Dylan Sylvester was the proof.
Ray looked down. Sylvester was sitting up against the backrest with a gun in his hand. A. 25-caliber automatic. A piece of shit that cost about twenty dollars on the street.
I forgot to search the goddamn sofa.
Ray had the Smith down by his right leg. Somehow between the couch and the kitchen, he had dropped his guard. Too much thinking.
He dropped to the floor, angling left as he fell. The. 25 auto flashed and popped. Ray felt something whiz past his right ear. He raised the Smith and jerked the trigger. The heavy gun bucked in his hand. The floor knocked the wind out of him. He had to lie there for a few seconds until he caught his breath.
When Ray crawled to his feet, Sylvester was still sitting upright on the sofa. The. 40-caliber bullet had hit him just above his top lip, right below that little piece of skin that separated his nostrils. His eyes were wide-open, staring at the wall.
Dylan Sylvester was deader than shit.
Looking down at the body of the man who had tried to shoot him three times, Ray remembered what Sylvester had said about the bullet that had buried itself in the floor of the House, the one that had almost buried itself in the back of Ray’s head. “Sorry about that, Dylan. The gun just went off by itself.”
Ray tucked the Smith. 40 into his pants, then grabbed a hand towel and wiped off everything inside the apartment he might have touched.
Outside, with the door locked, Ray rubbed the towel over the knob and the peephole where he had pressed his thumb. Then he walked down the stairs to Jenny’s car. The hand towel would go in the first trash can he saw.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“You got balls interrupting my fucking supper,” Carlos Messina said. The mouthful of half-chewed calzone made his words hard to understand, but Tony had no trouble understanding his tone. The Old Man was at a booth in the back of Carmine’s, sitting across from a thirtysomething redhead showing a lot of cleavage. His two bodyguards slurped spaghetti at a nearby table.
If it weren’t urgent, Tony never would have come. The boss liked his privacy, especially when he was entertaining one of his girlfriends. Looking at the two of them-Mr. Messina and the redhead-Tony wondered what kind of woman wanted to go to bed with such a fat old man, even a powerful fat old man.
Shane had disappeared, but Tony had one lead. A degenerate gambler who spent all of his nongambling time hanging out at bars in and around the French Quarter had called him, which is why Tony needed to see the Old Man right away.
Carlos swallowed a chunk of calzone, then said, “What do you want?”
Tony fidgeted beside the booth. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Messina,” he said as he glanced down at the redhead’s tits, “but it’s business.” Using the code, saying they needed privacy.
Carlos nodded to the woman. “Go powder your nose.”
The redhead glared at Tony. “I don’t need to powder my nose.”
The Old Man fixed her with one of his looks, a look that didn’t invite argument. “Take a piss, go to the bar, whatever you want to do, but give us a minute.”
She made a sound through her nose, sort of a “hmmff,” but she got up and walked to the bar. Tony watched her ass as she left, wishing he’d gotten her name. No way the boss could keep a woman like that satisfied.
“You finished looking?” the Old Man said.
Tony turned back to the booth. He could feel his cheeks burning. “I was just making sure-”
“Tell me what’s so fucking important.”
“Shane’s disappeared.”
The Old Man threw his napkin on the table. “That’s what you came here to tell me?”
Tony shook his head. “No, sir.”
“What else?”
“A guy called me, said he saw him in Hobnobber’s yesterday.”
“So find him. You ain’t got to tell me how you do it.”
Tony lowered his voice so the bodyguards couldn’t hear. “He was in there with Charlie Rabbit.”
Carlos Messina took a deep breath. For a second-just a second-Tony saw pain on his face, the pain of betrayal. Then it was gone. The Old Man raised his napkin and wiped his mouth. Then he took a sip of wine. “Who was it said that about Charlie?”
“Guy who’s into me for five grand.”
“How’s he know Shane and the Rabbit?”
“He’s an old-” The boss was old. “He’s been around the Quarter a long time. I put it out I was looking for Shane, and he must have heard. Probably thinks I’ll give him a break on some of what he owes if he helps me out.”
“Will you?”
“Maybe.”
“You believe him?”
Tony nodded. “I sent Joey over there. The bartender knows Charlie and verified it.”
The Old Man was quiet for a moment. Finally, he said, “Charlie’s worked for me a long time.”
Tony nodded again.
Carlos Messina took another sip of wine.
Tony never liked Charlie. The Rabbit acted like he was better than Tony. Both of them were made men, but Tony ran the motherfucking House. Vinnie was there, but it was Tony who ran the day-to-day. The House was a huge moneymaker, and it was Tony who had made it that way. Charlie had whacked a few people, served some time, but that was all. He didn’t bring in any money; he was just a hired gun. That was old-school. When Tony ran things, everybody was going to have to pull their own weight; everybody was going to have to produce the green.
Tony said, “You think maybe they’re working together?”
The Old Man-he seemed to have aged ten years right in front of Tony’s eyes-looked up at the ceiling. “There’s no reason for Charlie to be talking to Shane.”
“So what do we do?”
“You know where Charlie lives?”
Tony said, “No, sir.”
Mr. Messina pulled a pen out of his pocket and drew a map on his cloth napkin. He handed it to Tony. “I don’t know the address, but this’ll get you there. You go ask the Rabbit what he was doing with Shane. Tell him I want to know.”
Tony glanced at the map, saw it was out in Kenner, then slipped the napkin into his jacket pocket.
Carlos said, “You taking Joey with you?”
“Him and Rocco.”
“Call me and tell me what Charlie says.”
Tony turned and glanced at the bar. The redhead was there, looking pissy, sucking a fruity drink through a straw. Tony turned back to the Old Man. “You going to be near a phone?”
Carlos looked toward the bar, then back at Tony. “I’ll be at home. I lost my appetite.”
Charlie Rabbit was old but he was hard. It wasn’t going to be easy. Tony needed clarification. He couldn’t afford a mistake. “What if he doesn’t cooperate?”
Carlos wiped a hand across his face. He almost looked like he was about to cry. “Do what you got to do, but I want answers.”
That gave Tony a free hand.
“Why are you going to see him?” Jenny asked.
They were in the hotel room in Metairie. Ray sat on the dresser, his back against the mirror. “Because he’s the only one who’s not trying to kill me.”
Jenny sat at the foot of the bed, facing him. “He’s still one of them.”
“But I think he can help me. Help us.”
“How?”
Ray wasn’t sure. He had called Charlie’s cell. “Not on the phone,” Charlie told him. He gave Ray his address and said, “Come over around seven. We’ll figure out what to do.”
Looking at Jenny, Ray said, “He can talk to Old Man Carlos for me, maybe straighten this out.”
“Will he do that?”
He shrugged. “I hope so.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Ray scooped the car keys off the dresser and walked to the door. “No,” he said over his shoulder.
“I’m not staying here by myself.”
He flipped the night latch open, then turned to look at her. “No one knows we’re here.”
“It’s not that. If I stay here, all I’m going to do is worry. If I go with you, at least I’ll know what’s going on.”
Ray shook his head. “No way.”