And when he’d finished the courses, he could talk Java, HotMetal, firewalls and Macromedia with the best of them, his liver-spotted hands flying across the keyboard. But the rest of him still remained very much old schooclass="underline" formal evening suits for dinners and functions; black in winter, white in summer, often with a cummerbund, Aqua di Selva doused liberally on his neck and mixed with olive oil to coat his swept-back grey hair.
The scent of pine and olive trees: it reminded him of playing in the woodlands and farm-fields of his native Calabria when he was a little boy.
The first thing he’d done with his new computer knowledge was go through his accounts, see if he could siphon even more cash out of reach of the IRS. That was when he discovered that some siphoning was already taking place, but heading the other way from his Bay Tree Casino.
Nel-M phoned in the middle of this dilemma, claiming the hit on Ferrer and apologizing for same.
‘He was trying to stiff my Mr Roche outta some funds. Under normal circumstances, we’d of course have come to you first — let you deal with it your own way. But I got into an unfortunate argument with Ferrer, he went for his piece — and I was left with little choice.’
‘I see. Was unfortunate.’ Malastra’s attention was still mostly on his computer screen, trying to pick apart just how the scam had taken place and who was responsible.
‘But as a mark of respect, we felt we should make a contribution. The same amount that Ferrer was demanding — forty thousand — seemed right.’
That got Malastra’s attention. ‘That’s quite a sum Ferrer was after?’
‘Yeah, it was.’
Silence. Nel-M obviously wasn’t going to offer to explain, and Malastra wasn’t going to be clumsy enough to ask.
‘Thank you kindly for the offer — and I accept. It’ll help fill the hole in what Ferrer was pulling in.’ In reality, there’d be no hole; Ferrer had been replaced within two days. And Malastra was glad of the calclass="underline" it got rid of the nagging worry that it might have been a rival and a turf war was looming. ‘Give my regards to your fine Mr Roche.’
Two more days on and off at the computer and Malastra had put all the pieces together. Originally set up to skim money away from the IRS, involving exchanging cash for dummy receipts between the bar and chip-cashing booth, it looked like the Bay Tree’s manager, George Jouliern, had been taking some off the top for himself.
Malastra picked up the phone and summoned one of his Capos, Tommy ‘Bye-bye’ Angellini.
Bye-bye eased his large frame into the proffered chair and waited patiently as Malastra went through his final deliberations on the computer.
Pushing fifty, Bye-bye’s hair was dyed jet black; partly to hide the grey, but mostly in homage to his two idols, Elvis and Johnny Cash. With his bulk, he looked more like Elvis in his final hamburger days.
Malastra looked up finally from his computer screen.
‘George Jouliern. And soon.’
That was all that was said between the two men. Bye-bye nodded and left.
‘I’m sorry if I startled you.’
‘No, that’s okay,’ Jac said. The girl from next door! He felt his face still flushed from the adrenalin rush, or maybe it was her proximity. Viewed from a corridor’s length away, she was a beauty, but up close she took his breath away. Her brown eyes seemed to sparkle and tease at the same time, and her body heat and perfume wrapped around him like a soft velvet shroud. His mouth was suddenly dry. ‘I… I was just reaching for the light switch on the way to my apartment.’ Jac pointed towards his door.
‘Oh, right. You live there. We’re neighbours and didn’t even know it.’ She smiled broadly and reached out a delicate hand. ‘Alaysha Reyner. Pleased to meet you.’
Jac took the proffered hand and shook it lightly. ‘Jac McElroy. Jack with no “k”. Pleased to meet you too.’
They stood silently, awkwardly for a second, not sure who might speak next, if there was anything else to say — then she reached down to the bag she’d left on the floor as she’d pushed the light switch. But as she straightened, she looked at Jac again, as if as an afterthought.
‘By the way — was that you I saw coming along the corridor the other day?’ she asked. ‘Then suddenly disappeared from view.’
‘Yes, I….’ Jac was distracted as a door opened on the other side of the corridor, and Alaysha turned too: Mrs Orwin, pushing eighty and half-toothless, who made it her business to check any noise close by her door and strike up a conversation with the passer-by if she saw fit, appraised them briefly, forced a closed-mouth grimace so that she didn’t frighten them too much, then as quickly closed the door back the few inches she’d opened it. The flushing in Jac’s face had subsided slightly with the pause. ‘I… I got a call on my cell-phone and had to head back to the apartment.’
‘Oh, okay.’ Alaysha appraised him with a wry smile. ‘And here was me thinking that you were hiding from me.’
‘As if,’ Jac said, hoping that, despite his obvious embarrassment, she might take it as a compliment.
She studied him a second longer, as if unsure how to read his reaction. ‘Well, must go now. Again, nice to meet you.’
‘Yes, you too…’ Then, as with a smile she turned away, Jac panicked that this might be the last time he’d see her for a while. He might not get this opportunity again. ‘I was wondering if you might like to go…’ But as she looked back, he felt himself melt again, along with any resolve, and thought better of it. ‘No, it’s okay… I… it doesn’t matter.’
Alaysha studied him more intently this time, her eyes scanning from his shoes then back up to his face. Quite tall, light-brown hair, fairly handsome, though not pretty-boy so. But he had the most incredible blue-grey eyes, which somehow seemed sad, lost — she couldn’t work out why she found them so appealing. And his accent: a faint hint of French along with something else? A coy smile tilted one side of her mouth. ‘Were you just about to ask me out on a date?’
‘No, I…I…’ But under the intensity of her gaze, her coy smile becoming questioning, challenging, the pretence felt foolish. ‘Well, yes… but I realize it could be awkward for you. You probably still have a boyfriend.’
Her mouth curled into a grimace, as if she’d encountered a bad taste. ‘I haven’t, as it turns out. He’s history — even though very recent history.’ Her face quickly brightened again as she gave him another once-over with her eyes. ‘So, if you’re asking — the answer is yes.’
‘That’s great.’ Jac mellowed his rapidly rising smile so that he didn’t come across as over-eager. ‘Maybe we could go to Arnaud’s… or Begue’s.’
She seemed to only half take in the possible venues. ‘But not tomorrow night, I’m working; and the same too most Fridays and Saturdays. Sundays or Mondays are the best… oh, except this Sunday I’m due to go to my mom’s.’
Jac didn’t want to leave it until the following weekend. ‘This coming Monday, then. What, say, eight o’clock — give me time to get all the way over to your place.’
‘Okay. You’ve got a date.’ She smiled and nodded, putting one hand lightly on his shoulder in acknowledgement. Shaking hands suddenly seemed too formal, now that they were going on a date. Then her expression became slightly quizzical as what he’d said earlier suddenly dawned on her. ‘You said still have a boyfriend. Have you maybe seen me coming in with Gerry sometime before, then?’
Again, with the steadiness of her gaze, any pretence felt out of place. Jac swallowed.
‘No, it’s not that. I heard him shouting at you a few nights back, and there was some banging and thudding that worried me. I’m sorry.’ Jac wasn’t sure whether he was apologizing for her having a boyfriend that shouted at her, or for listening in. ‘That’s why I tried to see you on the corridor the other day. To see whether he might have hurt you.’