”
“Yeah. Right here.” Charles had a capsule in his palm. Sal recognized the colors—orange on one end, pink and white granules on the clear end. It was Thorazine, but this one looked a lot bigger than the ones they used to try to give him at the hospital.
“Get away! Get away from me! You’re bad!” The guy’s eyes were frantic, like something out of a monster movie.
Sal kept his eye on that swinging hammer. “Okay, listen to me, Charles. I’ll grab the hammer, and you pull his feet out from under him. Then we sit on him and get the pill down his throat. Okay?”
“Okay. We can try it.” Charles moved away from Sal and positioned himself for the attack, but he didn’t sound hopeful.
Sal watched the hammer swinging right and left, right and left. He waited for Emerick to swing left again, then he made his move. As Emerick started his backswing, Sal lunged forward and batted the nut’s hand with the coffee table leg. Emerick screamed and Sal clubbed his hand again, then grabbed the shaft of the hammer.
Emerick’s eyes were white and his mouth was wide open. Suddenly thinking of Dracula, Sal panicked and raised the table leg over his head. The fucking freak was gonna bite him. He was just about to bash Emerick’s brains out when the vampire vanished. Charles had pulled the rug out from under him, and Emerick was on his back on the couch, flashing the whites of his eyes.
5 Bad Moon Page 6