Spares - Michael Marshall Smith [59]
I stared at him for real, then. “Nothing at all,” I said, genuinely astounded.
Vinaldi laughed humorlessly. “Jaz said you’d say that. Me, I thought you’d have the sense to realize the position you’re in and tell the truth, but Jaz, he says you’re stupider than that.”
“Jaz would know,” I said. “He’s the yardstick, after all.”
Another crunch from behind, and this time a firework of stars went off above my right eye. So much for pacing myself. I shook my head and glanced through the glass wall for a moment, trying to refocus on something. It took a while. The crowds outside were still dancing, though there seemed to be some sort of confrontation happening far off at the main door.
I tried to reorient myself around what was going on. It seemed to come down to this: Vinaldi thought I was the guy who was whacking his associates. He had to be fucking crazy.
“You’ve got to be fucking crazy,” I said. “You think I’m going round clipping your friends?”
“I know you are.”
“As you keep pointing out, I’m not a cop anymore. I’ve got no problem with your associates. My only problem is with you.”
“So you try to take me down from the outside. Slow death. I frankly admire the ambition.”
“So do I, but it isn’t me. I wasn’t even in town when the first guys were killed,” I said.
Vinaldi smiled, with real humor this time. “You think I’m going to believe a word you say?”
“You’d better, because it’s true. And if it isn’t me trying to take you down, then it must be someone else.”
Without taking his eyes off me, Vinaldi signaled into the gloom behind him. The henchman who’d frisked me padded out of the darkness, carrying something. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that something was still going on in the club beyond the glass, but then my attention was utterly taken.
On the floor in front of me had been placed a cardboard box.
I leapt toward it, but Jaz and another goon smacked me back into the chair, pinning my arms to stop me from doing it again.
“Who the fuck’s in there?” I shouted, still struggling vainly. “If it’s Jenny or David I’m going to kill every fucking one of you!” Jaz and his colleague laughed good-naturedly; I wasn’t in a position to do anyone any harm.
But the atmosphere changed. Vinaldi looked at me strangely. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not joking, Vinaldi; if it’s David or Jenny you’re fucking dead.” The Rapt in my head had finally cleared enough for Nanune’s death to strike home; and I was out of control with the realization. “Whatever it takes, you’re dead.”
Vinaldi’s frown intensified. “I know nothing of this David or Jenny. Are you trying to be clever, Randall?”
I stared at him, not knowing what the hell was going on.
Deep breath. “Who’s in the box?” I said.
“Someone you were seen talking to yesterday.” Vinaldi nodded, and the henchman leaned over to open the box. I could see what was in there before he lifted it out, and felt a wave of relief wash over me.
The hood from the Minimart.
“This was delivered an hour ago. That’s why you’re here, Randall. You come and disturb me at my home and I think ‘Let him go, he’s nothing.’ Then this is delivered and I have to reconsider.”
“Johnny,” I said. “Listen to me. I went in this guy’s store, and he made me. That’s all. I didn’t bomb the place and I didn’t cut his head off. I’ve got problems of my own: All I wanted was to get out of town. Then at Howie’s an hour ago I got a box just like this one with the head of a friend of mine in it.”
“Bullshit,” Jaz said. “Look, boss, let me just kill the fuck now. I’ll do it as slow as you want.”
Vinaldi waved Jaz back, looking carefully at me. A bleeper went off somewhere in the background of the room, but no one paid any attention to it. I let my eyes run across the crowd on the other side of the glass, trying to think how the hell I was going to convince him. Something in the view caught my eye, but then it was gone. My mind was racing, trying to fit this into the picture. It wouldn’t fit.
“Something’s going down,” I said rapidly, trying to