All He Saw Was the Girl (37 page)

    "Why
don't you come and get me?"

    "I'm
beat," Joey said. "Do me this favor, will you? We'll go shopping.
I'll take you to a nice dinner."

    That
sounded better.

    When
she got to his room an hour later he seemed preoccupied like his mind was
somewhere else.

    "What
took you so long?" Joey said.

    "Hi,
Sharon, it's good to see you. I'm glad you're here." Telling him what he
should've said.

    "I'm
sorry," Joey said. "I've got a lot on my mind."

    He
looked tired, bags and dark spots under his eyes. "You've got a lot on
your
mind? I'm the one taking all the risk." She paused. "Want me
to unpack, or what?"

    "Yeah,
sure. Make yourself at home."

    "Why
don't you take me to bed," Sharon said. "Show me how much you missed
me."

    Joey
said he was too tired.

    Too
tired? From what?

    His
voice woke her up the next morning, Joey talking on his cell phone. He was
already showered and dressed.

    "I
gotta go," Joey said. "Backo shortolo."

    "I
thought we were finally going to be able to spend time together, not worry
about anything."

    "We'll
have lunch," Joey said. "I'll show you the sights."

    He
moved to the bed and kissed her forehead like he was her father.

    "I'll
make it up to you."

    We'll
see, Sharon was thinking.

    Joey
didn't come back for lunch, and she was getting antsy. Had been in the room the
whole day, waiting, watching CNN. He finally called at 3:30, telling her to
meet him at the train station. No explanation. Just be there, he'd said,
talking to her like she was the hired help, barking orders, sounding like he
was annoyed, irritated.

    Sharon
wondered what she'd gotten herself into. Was Joey like this before, and she'd
missed it? No, he'd been gracious and attentive, a perfect gentleman. She
wanted to check his passport, see if he was the same guy. She'd just left a bad
relationship and wasn't going to get into another one. She considered cutting her
losses, fly home and put it all behind her.

    At
4:30, she packed her suitcase, took the elevator down, checked her bag with the
bellhop, went outside and got in a taxi.

    Joey saw
her in the crowded terminal, standing by herself, looking around. Walked up to
her, grinned and said, "Hey sexy, you waiting for someone?" He tried
to kiss her and she ducked away. "What's the matter?" Joey said.
"Where's your suitcase? Where's mine?"

    "I
didn't bring them."

    He
shook his head. "I just bought two tickets to Positano, most romantic
fucking place in the world, you didn't bring our stuff?"

    "I
flew 4,600 miles to be with you," Sharon said. "And all

    I've
done is sit in hotel rooms the past three days, waiting for you."

    "Well,
now you've got my undivided fucking attention," Joey said. He wondered
what her problem was. He'd paid for the plane ticket and the hotel room. Maybe
it was her time of the month. All he knew, after the day he'd had he didn't
need this.

    "I
made a mistake," Sharon said.

    "I
make one every once in a while myself," Joey said. "Nobody's perfect.
Let's go. Train's leaving in five minutes. We better get on."

    "I'm
not going."

    "You're
not going? Come on. We're finally together. Don't worry, I'll buy you some new
clothes." He put his arm around her shoulders, tried to move her but she
wouldn't budge. You want me to get tough, Joey thought, okay. He grabbed her
arm and pulled her.

    "Get
your hand off me." She said it loud.

    People
were turning, looking at them. "Take it easy, will you? Jesus.
Everything's going to be fine." He tried to smile but it was tough 'cause
he was pissed off now. She'd never acted like this and he was trying to figure
out what was going on. "Listen, straighten out. Cut the bullshit. You're
coming with me. You're going to get on that fucking train if I have to carry
you."

    They
were still thirty feet away when Ray saw Joey holding her arms, her biceps. It
seemed like they were having a fight. Seeing it sent a blast of adrenalin
through him. He'd followed Joey down the Spanish Steps, over the wall to the
apartment balcony, through the apartment and across town, losing him in traffic
and then seeing his taxi pull up in front of the train station.

    Joey
was pulling her and Sharon was resisting when Ray got to them. Joey saw him and
let her go, and now they were squaring off.

    "Come
to save the little woman?" Joey said. "I think you're too late."

    Sharon
looked embarrassed, caught with her boyfriend unexpectedly, and the scene was
ugly.

    "What're
you doing with him?" Ray said to Sharon. "You like being treated this
way?"

    "I'm
not with him," Sharon said. "It's over."

    "It's
over when I say it is," Joey said.

    "You
remind me of your father," Ray said. "Same tough- guy attitude with
nothing to back it up."

    That
stopped Joey, got him thinking.

    "What're
you talking about? You didn't know my old man."

    "I
met the little guy one night at his house in Bloomfield. We were in that nice
paneled room with the fireplace off the foyer. Know the one I'm talking
about?" He paused. "I asked him where you were and he said he didn't
know. Imagine that? I said okay, you don't want to talk, I'll go upstairs see
if Mrs P wants to be more co-operative. Your little Mafia dad threatened me.
Got all worked up. I thought he was going to take a swing. Then he leaned back
against the desk, a strange look on his face, grabbed his chest and fell on the
floor and died."

    Joey
glared at him.

    "I
was surprised you weren't at the wake or funeral. What kind of son are you, you
don't come to your father's grave, pay your respects?"

    Joey
made his move, came at him as expected, threw a big right hand Ray blocked
instinctively with his left, his bad arm, and felt the pain shoot up through
his shoulder. Joey followed with a left hook Ray blocked with his right, and
threw Joey over his hip and saw him land on his back on the hard floor, dazed,
turning his body, trying to get up.

    "My
God," Sharon said. "You're bleeding."

    She
looked at his arm while Joey got back on his feet. Blood had soaked through the
bandage and through his shirt and sport coat, dripping on the tile floor. He
could feel a dull throb. "I'm okay."

    Joey
pulled a gun now, eyes wild, and the people around them shrieked and moved
back, moved away.

    Sharon
stepped in front of Ray and said, "What're you going to do? You shoot him
you're going to have to shoot me. Put it down."

    "You're
coming with me," Joey said.

    Sharon
didn't say anything. She didn't have to. Four GIS in dark-blue fatigues
appeared, aiming automatic weapons, shouting firm commands in Italian. Joey
dropped the Beretta and they cuffed his hands behind his back and took him
away. That's what happened when you pulled a gun in a public place in a country
on terrorist alert.

    They
each gave police a statement, and thirty minutes later Ray walked Sharon back
through the train station and they went outside and stood looking at each other
as cars drove up and people passed by with their luggage.

    "You
going to tell me what's going on?" Ray said.

    "I
took a vacation," she said. "It's been a while."

    "That's
it, huh?" His mouth was dry. He ran his tongue over his teeth, shifted his
weight, put his hands in his pockets. "How long have you been seeing
him?"

    "Ray,
what're you doing here?"

    "You
disappeared."

    "You
did too," Sharon said.

    "I
know and I'm sorry."

    "You're
about three years too late."

    "Well
I've got time now," Ray said. "I quit the Service."

    She
gave him a puzzled look. "You serious?"

    He
nodded.

    "You
think it's going to make a difference?" Sharon said.

    "You
tell me."

    "You
really quit, huh?" She shook her head. "I don't believe it." She
smiled now, and he did too.

    It
was a start.

    Early
afternoon, McCabe was glancing out the window at the rolling hills of Lazio,
Angela driving the Lancia, smoking a cigarette, window cracked a couple inches,
wind at high speed rustling her hair. She took a final drag and pushed the
cigarette through the opening and closed the window.

    He
was replaying the conversation he'd had with Captain Arturo Ferrara, the
captain saying, why didn't you tell me you were in trouble?

    It was
complicated. What could he say? I kidnapped Angela Gennaro and used her to
collect the ransom. He couldn't say that so he didn't say anything.

    Captain
Ferrara said, "I still do not understand. How you recover the money?"

    "All
I can tell you is it worked out," McCabe said, waiting for the captain to
give him a hard time, demand the truth and confiscate the ransom.

    He
said, "Are you Catholic?"

    "Yes,"
McCabe said, although he hadn't been to mass in three years, confession in
five.

    "God
was looking out for you, uh?" the captain said.

    They
were at carabinieri headquarters in downtown Rome, the captain loose and
relaxed, McCabe sitting across the desk from him, listening to music that
sounded like opera. He could see an iPod in a speaker dock on the credenza
behind him.

    Captain
Ferrara packed his pipe with tobacco and lit it, blowing out sweet-smelling
smoke that drifted over the table.

    "Will
you return to the university?"

    "My
scholarship's been revoked," McCabe said. "Mr Rady kicked me out. I
go back there I'll probably get in a fight with him."

    "I
can speak to him for you."

    "I
appreciate the offer, but I don't think so."

    "What
will you do?"

    "I'm
not sure."

    "It
is unfortunate you cannot stay in Rome."

    McCabe
wanted to tell him about Angela, tell him he'd been hit by the lightning bolt,
and they were living together, but he obviously couldn't. Ferrara puffed on his
pipe. They talked about Chip. He'd gotten out of the hospital, hand in a cast
and was back at school. They talked about Mazara and his gang, arrested and in
custody in Rebibbia Prison, awaiting trial, all except Psuz, who was killed by
GIS marksmen. Nothing about Joey Palermo. The conversation ended. Captain
Ferrara stood up and they shook hands.

    He
looked McCabe in the eye. "I can trust you with the money?"

    "I
was thinking of buying a villa in Tuscany." McCabe said it straight, then
broke into a grin and now Captain Ferrara did too.

    "Tell
me where, I will visit you." He paused. "Keep the money in Banco de
Roma until you transfer it."

    McCabe
had to admit that made more sense than hiding it in Angela's closet.

    Now
an hour and a half later, he and Angela were approaching her father's estate
outside Mentana. He was going to ask the most powerful man in Rome for the
missing ransom, the sixty thousand euros Mazara had given him. There was a car
blocking the entrance and half a dozen men with guns, standing around.
"What's going on? Looks like a scene from
The Godfather
,"
McCabe said.