The 8th Circle Page 15

  Novell slid the plastic key down the slot and opened Ryan’s room door. A white robe and a trail of clothes led to the bedroom, but it was quiet. Thank Christ. At least he wasn’t walking in on a show.

  Novell opened the minibar, pulled out a bottle of water, and strolled through the sitting area to peer through the doorway. Kate would pick him, of course. He was young. Good looking. He had something to offer.

  Stupid old jackass. Novell’s fist tightened on the water bottle.

  Kate lay with her head on Ryan’s chest, the picture of innocence, but he knew better. Kate’s heart had turned to stone long ago. He stalked over to the side of the bed, opened the bottle of water, and poured it on them, just like a fountain.

  “Jesus fucking Christ!” Ryan leaped up when the cold water hit him. Kate shrieked. Ryan wiped his face with the back of his arm. “You goddamn prick, Novell.”

  “Wakey wakey.” Novell noted the old scars that crisscrossed Ryan’s forearms. Defensive wounds.

  Ryan pushed Kate behind him. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “I’m the man who’s telling you to get up.”

  Novell assessed the anger burning like blue flame in Ryan’s eyes. Damned if there wasn’t something of his old man in him after all. Ryan’s hands balled into fists, and he tensed like he was looking for his best shot. He’d be mean in a fight. Novell sensed it, and he took a step back. Could it be the wife had reason to be afraid? Or did Ryan have that temper under ironclad control? Novell watched the control assert itself. Interesting. Ryan’s hands relaxed, but his face drew tight, ashen. The effort cost him.

  “You aren’t paying for this room, Novell.” Ryan’s voice was soft now but threaded with fury.

  “Neither are you.” Novell tried to make his tone conciliatory. “Look, it’s eleven o’clock. Check out is eleven thirty. Get up and get dressed.”

  That half smile curved Ryan’s mouth, though no humor lit his eyes. He glanced at Kate and then back at Novell. “Did you plan to stand here and watch? It doesn’t matter to me, but I don’t think the lady wants an audience.”

  Novell’s face heated up. “We’ll talk on the way,” he said and shuffled to the door.

  41

  The morning seemed surreal, like maybe he’d taken too many drugs and was caught in a dream, though Danny was pretty sure he now stood in front of the Four Seasons turning into a human Popsicle.

  “What’s going on, Detective?”

  Novell ignored him. Danny asked for his ticket for the Mercedes, but Novell shook his head. “We’ll take my car,” he said. “I’m just around the corner.”

  Kate folded her arms against her chest, and Danny put his arm around her shoulders. He could feel her shaking and wished she’d say something, but she stood rigid and unyielding. She hadn’t spoken since Novell had appeared.

  Novell nodded toward the Crown Vic illegally parked at the corner. “Your car isn’t there. I had it towed last night.”

  “What do you mean you had it towed?” Danny stared at Novell. Who did this asshole think he was?

  “Right after I saw someone fucked with your wheels.”

  *

  They rode in silence. Novell kept the front window half-open and cold air blasted through the car.

  Andy Williams sang “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year” on the radio, and Danny wondered whether someone really messed with his wheels or Novell was jerking his chain. He wished Kate would look at him.

  “Your boss wants to know where we’re hiding you,” Novell said to Kate. They parked in front of her apartment. Danny tried to take her hand, but she pulled away. She stared at the floor.

  “Make up a story. Tell him the police had you looking through mug books all night, do you understand? You don’t tell him where you were.” She didn’t answer. “Kate?”

  “I got it.”

  “Get moving then.” When Danny started to get out with her, Novell caught his arm and jerked him back. “Not you.”

  “Fuck you, Novell.”

  “Christ almighty!” Novell pinned him against the seat. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I’m fine. What’s your problem?”

  “You’re a goddamn idiot. Didn’t it occur to you that someone might be watching you? And if they are, the minute you get out of the car, you put Kate in danger?” Novell glared at Danny.

  “Jesus.” The sick realization churned through his stomach. If someone was watching—he knew damn well someone was watching. “How could you just leave her like that?”

  “Kate can look after herself. It’s you I’m worried about.” Novell pulled away from the curb and headed up Walnut. They hung a right on Twenty-Second Street and waited at the light on Chestnut. Flakes of powdery snow drifted down from the leaden sky and blew across the windshield.

  “Look, Ryan, the people who killed Michael Cohen want you dead.”

  Danny closed his eyes. There was nothing like stating the obvious, or maybe Novell thought he found hearts and bodies regularly. “I’ve gotten death threats before.”

  “These aren’t threats, pal. If you drove home last night, you’d have ended up like your wife and kid.”

  “That’s my problem.”

  “No, it’s mine, so I guess there’s only one thing to do.”

  “And that is?”

  “Protective custody.”

  “No way.”

  “The way I see it, you don’t have a choice.”

  Novell was starting to sound like Kevin with his I’m-a-cop-and-I-know-best attitude. If he didn’t take it from Kevin, Danny sure as shit wasn’t going to take it from Novell. As for protective custody . . .

  The light turned green, and Novell inched toward the intersection. Danny grabbed the door handle, jerked it up, and hurled himself out of the car.

  42

  Danny heard Novell curse, but he kept moving. When he rocketed out of the car, his palm hit the pavement, and his knee slammed against the curb. A shot of agony tore through his body, but he ducked behind a taxi and took off down Twenty-Second Street.

  He cut through an alley and ran with a shuffling limp until he reached Walnut Street. Despite the icy wind, sweat ran down his back. At least there would be stores here. He ducked inside some kind of unisex shop to buy a coat, gloves, jeans, and a sweater.

  Where to go? Not Kate’s. Novell would look there first. Not home. He lingered in the doorway and searched the street for the black Crown Vic. Snow fell thicker and faster. It already coated the pavement. A police cruiser drove past, and Danny pulled back. His heart started to race.

  He wasn’t a criminal. Novell couldn’t put out an APB on him, and he couldn’t force him into protective custody. Could he? Danny had a feeling Novell could do whatever the hell he wanted.

  Danny pushed out the door into the street. He could call Kevin, but he didn’t want Kevin to give him a ration of shit. He wanted more substantial shoes but didn’t see any place where he could grab a simple pair of snow boots. He settled for sneakers.

  He trudged toward Broad Street, his head bowed against the wind and snow. Pausing on the corner of Fifteenth, Danny stared up at the traffic light that swayed in the wind. The answer came to him, and he prayed the Broad Street subway was still running.

  43

  “Jesus 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 saf
e. “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?

  44

  Kate 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.