He had to smile when he opened his front door for real. The cyclone analogy was not a terrible one, because standing there was Bruno Pecozzi and a woman Justin thought might be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“Thought you might like to have some lunch,” Bruno said. “This is Connie Martin. She’s the star of the movie I’m working on. We’re hungry and I told her about you so she thought maybe you’d want to get a sandwich.”
“Nice to meet you,” Justin said to the actress. To Bruno he said, “How’d you find the house?”
“Very difficult,” Bruno told him. “But you know I have, how shall I put this? — contacts. So I made a few calls and asked around and then, ’cause I’m kind of a nut, I looked you up in the fuckin’ phone book. You gonna ask us in or what?”
Justin stepped aside and waved them forward. “We were in the middle of a business meeting, but I think we can use a break.”
“Mr. Westwood.” Bruno recognized Justin’s father, took a step toward Jonathan. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Bruno Pecozzi,” Justin said, as his father’s eyes narrowed and he moved his hand in Bruno’s direction so it could be shaken. “And Connie Martin.”
Justin turned to see that Roger Mallone’s mouth was agape and his jaw had dropped, cartoon-like, as far as a human jaw could stretch. At first Justin thought it was a not uncalled-for response to Connie Martin’s presence. Then he realized that Roger wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to the blonde woman in jeans and a midriff-baring T-shirt. He was staring at the huge man who was dominating Justin’s living room.
“Hey,” Bruno said, turning slowly to Mallone, “I know you.”
Roger didn’t say anything or make a motion to shake hands. He just swallowed deeply, and then Bruno said, “Where do I know you from?” When Roger still said nothing, Bruno snapped his fingers and said, “You were on the jury.” He turned to Connie. “Talk about your small world. I was on trial for somethin’. . not a big deal. . and this guy was on the jury.” Turning back to Roger, he said, “Right? I never forget the face of a juror.”
“That’s right,” Mallone said. He spoke as if the words were physically stuck in his throat.
Turning to Connie Martin, Justin added, “It was a little bit more of a deal than Bruno’s making it out to be. He was on trial for loan sharking and extortion, if I recall.”
“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” Bruno said.
“He got off because one juror refused to convict. Seems to me there was a decent amount of talk about jury tampering.”
“You musta been one of the ones voting guilty, huh?” Bruno said to Roger.
The financial adviser, as white as Justin had ever seen him, nodded stiffly.
“Don’t worry about it,” Bruno said. “I don’t hold a grudge. And the whole thing had a happy ending anyway, right? So forget about it.”
Bruno stuck out his hand and, with one more gulp, Roger shook it.
“So we gonna have lunch or what?” Bruno said. “My treat.”
21
Nuri Al-Bazaad sat in his Buick, in the parking lot of the fast-food restaurant, and used the cell phone he’d been given to make the call he’d been instructed to make. When the voice on the other end answered, all it said was, “How long?” Nuri had already calculated the time it would take to get out of his car, walk into the restaurant, and find what he needed to find.
“Two minutes and twenty seconds,” he said into the phone.
The voice said, “You have three minutes. Starting. . now.”
Nuri was already moving when he hung up the phone. Out the door, across the lot, past the five or six big American cars parked there. Through the heavy glass door. Step inside. He looked around, as he’d done during his test run, but things had changed. They had moved. No. Just two of them had moved. The third one was right where she’d been.
Nuri had to make a decision. He went for the two. They were standing in front of a small counter that held ketchup and mustard and napkins and plastic forks and spoons. He went up to the person he was supposed to go up to. They had said not to talk, just to stand there, but he wanted to speak, wanted to say something that might be comforting. So he walked right to her, leaned forward, and spoke into her ear.
“You’re very lucky,” he said.
She backed away from him and he saw a look of fear cross her face.
“You’re lucky,” he said again. “Soon there will be music everywhere. Like surround sound. And there will be great warmth. You will all be protected and happy.”
The woman looked at him like he was mad. Then she turned back to the table, back to the second child, who was smiling. The child waved to her mother.
The mother began to scream.
And then Nuri’s cell phone rang.
22
They got a table at Art’s Deco Diner, a casual place in the middle of town, decorated in black and white and chrome. It was on Main Street, tucked between the 1950s-style movie theater that usually showed artsy foreign films, and an equally old-fashioned five-and-dime. Art had owned the restaurant for years, periodically changing its identity so it didn’t become as stuck in the past as his neighbors on either side. At various times he’d had a small art gallery, a Zen temple, a resting room for pets, and a video arcade at the front of the restaurant; for the past year he’d converted the space into a bookstore with a short rack of magazines and international newspapers. Art was in his early fifties and knew his way around a kitchen. Anytime anyone mentioned to him that he was a terrific chef, he always said the same thing: “Cook. Not chef. I’m a cook. Big difference.”
Bruno Pecozzi didn’t care about the difference. He loved the food at the Deco Diner, and to prove it, after everyone had given their orders to the waiter, Bruno ordered two complete pork chop lunches, including two orders of mashed potatoes, two mixed green salads, and two orders of spinach. While they were waiting for the food to arrive, he began to regale them with stories about life on the movie set. Justin couldn’t help notice that while he talked, one of Connie Martin’s hands was firmly planted on Bruno’s thigh.
Midway through the lunch, the front door opened and three of Justin’s police officers sauntered in-Mike Haversham, Gary Jenkins, and Reggie Bokkenheuser. As they headed for their booth, they all saw Justin, hesitated, unsure exactly what the social protocol called for, then continued on. As they passed by, Gary and Mike mumbled, “Hey, Chief,” and gave a half wave, but didn’t slow down. Reggie stopped to say hello, realized that Mike and Gary had left her behind, so she flushed red and started to hurry to join them. But Justin reached her, touched her wrist, so she slowed again, then stopped, taking a step back so she could face the table. Justin introduced her around. He saw the surprise on her face when he told her the older man at the table was his father, and she showed no reaction when he gave her Bruno’s name, except for her eyes, which couldn’t help but scan his bulk and widen a bit in awe. She smiled at Connie Martin and said that she was a big fan. Connie smiled graciously in return, then Reggie moved on to join her coworkers.
“Cops are definitely gettin’ better-lookin’,” Bruno said.
Justin shrugged off the comment, but he could see the way his father and Bruno were looking at him. Bruno’s gaze shifted from Justin over to Reggie, then back to Justin. He didn’t say another word about it, just nodded as if he’d confirmed something in his own mind.