The Axeman’s Jazz

by Ray Celestin

  ‘Good evening, Luca,’ said Michael, his tone hollow, trying hard to figure out what his opening gambit would be. He was normally good at interviews, but there was too much going on in his head to focus. He had been wondering during the trip back to the precinct how to speak to Luca, how to find out why he had been in Schneider’s building. It couldn’t be a mere coincidence; Luca must have been there for a reason, and the only reason Michael could think of was that Luca had been sent by Carlo, because Carlo wanted something incriminating removed from Schneider’s office. But Carlo could call on a million kids to break into an office – why choose Luca?

  Michael tried to straighten things out in his mind, but the ordering of details and evidence into plausible, coherent sequences – a process that normally came so naturally to him – was being thrown askew by feelings he had spent five years trying to suppress. The last time he had spoken to Luca face to face was before the indictment, when they were ostensibly still friends, and now he felt like a prodigal son, brimming with justifications.

  ‘Good evening, Michael,’ Luca said, before turning to the one-way mirror. ‘Boys,’ he added, with a nod of his chin and a glint of a smile, and Michael thought he could hear laughter coming from the surveillance room on the other side.

  ‘I guess we can dispense with the pleasantries,’ he said. ‘Breaking and entering, burglary, possible obstruction of a murder investigation. And all while you’re on parole,’ Michael continued, keeping his tone as flat as he could manage. ‘What were you doing there?’

  Luca smiled and made a face to indicate that Michael’s question was too inconsequential to bother with. As Michael looked at him he was glad to see that Luca hadn’t aged so much, the boyish charm was still there, the devil-may-care grin.

  ‘I got lost,’ Luca said, ‘thought it was my building. These things happen when you get to my age.’

  Then he shrugged and Michael wondered if he had heard an edge in Luca’s voice, a barely audible contempt.

  ‘Three parole violations in one scoop,’ he said. ‘If you don’t tell me what happened and let me see what I can do, you’re going straight back to Angola.’ He spoke in a neutral fashion, trying to make it sound like he was stating a fact, that he didn’t care one way or the other.

  ‘The most you can do me for is trespass. That’s if the landlord wants to prosecute. Six months, tops.’

  ‘Why’d Carlo send you to Schneider’s office?’

  Luca frowned and shook his head. ‘Carlo’s got nothing to do with this,’ he said. ‘Like I told you, I got the buildings mixed up. I only just moved in.’

  Was there any point in putting pressure on Luca? He knew the way things worked as well as anyone. If it wasn’t for the crowd in the surveillance room, Michael would have leveled with him, spoken to him plainly instead of going through with the charade. He sighed and retreated to the safety of procedure.

  ‘You were breaking into Schneider’s office,’ he said. ‘We found a lock-picking kit on you. And once we get the fingerprints back they’ll prove you were in there, too.’

  ‘Did someone break into Schneider’s office?’ Luca said with a frown. ‘You won’t find my prints inside. You’ve no witnesses who saw me in there. No signs of a forced entry, none of Schneider’s possessions were found on me. All you got is a guy who got confused and walked into the wrong building. Not even a parole violation. Fish all you want. The most, the very most, you can scare me with is trespass.’

  Michael noticed a certain gleam in Luca’s eye, the look of a man who assumed he was untouchable. Luca took a cigarette from the packet in front of him and lit it with a match. He inhaled deeply and grinned, then he tossed the match into the ashtray and watched it for a moment as the flame died. He peered up at Michael, then, very deliberately, offered him one of his cigarettes as a joke.

  In the surveillance room some of the officers snickered and laughed. Gregson smiled and turned to look at Hatener, but Hatener’s stare remained grimly fixed on the one-way. Kerry glanced from Hatener back to the interview room. He could see D’Andrea’s charm now, the breeziness with which he answered the questions, the ready nonchalance. Kerry had felt the weight in the room shift somehow, and he worried Michael might in some way be made a fool of.

  The laughter from the surveillance room floated through the one-way and when Luca heard it, he wondered which of the men were in there, and if they were buying his act, or if they could tell how weary he felt. He smoked his cigarette casually, tapped it against the side of the ashtray, peered at Michael through the smoke. He had noticed from the moment Michael had entered the room that he looked older. Not more aged, because it was hard to tell how Michael aged, with all the scars across his face, but he looked more in command, more knowledgeable and comfortable in himself. Luca found it hard not to feel proud of his protégé.

  He watched Michael take a cigarette from his silver case and light it with the matches on the table. Luca peered at the case and remembered buying it for Michael years before as a present, congratulations for some milestone reached, he forgot what exactly.

  ‘If we link Carlo to these killings,’ Michael said quietly, ‘then you’re not going down for trespass, you’re going down for conspiracy. Carlo’s put you right in the middle of it. Think about it – you’re the perfect person: corrupt cop; fresh out of prison; and you’ve already taken the rap once and kept your mouth shut. How did he convince you to get involved in it all? He must have spun you one hell of a story.’

  Luca smiled. Michael was doing what he expected him to, trying to cast doubt on his relationship with Carlo, open up cracks. Luca regretted having to keep his guard up, having to act cold and aloof. He guessed if they had met on the street or in a bar things would have been different, he would have told him he bore him no grudge. But under these circumstances, when the one person standing between him and going back to Angola was Michael, he had to play the role that gave him an edge.

  ‘I was in prison for the first few murders,’ said Luca. ‘How are you going to swing a jury on that?’

  ‘I don’t have to for a conspiracy charge. I thought you would’ve been smart enough to see that Carlo’s using you. You think Ciro’s bank getting raided was an accident? All your money gone just as you get released?’

  For the first time Luca felt a pang of nerves. He paused, peered at Michael and wondered if he had betrayed himself, if he had made some gesture which showed Michael had got to him. He hadn’t thought to link what happened to Ciro with Carlo. Ciro getting raided had made sense in the context of the police clamp-down, but now Michael’s suggestion seemed to make sense too.

  ‘Don’t you think Carlo could have stopped the raid if he’d wanted to?’ Michael said, hammering home the point. ‘Then just a few weeks later Carlo pressures the parole board into having you released early.’

  Luca stared at Michael and took a long drag on his cigarette, his mind drifting back to his first conversation with Carlo after his release, when he had asked to walk away from the Family and, to his surprise, Carlo had agreed so readily.

  ‘Here’s how I see it,’ Michael continued. ‘We let you out of here and Carlo’s gonna think you cut a deal. We charge you with parole violation and you’re back inside. It’s Angola or a paesano hired by Carlo to take you out.’

  Michael kept his tone flat, his face stony and impenetrable, but Luca thought he could see a pleading look in his eye, as if he wanted to make amends.

  ‘Only way out for you,’ Michael continued, ‘is if we send you to court on a trespass charge, have a friendly word to the prosecutor. I’ll guarantee you bail and a convenient court date.’

  Luca needed to talk to Michael alone, away from the horde on the other side of the mirror. He darted his eyes to the one-way then back to Michael in a quicksilver arc. Michael’s face didn’t move but Luca sensed some kind of acknowledgment.

  ‘I’d like to speak to my lawyer,’ Luca said, not taking his eyes off Michael. The mention of a lawyer would mean holding off on t
he interview, a return to his cell, time away. He hoped Michael would seize the opportunity.

  ‘We’ll resume the interview in a little while.’ Michael stubbed out his cigarette while two uniformed officers shuffled into the room and ushered Luca towards the door. As he exited, Luca caught a glimpse of himself in the one-way mirror and felt the presence of the grim-faced men lurking on the other side.

  A quarter of an hour later Luca was sitting on his own in a solitary-confinement cell reserved for violent prisoners. Inside the narrow room was a creaking fold-down bed and a bucket, and above him a greasy air-vent and a single naked light-bulb. The brick walls were crumbling and upholstered in mold, and the sound of water dripping onto stone emanated from one of the corners. The whole effect made Luca think of dungeons, of treason, of the executioner’s block.

  The door opened and Michael stepped in, and the two men stared at each other. Behind Michael, someone closed the door with an echoing clang and turned the lock. Michael sat on the bunk next to Luca. He offered him a cigarette from his case and Luca accepted and they both lit up. Luca wondered if Michael remembered who had given him the case. Maybe it was significant only to him. Michael slipped the case back into his pocket and Luca got the feeling he was being pushed into the past.

  ‘You look well,’ Michael said finally, and Luca waved away the pleasantry. ‘I’m not well. I’m old and rusty. If I wasn’t I wouldn’t be in this cell.’

  Michael stared at Luca with something approaching pity. Now that the two of them were alone, Luca’s front had melted away to reveal a tired, confounded old man. In a way, Michael felt glad that Luca was being honest with him; he hoped the candor was a sign of closeness, of good regard.

  ‘I meant what I said up there,’ he said. ‘You cooperate and I’ll do everything I can to help you.’

  ‘I guess you do owe me something.’ Luca turned his gaze to the floor and took a long drag on his cigarette.

  ‘After I got let out, I went to see Carlo for a job. You were right about my money being with Ciro. Carlo asked me to look into the Axeman. He said it was costing him money and respect. Schneider’s office was the natural place to start.’

  Michael nodded. The story made sense, and more importantly he had the feeling Luca was telling the truth. In the silence he noticed the moldy, basement smell, the scent of ore and stagnant water, of having hit rock-bottom.

  ‘He could be setting you up,’ he said.

  ‘The thought had crossed my mind,’ Luca replied, ‘but I doubt it. Everyone I’ve spoken to says the same thing, no one’s got a clue who the Axeman is. If Carlo was involved, people would know.’

  Michael had no choice but to agree.

  ‘I got a deal that could work out for both of us,’ Luca said, and Michael made a gesture to indicate he was willing to hear more.

  ‘Let me carry on with my investigation,’ he continued. ‘Stick a couple of tailgaters on me, which you were gonna do anyhow. If I am involved you get to build up a nice body of evidence, if I’m not, and I find out who’s doing the killings, I’ve handed him to you on a plate. It’ll be like the both of us working on the case, but you’re guaranteed all the plaudits. Another medal for your cabinet and we both walk away happy.’

  Michael wondered if the last was a dig at him, but Luca betrayed no hint of it, and was instead peering at him keenly, waiting for an answer.

  ‘If you let me have him,’ said Michael, ‘you’ll still have to deal with Carlo.’

  ‘I know. I’ll worry about that another time.’

  Michael stared at Luca through the cigarette smoke.

  ‘I know this is going to sound like a stupid question coming from me,’ he said, ‘but how do I know I can trust you?’

  Luca looked at him for a moment, then a grin broadened across his face and Michael couldn’t help but smile, too. For the briefest instant their ill-fated friendship and the twists of fortune that had sent them both spiraling downwards became nothing more than a joke laid on by the universe for their sole enjoyment.

  ‘You can trust me,’ said Luca, ‘because neither of us have a choice.’

  ‘I’ll speak to the DA’s office about your prosecutor. You’ll make bail and we’ll schedule the case for a month’s time.’

  They smiled at each other again and Michael wanted to tell Luca he was sorry for everything that had happened to him. But something stopped him from speaking. There didn’t seem to be any point in it – he got the feeling Luca already knew.

  27

  The next morning Luca sat in the dock of a sleepy courtroom tucked away somewhere in the recesses of the courthouse. He scanned the gallery for reporters or slack-jawed spectators but the place was near empty – confirmation that he was indeed yesterday’s news. On the bench behind him a gray-haired, gaunt Sicilian met his gaze, Alessandro Sandoval, Carlo’s lawyer and consigliere. Sandoval was flanked by two bodyguards, bored-looking dish-faced men in gray suits. Sandoval smiled and Luca smiled back, happy to see a familiar face.

  He turned back around and waited for the judge to arrive and his mind drifted back to the meeting in the cell the previous night. Michael had looked so repentant, so eager to make amends. Luca wondered if he should have told him he no longer bore him a grudge.

  There was a bustle of noise and Luca looked up to see the judge enter the court. He rose along with everyone else, then he sat down again and the tiresome legal proceedings began. The prosecutor stuck to the line Michael had agreed: trespass; no demand to send Luca back to prison for a parole violation until the trial. The judge set bail at a hundred dollars, Sandoval agreed the payment, and an hour later Luca was in the bustling lobby of the courthouse. He watched the rain-soaked attorneys and clerks entering from the street, crossing the slippery black-and-white-tiled floor. Police officers and men in suits lounged about on the wooden benches that lined the walls, or stood in groups discussing their cases. Luca felt distanced from it all, half-asleep, as he stood alone by the draughty main doors. The place brought back bad memories. He had managed to dodge Angola a second time and he felt a dull relief as he stared at the people buzzing about the hall.

  Presently Sandoval approached with the two buttons and he and Luca hugged each other. They exchanged greetings, then consolations that they should be meeting again under such circumstances, as they strolled out of the lobby and down the glistening front steps, pulling up collars against the rain. They got into a Silver Ghost limousine that was waiting for them outside, and shook off the damp. Luca peered about the plush interior of the car, at the gray velvet upholstery, the mahogany panels.

  ‘Carlo’s new toy,’ said Sandoval with a wry smile, and Luca smiled back. Then Sandoval’s expression changed, becoming somber.

  ‘I’m sorry, Luca. Carlo’s calling you in.’ He said it in a regretful tone, and Luca made a face to show he had been expecting such a thing to happen. Sandoval tapped the back of the seat in front of him, and the driver pulled the car out into the road. Luca inspected Sandoval, his thin frame, his face frail and aged. He was approaching seventy and was well past the point of running errands for the Matrangas.

  ‘I thought you would have retired by now,’ Luca said.

  Sandoval inhaled, letting the air whistle through his teeth. ‘You know how Carlo is,’ he replied. ‘Finds it hard to trust the new generation.’

  Luca nodded. He and Sandoval had got on well together in the past – Sandoval was one of the many men in the Family who had mentored Luca over the years. He was never really a Mafioso, not in terms of character; he was a good man who somehow got dragged into the life. They looked at each other with a mutual weariness, two men broken by the Family, trapped in the back of a gilded car.

  ‘I need you to do something for me,’ Luca said. ‘Get a kid to break into Schneider’s office. There’s a cupboard on the staircase, on the top floor. I left a box in there and I need it delivered to me. And Alessandro,’ he added, ‘don’t tell Carlo about it.’

  Sandoval eyed Luca suspiciously for
a moment, and then he nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said, stony-faced. He turned to his side, pulled the blind down and closed his eyes, evidently trying to catch up on some rest. Luca turned and gazed out of the window, watching the rainy streets speed past.

  ‘Boss,’ the driver said to Sandoval, ‘there’s a brown sedan behind us. Been there since we left the courthouse.’

  Sandoval opened his eyes and he and Luca turned to look behind them. They saw the car a little further down the road, two men who looked like police officers in the front seats, trying hard not to look like police officers.

  ‘Talbot’s tailing me,’ Luca said.

  Sandoval nodded and shrugged.

  ‘It’s to be expected,’ he said, turning back round and closing his eyes.

  Half an hour later Luca was back at Carlo’s house, sitting in a chair next to the old man while he berated Luca for slipping up. No drinks or food were offered this time, just a cold formality, a getting down to business.

  ‘You’ve directly implicated me in this,’ Carlo said. ‘I’m worse off now than I was before you got involved. What did you tell them?’

  Luca shrugged. ‘I told them nothing. They have no proof I was even in the office.’

  ‘And your charge is what?’

  ‘Trespass.’

  Carlo eyed him doubtfully and Luca could tell what he was thinking – trespass was too light a charge. He drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair and peered at Luca.

  ‘We’ll speak to the landlord,’ he said finally, ‘get him to drop any charges.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Luca nodded, acknowledging the chastisement. Carlo glared at him then shook his head.

  ‘And don’t be so stupid next time,’ he said, heaving himself out of his chair and exiting the room with a shake of the head.

  Luca sighed to himself and stood. For all Carlo’s fatherly warmth he could turn in an instant and make Luca go from feeling like a member of the family to feeling like an unwanted stray. He walked over to the window that looked out onto the garden. The rain was pelting the lawn and, a little further away, the bare vines, twisted and contorted, swayed in the plummeting rain. Luca wondered if keeping him on the case might be a ruse to make him lower his guard. Maybe a hit was already being arranged. He prayed Sandoval hadn’t told Carlo about the box, and thought of the brown sedan that must be parked in front of the house. He remembered there was a gate at the back of the garden that opened out onto a different street. He crossed to the terrace doors and stepped out into the rain, closed the door after him, and made his way through the muddy paths to the very rear. He had time to kill and he knew exactly how to kill it, but first he needed to make a trip to a liquor store.