The 56th Man (26 page)

"Hey," she said in a sultry voice before even
looking at him.

"Good evening," Ari said, stabbing a meatball
with his toothpick.

Her head shot up. She frowned and glanced
over at the bartender, who stopped plying his dishtowel across the
counter and leaned his forearms on the newly-cleaned wood. He was
tall but thin. Either someone Ari had not seen provided the muscle
around here, or he had some other means of establishing order.

"Problem, Tina?"

She turned back to Ari and worked on focusing
her eyes. Her glass was small, like a miniature champagne flute.
Ari had watched the shuttle service between the bar and booth and
knew she had had three of whatever it was she was drinking. It was
obvious she depended upon the good will of the Shamrock staff to
function.

"I know you..." she said.

"We met briefly yesterday morning, in front
of your shop."

"Oh yeah...the French Twist."

"I'm sorry?"

"When you ran off in the rain, you yelled
something in French. Something about being late for an
appointment."

"Yes," Ari sighed. An appointment with a
gunfight.

"Yeah..." She attempted a snarl, which
misfired into a sad leer. Ari realized she was going to try to
chase him off with attitude. The clock on the wall said 6:43. He
could take his time.

"You're that wetback that bought Moria's
house." Her face went gloomy with doubt. "I mean...you're that
mick...no, wait...I'm sorry. Give me a minute.

No one had ever apologized to Ari for
misapplying a racial epithet to him. He found the experience
amusing, but did not smile.

"Spade...? Well, you look like half a spade."
Tina rifled through her lexicon of the dark side, which seemed as
paltry as the rest of her vocabulary. "Frog...guinea...spic! That's
it! Spic! Or wait..."

It was amazing what a little lipstick could
do. When Ari had seen her at the shop, she had been wearing a
bright red gloss that animated her small face. But that irate
liveliness now rested in a nest of red-smeared paper napkins at her
elbow. She had been dabbing at her lips as she drank, removing her
personality bit by bit, until she was stone.

"I believe the phrase you are looking for is
'Italian of Arab descent'," Ari said.

"Don't tell me the Pope's gone PC."

"I have no idea." Ari finished his ginger
ale.

A young couple who looked like clones of the
Mackenzies entered the bar, hesitated uncertainly on seeing Tina
sharing the booth with a stranger, and left. With her back to the
door, Tina could not see them, but the bartender was obviously put
out.

"You're still snooping around about the
Riggins murders?" Tina said angrily.

"I'm quite curious--"

"Weren't you told to forget it?"

Not exactly. Carrington had done his best to
make Ari uncomfortable. But for all the blunt hints, he had never
come right out and told Ari to give up his personal investigation,
or else.

"I only have a few questions--"

Tina smiled as the waitress came up to their
table. "Marybelle..." Tina said with relief, as though she had just
taken a shot from an oxygen mask.

"Ah," said Ari, scooting his empty glass to
the edge. "Could I have another one of these?"

"Sir," said Marybelle, ignoring the glass.
"This is a family restaurant. We don't want any trouble."

"Certainly. Neither do I."

"Then I'm going to have to ask you to stop
disturbing this lady."

Tina flicked her brow and Marybelle became
more emphatic.

"In fact, sir, I'm going to have to ask you
to leave."

"And if I don't leave, and insist on
continuing my lovely conversation with this lovely lady, will you
call the police?"

"Yes, sir."

"But you don't really want to do that, do
you?" Ari said. "They would be astonished to find out Tina has been
dispensing non-prescription medication out of her little pharmacy
here. That's an interesting handbag, by the way. Gucci?"

He had raised the discussion beyond
discussion. Words now bordered on the meaningless, unless they
could be backed by a viable threat.

Tina leaned forward, smirking. "Listen, Mr.
What-the-Fuck, you'd better get your ass out of here. Marybelle is
a black belt. She'll crack your spine for the marrow."

"Your language is unsightly," said Ari. He
meant it.

"Sir," Marybelle persisted, taking a stance.
Ari noticed she had excellent balance. She was wearing cropped
jeans and a tied off blouse that exposed her finely toned ribs. He
was impressed when she flexed her abdominal muscles.

"From what I've seen in American movies, I
believe this is the moment I ask if you want to step outside."

"With pleasure, sir."

"You have, I believe, served in the armed
forces?"

"
Hooah
, sir."

"It shows." Ari's hand shot out. He had
Marybelle by the wrist. She gave a small shout of anger at being
surprised. She moved forward to attack but this only helped Ari
plant her hand on the table. He slid his thumb under her middle
finger, using the rest of his hand to hold her down. As she raised
her other arm to strike, Ari lifted up on her trapped finger. She
gave a small bark of pain.

"Please desist," Ari said pleasantly, adding
a little more pressure when it seemed she wasn't listening.

Tina watched bug-eyed. The bartender had
circled around with the first weapon that came into his hand: an
ash tray. Ari warned him off by drawing another shout from
Marybelle.

The bartender noticed customers staring at
him. He smiled and began wiping out the ash tray with the edge of
his small apron.

Ari kept his voice low. "Marybelle, listen
carefully. Do you hear me? I have never broken a woman’s arm
before. I'm sure it would upset my digestion. Proper digestion is
critical to good health, don't you agree?"

Marybelle was sweating, her nausea gathering.
Ari hoped she would see reason quickly, or else her digestion would
end up in his lap.

"Okay," she grimaced.

Ari let go. She stepped back, massaging her
hand. Ari decided not to add insult to injury by insisting on a
refill.

"Who are you?" Tina asked breathlessly as
soon as Marybelle slunk away.

"You've heard of the Genovese family?"

"My God..." Tina pressed her spine against
the bench. "What are you, some kind of hitman? Am I trespassing on
someone's territory? You want a piece of the action?"

Ari briefly considered the offer. He was,
after all, strapped for cash. But he decided this was not the best
way to acquire it.

"I want nothing to do with your operation
here," said Ari. "I am only a concerned citizen..." Ari paused. He
wasn't exactly a citizen of this country. Not even a welcome guest,
it seemed. "A concerned citizen of the world. Whoever killed that
family is still on the loose. Bringing them to justice would
benefit everyone."

"Not the killer," said Tina.

Singular
...

"Did Jerry Riggins own a gun?"

"How the fuck should I--" Tina was not
looking at him, but at the wall paneling. But she sensed his
dissatisfaction with her. Even before he presented himself, as he
watched from the barstool, he had seen her progressively wilt with
each minute. It wasn't just the alcohol. She did not like the drug
trade. Had she inherited it from Moria?

Shadows formed harsh pools under her eyes.
She shook her head. "I don't know. But I think..."

"Yes?" Ari prodded.

"Moria said something about getting one. I
was surprised. That wasn't like her."

"Was she afraid of someone?"

"Since you saw the business you must know the
business," she scolded, as though to say he wasn't a very good
spy.

"You're saying that the trade in little
cellophane envelopes is dangerous?"

Tina brushed away several layers of alcohol
haze, leaving behind about a dozen.

"I know what you're thinking, that this is
what got Moria killed. But it isn't."

This settled one of Ari's questions very
nicely. "How do you know?"

"Because I would have been told so."

"By Carrington?"

Tina had enough of her wits about her to
shrug. "Anyway, everyone liked her. This...was nothing. Like giving
a drink to a friend."

"Yes, I always make my friends pay for their
drinks." Ari finished off his last meatball. Suddenly, a glass
appeared in front of him.

"On the house."

"Why, thank you, Marybelle," said Ari,
smiling up at the waitress. "That is most gracious of you."

Marybelle nodded and walked away. Tina tossed
a skeptical glance at her protectress, then at the ginger ale.

"How long had you and Moria been entertaining
your friends this way?"

"Not long."

Having encountered a wide swath of relativism
since his arrival, Ari aimed for a more precise timescale. "'Not
long' means what? Months? Years?"

"A few..."

"Years?"

She didn't answer.

"Did Jerry participate in this business?"

"Jerry was a wuss."

"Because he looked after the boys at
home?"

"Because he really had faith in that garbage
he painted and thought he was going somewhere."

"Meaning fame and fortune?"

"Meaning he thought he had the right to mooch
off his wife and her folks. 'For the greater glory of garbage' and
all that. Well he's raking it in, now...and look what he had to do
to get there."

Ari found the choice of words curious. "What
did he have to do?"

"He--" Tina caught herself. "He had to go and
get killed," she said finally.

Ari gave her a nod of agreement. Yes, that
seemed a bit extreme. "Tell me, why would Moria get involved in
something like this? Not for the money. Wasn't she well-provided
for by her parents?"

"People with money are even worse," said
Tina, giving one of her short locks a violent tug.

"You mean she was in it for kicks?"

"Her father..."

"What about him?"

But Tina was wagging her finger at Marybelle.
"Sugar, could you bring me another one of these?"

"Sure, Sugar," said the waitress, returning
to the bar.

Tina took out a pack of Marlboros.
"Mind?"

In response, Ari brought out his Winstons. A
cloud of smoke soon boiled at the front of the bar.

"You know some of the customers are worried
about second-hand smoke," Marybelle admonished Tina as she brought
her drink.

Ari inferred from her tone that she was
speaking of Tina's customers, not the usual clientele of the
Shamrock family establishment--though of as yet Ari had seen no
children. The irony of health-conscious druggies was not lost on
him.

"You see any customers?" Tina said
querulously. "Until I finish with Sherlock here I think business
will be nada."

Marybelle bit Ari's head off with a glance
and went away. Perhaps she was sorry she had given him the ginger
ale.

"What about Moria's father?"

"Millionaire. I know that's not much these
days, but a million is still a big number in Richmond. He was an
executive with an aluminum company. Moria called him the Tin
Man."

"I'm sorry..."

"You know, from The Wizard of Oz. The most
iconic movie in American history?"

"I must have missed that one," Ari
confessed.

"You never heard of Dorothy or the Cowardly
Lion or the Scarecrow?"

"Moria's father..."

"Talk about cultural deficiency. If you want
to become a citizen, you've got to watch that movie." Tina sipped
at her drink.

"I believe aluminum and tin are not the same
thing."

Tina burst out laughing. Like most people,
she was at her most attractive when she laughed. No need for
lipstick. "Moria's father, Tom Massington...he had some issues. I
don't know all the details, but a few years ago he cut Moria out of
his will. He totally cut her allowance, which was a thousand times
more than my pappy gave me for being useless around the house.
Heather...Moria's mother...she has money of her own that she was
going to leave to Moria, but it's nothing like what she would've
gotten if Tom hadn't changed his mind."

"You don't know why?"

"I can guess. Around the same time, Tom
started pestering Moria about getting swabbed for a DNA sample. She
couldn't exactly tell him to go fuck himself, him being her
pot-of-gold daddy and all. But she put him off. So far as I know,
he never got any cheek cells, or whatever it is they use for
that."

"He didn't think he was her father?"

"Kinda looks like that."

Ari brooded on this a moment. "Do you know
how Jerry reacted to this?"

"No. But he had to cut back on the gallery
shows. I guess that would make any artist mad."

"Was there any possibility that they could
have lost their home?"

"Not unless they didn't pay their taxes. Her
daddy paid cash for it, not long before the split."

"What is Heather Massington like?"

"Royalty. She has a way of making you feel
like a grasshopper. Moria's older brother was killed in a car wreck
years ago and so far as I know she never shed a tear."

"You knew Moria and her family back
then?"

"I've known Moria since we were teens. We met
at Regency Mall. She was shopping. I was looking. We hit it
off."

"Did you sleep with her?"

"Now you're stretching."

"We heard things about America," Ari said
limply, tacitly adding that in backwater Sicily one didn't hear
much about other countries--just the smut. "I've heard of men
having sex with camels, too. Not in America, though."

"Now that's humping!" Tina laughed. "No,
Moria and I never humped. Never occurred to us."

"To you," said Ari.