Page 107 of Bitter Poetry
A dark shape slips onto the stool beside me, one far too big to be of the female variety.
“Hey.” I nod my head at Jero then go back to staring at the rows of bottles behind the bar.
“You alright, mate?”
“Fucking amazing,” I say.
“He had me following you.”
I don’t move as that settles in. Just keep staring straight ahead.
“When?”
“Today, yesterday… For the whole of last week.”
I take another drink of my beer. It might be my last. “Yeah? Anything interesting happen that I should know about?”
He chuckles.
Bastard.
I chuckle, too.
“Boring as fuck.”
I take another sip of beer. “So, nothing to report, then?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him shrug. “I got a couple of nice photos of you standing a few paces away, trying to get her in the car today. Got some pictures of her heading into the coffee shop and sitting on her own, while you watched her from a seat by the counter. Definitely didn’t see her talking to anyone there. Nor you putting your hands all over her under the tree…”
I put the bottle down slowly, my focus still straight ahead. My amusement has gone and something dark and unwholesome takes its place. No wonder Ettore was waiting for us when we got back to the house.
“He wanted photos?”
“Yeah.”
The ants are crawling up the center of my spine. I can’t pretend that Jero doesn’t know about me and Carmela anymore. And there is a real possibility he recognized Dante speaking to her.
“Sometimes you don’t get to pick a side, ya know?” Jero says. The words are familiar. He has said them to me before. “I’ve covered for you. That makes me complicit. That makes me a man who has picked a side.”
“Did you recognize who she was talking to in the coffee shop?”
“Not at first. But after. I’m guessing it was Dante.”
He might be playing me for information. Might have already sent evidence to Ettore. I’m here. At the club whereall the interrogation rooms are. Driven myself right over. Very convenient of me. Only the ants are in retreat.
I trust Jero.
“Yeah. It was Dante.”
“He knows about the two of you?”
“Maybe.” I take another drink of beer. “Maybe not.”
“How’s that going to play out then, mate?”
“I don’t have a clue. I only know she’s addictive, and I can’t give her up.”
CHAPTER 33
