‘Martin. My ex, right? I used to shave him. No, really. I used to enjoy it. Naturally if I had a razor near his throat today it’d be a different story. I’d murder the son of a bitch.’
But then she smiled as if the idea of shaving Dave suddenly appealed to her.
‘Well, what do you say, honey? How are you with female empowerment?’
Dave threw down his bag.
‘Janine? I’m willing to take the risk if you are.’
Chapter Four
‘So Jimmy. Whaddya think? Can I trust Delano to keep his fuckin’ mouth shut?’
Figaro looked up from his soft-shell crab salad, and into the large blue-tinted glasses worn by the man sitting opposite. Tony Nudelli was around fifty, with a face that had as many creases as his beige linen suit. They were lunching in the Normandy Shores Country Club, just a few minutes north of Bal Harbor. Through the arched windows of the restaurant’s Mizner-style layout, you could just about see Cher’s 86 million mansion over the bay on La Gorce Island.
‘Sure you can trust him. He spent the last five years keeping his mouth shut, didn’t he? Why the hell should he rat now?’
‘Because now I can’t keep tabs on him, that’s why. When his ass was in prison he knew that I could get to him. People I knew on the inside could fuck with him. Now that he’s outside he can do what he likes without watching over his shoulder, and I don’t like that. It does not sit well at ease with me.’
‘C’mon Tony. The Feds could have offered him protection if he’d wanted to spill his guts. A whole change of life.’
‘That’s like the menopause. It just means your fuckin’ life is over, in any meaningful way. You just ask my wife if that’s not true. I haven’t fucked her in ages. Naw Jimmy, most guys with blood in their veins would do the five years and take the money.’ Nudelli selected a toothpick from a silver holder and began to search for something stuck in his upper molars. ‘What about that? Did you pay him off? Was he happy?’
‘I think so.’
‘You think so?’ Nudelli snorted, inspected the shred of food on the end of his toothpick for a moment and then ate it. Shaking his head wearily he added: ‘Jimmy, Jimmy, if I wanna know what people think, I’ll read the fuckin’ Herald, OK? From you and your six-figure retainer plus expenses, plus bonuses, I want a little more than a farmboy grin and the seat of your fuckin’ pants. I want the laws of physics as described by Isaac Newton. If x then y. Do you copy?’
‘I’m certain of it,’ said Figaro.
‘You play poker, Jimmy?’
‘I’m not much of a card player, Tony.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. You say you’re certain of something, and yet you shrug like there were still a few doubts weighing on the padded shoulders of that expensive-looking suit of yours. Certainty looks a little more positive, Jimmy. Like you nod a couple of times? And smile some? Jesus, the fuckin’ weather man looks more certain of what he’s sayin’ than you do.’
‘Tony, if you don’t mind me saying, I think you’re being a little paranoid here. Believe me, Dave is very cool. While he was in Homestead he used his time to full advantage. Got himself an education, a diploma and a positive mental attitude. He just wants to get on with the rest of his life.’
‘Doing what, precisely?’
‘Precisely? I don’t know. Nor does he. Right now he just wants to chill out, spend some of his money—’
‘You paid him.’
‘I already said so. In cash. With interest. I asked him what he was going to do with it and offered him some financial advice. He said, no thanks.’
Nudelli looked thoughtful as he considered what Figaro was telling him. He emptied his wine glass and then flicked the crystal rim with his fingernail.
‘What were his exact words when he said that?’
‘What is this, exactly? Exact? I don’t know exact.’
‘Jimmy, you’re a fuckin’ lawyer. Exact is your middle name and the birthmark on your ass.’
‘He said it wasn’t exactly fuck-off money. He said it wasn’t the kind of money that buys you a lifestyle.’
‘Well that sure doesn’t seem like someone who was happy with his kiss-off.’
‘I’m quoting him out of context, you understand.’
‘I don’t care if you’re quoting him out of Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations. What you described sounds like a man who’s just had a ten-dollar Coke.’
‘Tony, if you could have been there you would have seen a guy who was happy, believe me.’
The waiter appeared to refill their glasses with the California Chardonnay Tony Nudelli liked to drink. It was a little too oaky for Figaro’s better-educated palate. Like drinking liquid furniture polish.
‘Maybe not borne up to heaven in a whirlwind like Elijah,’ added Figaro, ‘but content, yeah.’
‘Is everything all right here?’ asked the waiter, fawning.
‘Fine, thank you, yes.’
‘Elijah,’ oozed the waiter. ‘That’s a lovely name, Elijah. Why couldn’t my parents have called me something like that, instead of John?’
Tony Nudelli sat back in his chair abruptly and glanced up at the waiter, his top lip drawn back with irritation from his yellowing and by now well-picked teeth.
‘Because your round white face with shit on it reminded them of a fuckin’ toilet bowl, you little cocksucker. And if you and your fuckin’ drippy personality ever interrupt my conversation in here again, I’ll fix it so that people get to callin’ you Vincent. On account of how you’ll only have the one fuckin’ ear to stick into other people’s business. Get it? Now fuck off before you chambré that fuckin’ wine with your hot jerk-off hand.’
The waiter made a hasty withdrawal.
‘I guess I’d better not order any dessert,’ chuckled Figaro. Part of him quite liked it when Tony Nudelli talked tough. So long as he wasn’t on the sharp end of it himself. It gave him a thrill to experience, albeit vicariously, the kind of power that Nudelli wielded.
‘Are you kidding? Pecan pie here’s the best.’
‘I was thinking he might try and get his own back in some plausibly edible, but disgusting way.’
‘People have wound up dead for a lot less.’
‘He doesn’t know that.’
‘You’re right, Jimmy.’ Snapping his fingers loudly, Nudelli waved the maître d’ over to their table. ‘Goddamn little faggot might Trojan horse just about anything into a piece of pecan pie.’
‘How are things here, Mister Nudelli?’
‘Louis, we’d like two pieces of pecan pie. And I’d like you to serve them to us yourself. Understand?’
‘Yes sir. Right away. It’d be my pleasure.’
The maître d’ disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
‘Jimmy, let me ask you something.’
‘Sure, Tony.’ He chuckled as he caught sight of the cowed waiter. ‘I’m all ears.’
Nudelli glanced angrily after him.
‘Fuckin’ dipshit. Whassa matter with waiters in this country? It’s not enough you give ’em a tip. They want your goddamn assurance that you don’t think any the less of them for what they’re doing to make a buck.’
‘Don’t start me on waiters. The other day I order a steak at the Delano? And when the waiter brings it he tells me that the vegetables will be along in just a few minutes. I tell the guy, What is this? Am I supposed to eat this meal in instalments?’
Figaro laughed at his own story and laughed some more when he saw that it had amused Nudelli. Only he wished he’d thought to substitute another restaurant for the Delano. It was one of the smartest on South Beach, beloved of Madonna and Stallone, but the name didn’t help to take Nudelli’s mind off the one thing that was obsessing him right now, which was Dave Delano.