Twenty-three

“You got anything you want to tell me, Jack?”

When Win Giavanelli was an unhappy man, he avoided eye contact. Win wasn’t looking at Jack today.

“You losin’ your hearin’ or somethin’?” he asked, shredding a napkin and piling the pieces into a small hill in the center of his sauce-smeared place. La Murena might boast a fantastic fish menu, but Win was a meatball man.

Jack pulled out a chair he hadn’t been invited to use and sat down. “My hearing’s very good, thank you, Win. You called with some warnings I didn’t like getting. You wanted to see me. I came.”

“And I asked you a question. How come you’re a stranger to La Murena these days? What the fuck ain’t you botherin’ to tell me about your life? Ain’t we good friends? The best of friends? Didn’t I make it my business to be sure you were okay, even when you were—especially when you were a snot-nosed kid?”

“Always, Win. And especially when I was a kid. I am grateful for that.” Grateful because Win’s unexpected conscience had kept Jack safe from the goons who would almost certainly have wanted to close his eyes for good. Jack knew Win had told his trigger boys that Jack had been too young to be a threat to them; he also knew they couldn’t be sure of that. These were men who only put their money on a sure thing.

“So how come things happen and you don’t come to Win? You don’t care about family connections no more? You think you don’t need me no more, maybe? Dangerous thoughts, Jack. This is a dangerous town for a man with dangerous thoughts. You gotta remember the rules. You know that. I always been good to you. Looked after you. For old time’s sake—and because I like you. I want to keep you safe. Didn’t I always keep you safe?”

“I’m a man, Win,” Jack said, capturing a fragment of napkin that floated away, and placing it carefully on Win’s pile. “A man has to do for himself.”

Win brought a beefy fist down on the table. “You think you can take care of yourself? Your papa thought he could take care of himself. Look what happened to him and your poor, dear little mama.” He crossed himself and shook his head. With his eyes closed he murmured a prayer. “I shall always blame myself for what happened. Even though I never had any part of it—never would have had any part of a thing like that. But I shoulda known there was some rival activity. We got too fat and happy. They moved while we were havin’ a siesta and… well, no point goin’ into that. You suffered enough. We all suffered enough. But don’t you forget who it was took you outta there in one piece. They’d have come back for you, Jacko. They thought you seen too much.”

“I’m grateful, Win. I’ll always be grateful.”

Win grunted, and drank from a tumbler of heavy red wine.

Jack sucked in his gut and forced his heart to slow down. Win had never given any indication that he thought Jack might actually have seen what happened to his parents—or, more important from the survival point of view—that he knew who made what happened, happen. When they’d come for his parents, Jack was supposed to be with his grandfather at the house by Lake Pontchartrain. Only later had the truth come out that Jack hadn’t gone to the lake that weekend. Win had found out from Granddaddy that Jack was at home. Then the young don had gone in search of the boy, and when he’d found him hiding, had believed the story that Jack had heard gunshots and had run for cover in the pool house. Afterward Win had persuaded the triggers who did the job that Jack hadn’t seen anything. Only things had been said, things that let Jack know there were some uneasy thugs who didn’t believe he hadn’t looked through the windows of the pool house and seen what they did to his mother in the turquoise water where she’d been swimming.

“I was sorry to hear about Errol Petrie,” Win said.

“You already told me that, but thanks.”

“You gonna be runnin’ things for the little dyin’ kids now.”

Jack was accustomed to Win’s less-than-subtle verbal skills, but still he winced. “I intend to make sure Errol’s work is carried on.”

Win nodded slowly, sagely. “A man oughta have a hobby. I gotta get me one sometime. Jack, I been hearin’ things about you, things that don’t make me happy.”

“Who’s been doing the talking, Win?”

“It don’t matter. We’ll just say it’s a source I gotta take notice of. You been puttin’ it around I’m lookin’ favorable on you, Jack?”

For once the older man’s meaning wasn’t clear. “It’s not something I’d have a reason to discuss, but I thought you did look on me favorably.”

Win, vast and pasty, his thin, still-black hair slicked in strings over his skull, sucked a cherry off its stalk, chewed, spat out the pit, and wiped his fingers on the tablecloth before bending to use it on his mouth.

“Drink,” he said, indicating a second tumbler of red wine. “I shoulda taken some time explainin’ the facts of life to you, but I wanted to keep you out of it—in your mama’s memory, and because a man’s gotta do what he thinks is right. When I say someone thinks I look favorable on you, I mean they was suggestin’ I might be considerin’ you to take my place one day.”

Jack came close to grinning with triumph. “What would give anyone an idea like that?” It was working.

“I’m askin’ you if you might have suggested somethin’ like that.”

“Who would I suggest it to? And why would I do somethin’ like that? I’m not a member of the family. I know Sonny Clete is your boy. Always has been. It’s understood. Sonny and I get along just fine. He drops by the boat from time to time and shoots the breeze. Why would I say somethin’ stupid like that?”

Win’s tiny black eyes glittered out from holes in his pudgy white face. He grunted. “You tell me.” Another cherry gave up its flesh, stem, and pit.

“Talk to Sonny,” Jack told him. “He’ll tell you how well we get along.”

“You get along so well, you told him you don’t pay no contributions to the family funds?”

“You mean protection? Win, what would Ι  need  to pay protection for? You and I are partners in the Lucky Lady. Fifty-fifty. You get half of the take—on everything. One partner doesn’t ask another partner for protection.”

Win chewed steadily on a mouthful of bread. He waved the rest of a thick slice into the air. “Maybe there’s been a misunderstandin’. I’ll look into it. Different subject. Listen up, Jack boy. You know Dwayne LeChat?”

“Yeah. Everyone who lives in the Quarter knows Dwayne.”

“Is he some sort of buddy to a guy called Antoine?”

Jack turned cold. “Not that I know. Oh, they know each other because Antoine worked for Errol, and Errol and Dwayne were friends for years. Why?”

“Nothin’, just explorin’ a notion. How about Celina Payne?”

Careful. “What about Celina?”

“You know her at all?”

“I’m engaged to her.”

Win threw what was left of the slice of bread on the tablecloth. “Since when?” He shoved his dirty plate aside. “See that? Ι never eat in the middle of the day, but you got me eatin’ because I’m upset. I’m hurt, Jack. How come you don’t come to me with good news? Ain’t I like a father to you? Don’t a son make sure he honors his father by givin’ him that kind of news before anyone else?”

“I’ve been busy,” Jack said. His heart wasn’t slowing down. “Errol’s murder was a terrible thing, and it left me with a lot to clean up.”

Win ran his left hand down his face until it rested over his mouth. His face shone, and beads of sweat stood out on his scalp.

“Win,” Jack said, “you don’t look so good. You should get out more. Get more fresh air.”

“Did this Antoine talk to you? About something he thought he saw?”

Jack’s palms were moist. “What kind of thing?” He drank some of the wine and made sure he looked steadily into Win’s eyes.

“You tell me.”

Jack put down the glass. “You made a threat to me on the phone. You intimated a threat to someone I care about. That’s why I broke away from something important to get here.”

Win pointed a short forefinger at Jack. “You gotta work on the respect, Jack. I don’t gotta give a shit about what you’re doing. If I say come, you come.”

“I did.” He kept right on looking into the other man’s eyes.

“I been hearing stories, and you better be grateful I’m lookin’ after you, Jack. So walk this walk with me, okay?”

“Okay.” Jack nodded. He’d never considered Errol’s death might have been connected to organized crime in the parish.

“This Antoine. He never talked to you about seein’ somethin’?”

“No.”

“And this Dwayne—the queer—did he talk to you about Antoine seein’ somethin’?”

Win’s private dining room was too warm. The man himself rarely left the place anymore, and the air smelled used. Jack said, “I see Dwayne regularly. If Antoine had said anything of note to him, he’d have told me. He hasn’t.”

“How’s Amelia?” Win raised his sparse eyebrows and examined his fingernails.

Instant tightness closed on Jack’s chest. “She’s wonderful, thanks.”

“Happy she’s gonna have a new mama?”

“Delighted,” Jack lied.

“That’s nice. And Celina Payne’s a real looker, huh?”

Turquoise water and blood. And dead eyes open to the sky.

 “Jack? I asked you a question.”

“Celina’s very attractive. But she’s a great woman. She’ll be good for Amelia and me.”

“That’s nice. Look, Jack. Sometimes things happen. Things I may not have anything to do with directly, but they are my concern. You understand?”

“Maybe.”

‘You’re a smart man. If someone close to me gets some action going I don’t know nothin’ about, I don’t like that. But if he says he’s sorry and he’s been a faithful soldier, then I’m gonna forgive—and I’m gonna help him out if he’s in a tight spot. I’m gonna support him. Are you still followin’ me, Jack?”

“Are we talking about Antoine? And something he could have seen? Something to do with one of your people?”

“It don’t matter. The details don’t matter. I’m lookin’ out for you. That’s all you gotta think about. For you and Amelia—and attractive Celina Payne, who’s gonna he Amelia’s new mama.”

Jack rarely felt sick, but he felt sick now. He was going to have to be very, very careful. “Thanks for looking out for us, Win.”

“Yeah. Now, you do what I tell you. You think about every word that comes from your mouth to Sonny Clete’s ears. Got that?”

“Sure.” Jack shrugged.

“This ain’t no joke.”

“No.”

“And you talk to your very attractive Celina, and ask her if Antoine managed to talk to her about anything before he took a vacation from work.”

Ice wouldn’t melt in Jack’s veins. He frowned, worked on looking puzzled. “Antoine hasn’t been to work for days. How do you know that? He didn’t tell Celina or me he intended to take time off.” Without showing too much interest, he needed to see just how much Win knew about Antoine. “Did you hear where Antoine went? And for how long? We’re short of help in Royal Street.”

“I regret your problems with your help, but I can’t help you further with that.” Win was fascinated by his fingernails this afternoon. “Talk to Celina. And watch your mouth. I love you like a son, but I gotta lot of people dependin’ on me. I gotta put their welfare first.”

“I understand that.”

“Do you?” Win’s little black eyes skewered Jack. “I hope you do. I’ll do my best for you because I always have. But if you should make a mistake and step outta line—make me have to look out for my own and forget I ever knew you—you do that, and you better never let Amelia and attractive Celina Payne outta your sight.”