Twenty minutes later a compact, dark-haired man in his fifties pushed the restaurant door open, sniffed the air, and walked straight toward us as if he had a score to settle.
Short legs but big strides. Racewalking to what?
He wore a brown tweed sportcoat that fit around the shoulders but was too roomy everywhere else, a faded blue plaid shirt, navy chinos, bubble-toed work shoes. The dark hair was flat-black with reddish tints that betrayed the use of dye. Dense at the sides but sparse on top- just a few strands over a shiny dome. His chin was oversized and cleft, his nose fleshy and flattened. Brooding eyes looked us over as he approached. No taller than five nine but his hands were huge, sausage-fingered, furred at the knuckles with more black hair.
In one hand was a cheap red suitcase. The other shot out. “Lou Giacomo.”
Choosing me first. I introduced myself, minus the doctorate, and he shifted quickly to Milo.
“Lieutenant.” Going for rank. Military experience or plain old logic.
“Good to meet you, Mr. Giacomo. Hungry?”
Giacomo’s nose wrinkled. “They got beer?”
“All kinds.” Milo summoned the bespectacled woman.
Lou Giacomo told her, “Bud. Regular, not Light.” Removing his jacket, he draped it over the back of his seat, tweaked the arms and the shoulders and the lapel until it hung straight. The plaid shirt was short-sleeved. His forearms were muscled, hirsute cudgels. Producing a billfold, he withdrew a pale blue business card and handed it to Milo.
Milo passed it over.
LOUIS A. GIACOMO, JR.
Appliance and Small Engine Repair
You Smash ’Em, We Patch ’Em
Red wrench logo in the center. Address and phone number in Bayside, Queens.
Giacomo’s beer arrived in a tall, chilled glass. He looked at it but didn’t drink. When the bespectacled woman left, he wiped the rim of the glass with his napkin, squinted, swabbed some more.
“Appreciate you meeting with me, Lieutenant. Learn anything about Tori?”
“Not yet, sir. Why don’t you fill me in?”
Giacomo’s hands clenched. He bared teeth too even and white to be anything but porcelain. “First thing you gotta know: No one looked for Tori. I called your department a bunch of times, talked to all these different people, finally I reached some detective- some guy named Mortensen. He told me nothing but I kept calling. He got sick of hearing from me, made it real clear Tori wasn’t high-priority, it was missing kids he was into. Then he stopped answering my calls, so I flew out but by that time he’d retired and moved to Oregon or somewhere. I lost my patience, said something to the detective they transferred me to, to the effect of what’s wrong with you, you care more about traffic tickets than people? He had nothing to say.”
Giacomo frowned into his beer. “Sometimes I lose my patience. Not that it woulda made a difference. I coulda been the nicest guy in the world, no one was gonna do anything to find Tori. So I have to go back and tell my wife I got nothing and she goes and has a nervous breakdown on me.”
He pinged a thumbnail on the side of his glass.
Milo said, “Sorry.”
“She got over it,” said Giacomo. “Doctors gave her antidepressants, counseling, whatever. Plus, she had five other kids to deal with- the baby’s thirteen, still in the house. Keeping busy, that’s the best thing. Helps her not think about Tori.”
Milo nodded and drank tea. Giacomo finally lifted his glass and drank.
“Tastes like Bud,” he said. “What is this place, Pakistani?”
“Indian.”
“We got those where I come from.”
“Indians?”
“Them and their restaurants. I never been.”
“Bayside,” said Milo.
“Grew up there, stayed there. Hasn’t changed that bad except now on top of your Italians and your Jews you get Chinese and other Orientals and Indians. I fixed a coupla their washing machines. Ever been to Bayside?”
Milo shook his head.
Giacomo looked at me.
I said, “Been to Manhattan, that’s it.”
“That’s the city. The city’s for the filthy rich people and homeless poor people, you got no room for the normal people in between.” He took a generous swallow of beer. “Definitely Bud.” Rolling a fist on the table, he flexed his forearms. Tendons jumped. The big, white teeth again. Eager to bite something.
“Tori wanted to be noticed. Since she was a little girl, my wife told her she was special. Taking her to these baby beauty contests, sometime she won a ribbon, it made the wife happy. Dancing and singing lessons, all these school plays. Problem was, Tori’s grades weren’t so great, one semester they threatened her she’d have to drop out of theater arts unless she passed math. She passed with a D, but that’s what it took, threats.”
I said, “Acting was her main thing.”
“Her mother was always telling her she could be this big movie star. Encouraging her, for the whatchmacallit, the self-esteem. Sounds good but it also put ideas in Tori’s head.”
“Ambitions,” I said.
Giacomo pushed his glass away. “Tori shoulda never come out here, what did she know about being on her own? It was the first time she was ever on a plane. This is a crazy place, right? You guys tell me if I’m wrong.”
Milo said, “It can be rough.”
“Crazy,” Giacomo repeated. “Tori never worked a day in her life before she came out here. Until the baby came along she was the only girl, it’s not like she’s gonna work with me. Right?”
“Did she live at home before she came out here?”
“Always, with her mother doing everything for her. She never made her own bed. That’s why it was crazy, picking up out of the blue.”
“Was it a sudden decision?” I said.
Giacomo frowned. “Her mother was putting it in her head for years, but, yeah, when she announced it, it was sudden. Tori was nine years outta high school but she done nothing except for getting married and that didn’t last.”
“When’d she get married?” said Milo.
“When she was nineteen. A kid she dated in high school, not a bad guy but not too bright.” Giacomo tapped his head. “At first, Mikey worked for me, I was trying to help out. Kid couldn’t figure out how to use a frickin’ Allen wrench. So he went to work with his uncle instead.”
“Doing what?”
“Sanitation Department, like the rest of his family. Good pay and benefits, you get in the union, it’s all about who you know. Used to do it myself but you come home stinkin’ and I got tired of that. Tori said Mikey stunk when he came home, it wouldn’t wash off. Maybe that’s why she got it annulled, I dunno.”
“How long did the marriage last?” said Milo.
“Three years. Then she’s back at home sitting around, doing nothing for five years except going out on auditions for commercials, modeling, whatever.”
“She ever get anything?”
Giacomo shook his head. Bending, he unzipped a compartment of the red suitcase and drew out two head-shots.
Tori Giacomo’s face was millimeters longer than the perfect oval. Huge dark eyes were topped by feathery, fake lashes. Too-dark eye shadow from another era. Same cleft chin as her father. Pretty, maybe borderline beautiful. It had taken me a few seconds to come to that conclusion, and in a world of flash impressions that wouldn’t be enough.
In one photo, her hair was long, dark, and wavy. In the other, she’d switched to a shoulder-length, feathery platinum cut.
“She’s always been a gorgeous kid,” said Lou Giacomo. “But that ain’t enough, right? You gotta do immoral stuff to get ahead. Tori’s a good girl, never missed mass on Sunday and that’s not ’cause we forced her. My oldest sister became a nun and Tori was always close to Mary Agnes. Mary Agnes pulled strings with the monsignor to get the annulment through.”