按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
first time he'd had one on。 Who were these guys？
They seemed to be a long time underwater。 When they emerged； it was to a long sweep of fuel…stained concrete； the front porch of New Jersey。
The air had changed。 It was sweaty； soot…laden； as if the entire area were one vast mill。 Cars； concrete； steel； and high…tension wires made an unappetizing mosaic； an environment devoid of color or life。
They turned off right away； heading toward Hoboken。 But they never actually made it there。 The blue…and…white pulled in past a rusting gas station that must have been a relic of the forties。 An old VW Beetle； stripped and burnt out； hunkered on the blackened concrete apron where underground gas tanks hadn't been filled in decades。 A black cat scrounged indifferently through piles of litter。
Behind the deserted station was a junkyard full of rusted cars of no conceivable use to anyone。 It was surrounded by a high chain…link fence topped with barbed wire。 It had the appearance of a POW camp。 Rubble was everywhere as if； at some time in the not…too…distant past； this had been a war zone。 A couple of bundled…up homeless people trundled dispiritedly past； their backs bent as they pushed shopping carts full of brown bags； string； and old； soiled clothes。 They crossed the street in a racket as the carts collided。 A brief argument ensued； then one of them made a brief attempt to capture the cat； but it was too nimble； streaking away at the first clumsy lunge。
〃Nice neighborhood；〃 Croaker said 〃You boys e here often？〃
〃Shut up！〃 blue…jaw said； jabbing him with the muzzle of the pistol。
〃Careful； sonny；〃 Croaker said。 〃You might get careless and shoot yourself。〃
〃I told you …〃
〃Clam up！〃 the driver snapped。 〃He's here。〃
Croaker turned in time to see a midnight blue Lincoln Mark VIII gliding around a corner behind them。
The driver put the blue…and…white into gear and they went through open gates in the chain…link fence into the junkyard。 The Lincoln followed them； its huge engine purring contentedly。
They jounced over a bed of broken…up brick and concrete； then stopped。 The driver turned off the engine； got out without a word。
〃Move！〃 blue…jaw said； and Croaker slid out of the squad car。 He could see the driver with his back to them； taking a leak against the bole of an old scabrous plane tree that had somehow survived the industrial abuse and pollution。
The Lincoln slid to a halt several feet away。 Its windows were tinted that odd dark color one saw all the time in Florida to keep out the sun and the heat。
A man emerged from behind the wheel； and Croaker let out a little breath。 It was Tony DeCamillo； Margarite's husband。 Tony D。 came walking across the rubble。 He was dressed in the suitably subdued chalk…stripe suit of the upscale show biz attorney he was。 Only his silk shirt with his initials embroidered on one point of his collar betrayed his ambition。 He would never be the criminal genius Dominic Goldoni had been。 In fact； Croaker mused； now he would not be much of anything； except a figurehead； robed in the trappings of Dominic's vast power。
〃Beat it；〃 Tony D。 said to the phony cop contingent that had brought Croaker to him。
〃But； Tony；〃 blue…jaw protested； 〃this jamoke's dangerous。〃
〃Sure he is；〃 Tony said。 〃But I have Sal in the car。〃
The blue…and…white took off； backing out of the junkyard。
〃This place one of your premier holdings； Tony？〃
Croaker regretted the flip remark the moment he'd said it； but the truth was he hated this man； not only for the stink of corruption that followed him around； but because he was a violent man with his family。 Croaker thought of the beatings Margarite had taken from Tony D。 and his heart began to pound so painfully in his chest he had to take slow； deep breaths through his mouth。
DeCamillo was a good…looking Mediterranean。 He was olive skinned and his brown eyes were hooded； liquid； lascivious。 He came up very close to Croaker and shot his cuffe。
〃You're the man；〃 he said in a nimbly； breathy voice； 〃who's been fucking the shit outta my wife。〃
Nicely put； Croaker thought。 To Tony DeCamillo； he said； 〃I'm the man who doesn't lift a hand to her。〃
Standoff。
There was nothing intellectual or even rational about their mutual hatred。 They were like two bulls； blood…maddened and in heat； each determined to own the high ground； the prize female； and the herd。
〃She thinks you're swell；〃 Tony D。 said flatly。 〃Nevertheless； I'm gonna blow your brains into this brick。〃
〃Don't you have any respect for her at all？〃 It was a funny line； but Tony chose to ignore it。 Maybe he wasn't in the mood。
He lifted one hand； and the passenger door to the Lincoln opened。 Out stepped Sal； no doubt Tony's bodyguard。 He bandied a high…powered rifle the way an expert would； swinging it up； resting it on the top of the car； aiming carefully。 Croaker could see that Tony had choreographed this with precision。 Croaker was within range of a guaranteed hit； and Tony was not in the line of fire； would not even have to move unless he didn't want a spray of Croaker's blood all over his Sulka tie。 No matter。 With his attention to detail； he had probably brought a couple of replacements in the Lincoln。
Sal settled his cheek against the stock of the gun； his eye was in the sight。
〃You ready to die； you sonuvabitch？〃 Tony D。's voice was thick with emotion。
〃Who is？〃 Croaker was thinking not about life and death； but about how Tony DeCamillo needed to learn the difference between thought and emotion。 Perhaps this was why he couldn't help beating his wife。
Margarite。 He thought of her and knew he did not want to die； most especially not at the hands of this jerk。 But it was a shut…ended situation。 He was in no position to deal； and even if be were； he suspected that Tony D。 was in no mood to listen。 He was angry for allowing himself to get into this position。 Marco Island had blunted his instincts。 Too much booze； carousing with customers； lolling in the heat。 You went loopy； but long before that you lost your edge。 That is what had happened to him； and now he was going to pay the ultimate price for his sin。 How many good cops had he seen go down； the victim of one fatal mistake； one lapse？ Now it was his turn。
Jesus。
He remembered Alix； sun…splashed in a Marco Island sunset； an impossibly beautiful woman； a model who had so improbably fallen in love with him。 He remembered Margarite； so plex； strong…willed； incandescent； saddled with her brother's love and his legacy； an empire built on blood； influence； and vigorish。 He remembered Nicholas； in Tokyo； their friendship bonded in battle； a mutual trust that stemmed from saving one another's life。 He remembered his father； gunned down in a back alley of Hell's Kitchen； his policeman's uniform stained with blood。 Croaker's mother had refused to have him buried in that uniform； had； in fact； thrown it out。 But Croaker bad retrieved it from the garbage； had reverently folded it into a plastic bag。 He had taken it out； stiff and black with his father's dried blood； on the day he had made detective。
As if it were all happening in slow motion； Croaker saw Tony D。 nod his head。 He could almost feel Sal's forefi