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  He reached for his glass, but he couldn’t lift it to his lips. What was the point? Tozzi was dead.

  Gibbons let out a sigh so deep and sad, it felt like his ghost had slipped out his nose and left him there. He really didn’t care, though. Everyone in this place was alone and separated. Lorraine and the stripper kid weren’t talking; they weren’t communicating. Lorraine was spouting, and the kid was sopping it up, thinking about how she was gonna ace this lit course with all this stuff she was getting down on the cocktail napkins. The two old drunks sitting together down the end of the bar didn’t even acknowledge each other, let alone anyone else. The bartender was busy counting out the cash in the till. Gibbons was tempted to strike up a conversation—something he never did unless he was looking for information about a suspect. Bartenders were supposed to be good at listening to other people’s troubles. They probably don’t care any more than the next guy, but they know how to make believe. That was okay. Gibbons would take the make-believe understanding. He just needed to talk to someone, anyone. Because Tozzi was dead.

  “Say,” Gibbons started, but the bartender’s gaze sailed past him to the front door. His sickly face was drawn. All of a sudden he was tight-mouthed and owl-eyed. He kept counting the money in his hand, but he wasn’t looking at it.

  Gibbons looked at the reflection in the mirror to see what had spooked him.

  Holy shit! It was Bells.

  The mobster breezed past the blue glow of the jukebox, ignoring the bartender, who obviously knew who he was. He was holding a big plastic Ace Hardware bag, something heavy inside. He was heading for the back room. Gibbons instinctively reached inside his jacket for Excalibur as he got up off his stool. He heard the words in his head before he started to say them: Freeze! FB—

  His fingers fell into the empty holster. He forgot. He didn’t have Excalibur.

  But Tozzi was dead.

  Gibbons moved fast, as if he were weightless. He swept an empty longneck Bud bottle off the bar in front of the closest drunk, and before the drunk realized it was gone, Gibbons had it jammed in Bells’s back, his other arm wrapped around the bastard’s neck, pulling him backward.

  “Freeze, motherfucker! FBI!” Gibbons’s breath was hot, ignited by his wailing tooth. He was breathing fire.

  Lorraine spun around in her seat. “Gibbons!”

  “Jesus!” The stripper stood up and covered her nipples with Boethius.

  Bells was relaxed, almost limp.

  The bartender’s eyes bulged. He looked toward the back room. “Stanley!” His voice was a sharp rasp, like an old dog’s bark.

  The name didn’t register with Gibbons until eight figures emerged from the gloom of the back room: Bells’s right-hand man Stanley, Buddha Stanzione, that little shit Freshy, and Buddha’s pack of gorillas.

  Gibbons cursed under his breath behind Bells’s head. The gang was all here. Wonderful.

  “Hey, Bells.” Stanley’s greeting was tentative.

  Buddha’s eyes were cold. “We been waiting for you, Bells.”

  Freshy was nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He avoided looking at anyone for too long.

  The gorillas, like their boss, only had eyes for Bells. It was as if Gibbons weren’t even there.

  Gibbons glanced into the mirror over the bar. The women were frozen, the drunks confused. He looked at the bartender’s face, wondering whether the guy realized that he was holding a beer bottle to Bells’s back and not a gun. It was hard to tell. The bartender’s slack-jaw expression was hard to read.

  “Let him go,” Buddha muttered.

  Stanley chimed in. “Let us deal with him.” He sounded a little uncomfortable siding with Buddha against his man Bells. Of course, with all these gorillas hanging around, he didn’t have much choice.

  Gibbons glanced at the mirror again. Bells was looking right at him, flashing this shitty little grin, like he had something up his sleeve. He was still holding the bag from the hardware store, which got Gibbons to wondering about what he had in there. But it was the smug, lizard-eyed look on the bastard’s face that he couldn’t figure out. You’d think the guy would be a little shook up under the circumstances, but instead he was very cool. He actually seemed to be enjoying himself.

  Bells raised his eyebrows at Gibbons in the mirror. “Vest?”

  Gibbons didn’t answer, but he was surprised the bastard recognized him.

  “You were wearing a bulletproof, right? Son of a gun.” He shook his head and chuckled, like a multimillionaire who’d just lost ten grand at the roulette table, like it didn’t matter, it was only money.

  “C’mon, Gibbons. Let him go,” Stanley repeated.

  Bells smiled at the little capo. “I didn’t see any cars outside, Buddha. You must’ve parked on the side behind the hedges and come in the back way, right? I should’ve thought to check. How stupid.” He rolled his eyes to the side and looked at Gibbons in the mirror. “I guess you didn’t know they were here either, huh?” He was still smiling like none of this mattered to him.

  Buddha was getting that constipated look, like he wanted things to get moving. The gorillas moved closer, crowding in around the capo’s back.

  “Forget it,” Gibbons said to the whole bunch of them. “He’s under arrest, and I’m taking him in.”

  Buddha shook his head.

  Gibbons ignored him. “He’ll stand trial for what he did. The right way. Not your way.”

  Bells started laughing, softly and to himself. Gibbons frowned. What was he doing, building his case for an insanity plea? Gibbons dug the beer bottle into his back out of spite.

  “He’s ours,” Buddha mumbled. “We’ll take care of him our way.”

  “Forget it.” Gibbons listened for the door behind him to open. If it was true that timing was everything, now would be a great time for those guys from the field office to show up. Gibbons waited, but he didn’t hear anything. So much for timing.

  Stanley stepped forward. He had a curious look on his face.

  “Stay where you are.” Gibbons jammed the bottle into Bells’s back and jerked him back.

  “Easy, my friend, easy, easy.” Bells was smooth.

  Stanley took another step closer and craned his neck to see behind Bells’s back. Gibbons felt his stomach sink. He knew right there and then that he was screwed.

  Stanley turned to the pack. “Freshy, you still got his piece?”

  “Yeah.” Freshy pulled Excalibur out of his pocket and held it up for everyone to see.

  “That’s what I thought.” Stanley moved closer and stared down at the beer bottle. His big jaw broke into a big grin as he shook his head. “Nice try, Gibbons.” He took the bottle out of Gibbons’s hand and waved it at Buddha and his bruisers.

  On Buddha’s nod, the gorillas moved in and grabbed Bells. He didn’t say a word, and he didn’t look particularly upset either. One of them looked in the plastic bag and pulled out a box of heavy-duty lawn-and-leaf plastic bags and a couple of rolls of duct tape. The gorilla reached in again and came up with an electric knife sharpener.

  Lorraine covered her mouth. “Oh, my God . . .”

  “Upstairs,” Buddha grumbled. “Everybody.”

  “I’ll make coffee,” Bells quipped as the gorillas shoved him through the back room.

  Stanley had his gun out. “Mrs. Gibbons?” he said to Lorraine. He was being polite about it, extending his arm to show her the way.

  She looked at Gibbons, her brows slanted back in distress. “Do we have to . . . ?”

  Gibbons shrugged. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

  She went to his side and squeezed his arm. It was the first sign of connection he’d gotten from her all day. He looked into her face and finally saw that she was there—not Professor Lorraine, his Lorraine. He wanted to hug her and give her a kiss that lasted until their breath ran out and then some, but Stanley’s gun was prodding his back, and Buddha was giving them dirty looks. Gibbons took Lorraine’s hand and locked fingers with he
r.

  They followed the crowd into the back room, where Buddha and company had been waiting to ambush Bells. Gibbons couldn’t believe that he’d been that out of it that he didn’t hear them come in. He couldn’t imagine these baboons being quiet. They passed through a back door to a dim hallway with a cold cement floor that led to a loading dock at the back of the building. The stink from the Dumpster would have been worse than it already was if it hadn’t been so chilly out. Freshy opened the gate of the freight elevator, and the gorillas hustled Bells inside, his arms pinned back behind him. They weren’t gentle with him, but from the relaxed look on his face, nothing seemed to bother him. Stanley prodded Gibbons again, and he and Lorraine stepped inside, standing against the wall away from Bells. Stanley and Buddha took the middle position as Freshy dropped the wooden gate.

  Stanley tugged on the rope that started the elevator. “We figured you’d come back here, Bells.” It sounded like an apology.

  Bells just smiled and nodded.

  “Yeah. I went up to look for you before, but the place was all dark.”

  Bells’s face hardened, then just as quickly it relaxed again.

  Gibbons caught Stanley’s eye. “This is the Belfry?”

  Stanley nodded.

  Gibbons shook his head. “Son of a bitch.”

  “What did you do with my cousin Michael?”

  All heads turned to Lorraine. Her clear demanding voice was startling among all these grumbling wiseguys.

  Bells let his gaze bore through her like a slow drill press, but Lorraine wasn’t cowed. “What did you do with them?” she repeated. “Did you kill them?”

  Freshy shuffled his feet, looking from Bells to Stanley to Buddha to Bells. He was worried sick about his sister.

  Gibbons studied Stanley’s face, looking for a clue. Had Bells killed them already? Were they up there dead on the floor? He remembered the duct tape and the garbage bags Bells had bought. His heart was pounding in syncopation with his throbbing tooth.

  Buddha was looking into Bells’s face for a clue of his own, but Bells revealed nothing. They just had to wait for the tired old elevator to get there. It seemed to take forever. When it finally stopped with a clunk, Lorraine had Gibbons’s hand in a vise-grip. He’d forgotten about his tooth, but his heart was pounding down a brick wall in his chest.

  The room beyond the gate was dark. Freshy raised the gate so fast, it banged at the top and dropped back down halfway. “Gina!”

  Stanley stepped out and groped for the light switch. Fluorescent bulbs flickered on the ceiling, and suddenly the place was revealed: the kitchen, the couches, the plastic tarp bunched up on the floor. But where were Tozzi and Gina? Gibbons honed in on Bells’s eyes, ready to follow his gaze. But Bells was watching Buddha.

  The gorillas wrenched Bells’s arms and shoved him out of the elevator. Stanley pointed his gun up and motioned for Gibbons and Lorraine to get out, too. Buddha was the last one out, the little emperor.

  Gibbons felt Lorraine putting the squeeze on his hand again, digging her nails into the flesh over his knuckles. She was frantic, ready to explode, staring at something against the wall. Gibbons followed her gaze to a paint-peeled radiator under a closed window. Then he noticed the two shiny items on the floor next to the radiator—a short chain padlocked around the steam pipe, and a black patent-leather shoe with a velvet bow on the front, a woman’s shoe.

  “Oh, Jesus.” Freshy’s face crumpled as he lunged at Bells. “You son of a bitch!”

  One of the goons stepped in his way, and Freshy literally bounced off him. Before Freshy even thought about making another attempt, the gorilla moved in on him and changed his mind.

  “Whad’ja do with my sister?” Freshy yelled over the gorilla’s head.

  “And my cousin,” Lorraine added.

  Bells made a big show out of looking at the radiator, then looking around the loft. He shrugged. “Beats me.” He was trying to be cool and unconcerned, but Gibbons could see the shadow of a blue vein surfacing on one temple.

  Buddha walked up to Bells and got in his face. “So what’s the story, Bells?”

  Bells pulled down the lizard lids again. He was pissed, and he was trying not to show it.

  “Talk,” Buddha grunted. “Tell me things.”

  “Like what?” Bells was arrogant.

  “Tell me about that funny money you tried to pass off on me this morning.” Buddha was like a spike—hard, short, and sharp.

  Bells just looked at him for a second, then looked at Gibbons and pointed with his head. “Not in front of him.” He nodded toward the boxed-off room in the far corner. “In the bathroom.”

  The little emperor didn’t seem to like the idea. “Dom,” he said to one of the gorillas. He nodded toward the bathroom. “Go check it out.”

  Ice water ran through Gibbons’s heart. What if Gina and Tozzi weren’t dead? What if they’d gotten loose and were hiding in the bathroom? Even if Tozzi had a gun, there were too many of them. But Tozzi was stupid enough to take them all on. Shit.

  Big Dom reached around to the small of his back and pulled out a big black-matte automatic. A 9-millimeter, Gibbons assumed, with a big clip, fourteen, fifteen bullets. Big Dom moved toward the bathroom, leading with the gun like a point man on jungle patrol. When he got to the door, he waited and listened.

  Gibbons balled his fists. Lorraine clutched his arm.

  Suddenly Big Dom threw the door back and crashed into the bathroom, sweeping the small space with his weapon. He went all the way in, closed the door behind him, and came right back out, nodding to his boss. “It’s okay, Mr. Stanzione.”

  Gibbons started breathing again. Lorraine loosened her grip.

  But Gibbons’s relief didn’t last. If Tozzi and Gina weren’t in there, where were they? He glanced at the bunched-up plastic tarp between the green couch and the cabinets under the kitchen counter.

  On Buddha’s order, the gorillas let go of Bells, and Dom escorted him at gunpoint into the bathroom, followed by the little emperor, who walked with a swagger, hands in his pants pockets, the train of his camel hair overcoat swishing behind him.

  After the bathroom door closed, Lorraine suddenly went into overdrive. “Stanley, where are they? What did he do with them? Tell me. Please, Stanley.”

  Stanley shrugged, his eyes slanted back in sympathy. “I don’t know, Mrs. Gibbons. I wish I could tell you something.”

  “But, Stanley, you’ve worked with him. You must know—”

  Stanley just shook his head and shrugged. “Sorry, Mrs. Gibbons.”

  Freshy piped up. “Hey, Stanley, what about—?”

  “Hey!” A shout came from the bathroom, then a clunk and a crash. Then the lights went out, and the room went black.

  “Nobody move!” Stanley shouted.

  “What the fuck?”

  “What happened to the lights?”

  “Mr. Stanzione? You all right? You all right?”

  The gorillas panicked. Gibbons could hear them scrambling in the dark.

  “I said don’t move! Nobody!” Stanley yelled.

  Two shots rang out, muzzle strobes lighting the room, but they came from the elevator. Gibbons grabbed Lorraine and pulled her to the floor, covering her with his body. Jesus!

  “Do what the man said. Don’t move.” It was Bells’s voice, and it was coming from the elevator. The gate banged closed, and the elevator motor groaned to life.

  Two more shots lit the darkness, making Gibbons’s ears pop. He pressed his chest to Lorraine’s back, making her go down flatter.

  “Don’t do anything stupid now,” Bells warned in singsong. “‘Or would you rather be a pig?’”

  The elevator ground its way down, and Bells fired again, keeping everyone at bay. The elevator was so slow, it was hard to say whether he still had a good shot at any of them or not, but Gibbons wasn’t taking any chances, not with Lorraine there.

  Twenty seconds passed, and the gorillas came out of the bushes, stumbling over the plas
tic tarp and cursing, groping for the bathroom.

  “Mr. Stanzione? Mr. Stanzione? You all right?”

  Gibbons heard one of them banging on the bathroom door, then there were more curses.

  “What happened?” Stanley shouted from somewhere behind Gibbons.

  “Jesus Christ!” Freshy breathed. “Jesus!”

  “Gibbons?” Lorraine was shaky.

  “Stay down.” Gibbons got to his feet, but stayed in a crouch, his hand on Lorraine’s hip.

  The lights flickered back on then, and Gibbons squinted against the sudden brightness.

  “What happened?” Stanley shouted as he ran to the bathroom.

  Gibbons followed him.

  “Holy shit!” Stanley’s big jaw dropped as he looked in from the doorway.

  Gibbons looked over his shoulder. The gorillas were crowded around the little monkey emperor who was doubled over, writhing, clutching his head. Two halves of a broken porcelain toilet tank cover were on the floor. Big Dom was sitting motionless with his legs stretched out, heels together, his head slumped forward like a Raggedy Ann doll. A switch blade was sticking out of the back of his neck. Severed spinal cord, Gibbons thought, surgical precision. On the wall above Big Dom was an open junction box.

  It wasn’t hard to piece it all together. Bells had taken them both on. He must’ve grabbed Big Dom’s gun and hit the circuit breakers. His efficiency in the dark with the rest of it was chilling.

  Suddenly fearing for Lorraine, Gibbons wheeled around to go to her, but he froze when he saw her standing where he’d left her, looking at Freshy, who was on the verge of tears. It was a still shot of grief becoming a reality, the victims’ relatives frozen in gut-gnawing pain, finally believing what they’d been trying so hard to deny. Gibbons felt a heaviness in his chest that threatened to bring him to his knees with sadness for Lorraine. And for Tozzi.