Then Bruno Pecozzi arrived at his destination. Before he could say a word of greeting, the waiter was at Justin's side and Bruno ordered two double espressos, three cannolis, and one sfogliatelle. Then he turned to Justin and said, "Sorry I'm late. I had to do a little bobbin' and weavin' on my way over here."
"Somebody following you?"
"Hey, it's almost an insult these days if somebody ain't followin' me." He stuck his hand out and Justin shook it firmly. "So to what do we owe the pleasure?" Bruno asked. And then followed up his own question with, "Who am I kiddin'? It takes your fuckin' brother-in-law gettin' whacked to get you back home? What's the matter with you?"
And then Bruno drew Justin closer, dragging his chair along with him, and gripped him in a tight bear hug.
"Who we gotta kill?" the professional hit man said, and when Justin managed to give a quick shake of his head, Bruno looked disappointed. "What, this is just a social call?"
"Why don't you shut up and listen," Justin was able to say.
Bruno released him from the hug. "Good thing I like you," he said.
Justin watched the huge man sit down as his two cups of coffee and several desserts were now placed in front of him. He visualized the chilling smile plastered on Bruno's face when he'd stared into Joey Haircut's eyes.
"Yeah," Justin agreed, and slid his chair back to its proper place at the table. "Good thing."
If someone asked Bruno Pecozzi what he did for a living, he would reply that he was a consultant in the movie business. If that same someone went on to ask on what subject he consulted, Bruno would elaborate slightly and give out the information that he was hired on films that dealt with criminal personalities and their world and that his job was to enhance the reality of that world for directors, actors, and writers. If anyone pressed the giant man further, wanted more detail on Bruno's knowledge of that world, he would simply give a stare that wouldn't quit until the interested party would finally wither under the scrutiny and shrink away in embarrassment. And fear.
Bruno's assessment of his own career was, to a degree, accurate. He'd consulted on four different Hollywood pictures so far. On the very first one he quickly became a legend when the director-a temperamental three-time Oscar nominee who thought he was a genius and went out of his way to be crude and super macho to compensate for the fact that he was only five feet five inches tall-was trying to shoot a scene near JFK Airport in Queens. The scene kept getting interrupted because planes kept taking off and landing, ruining both the aesthetic of the shot and the sound. The director was working himself into a frenzy when Bruno disappeared for a few minutes. He returned, tucking his cell phone into his pocket, tapped the hysterical director on the shoulder, and said, "Okay, you can finish the shot now."
The director continued his rant, only now he began berating Bruno, telling him he might think he was a big-shot fucking hoodlum but to stay the fuck out of stuff he didn't know a fucking thing about. Bruno let him rant for maybe a minute or so, just long enough for the entire crew-including the director-to realize that suddenly no planes were landing or taking off. Everyone grew quiet, and the director said to Bruno, "What did you do?"
Bruno said, "I made a call."
There was another lengthy pause, then the director asked, "Who did you call?"
And Bruno quietly said, "If I told you that, then you wouldn't have to hire me next time, would you, you piece of shit, ass-munching little dwarf?"
The director nodded his head, said, "Thank you," and the shoot went on.
Bruno got hired in quick succession on three more movies; made very good money for talking to the writers and the actors, giving them some details that did indeed enhance the reality of the world they were trying to re-create. And best of all he didn't have to cut back on his regular job.
Bruno's regular job was chief enforcer and hit man for the head of the largest New England crime family, Leonardo Rubenelli, known to close friends and associates as Lenny Rube, Ruby, or Leo Red. By Justin's count, Bruno had killed twenty-three people over the years while in Lenny Rube's employ.
And one at Justin's request.
That last hit was one that had no strings attached to it. Justin had no regrets about it-he'd have done it himself if he'd had the physical strength at the time-and Bruno never held it over Justin's head. It was a business transaction, plain and simple.
Both knew that that particular connection wouldn't stop Justin from doing his job if Bruno happened to be involved in anything Justin was investigating. And Bruno wouldn't hesitate to do anything necessary to carry out an assignment if Justin's job meant that Justin was going to be in the way.
Those were the unspoken rules of their relationship. They'd never been defined, but they didn't have to be.
Both men understood the reality of the world in which they were living. No enhancement was necessary.
"You look good," Justin said. "Where'd you get the tan?"
"Lyin' on the most gorgeous beach in the world." When he saw that Justin was waiting for a further explanation, he said, "The old country, my friend."
"It agrees with you."
"White sand, blue water, red wine. Throw in some fresh pasta and an iced limoncello and you got yourself a good vacation."
Justin's lip curled into a smile. "Somehow I don't think of you as the vacation type."
"Can't work all the time, you know what I mean? Especially when you start gettin' a little older. You gotta take it easy every now and again. Get away. It's why I like goin' back home. Everybody's friendly, you sit around and drink espresso, you get in touch with yourself-you know what I'm talkin' about?"
"Yeah. It sounds a lot like right here."
"All right, you keep makin' fun. But I'll give you a tip, 'cause you look like you can use some relaxation yourself. You wanna get away, you let me know. My aunt Lucia, she's got what you might call a little villa, up on a cliff, overlookin' the Mediterranean." Bruno touched his fingers to his lips and blew a kiss. "You spend a week there, you bring a girl, you'll feel like a new man. I'll get you a good price."
"When I feel like being a new man, I'll take you up on it."
Bruno stretched his long legs out under the table, took a cigar out of his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. He didn't light it, just chewed on it as if it were a pacifier. "So tell me why we're having this extremely pleasant dining experience," Bruno said to Justin. He finished half of a cannoli in one bite just moments after he finished his sentence.
"You already know about Ronald LaSalle?"
Bruno nodded. The nod said, What am I, some schmuck? You think I'm not gonna know what goes on in my own backyard?
"So what can you tell me about it?" Justin said.
"That's really why you're here? You think I know something about this guy's-whaddyacallit-demise? Jay, I been tellin' you, I was away on vacation."
Justin shrugged. The shrug said, What, you think I think you're just some schmuck who doesn't know what goes on in his own backyard?
"I'm not here in an official capacity," Justin said wearily. "I'm not necessarily looking for a who. I'm looking for a why." And when Bruno's eyes narrowed, trying to figure out the angle, Justin said, "I'm looking for something to tell my ex-sister-in-law."
"Tell her she shouldn'ta married a crook."
"Was he a crook?"
"You know another reason these big-money guys get whacked? You ever hear of an honest one windin' up the way this guy did?"
"What did he do?"
"Maybe he just knew the wrong people."
"Got anyone specific in mind?"
Bruno didn't answer. Justin couldn't tell if he was thinking about an answer or if he was just enjoying the cannoli he was biting into slowly and deliberately.
"So what's happenin' back in your sweet little hometown?" Bruno asked eventually, deciding to ignore the last question. "I miss that place." A year earlier, Bruno had spent several weeks in East End Harbor, consulting on a movie that was shooting there. He and Justin had reconnected after not having seen each other for several years. Justin had been in the midst of a difficult case, and Bruno had helped out. If killing a man could be said to be helpful.