Chip turned away from the sink and came toward him, still brushing his teeth. He took the toothbrush out of his mouth.
"What're you doing?"
"Taking some time off."
Chip went back to the sink, spit out the toothpaste and said, "What does that mean?"
He had been hoping Chip wouldn't be there so he wouldn't have to explain himself, answer any questions. Just get his things and go. He put the clothes in his backpack. He opened his desk drawer and grabbed his Swiss Army knife and sunglasses and threw them in too.
Chip walked over and sat on his bed. "Rady's looking for you."
"I know," McCabe said. There was a note in his mailbox that said to see him ASAP. He showed it to Chip then crumpled it into a ball and threw it at the wastebasket next to his desk, nailing a ten-footer. McCabe went to the sink and got his toothbrush and shaving kit, and came back and put them in his backpack.
"You leave," Chip said, "he's going to take your scholarship."
McCabe said. "Got some money I can borrow?"
Chip got up and went to his desk and picked up his wallet, opened it and took out a wad of euros. "How much you need?"
"All of it."
He gave the money to McCabe, and McCabe folded the bills in half and put them in the front pocket of his Levis. "I'll pay you back."
"I'm worried about you, Spartacus," Chip said. "You're wigging big time. What the hell're you doing?"
McCabe picked up the backpack and slipped his arms through the straps. He said, "Take it easy," and walked out of the room.
In the lobby, he was surprised to see Franco behind the desk. Canzio had been there when he walked through twenty minutes earlier. McCabe said, "Yo, Franco, what's up?"
Franco said, "McCabe, listen, Signor Rady is looking for you and he is very angry."
McCabe had missed his Italian class again, and that's what Rady wanted to talk to him about. Rady appeared now, coming from the administrative wing, his pale white face almost as red as his flat-top.
"McCabe, in my office, now," he said, raising his voice.
McCabe said, "I'm kind of busy."
Rady said, "I don't think I heard you right."
He moved toward the door.
Rady said, "I'm warning you, McCabe, walk out of here, you're through."
McCabe could see Franco waiting to see what he was going to do. He pushed the door open and went out. The Fiat was parked in the circular drive. He got in it and drove to a hardware store on Via Trionfale and bought a roll of duct tape, fifty feet of rope and a green plastic tarp. He drove back toward school and stopped at Pietro's. He went in. It was packed at 9:00, Pietro working the room, shaking hands, talking to people. McCabe waited till Pietro was alone and made his move.
"McCabe, you here for dinner?"
"Can I talk to you for a minute?"
McCabe drove back to A1 Moro and saw the red Lancia still there where Angela had left it. He pulled up and parked on the narrow street thirty feet from the front door of the restaurant, two cars behind the Lancia, and waited. It was 10:06 p.m.
He was tired, closed his eyes. Just for a couple minutes, he told himself. Next thing he knew it was 11:25. Fie heard voices and footsteps on the cobblestone street. He looked through the windshield and saw Angela walking with a well-dressed grey- haired guy, mid-sixties. There were two men walking behind them. He couldn't tell if they were all together or not.
Angela and the old dude stopped next to a Mercedes sedan. McCabe's side window was down, and he could hear them arguing in Italian. When the two men caught up to them they stopped talking and stared at each other. One of them, a heavyset guy, said, "See you tomorrow, Cuz." He was an American, no mistake about it. Angela said, "What time you want to start?" The heavyset guy said, "I'm up early." "I'll see you at ten," Angela said. No you won't, McCabe was thinking.
Chapter Sixteen
Teegarden called Ray back the next day and said, "The one in Harrison Township's registered to a Joseph Palermo. Know who he is?"
"Should I?"
"Swinging Joey. He's a mob lieutenant that works for the Corrodos. Know how he got his name?"
"He likes to dance?"
"He likes to bust heads open with a baseball bat. Second number's registered to Venice Motors on Van Dyke in Warren," Teeg said.
"You see Joey's name connected to the car lot?"
"I don't see his name, but I see him all over it. They hide gambling profits in the business books and accept cars as payment for debts. Let's say you borrow money, you can't pay it back. Joey shows up with his Louisville Slugger and takes your car. That's how I think it works. What I don't see is why a guy like Joey is bothering Sharon."
"That's the big mystery, isn't it?"
"What's Sharon say?"
"She met him at a club after a concert," Ray said, "couldn't remember his name."
"Sounds a little odd," Teeg said.
It did to Ray, too, but that was the best he could come up with on short notice.
Teegarden gave him the address of the guy's house in Harrison Township and the car lot on Van Dyke, said good luck and hung up.
Ray went to the used car lot first. He found Venice Motors just south of Twelve Mile on Van Dyke Road after passing every fast-food restaurant he'd ever heard of. He pulled in the lot, parked and walked in the showroom that didn't have any cars in it. There were two big dark-haired guys eating dinner, white paper napkins tucked into the necks of their shirts. They were sitting across a desk from each other, rolling their forks through spaghetti with red sauce, using a spoon to balance the load. They were eating and washing it down with red wine they drank out of plastic cups. Neither seemed interested in waiting on a customer.
"What can we do you for?" one of them said.
He had curly hair that looked like a perm. He nodded at the guy sitting across from him, got up and pulled the napkin out of his shirt and wiped his mouth.
"How you doing? I'm Anthony. Looking for something in particular? I got a Caddy STS that's so clean, 2,500 original miles, I'd sell it to my own mother, but she don't need a car."
He grinned, showing food in his teeth, probably thinking that was clever. He was a big dude, six two, baggy island shirt hanging out over black pants and thin-soled loafers with tassels.
Ray said, "Seen Joey around?"
Anthony said, "Joey who?"
"Joey Palermo," Ray said. "Swinging Joey."
The guy at the desk still eating his dinner said, "Never heard of him."
"That's strange," Ray said, "because we agreed to meet here. I owe him some money. But you've never heard of him, huh?"
The guy at the desk got up now, still chewing, pulled the napkin out of his shirt and laid it on the desktop.
"What's your name?"
"Vito Corleone," Ray said.
"Come on. This is a friendly establishment. We like to know who we're dealing with."
"I'm not here to make friends," Ray said. "I'm here to pay a gambling debt."
"I'm Dom, you can give it to me. I'll make sure it gets to the right people."
Ray said, " Who're the right people?"
"Don't worry about that, my friend," Dom said.
Ray didn't know if they thought they were intimidating him, or they were just dumb.
The showroom walls were floor-to-ceiling glass, banners festooned across them with an advertising message that said: The car of your dreams for a down-to-earth price. Ray turned, heading for the door, but Anthony had moved quickly across the floor, cutting him off.
Anthony said, "We can't let you go till we figure this out."
Dom, the bigger of the two guys, was coming toward him. Had to be 250 pounds, but he had a gut and looked out of shape. Anthony was ten feet away, standing in front of the door that was all glass and said Venice Motors in a typeface that looked Italian, featuring a stylized gondola and a gondolier holding an oar.