The 8th Circle (16 page)

“J
esus God, Danny! What the hell happened to you?” Theresa pulled him in the door.

Danny couldn’t feel his toes. Melting snow ran in rivulets down his head and neck and seeped under his collar.

“Did you walk from Valley Forge?” He shook his head and watched his sister unbutton his coat. “Don’t say nothin’. Go upstairs and take a shower right now.”

The water burned his frozen skin, but the chill drained out of his bones and swirled down the drain. Danny breathed in the clouds of steam, felt his muscles relax, and wondered how long it would take Novell to figure out that he had a sister who still lived in South Philly. Maybe he was already on his way. Danny was too tired to care.

It seemed to take hours to walk the twelve blocks from the subway to her house. Once he knew the neighborhood so well he could’ve found his way blindfolded; now the narrow streets were alien to him. The redbrick row homes all looked alike. Maybe it was the snow; maybe it was because he found himself turning toward the old man’s house more than once.

He didn’t know what would make him want to go anywhere near that place. He’d closed that door on his life and triple locked it, but his father always hovered outside, his personal monster.
Danny could hear him working away at the locks, testing the knob, always pushing, waiting for his chance.

Danny would hear him those nights when Beth would chatter about her latest plan for grooming Conor into a proper gentleman, and he would smart over his own lack of culture, inferior education, and missing pedigree. The shame and anger would coat him like a thin, red haze, but he kept the door shut tight, even if it took all his strength to keep it closed, because he swore he’d never be like the old man. To what end? From the depths of hell, Danny swore his father was laughing. He turned off the water and stepped out.

Theresa left him clothing. Her husband’s things. Heavy socks. An extra large, extra ugly, green velour jogging suit with an Eagles logo. Danny knew Vic wouldn’t care. Dead men didn’t need clean clothes.

Theresa was sitting at the table when he came into the kitchen. She stood and tried not to smirk. “Your stuff’s in the dryer.”

“Thanks.” He slid his arms around her. The years had hollowed out Theresa. Her hair stuck out in a chaotic frizz around her head. An inch of black roots frosted with gray clung to her scalp, and it was hard to reconcile this hard-bitten woman with the popular prom queen who’d once been his sister.

She pulled back to look at him, her pale-blue eyes sharp with curiosity. “Danny, what happened to you? You look fuckin’ awful.”

“I need to hide out for a few days.”

“You need to eat a square meal and tell me what’s wrong.” She nodded toward the stove. “I got lasagna. I’ll make it, okay? So you sit and tell me what’s wrong. Jesus Christ. You showed up half-froze on my doorstep.”

“Maybe you don’t want to hear this.”

Theresa put her hands on her hips. “I grew up with the Iceman. I was married to Vic Ceriano for fifteen years and did two years in the slam. I been through detox six times. What’re you gonna tell me I can’t handle?”

“I didn’t kill that girl, the one in my house. In case you were wondering.”

“Never crossed my mind.”

“Because you don’t think I’m capable of murder?”

Theresa gave him a sly smile. It was a look he remembered well. The look she got whenever she pulled one over on the old man. “I guess if you had to do murder, you could, but you wouldn’t be dumb enough to get caught.”

“I got caught selling dope.”

“And look how that turned out for you.” She went to the oven and pulled out a pan of lasagna. It smelled decent; then again, he hadn’t eaten today. She scooped out a generous portion onto a plate and set it in front of him. “The old man did you a favor when he tossed you in jail.”

Theresa had a way of looking at things that was stripped of artifice. Maybe it had to do with all those years of rehab.

Danny dug into the lasagna. The noodles tasted like rubber; the cheese had the consistency of plastic, and the sauce was straight from a jar, but right now he couldn’t shovel it down fast enough.

“It’s okay?” She twisted her fingers together and stared at him as if his approval was important. When he smiled and nodded, she took a deep breath and relaxed.

“It’s great, Theresa. Thank you.” Danny started to reach out for her, but she just plopped another helping on his plate. He wanted to bury his face in it.

“Christ, it ain’t that good. Vic always said I was a shitty cook.”

“What did he know?” Danny wanted to tell her it was the first time in a year he felt hungry, but he didn’t. He finished the lasagna, pushed back from the table, and rested his hands on his stomach.

“So what were you doing with the Goth chick anyway?”

“Research.”

She sat down beside him. “On what? Findin’ true love?”

“Sex clubs.”

Theresa chuckled. “You at a sex club? That I’da paid to see. You’re so goddamn straight.”

Danny didn’t know whether to be insulted or not. “I guess you have intimate experience with them.”

“Don’t get huffy.” She lit a cigarette and blew the smoke at him. “I was married to a dope dealer. I didn’t hang out at the Four Seasons with all them big shots like you, though Vic did sell ’em a lot of drugs.”

“I was at a place called Black Velvet.”

“Yeah, Vic dealt there. It’s a real hole, but there’s worse places.”

“You ever hear of the Inferno?”

Danny felt her leg jerk under the table. He heard the faint crackle of the cigarette when Theresa took a long drag that must have pulled the nicotine down to her toes.

“The Inferno? That what you’re into? Jesus Christ, does Kevin know? He’ll smack the shit outta you.”

“Kevin’s an asshole.”

“You’re both assholes. Two hardhead Micks.” She picked a piece of tobacco from her front tooth, examined it, and flicked it at him. “You tryin’ to write about them? The Inferno?”

“Maybe.”

“I got Vic’s guns upstairs under my bed. Go pick one and blow your brains out instead. The Inferno. That ain’t no club. You can’t go there.”

Danny let her words sink in. He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him sooner to speak to Theresa. If anyone would know about the underside of Philly, she would.

“Come on, Theresa, talk to me.”

“Just like that? Why should I?”

He saw the avaricious gleam in her eyes before she looked away, and he knew that she wasn’t going to volunteer anything out of sisterly affection. Stupid of him to have forgotten the family creed: fuck everyone. “I’ll pay you.”

“Money’s no good if I’m dead.”

“You’ll be dead if you don’t lay off the cancer sticks.”

“Fuck you. I gave up everything else. Not everyone’s a saint like you.”

Danny didn’t argue. It wasn’t worth the effort. “I won’t use your name. I just want information.”

“Vic never clued me in on his business.”

He could’ve reminded her that she was a drug mule for Vic, but he didn’t. It would’ve pissed her off, and she’d have shut up for good. When she didn’t say anything further, Danny wondered how long she planned to stretch it out. She shifted in her chair, but he ignored her.

“Must be great to be rich, huh, Danny?” She sounded bitter, and he swallowed his anger. He hadn’t been rich when she’d broken into his apartment and stolen almost everything he owned for drugs.

Kevin had wanted him to press charges, but he couldn’t do it. “Junkie bitch,” Kevin had called her, but Danny never could bring himself to judge her. Theresa was a survivor; she did what she had to do to get by.

“So how much money’re we talkin’ about?” Theresa said.

What difference did it make? She was right: he was rich. Money wasn’t going to bring Conor back. “Pick a number.”

She smiled. “You’re nicer than Kevin at least.”

Danny massaged his right eye socket. “Does the Inferno own Black Velvet? Pluto’s Bowl? Tophet?”

“Where did you hear about Tophet?”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not. Not sure what it is, but there’s a club in Northern Liberties.”

“And?”

“And nothin’. I don’t know the name. All I know is its some extreme S and M club open to members only. Vic had a special card. Real weird gold thing with this black drop in the middle.”

Danny clutched the sides of the table. It sounded similar to the card Michael had. He wished he had brought it with him, but it sat in his safe. “You still have the card?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

Danny watched her calculate what it was worth to him, but he didn’t care. He wanted that card. “What else?”

She gave him a blank look born of years of practice on the old man and later on cops in general. “What do you mean, Danny?”

“Come on, Theresa, you know more than that.”

“I was so strung out at that time I didn’t know my ass from a hole in the ground. All I know is Vic dealt with this subhuman named Lester or Lenny or something like that. A big ape with a square head. I’ll never forget him.”

Theresa stared into the thin, blue ribbon of smoke that snaked up from her cigarette, and it struck him that she looked a little wistful. Maybe she’d loved Vic at that. She’d stuck it out with him despite the beatings, the constant stream of whores, the arrests.

“So how do I find him?”

“You start lookin’ around for the Inferno, he’ll find you.”

“Did he find Vic?”

She took another drag on the cigarette. “Who the fuck knows? Vic sampled too much of his own product.”

“But no one came after you.”

She smiled a little. “Vic wasn’t all bad. He had friends who took care of me. It’s good to have friends, Danny. You might remember that.”

“Did he kill Vic?”

She looked away. “I don’t know. Seriously. But Vic saw somethin’. He never said what, but it was bad. Real bad. And two weeks later he OD’d. Coulda been he got careless. Wouldn’t have been the first time. But . . .” She shrugged and let it hang.

What were the odds?

K
ate sat on her window seat and stared out at the street below. In the darkness, the lights glowed pinkish yellow against the swirling snow. Only the plows traveled tonight.

She rested her head against her knees. Why had she let him get close to her? She hadn’t planned on sleeping with him. She’d planned to slip out, call a taxi. But she’d seen the cartridge from his medicine in the waste can. If she’d been smart, she wouldn’t have stood by the side of the chair and watched him in his uneasy sleep. But she’d claimed him as her own fallen angel, the hell with the consequences.

And there were always consequences.

She’d never let anyone see her naked in the daylight. But he wasn’t appalled at the white scars on her rib cage, the pucker just below her right breast. He’d kissed it and told her she was beautiful.

“I wish I’d met you before,” he’d said.

“Before what?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and she watched him trying to frame his answer. He did that a lot. Danny was careful with words. He enjoyed coaxing them out of people, but he liked being careful with his own. Was it the deceiver in him or his fear of exposing himself? Maybe it was both. It allowed him to insinuate
himself into people’s lives, however briefly, and walk away with little nuggets he would polish into gems.

Was she real to him or just another little nugget of a story he would store away in his mind? Kate pressed her fingers against her eyes and willed herself not to cry. She wished she could be like the snow and dance away on the wind.

She heard the soft knock on her door and went to open it. Novell. She tried to slam it in his face, but he stuck his foot in the doorway.

“I don’t have any booze,” she said.

“It’s not a social call.” He pushed past her. “Where is he?”

Kate folded her arms. “Who?”

“Ryan.”

She tried without success to force down the bubble of laughter that rose in her chest. “Jesus Christ, Novell. You lost him?”

Novell caught her by the shoulders. “Tell me where he is or—”

“Or what?” She grinned when Novell let go of her shoulders.

Novell leaned close. She knew he did it because she hated it, but she didn’t flinch. “You just remember, Kate. I know who you are. If Ryan comes here, you call me. Linda Cohen was a warning. I can protect him.”

He didn’t believe that. Kate would have sympathized if her anger hadn’t run so deep.

“No one can protect him, Novell. He’ll have to take his chances.”

“That’s cold. So cold I almost don’t believe you.”

Damn him. She hated that he knew her so well. Once it was almost a relief having one person she didn’t have to lie to, and she felt a pull toward him—even though he was a million years old. Sometimes she still felt it. Faint, almost bittersweet, even though Novell thought she was a whore.

Hell, she’d been that. She made no apologies. But her most unforgivable sin in Novell’s eyes was going to work for Robert Harlan.

“Ryan’s still in love with his wife,” Novell said. “Funny, isn’t it? She was a bitch too.”

Kate gave a shrug as if she didn’t care, but cold sliced into her chest. Still, she wouldn’t give Novell something else to hold over her head. Novell knew her at her worst, clinging to the edge of a toilet, barely able to stand. It didn’t give him the right to tell her how to live.

“You used to be kind of decent, Novell. You get religion or what?”

“I’m just warning you, Kate. Don’t think he’s some kind of hero because you had sex with him.”

“Why is it that men think women can’t get over getting laid?” Kate examined her nails. She had a chip in her manicure and glared at the offending triangle of white in the smooth burgundy of her thumbnail. “Believe me, Novell. You see one dick, you’ve seen ’em all. Someday, I’ll get me a dog, then I’ll be content.” She sat back down on the window seat.

“Ryan attracts some heartless women.”

She pulled up her knees and rested her head on them. Heartless. That was almost funny. “How’s Linda?”

“Still unconscious. You talk to the senator?”

“I told him I was with the police.”

“You need to watch yourself with him.”

Kate heard this lecture before. “I’ll be all right.”

“I’m serious, Kate. He’s a predator. He likes to isolate—”

“He’s never done anything improper.” She didn’t understand why Novell thought Senator Harlan would do anything to her. Sure, he was strange, but he’d always been kind to her. Sort of like a mentor.

Novell shook his head. “He doesn’t work that way. He’ll suck you dry and then discard you. I’m warning you, for your own good.”

Kate focused on the salt truck that drove down the street. Its amber light flashed like a beacon. If she concentrated on that light, the snowplow, she could shut out the terrible pain in her nonexistent heart.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be, Novell?”

“If Ryan comes here, you let me know.”

“He’s not stupid. He got what he wanted from me. Why should he come back?” That was what Novell expected. Cynical Kate. The whore.

What else could she do? When Thomas had died, she had to survive. She didn’t have anyone to look out for her. If he’d lived a little longer, things might have been different. She didn’t know why Thomas had signed on to be her angel, but he’d told her once she was his penance and redemption.

All she knew was that Thomas had paid for the surgery on her face. He’d given her a place to stay, helped her find a new identity. A girl with the same first name because he said it would be easier to remember, and Katie Shay of Belfast, Ireland, became Kate Reid of Deer Island, Maine.

It would’ve alarmed Thomas to see her with his son, the boy he’d been at odds with forever. One of those nights near the end, when the pain was bad and he was living on morphine, Thomas had told her Danny was conceived in anger, and he couldn’t look at him without feeling ashamed.

“The Lord punished me,” he’d said. “He took my Mary and left me with—every time I look at him . . .” He’d buried his face in his hands, his gaunt cheeks marred with tears.

No, Thomas wouldn’t be happy, but it was too late. She’d jumped in the deep end. Or maybe that happened long ago.

Novell said, “Goodnight, Kate.”

She startled at the sound of his voice.

Kate turned back to the window and reached out to touch the cold glass. She wanted to cry for Thomas and Danny Ryan and Katie Shay, the girl who died in the flames. The lost one.