Apaches - Lorenzo Carcaterra [105]
“I don’t want to see for myself,” Lucia said in harsher tones. “I want you to tell me.”
“That ambush on your apartment was pulled off by a group of cops,” Singleton said, wiping a thin line of sweat off his upper lip. “Working on their own.”
“How do you know they were cops?” Lucia asked, taking a puff from her cigarette.
“That part’s confidential,” Singleton said, smirking. “That’s one of the reasons I’m so good at what I do. You gotta trust me on it.”
“And if I don’t trust you on it?” Lucia asked. “What happens then?”
“Then I guess you and me can’t do business anymore,” he said, glancing behind him at the three large men who never seemed to move.
Lucia pushed back her chair and walked down the length of the table, the fingers of her right hand skimming the dark wood surface. She walked past Singleton and over to one of her men. She looked up at him and smiled, slowly running a hand up the front of his blue silk shirt and down to his side, stopping when she found the handle of the 9-millimeter Luger. She pulled the gun from the man’s hip and rested it against her stomach, her back still turned to Singleton.
“Were you telling me the truth?” Lucia asked, her eyes cold and steady, looking at her man, her question aimed at Singleton.
“About what?” Singleton turned slightly in his chair, one arm braced against the curve of the antique wood.
“That everything I need to know is in the file?”
“Everything’s there,” Singleton said, his arrogance tempered by the oppressive heat in the room. “Like I always say, you bring me in, you bring in the best.”
“You were also right about something else,” Lucia said, turning away from the man in the silk shirt.
“You get to know me better, you’ll find out I’m right about most things.” Singleton was full of swagger now, squinting over at Lucia. The dim light in the room kept the gun in her hand hidden from his line of vision. “Now, which thing in particular were you talkin’ about?”
Lucia raised the gun and aimed it at Singleton. “You and I can’t do business anymore.”
Lucia’s index finger put pressure on the Luger’s quick trigger and clicked off two rounds, both of which landed in Singleton’s forehead, cracking open the back of his head, sending blood and bone fragments splashing against the flocked red wallpaper. Singleton’s upper body slumped against the back of the chair, resting there as if he were fast asleep.
Lucia handed the Luger back to the man in the blue shirt. He took it by the handle and shoved it into his hip holster.
“Have someone clean up the room,” Lucia told the three men. She walked back to the head of the table and picked up the folder. “I’ve got some reading to do.”
• • •
“WHERE IS YOUR husband now, Mrs. Connors?” the well-dressed man behind the desk asked Mrs. Columbo, flashing a toothy smile.
“He’s trying to find a parking spot.” Mrs. Columbo shifted one leg over the other. Boomer had made her wear a tight miniskirt and she was showing more than enough thigh to interest the man behind the desk. “That’s no easy thing in this neighborhood.”
“How did you find out about our agency?” the man asked, still with the smile, his eyes scanning Mrs. Columbo and the baby braced against her right arm.
“My friend Carmella,” Mrs. Columbo said. “She told me you guys helped her out about six, maybe seven months ago. You found a good home for her baby and paid her off in cash. No questions. Is that part true?”
“Which part?” the man asked.
“About the questions,” Mrs. Columbo said. “When Richie comes in here, if you start asking him a bunch of, you know, personal shit, excuse my French, he’s gonna get nasty and walk out.”
“That wouldn’t be smart,” the man said. “He’d be leaving the way he walked in, with no money and a baby he doesn’t want.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Mrs. Columbo said. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Edward.”
“You see, Eddie,” Mrs. Columbo said, “my husband wants the baby. I don’t. I went through enough with the two I had and I don’t need to raise more. What I need is to find me work, something that pays good and brings it in steady.”
“What