Baltimore Noir - Laura Lippman [64]
Tommy was incredulous. “This was Junior’s mother? Are you shittin me?”
“I shit you not one more time,” Jilly said. “It was indeed Junior’s mother. Didn’t make a difference. She made Angelo look bad there, embarrassed him, he took care of things. How this came about tonight, us waiting here. The old man stepping in, or you’d be dealing with Junior the next ten years with this bullshit, like some fucking shrink pro’ly. Why we’re here waiting on this New York guy now, the old man.”
“So the old man’s wife now, she’s a Maria too, but not the original, not Junior’s mother,” Tommy said.
“You’re quicker’n you look,” Jilly said.
“Okay, I get that, but there’s another thing I don’t get,” Tommy said. “Why we’re farmin it out the first place. I mean, what the fuck, we can get a couple guys down the docks put on a couple masks, go to work, shove’m in a container there, send it across the ocean someplace.”
“Angelo’s got his reasons,” Jilly said. “The man knows what he’s doing, although I don’t like the idea reaching out to New York either, tell you the truth.”
Tommy shrugged.
“Who knows, maybe he’s thinkin ahead,” Jilly said. “Let it go. Angelo’s no dope.”
“You know the guy, the one from New York?”
“Nope,” said Jilly, looking away then. “I don’t like he’s from there is all. Shit fuckin city it is.” He stopped to sip his drink again. He set it down and remembered something. He pointed at Tommy. “We’re sure they’re down the Tidewater Marina, ’Napolis there, right, the two of them?”
“Where they been the last two nights,” Tommy said. “Since Junior is out to Vegas for some convention.” He pulled a set of Polaroid pictures from his pants pocket and showed Jilly the top one, the back of a cabin cruiser. The Tina Marie was clear across the rear of the boat.
“Guy’s got a pair,” Tommy said, “I give him that much. Names the boat after his wife and fucks his girlfriends on it.”
“Not after tonight he don’t,” Jilly said. He took the pictures and flipped through them quickly. He stopped to stare at one of a topless woman being groped on the deck of the Tina Marie. He said, “Fucking twat, look at her.”
Jilly handed the pictures to Tommy. “Make sure you lose those later.”
“Will do,” said Tommy, stashing them. He sat back in his chair and stretched through a yawn. “I never much minded it, though, New York,” he said after the yawn. “It’s got a lot to be said for it, all the things you can do there anytime the night.”
“It’s a pisshole,” Jilly said. “And it’s got them fucking teams I hate.”
“What, the sports thing? You’re not serious.”
“As a fucking heart attack. I hate the place. They could flush it down the toilet all I care.”
“So, what, like you don’t care what happened there, nine-one-one? That didn’t bother you?”
Jilly pointed a finger. “That’s an entire other matter, what happened there. And it wasn’t just them, either. Pennsylvania got it too. And the capital. That was an act of war against the country, something completely different. I’m talking in general here. I hate the fucking place. I hate the city and both baseball teams play there. And don’t get me started on the Jets, those cocksuckers.”
Tommy shrugged again. “Okay, fair enough. I hear ya.”
“Shula starts Unitas, it’s a different game altogether,” Jilly ranted. “Maybe we don’t cover the spread, but there’s no way that faggot white-shoed cocksucker and his nylon commercials beats Johnny U. Wearing nylons, for Christ sakes, a football player.”
Tommy didn’t know what Jilly was referring to. He left it alone while the old man finished his fourth anisette.
“What time this guy supposed to get here?”
“Half an hour ago,” said Jilly, suddenly seething. He slapped the shot glass down loud enough for the waitress and several other people across the room to hear. He said, “Back when you were six, whatever, ’84 it was, I think, Colts up and left middle of the night? That all started when they lost to the Jets back in ’69.”
Tommy tried to get him off the subject. “Who’s he with in