“McGuire?” he said in a clipped voice.
“That’s me.”
“What do you know about Gino Torelli?” He didn’t waste any time on formalities.
“Who?” I kept my expression neutral.
“You’re a two time loser McGuire, want to go for three strikes? Interfering with a federal investigation, resisting arrest, threatening a federal officer with an unlicensed firearm. Oh yes, I can make it stick, who do you think the court will believe? “
“Is that your best shot? I reached out to you, remember?”
“You may have fooled your LAPD buddy, but I know who you are. Now, what do you know about Gino Torelli?”
“Fuck you,” I said and started to turn away, he grabbed my arm and spun me back. Suddenly he had his Glock in hand, pointed at my gut.
“As long as you asked me so nicely.” I strained to look calm. A pat search would reveal the.38 in my boot and then I would be dry lube fucked. “Like I told Lowrie, the name Torelli came up in connection to a murdered friend. I don’t know anything about the man, except he has something to do with internet porn and that you boys are looking for him.”
“That’s it? Everything?” He slammed the barrel of the 9 mm into my gut and almost got a face full of my partially digested taco. “Don’t think about holding back on me.”
“Look, that’s it. You want more, you’re going to have to find another sucker.”
“Alright for now. Do yourself a favor and stay out of San Francisco. You pissed in my stream, and I will warn you once, but only once. Walk away. Don’t look back and forget you ever heard the name Gino Torelli.” I hung my head in what I hoped passed for defeat. He holstered his piece, climbed in the sedan and left me standing in the middle of the street.
My face felt cold as I tried to stuff down my feelings of rage and impotence, fact was the fed could drop me any time he wanted, put me in a cage and say goodbye to daylight. He was right, who the hell would take my word over his. I knew the score and so did he. In the straight world I was nothing but a two time loser with a penchant for violence. And he was a shining star of valor.
“Who was that?” Cass asked as I walked past her to the kitchen.
“A couple of government pricks on a fishing expedition.” I poured myself a tall glass of Scotch and sat down at the kitchen table. Angel curled up around my legs laying her head on my foot, and went to sleep.
“What’s the plan, Ace? Get drunk and hope it all goes away?” Cass said.
“You got a better plan? Me, I’m fresh out of ideas.”
“Then let them skate. Put me on a bus out of town, they will find me sooner or later but you won’t have to worry about it. You can just get drunk and forget you ever met my sister or me. Is that what you want?” I didn’t answer her, instead I took a long warm drink. The McCallans tasted like liquid smoke warming its way down to my soul. Standing with the bottle in hand I walked past Cass and her reproachful eyes. Falling into bed I took one pull off the bottle before sleep swept up over me and took me down under.
I’m back in Chino, out on the yard, but the place is completely empty of human life. The guard tower is manned by a guy in a black suit and dark glasses. He is following my every move with a scoped rifle. Men just like him stand on all the walls, none move. Except for the wind rustling their suits they could be statues. I try to move but a cage has formed around me, closing in getting tighter with every second. My breath is ragged as the bars push against my chest.
It was dark when I woke, Cass had taken the bottle from my hand while I slept and Angel was curled up on my chest. In the shower I let my mind unwind. Somehow I’d been looking at this thing from the wrong direction. Kelly’s killers had something to do with this Gino Torelli. The boys in the desert were mobbed up, I was sure of that. Two from Vegas and one, a James Grasso, his driver’s license told me, was from San Francisco with an address on Post Street. Had they whacked Kelly? If so, who sent them? I knew who would know.
It was ten o’clock when I pushed through the door of Figueroa’s. An older square headed muscle man stepped into my path as I moved for the back room. “Sorry, we’re closed.”
“It’s me, Eddy. Moses, remember?”
“I know who you are, and we’re closed.”
“I need to see the old man.”
“Make an appointment, he’s busy.”
“Eddie!” The metallic chirp of the Pope’s voice box called out.
“Don’t move,” Eddie the Mechanic said as he headed for the back. He was once one of the most feared enforcers in LA. Pushing sixty he still put a chill in my bones.
Don Gallico sat at his table, drinking an espresso while a mousy young nurse stood beside him drawing blood. “Moses, word is our Armenian problem is walking with a limp, I owe you one for that. The vig is stopped, the principal is all you owe us,” he said spreading his hands out with benevolence.
“I’ve come to ask for more than that, I need your help.” I said keeping my face neutral.
“You owe two large and I haven’t taken your spleen. I’d say we were even. What the fuck are you trying to do shish-kabob me? “ he squawked at the nurse. She didn’t bat an eyelash, she just kept pulling blood from his wrinkled arm.
“A girl I know was killed up in Silver Lake.”
“It happens, LA is going to the dogs.”
“She was hit, pro.” I shot the nurse a glance but her full attention was on her job. “Is it ok to speak around her?”
“Say what you want, she’s deaf as a tombstone. Now, what the fuck makes you think I know anything about some dead girl?”
“It came out of San Francisco. Gino Torelli is involved. It’s got mob stink all over it.” I looked in his eyes, not a flicker or a flinch.
“Mob stink? That’s nice, you got the manners of a wart hog. And you’re ignorant to boot. Read the papers, there hasn’t been any family business in the Bay Area since 1988 when Milano bought a Rico charge.”
“Who is Gino Torelli?” I said, and still saw no reaction.
“Other than he sounds Italian, I got no clue.” If he was lying he was good, but then again you don’t get to be his age in the game without being good.
“James Grasso?”
“Sorry, are they connected to the dead girl?”
“Yeah. Look sir, you know me, I don’t want to make trouble for anyone. Live and let live. I just need to know what I’m dealing with so I don’t step on any toes.”
“Take my advice kid, walk away. Shit you don’t need to know about, shit I don’t need to know about. Forget you ever met these girls and get back to earning the cabbage you owe me.”
“You’re right. Fuck it. Italian don’t make it mob. Thank you for the time.”
“You going to take a hike on the matter, let dead dogs lay?”
“Maybe…” I let out a long tired sigh.
“Do.” Even through the squawking box, the edge in his voice was clear.
“Alright, I will.”
“Good boy.” His face relaxed. “Now you want me to have Charley make you an espresso? You can tell me who’s winning at the track?”
“I’d love it, but I have to get to work or Manny will have my ass.” I walked out shooting Eddy a smirk and a wink, he shook his head scowling.
Two blocks away I found a phone booth and called home. Cass picked up on the third ring. “Get your things, grab my dog and get out of the house, now!”
“What? Moses what’s happening.”
“Do it. Wait for me at the panaderia.”
“The what?”
“Mexican bakery down on the corner. Now move.” Sweat was running down my back in a cold stream. I hung up the phone and jumped into the Crown Vic. I hadn’t told the Pope about Cass, but he told me to walk away from those “girls”. I should have known, if there was a hit in his town, they would need his approval. I skidded up onto Los Feliz almost smacking a mini van full of kids in dirty soccer uniforms. The mom flipped me off as I sped past them. I raced around the Griffith Park fountain and slid onto the freeway. Traffic was at a crawl. Half a mile up I could see the flashing lights of emergency vehicles. I pulled over onto the shoulder and punched it. I jumped off at Fletcher and took side streets into Highland Park. The whole wild ride took only twenty minutes, I just hoped that wasn’t too long.