Don of the Dead (20 page)

"You mean—"

"I meanshylocking . And pump and dumps.
Coltempo la
fogliadigelsodiventa
seta
. Andfuckin '

mortadellas !" He pressed a hand to his heart. "Since when do girls talk like that? Since when do you know about such things?"

Honest, I couldn't help myself. I had to laugh. I didn't even try to explain. Not until we were in the car.

Then on the way back to the cemetery, I gave Gus the lowdown on the research I'd done all weekend, a brief description of DVD technology, and a short history of the life and times of
The Sopranos
.

"I thought you said you recruited twelve people for this study?"

Dan had been thumbing through a file folder with my name on it. When he heard my voice, he looked over to where I stood in the doorway. He blinked, confused, then glanced around his empty office, as if it was the first time he realized we were the only ones there.

"I did say twelve, didn't I?" He hurried to the door to usher me inside. It was the typical hospital office with a tile floor, white walls, and standard-issue metal furniture. No photographs. No funny posters. The only thing that made the office look like it actually belonged to someone was the array of framed diplomas on the wall and a mirror where I was pretty sure Dan never checked to see if his outfit passed fashion muster. If he did, he wouldn't have been wearing navy pants with a black shirt.

"The rest of my subjects for the study… " There was a metal credenza behind Dan's desk, and he motioned to it and to the neat stack of fat file folders on it. "They've been in and out all week," he said.

"You're the final interview."

"Does that mean you saved the best for last?"

At least he knew flirting when he saw it. Dan blushed. Unfortunately, even flirting wasn't enough to distract him. He got right down to business, pulling papers out of my file.

"I've got this questionnaire for you to complete tonight. When you're done, we'll set up a time for your next visit. That's when we'll start the real testing."

Testing.

A word that had never agreed with me.

"Testing as in… "

"EKGs. EEGs. CAT scans and an MRI. You'll probably need to spend an entire afternoon here. I'd also like to conduct some of the classic ESP experiments. You know, just to make sure we have all our bases covered."

"You think I have ESP?"

Dan grinned. "Like I said, I'd like to cover all our bases."

"And our bases begin… " I glanced at the papers he still held in his hand. There must have been at least ten in the stack. This did not bode well for my plan of getting home early and crawling into bed. It was already after eight, the only time all week that Dan could see me. After my earlier visit with the retired wiseguys and an afternoon avoiding starting my research on tombstone symbolism for that article I was supposed to be writing, I was dead on my feet.

"You ready to get started?" Dan asked, and when I told him I was as ready as I would ever be, he invited me to sit in the chair behind the desk. "Sorry the accommodations aren't a little more luxurious, but you should have plenty of elbow room." He checked his watch. "I've got to pop over to the lab to check on the results of some of the other testing. I'll give you a few minutes so you can get started."

As soon as he was gone, I settled down to business. I dutifully filled in the blank lines on the top paper.

My name. My address. My phone number. My health insurance information. It wasn't until I started in on the detailed information part of the questionnaire
(Please describe the circumstances that led to your
head injury)
that I realized I wasn't alone. Spooky music or no spooky music, I was getting to be an expert in feeling a certain ghostly presence.

"You're not going to help me get through this, so why did you bother to come along?" I asked Gus.

"Idunno ." I looked up to find him peering at the diplomas that lined the walls in sleek black frames. If the alphabet soup that followed Dan's name on each of them meant anything, he was one smart cookie.

"Maybe I just don't like the idea of you seeing this guy here all by yourself. It's not the way a proper women behaves."

"First of all… " I scratched down the last few words of the story of the day I'd whacked my head on Gus's mausoleum. "Nobody worries about that kind of thing anymore. And besides, I'm here on business."

"He wants to shrink your head."

"Not exactly." I flipped the page to the next question.

What symptoms did you exhibit after your accident?

"Is passing out a symptom?" I asked Gus, and even before he could answer, I decided it was and detailed how I woke up and found myself in the ER.

"Still, the two of you alone… " Gus let the words hang.

I made a face. "Doesn't look like that's going to happen as long as you're around."

"You'll thank me for it later." He moved from the diplomas to the bookcase and when he walked past the mirror, I didn't see Gus's reflection. He tipped his head to read the titles on the bookshelf. "He has brains, this boy."

"Lots of them." I checked out the next question.
What unusual behaviors have you exhibited since
your initial visit to the emergency room
?

"Think you qualify as an unusual behavior?" I asked Gus. Not that I intended to mention him. Ever.

Instead, I talked about having trouble sleeping and about the ringing in my ears that started right after the accident and that I still occasionally heard. Ordinary stuff and nothing to worry about. Just as DoctorCho had said all those weeks ago.

Which made me wonder how I even qualified for Dan's study.

I chewed the end of the pen, thinking it over. "It doesn't make a whole bunch of sense, does it? If everything's normal—"

"Then why were they so spooked—you should excuse the phraseology—when you mentioned Tommy?

Exactly what I've been wondering."

But not what I was talking about. Because I knew it wouldn't do me any good to try and stick to my own agenda, I switched gears. It was easier to mull over the events of the afternoon than it was to try and fathom the workings of an Einstein like Dan, anyway. "The whole Tommy thing can't have anything to do with you. Tommy was dead ten years before you were. You're the one who had him clipped."

"Yougotta stop watching themDMVs ."

"DVDs," I corrected him. "And you're changing the subject."

Gus shrugged, making it clear that it was no bigger deal then than it had been forty years earlier. "Tommy was a rat. And it was strictly business. He got what he deserved."

"Then why
did
your associates seem to care so much?"

Gus pursed his lips, thinking. "They were surprised. That's all. You showed them that you're not just another pretty face. They didn't think a girl could be so smart."

Ridiculous to be pleased by such a small thing, I know, but it was as close to a compliment as I'd ever gotten from Gus. I smiled. "Am I smart?"

He winked. "You had me there to help you."

"Wish you could help me now." I flipped to the next page and the next question and paused with my pen poised over the paper.

Do you ever think that you are deluding yourself
?
Not facing the truth? Not dealing with reality
?

"So how come you never told me about your old man?"

I was deep in thought, trying to figure out how to answer Dan's question when Gus's came at me out of the blue. I looked up, floored.

"You told Rudy," he said. "About your old man. You said he was in federal prison."

"Oh, that." I set down the pen and shook out my hand. "I never mentioned it because it doesn't matter."

"Matters to your father." Gus's smile was grim. He perched on the corner of Dan's desk. "Matters to you, too, I think."

"I'm dealing."

"That's good. Only if you ever… Idunno … want to talk about it… "

"I don't."

"That's good." He stood. "Sometimes itain't easy for a kid… you know?"

"Good thing I'm not a kid." I glanced at the stack of papers still untouched. "And I'm not getting any younger."

I pulled the next page in front of me.

Do you ever hallucinate?

Okay, Dan had me there. Once upon a time that seemed like forever ago, I wouldn't have hesitated. Do I hallucinate? Ask me back then and I would have known the answer.

Youbetcha !

But there was that birthmark on Gus's hip that proved me wrong. And the inside information on The Family Place and Tommy Two Toes. Info I couldn't have dreamed up, no matter how vivid my hallucinations.

There was Gus standing in front of me, as real as the desk between us.

Did I hallucinate?

"No." I spoke out loud and wrote down the single word.

Do you talk to people other people can't see? Do you hear their voices?

"Shit." I tossed down the pen. "How can I even be in this stupid study when I have to start out lying to Dan?" I asked Gus and myself. I spun Dan's desk chair around, stalling for time, looking for a way out that was ethical without being too truthful. I glanced at the stack of file folders, the questionnaires completed by the other people in the study. "Do you suppose they're crazy, too?"

" 'Ceptyou're not."

"Something tells me Dan would disagree."

"Then he'd be wrong."

I poked the stack of folders with my pen. "You think they told the truth?"

"You think anybody does?"

I wasn't about to get philosophical. Especially when I'd just decided to hedge my bets and cheat. A little.

If I looked at what the other participants wrote, maybe I could come up with an answer that sounded at least a little believable.

My mind made up, I picked up a couple of the folders and flipped through them. That's when I heard the office doorknob turn. Dan was back.

As fast as I could, I tossed the folders back on the credenza and spun my chair around.

And that was too bad.

Because in the instant I'd looked through them, I saw something very interesting.

Sure the other folders were stuffed with papers. But those papers? They were blank.

When I got home a couple hours later, I was still
mulling over the mystery of those file folders stuffed with empty paper. I suppose I would have kept right on wondering what Dan was up to and why he'd lied about the other study participants except that the second I was inside my apartment and had the door closed behind me, I had bigger things to worry about.

An arm went around my neck and I got yanked back so hard and so fast, my feet left the floor.

"Some bitches don't know when to mind their own business," AlbertVigniolli grumbled in my ear.

After that…

Well, after that, the wondering and the worry were officially over. The panic kicked in.

I must have looked like a rag doll, thrashing and squirming, powerless with Albert's beefy arm around my neck, my feet dangling and my own arms flailing. I caused about as much damage as a rag doll would have caused, too. Which was exactly none.

I tried for an elbow to his ribs.

Albert laughed.

I did my best to get my foot up so I could bash him in the knee with the heel of my shoe.