Headstone City by Tom Piccirilli Page B

on.
    If a fare brought Dane back over the bridge to Brooklyn, he'd take his time returning to Manhattan. He'd cruise around Headstone City for a while, take a long lunch break, and wander the neighborhood. Head over to the Grand Outlook Hall, walk the galleries, and consider his options.
    There weren't many left. He thought he might join the force. Or maybe take up Vinny's offer to become a Monti lieutenant. It was mostly for show anyway, he wouldn't even need to wear a piece if he didn't want to. Just carry Vinny's coat for him, hold the doors open.
    Neither choice appealed to him much, but then nothing really did.
    His own apathy weighed on him like a sack tied to his back. He could sometimes see the shadow of the bitter old man he was going to be someday. The old prick wishing he could go back and kick his younger self in the ass. Get him moving in the right direction and avert more tragedy.
    Dane had just gotten back into his cab and started to pull away from the Hall when Angelina Monticelli threw open the door and got in back.
    “You need one of those pine-fresh deodorizers in here,” she told him. “Doesn't this atrocious smell give you a headache?”
    “I kind of like it.”
    “That's because it gets you high. So little oxygen getting to your brain. Death by sinus attack.”
    Fifteen years old and seething with hip attitude. She hardly ever smiled but there was always a glint of superiority in her gray eyes. He knew she could verbally outmaneuver him with ease. It scared him a touch but also made him admire her.
    She'd dressed down today, wearing an oversized black sweater and midnight-blue jeans, no makeup, her dark hair falling straight back over her ears, showing the slightest curl of bangs up front.
    He heaved a sigh out like throwing a rock. “Angie, what're you doing?”
    “What do you think I'm doing? I need a cab. You're a cab driver. You know simple economics, yes? The law of supply and demand?”
    “Shouldn't you be in school?”
    “Just drive.”
    “I'm on break.”
    “You're always on break, Johnny, you sit around here for hours. How do you make a buck?”
    “I don't need much,” he admitted.
    “That means you're gonna live with your grandmother forever? Don't you know what they say about you, a grown man living with his grandma? Even if she does make the best
ziti.
She brought some to the St. Mary's book sale last month. Bishop Dilorenzo couldn't tear himself away, the cheese hanging off his face. He was a pig, it was disgusting to see, but kinda fun too. Why don't you get married?”
    It was the kind of conversation he was easily led into and had to consciously avoid. “Don't you have school?” he repeated. “How do you learn things like the law of supply and demand if you don't go to class?”
    “It's almost four. Don't you own a watch?”
    “Yeah. It's at home in a box with my tie clips and cuff links. Where are you headed?”
    “I'll tell you when we get there, soldier boy.”
    “I need to call it in to the dispatcher.”
    “This one is off the books. Come on, what do you care? I can see how much you fret about following the rules and bringing in as much money to Olympic as you can. Besides, you don't need to worry, it's not like they'll fire you.” Saying it with an edge, like she had something to do with the boss not firing him, by way of her being part of the family. He checked the rearview and she fluttered her eyes at him.
    One of those girls that, when she's little, she's cute, bright, and funny, and makes you wish she's your own younger sister. But then, when she hit thirteen or so, you grew acutely aware of her sex appeal. The angle of the jaw, the shape of those legs, and suddenly your whole cerebral cortex got rewired.
    You found yourself vying for her time, grinning a lot, then smacking yourself in the forehead going, What the fuck are you thinking?
    “Come on,” she said. “It's important and I'm running late. Cut through the plaza, make a left.”
    “You don't