Vento was across the room before she could get out of the apartment. The smack knocked her to the floor.
Kelly stood up from his chair. Vento cocked a fist.
“You got anything else you wanna say?” he yelled. “Get it out now so you won’t have so far to fall next time.”
Bridget was stunned from the smack and didn’t feel the tear running down one side of her face. She leaned her back against the wall alongside the door and felt her mouth for blood.
“Get out!” Vento yelled before opening the apartment door.
She flinched at the sound of his voice, then turned to her right and crawled past him to pick up the soda can.
“Leave it,” Vento said. “You can get it later.”
Bridget crawled out the door. Vento waited until she started to stand, then put his foot on her ass and shoved her out the rest of the way into the hallway. She fell forward onto the floor and lay flat on her stomach. She covered her head with both hands when Vento slammed the door shut behind her.
“I should put her in a porno,” he said to Kelly. “She has something in it, she can’t shoot off at the mouth.”
He returned to the armchair, sat and relit his cigar.
Kelly said, “That don’t make you nervous, she threatens to talk like that?”
“No,” Vento said. “She knows I’ll cut her fuckin’ throat she ever does that.”
Kelly wasn’t so sure.
“Where were we?” Vento said.
“About the investigation,” Kelly said. “Now that you’re leaving bodies to be found, can you feed me a live one?”
Chapter 6
John thought about stopping at the diner to see if Melinda was working, but he didn’t want to appear desperate. He went home instead. He’d just stepped inside the building when he was surprised by the old man standing in the hallway with a candle.
Alexis Elias saw the look on John’s face and said, “What? I frighten you?”
“Scared the shit out of me is more like it,” John said. “What’s going on?”
The seventy-year-old native Greek had moved into a first-floor studio apartment six months ago. John had looked out for him since.
“Is too hot,” said Elias, his accent still thick forty years after coming to America. “I go outside.”
“You need an air conditioner.”
The old man made a face. “What good is air conditioner now, genius? No electric.”
“For when it’s working.”
“For what, to pay more bills? I am Greek, we don’t need such things. Is hot like furnace inside, we go outside.”
“You can come up to my place, you want.”
The old man waved the suggestion off. “For what? To catch pneumonia?”
“Whatever,” John said. Elias was stubborn. There was no arguing with him. “You should talk to the super,” John said. “He sells used air conditioners.”
“He doesn’t know his elbow from his ass. Move.”
John stepped aside. “You gonna be alright?”
“Why not?” Elias said. “I’m strong like bull.” He took a few more steps and stopped at the door. “You worked for criminals today?”
Elias didn’t approve of John’s weekend work and reminded him of it every chance he got.
“Well?” the old man said.
“No, not today.”
“Right, weekends you work for them. My mistake.”
John folded his arms across his chest.
“What do I care?” Elias said. “You’re young and stupid. I try to teach, but you don’t listen.”
“We done now?”
“Fine, ignore me. We change subject. How is your mother?”
“Fine, but that’s none of your business.”
“Why not? She is widow too long now. Why you don’t invite her here to dinner? I cook for her.”
“Because she’s my mother and you’re a dirty old man.”
“Pff,” said Elias as he turned to the door.
“Good night, Alex,” John said.
“Call me Zorba,” Elias said. “I am Zorba.”
“Your name is Alex.”
“Go play with air conditioner,” the old man said as he stepped outside.
John stopped at the super’s apartment and learned a burned fuse in the basement had damaged some of the wiring and wouldn’t be replaced until the next day.
“And how’m I supposed to sleep tonight?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do,” the super said. “You’re welcome to use the basement if you want. It’s a little cooler down there.”
“The cellar?” John said. “No thanks. Can you check on the old man before you go to sleep? Elias. Make sure he’s okay.”
“Zorba?” the super said. “Of course, except I saw him with a woman from around the corner again today. Maybe he goes there again if he can’t sleep.”
“Right,” John said. “Perfect. He’s getting laid and I’m worried about him.”
“Excuse me?” the super said.
“Nothing.”
He headed up the three flights to his apartment. It was pitch-black when he got inside. He cursed when he banged his knee against the corner of the kitchen table as he searched for the junk drawer where he kept a flashlight. He went to pour himself an ice water and realized the refrigerator wasn’t working either.
“Christ,” he said, then let the sink water run until it was as cold as it would get.
He downed the glass of water, poured another and brought it with him to the bedroom. He stripped out of his clothes, lay on his back and closed his eyes. John was still sweating, but exhaustion eventually took over and he fell asleep.
The telephone woke him at eleven. He was disoriented when he answered and heard somebody cursing.
“Who is this?”
“Nick.”
John was still half asleep. “Nick who?”
“You being funny?”
“What?”
“This Johnny Porno?”
John realized it was Nick Santorra. He huffed, then yawned extra long on purpose.
“You think you’re cute, right?” Santorra said. “Am I keeping you awake?”
“Yeah, actually,” John said. “I was sleeping. You woke me, Punchy.”
“Punchy? You’ll be punchy you keep jerking me off.”
John yawned again.
“Do that again and I’ll kick your teeth down your throat,” Santorra said. “How’s that?”
“I can’t help I was sleeping,” said John, still smiling.
“Yeah, well, now you’re not. You need to come down to the bar tomorrow and pick something up.”
“I can’t tomorrow. I work.”
“You work for us.”
“Weekends. Monday to Thursday I drive a car.”
“Take a break then.”
John didn’t respond.
“You there?” Santorra asked.
“I can’t get off during the day. Has to be night.”
“Yeah, well, make fucking sure you show. It’s important.”
“What is it?”
“Just be there,” Santorra said.
John shook his head when Santorra hung up. The guy was an asshole.
He unplugged the phone so he wouldn’t be disturbed again. He tried closing his eyes but the guy had got under his skin one more time. Sleep wouldn’t come easy.
Detective Levin met up with Captain Kaprowski at the corner of Flatlands Avenue and East 93rd street. Fire department trucks had just left after putting out a suspicious fire at a local real estate office. Onlookers had yet to disperse.
Kaprowski motioned toward his car, a green Catalina, parked at the curb in front of an Italian bakery further up the avenue.
“What was that about?” Levin asked.
“Blacks trying to move into a white neighborhood,” Kaprowski said. “It’s not the first time that place was hit. Probably won’t be the last. They listed homes and apparently a few black families went to see them. Local yahoos aren’t appreciative.”