A Few Drops of Blood (24 page)

“I don’t think we are,” Natalia said.

“She wasn’t convinced. I said this could happen anywhere, to anyone, gay or straight. But it happens again … I don’t know. And not just her. Me.”

Natalia opened her eyes and regarded her partner. “I totally understand. But please, don’t do anything rash, okay? We make a terrific team, Officer Cavatelli. We’re going to get the killer. I swear on my
nonna’s
grave.”

The houses reminded Natalia of tattered dowagers. Yet there were wonderful surprises that sprang up among them, like the cloistered gardens you’d come upon in the midst of a teeming, sultry street.

A fishmonger swatted away flies and directed her with the point of his enormous bloody knife. Natalia followed his directions, passing an ice cream parlor and an addict sprawled on the ground next to the door, scratching her arm as she nodded off. Maybe seventeen, she had the ashen face of an angel and heavenly prospects in her immediate future. Someone had bought her gelato. The plastic cup lay tipped over near her hand, and red liquid pooled by her fingers. Bitter cherry, the color of blood.

At the end of the block, clouds of flies hovered over a dumpster. Natalia crossed to the opposite side, stepping around a mattress ripped open, its stuffing pouring out as if it had been savaged.

Arriving at Paolo’s father’s old leather shop, Natalia peered in the window. Twenty years ago she remembered Paolo drying leather goods on the street outside. Inside, the once neat shop looked a mess. Pieces of green- and rust-colored leather lay on the worktable untouched. Sheets of paper with ballpoint and pencil sketches were tacked to the wall, alongside CDs stacked on a workbench and a boom box from the eighties. The top was marked with burns from cigarettes rested on the wood.

Paolo had dark circles under his eyes, and they looked kind of glassy. He hadn’t shaved.

“You don’t pick up,” she said as she entered. “I left you a couple of messages.”

“Yeah. I ain’t been very sociable lately.”

“Love life?”

“My daughter’s not talking to me. Nadia, the older one.”

“She’ll come around. It’s just adolescence.”

“Maybe, maybe not. She saw something on the tube about my boss and put it all together as to what I’m doing for work.”

“No,” Natalia said. “I doubt it. She’s known for a while. My guess is something else is bothering you more.”

“Like what?”

“Cecelia perhaps.”

“Who?”

“Cecelia Mina. Sixteen-year-old runaway. Shot to death on Via Formia in broad daylight. An innocent girl who didn’t want to partake in Ernesto Scavullo’s depravity and ran.”

“I don’t know about any kid like that.”

“An innocent girl doesn’t want to be fucked by him, and he takes it as rejection, goes into a rage. Figures no one’s interested enough in Cecelia to miss her. So he erases her with a bullet. She was a child.”

“I never did nothing like that.”

“No, because you have a code. Because your workaholic father raised you to live right. Ernesto grew up different—a criminal in the making. He had real guns for toys. He killed Cecelia, then her kid sister. She was Nadia’s age.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“You know it’s the truth, Paolo. Why are you hiding your head in the sand here? Someone disrespects him, they’re dead. Then for the fun of it—he seizes their mother, a brother or sister. And just to teach everyone a lesson, he kills that person, too.”

“Crazy rumors.” Paolo looked uncomfortable. “That’s all they are.”

“They’re not, and you know it. He kills people with the drugs he provides, uses the most strung-out street dwellers as guinea pigs to test new product, to make sure the junk won’t kill paying customers. Why am I wasting my breath? You know all this already.”

“What do you want me to do, reform him? Rat him out?”

“No. You never would.”

“What then?”

“Do something for me, Paolo. For once in your life, make Nadia proud. Find me the right moment to get close to him.”

“Why? What are you gonna do?”

“Don’t ask. You don’t want to be an accessory.”

The voice came through the message machine. “Hello? Natalia? Are you there?”

“I’m here, Pino.” Natalia said and interrupted the recording. “Just got home. Where are you?”

“At my place. I needed to get a few things. Perfect opportunity. I explained to Tina she couldn’t stay here anymore.”

“How did that go?”

“She was weepy but seemed okay with it. I wished her luck. She started packing. I told her to drop the key in my mailbox.”

“Good.”

“Maybe. I went to the
zendo
, figured she could use the space. On the way back, I stopped by again to pick up some more things. The key was there, and she left a note that she’d be at her mother’s for a few days.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“My gun. It’s missing.”

“God, Pino. You have to turn it in next week. Find it. What if she took it?”

“I’ll go over to her folks place tomorrow and talk to her.”

“Get it back. I mean, you lose your weapon, and you’ll never work in law enforcement again.”

“I’ll look around here some more and then I’ll go to her folks’ tomorrow and talk to her.”

“Why would she take it?”

“I don’t know. To annoy me. Worry me. Make me beg.”

“First thing in the morning.”

“Right.”

“Like dawn, Pino. This is serious. Worse than losing your badge credentials.”

“I know, I know. I’ll get it back.”

“I’ve got to go. I’m meeting the girls.”

“Say hi to Em and don’t give my regards to Blondie.”

“See you later.”

She put down the phone. Fuck, now what?

* **

A flock of squawking seagulls argued overhead as they glided in the deep blue sky. The women had gathered at the old jetty on the far side of the Mergellina, where they had played as children. They were far from prying eyes, but to be on the safe side they’d traveled in separate cabs.

Mariel was in her signature white blouse and charcoal skirt; Lola in aqua velour track gear and matching cap. Natalia in a plain dress from her undercover closet and a slinky blonde wig that hid her curls.

Lola raised her face to the sun.

“I thought you were worried about your skin,” Mariel said. “Direct sun’s the worst thing for it.”

“I look better with a tan. I’m only doing five minutes. God, I’m in the mood for seafood. Anyone hungry?”

“I’m not so hungry,” Natalia said. “Something cold to drink maybe.”

Natalia closed her eyes and listened to seagulls squawk overhead.

“Pino moves in, and you stop eating?” Lola teased.

Natalia sat up. “You promised you wouldn’t tell,” she said to Mariel.

“She wormed it out of me. Besides, you said you were going to tell her anyway.”

“So is it true,” Lola teased, “you’re back with the boy-man?”

“You jealous?”

“If I want someone with straw between his ears, I’ll let you know.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Mariel said. “Pino’s a great guy. More mature than her Dominick, for sure.”

“Yeah, Pino’s such a swell guy, he got the Gracci girl with child?”

Natalia winced. “They’re still saying that? They’re lying.”

“Maybe,” Lola said.

“Enough,” Mariel said. “We’re celebrating.”

“Right. I forgot myself. To love—whoopee.”

“Girls,” Mariel rapped her book for attention. “What would you like to drink? I’ll go to the vendor’s cart over there. You have choice of lemonade, lemonade, or lemonade. I’m having lemonade myself.”

“I’ll have a lemonade, too,” Natalia said.

“Make it three. So you’ve let Pino move in,” Lola said. “Are you sure then?”

Natalia pressed a cool water bottle to her cheek, squinting in the sharp light. “I know what I’m doing, okay?”

“Uh oh. Girl’s in love,” Lola teased. “How does that song go? ‘Love is just a four-letter word.’ ”

“I didn’t say that I was in love.”

“You better be,
cara mia
.”

“Lola,” Mariel warned as she returned.

“Guy’s gonna test her. I want to make sure she’s got her eyes open about him, Em. That’s what friends are for.”

“Time out,” Mariel said.

“I’m gonna wash my hands in the bay,” Lola announced.

“I wouldn’t consider that water too clean,” Mariel said.

“It’s salt, Smarty. Watch my bag.” She put down her clutch. “I got myself this cute little Ruger six-shot automatic that Bianca raved about. Initials in diamonds. Make me sick if someone tried to take it.”

“Who stuck the thorn in her butt?” Mariel said, as Lola sauntered away. “You okay?”

“Barely. But, yeah, I’ll cope.”

Returning, Lola dried her hands on a napkin. “Truce?” and leaned in to kiss Natalia on both cheeks. “Don’t mind me. Woke up with this shitty headache.”

“Truce,” Natalia repeated and returned the embrace.

“So,” Lola said. “Lover boy is living at your place and you pay all the bills? Sounds peachy.”

“God, did I hear truce?” Mariel said. “I must be hallucinating in this heat.”

“He’s going to resign from the ranks,” Natalia said.

“Really?” Mariel said, sounding concerned.

“Yes. He’s going to teach yoga at the
zendo
. They’ve already asked him. He’s thinking about opening his own studio.”

“That’s perfect for him,” Mariel said.

“Isn’t it just?” Lola sneered. “Sits on his ass all day envisioning rainbows while you put your life on the line.”

Natalia bristled. “What’s with the attitude?”

“Just what it sounds like.”

“You’re so bitchy today,” Mariel said.

“Sorry. My man’s getting bossy, is all. Like I’m expected to account to him for my time. I might as well be back with the late great husband.” She took out her Blackberry and touched the screen.

Mariel went off to fetch more lemonades from the vendor’s cart.

As Lola scrolled, Natalia closed her eyes and inhaled the salt air. She wished she could put her problems on hold. Keep the world at bay at least for a little while.

“Oh, this is interesting,” Lola tapped her leg.

“What’s interesting?” Natalia opened her eyes.

“I was curious about something so I checked it out.”

“Do I want to know?”

“You do. You do. Listen to this. Last night Papa Gianni hosted a get-together with his old cronies at the social club on Baiano. It was like the Queen of England holding court. A receiving line with fifty retired soldiers kissing his hand.”

“Sentimental reunion,” Natalia said. “What’s that about?”

“Sentimental? I don’t think so. Word is he’s seeing if he has enough loyalty behind him to take over again.”

“You think? Gianni’s kind of old for a power play.”

“True. He is. Maybe it was just for old time’s sake. Plus Ernesto. Bloodbath if someone tried to take over. Even so, Papa might be tempted. But I don’t know. There aren’t too many of the old farts around anymore. And the ones who are—well, a lot of them wear diapers, if you know what I mean.”

“What’s really bothering you?” Natalia said.

Lola lay back and draped an arm over her eyes. “Just a bad dream.”

“What?”

“I can’t remember much of it, except a hand at my throat. You remember what that means?”

“Same as a bird flying into your house. Someone’s going to die.”

Natalia’s phone vibrated. A call on the emergency line from work. It was Angelina. They’d been called out to investigate a suspicious death in a Camorra household.

“Right,” Natalia said. “I’ll be right there.”

“Going?” Lola asked.

Natalia sat in disbelief.

“What’s the matter?”

“The pregnant girl, Tina. She’s dead.”

Whatever was happening, it was happening too fast. Natalia needed her brain to catch up, but it kept straggling. She had to get in front of events if she was going to figure out what was happening.

There were three buildings built around a narrow courtyard. Several defunct
motorinos
rusted quietly in a corner.
No need to wonder which building it was. The middle one already had candles burning by the entrance and a few bouquets on the ground. A bunch of daisies in clear cellophane rested against a life-sized statue of the Queen of Heaven. A long-stemmed rose rested across her outstretched hands. Several pigeons preened on the Virgin’s head; her crown, a slim string of electric lights.

Natalia paused in the forecourt before attempting the stairs. A billboard photo gazed down from where two of the buildings met: from the looks of it, a memorial for the man who had probably met a brutal death.

Graccis had ruled the quarter since horse-drawn carriages clattered down the narrow streets. Half its residents were unemployed. To survive, many did the Graccis’ bidding, and the rest tithed the Camorra.

A woman in a purple robe and slippers came out of a ground floor
basso
and put out a plate of scraps. If she noticed Natalia, she didn’t let on. This
signora
no doubt faithfully mopped her balcony every morning, scrubbed the family’s clothes and kept their rooms spotless. No telling if, while cooking in her humble kitchen, she bagged cocaine while the water boiled for pasta.

If she was reluctant to engage in the drug trade, consequences could be unpleasant. If she refused outright and talked about it, they were likely lethal. Eight months ago the father of an eleven-year-old boy agreed to spill family business and saw his son kidnapped. No ransom note ever arrived. A half-year later the boy’s strangled body turned up in a vat of acid that had failed to complete its job.

Tomorrow would be a new day, but the sun would not make even a rare and momentary visit to this dark place, moving only across the tops of the buildings and a slice of the street.

Natalia began her climb past bags of garbage that cluttered the landings. Doors opened a crack and immediately closed. She caught sight of a cheek, a nose, an eye and little more. On the fourth floor, a large man in sunglasses and a pork pie hat stood guard outside a steel door. A serpent and several skulls frolicked on his enormous biceps.

His desert camouflage trousers contrasted sharply with his hot lime T-shirt. He stepped forward, menacing. This didn’t surprise Natalia. A dead girl in the house would only make the Carabinieri less welcome than usual. The last thing they’d want was her help.