looking like a high-living dude on the prowl, had picked her up at the marble-topped bar that snaked its way down one side of the restaurant. Plenty of people had seen him do it, which was the point – they were not supposed to know one another.
He was a bear of a man with a rumpled, almost pushed-in face that somehow made him seem resolute rather than plain. You could also be intrigued by that weird polycarbonate and titanium biomechanical hand the Japanese surgeons had given him. They were sharing a huge bowl of Manila clams and a Caesar salad, and to anyone who looked their way they certainly seemed to be having a time of it. He told jokes and she laughed.
Speak of the devil, she thought, as in the mirror she saw Caesare enter Il Palazzo with his entourage, larger than usual today. This was her cue.
Caesare apparently was a creature of habit. He had come here for lunch every day this week, which was why Croaker had suggested they make contact here. Initially, Vesper had been against his plan. Croaker had told her about his run-ins with Caesare. Leonforte had tried to use Croaker against Margarite, knowing that they had been having an affair, and when Croaker had tried to get away, had made an attempt on Croaker’s life.
This is nuts. Bad Clams’ll kill you on sight, she had said.
But Croaker had shaken his head. Not this bastard. That’s too direct. Trust me, he’ll want to torture me first.
Caesare was swaggering into the restaurant. Vesper closed her eyes now and, one sense at a time, detached herself from the world around her. Soon enough, she was enveloped by the beating of her heart, thundering like the beat of ceremonial drums. She could feel the air rushing in and out of her lungs as they inflated and deflated. As she concentrated on this, her heartbeat receded until there was only the peculiar silence of thought. The beat-beat-beat as the wings of unseen birds filled her up as if she were a crystal vessel.
She turned her head, her eyes snapped open, and she found herself gazing into Caesare Leonforte’s eyes. Croaker had been correct. In person, there was something feral, almost deranged, flickering in their depths. Even from across the large room he seemed impressive. He had powerful arms, a narrow waist, and an unruly shock of coarse hair. This, combined with his wide, wry grin, gave him the aspect of a reckless adolescent. Then, you came to the eyes and a chill went through you.
While Caesare stared at her, she sat by Croaker’s side, entirely relaxed, waiting. She was fully briefed on Caesare; she knew he was not your typical gun-toting hood. Smart and perhaps half-mad, Bad Clams ruled the West Coast Families without quarter or remorse. Ever since he had come to power, he had coveted Dominic Goldoni’s hold on the East Coast, and with Dom’s assassination fifteen months ago he had begun to probe for weaknesses.
‘He’s seen us,’ Vesper whispered to Croaker, and for Caesare’s benefit, threw her head back and laughed at something clever Croaker might have said.
Then she whispered, ‘All your backups have been set.’ She was talking of their unit of the Anti-Cartel Task Force.
Something in the tone of her voice warned him. ‘If you’re getting cold feet, forget it. And for Christ’s sake don’t worry about me. I’ve been around feds almost all my life. I can handle them.’
‘Forrest’s a good man but hardheaded – like you.’
‘I said, don’t worry. I’ll handle Wade Forrest and all my other fed playmates at the ACTF. They’re bureaucrats at heart – political and ruthless. That makes them predictable.’
Croaker was right about her. Like a bride just before her wedding, she had begun to have doubts about this whole scheme. She had had to make a deal with Forrest, who headed the special group within ACTF that had been after the Leonfortes for years: his intelligence and backup in exchange for sharing whatever they learned and letting him in on the kill – if there was
He was a bear of a man with a rumpled, almost pushed-in face that somehow made him seem resolute rather than plain. You could also be intrigued by that weird polycarbonate and titanium biomechanical hand the Japanese surgeons had given him. They were sharing a huge bowl of Manila clams and a Caesar salad, and to anyone who looked their way they certainly seemed to be having a time of it. He told jokes and she laughed.
Speak of the devil, she thought, as in the mirror she saw Caesare enter Il Palazzo with his entourage, larger than usual today. This was her cue.
Caesare apparently was a creature of habit. He had come here for lunch every day this week, which was why Croaker had suggested they make contact here. Initially, Vesper had been against his plan. Croaker had told her about his run-ins with Caesare. Leonforte had tried to use Croaker against Margarite, knowing that they had been having an affair, and when Croaker had tried to get away, had made an attempt on Croaker’s life.
This is nuts. Bad Clams’ll kill you on sight, she had said.
But Croaker had shaken his head. Not this bastard. That’s too direct. Trust me, he’ll want to torture me first.
Caesare was swaggering into the restaurant. Vesper closed her eyes now and, one sense at a time, detached herself from the world around her. Soon enough, she was enveloped by the beating of her heart, thundering like the beat of ceremonial drums. She could feel the air rushing in and out of her lungs as they inflated and deflated. As she concentrated on this, her heartbeat receded until there was only the peculiar silence of thought. The beat-beat-beat as the wings of unseen birds filled her up as if she were a crystal vessel.
She turned her head, her eyes snapped open, and she found herself gazing into Caesare Leonforte’s eyes. Croaker had been correct. In person, there was something feral, almost deranged, flickering in their depths. Even from across the large room he seemed impressive. He had powerful arms, a narrow waist, and an unruly shock of coarse hair. This, combined with his wide, wry grin, gave him the aspect of a reckless adolescent. Then, you came to the eyes and a chill went through you.
While Caesare stared at her, she sat by Croaker’s side, entirely relaxed, waiting. She was fully briefed on Caesare; she knew he was not your typical gun-toting hood. Smart and perhaps half-mad, Bad Clams ruled the West Coast Families without quarter or remorse. Ever since he had come to power, he had coveted Dominic Goldoni’s hold on the East Coast, and with Dom’s assassination fifteen months ago he had begun to probe for weaknesses.
‘He’s seen us,’ Vesper whispered to Croaker, and for Caesare’s benefit, threw her head back and laughed at something clever Croaker might have said.
Then she whispered, ‘All your backups have been set.’ She was talking of their unit of the Anti-Cartel Task Force.
Something in the tone of her voice warned him. ‘If you’re getting cold feet, forget it. And for Christ’s sake don’t worry about me. I’ve been around feds almost all my life. I can handle them.’
‘Forrest’s a good man but hardheaded – like you.’
‘I said, don’t worry. I’ll handle Wade Forrest and all my other fed playmates at the ACTF. They’re bureaucrats at heart – political and ruthless. That makes them predictable.’
Croaker was right about her. Like a bride just before her wedding, she had begun to have doubts about this whole scheme. She had had to make a deal with Forrest, who headed the special group within ACTF that had been after the Leonfortes for years: his intelligence and backup in exchange for sharing whatever they learned and letting him in on the kill – if there was
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