Page 106 of The Furies

“And we’d be of a mind to take that amiss,” said Louis.

“Yes,” I said, “we really would.”

“Then what would satisfy you?” asked Pirato.

“We deal with them, and in our own way. Your part will be to help us locate them. If you can’t do that, even with your best efforts, then we’ll settle for whatever number they’re currently using. If we have the number, we can snare them.”

“And that’s all? That will be the end of it?”

“As long as my client isn’t bothered again.”

Dante Vero made a sucking noise through his teeth.

“Some among us still think she has our money,” he said.

“Then swallow the loss, because even if she does have it, you’re not getting it back, not after this.”

Pirato wagged a finger at me.

“You know,” he said, “I now grasp why so many people would be happy to see you dead.”

“You’re getting off easy,” I said, “and I think you realize it.”

“I don’t agree with this,” said Luca Z. “I say we tell them to go fuck themselves and take our chances.”

Pirato eyed him wearily.

“You swear too much,” he said. “You should consider modifying your language in company. As for whether you agree or not, it’s immaterial. You got us into this mess, you and Dante both. You made two strangers privy to our difficulties, then set them loose to exploit that knowledge however they chose. Now that mess has to be cleaned up, and you’re going to do your share of the sweeping.”

“Our contact,” said Vero, “will know we broke faith if Pantuff and Veale are taken down.”

“Then you’ll have to ensure that he appreciates the reason for it,” said Pirato. “It might be easier than you think. They’re bottom-feeders, and were born to be eaten by bigger fish. After they’re gone, others will come along to take their place. We’re never going to run short of their breed.”

“What if they take our decision personally?” said Luca Z.

“Then their end will come sooner. But if they’re wise, they’ll swallow their medicine like men and chalk it up to experience. It’s business, that’s all. Make the call, Luca. Say that we need them for a job, something urgent, with good money to be paid fast. I leave the wording up to you. When you’re not swearing, you can approach eloquence.”

Luca Z took out his cell phone and rose to conduct the conversation in private.

“No,” said Pirato, “do it here, where everyone can listen.” Then he threw Luca Z a bone, just to pretend that it wasn’t because he didn’t trust him. “It will assure our guests of our good faith.”

The rest of us waited in silence while Luca Z found the number in his contacts. Beside him, Dante Vero couldn’t hide his displeasure, although it wasn’t clear if he was bothered by Pirato’s order or troubled by his own proximity to someone careless enough to keep a torturers’ intermediary among his cell phone contacts.

We listened while the call was answered, and Luca Z did his wiseguy shtick, with still more swearing, before getting down to business. He stayed on-message throughout, from what I could tell, but I was relieved that Pirato had insisted on an audience for the exchange. I wouldn’t have trusted Luca Z to park my car without stealing my spare change. Obviously Pirato was of a similar opinion, and might well have held it long before he arrived at the Hitch Knot.

“Do you know where they are?” Luca Z was asking the intermediary. “Why? Because they’re no use to me if they’re in Seattle, or fucking Alaska, that’s why.” Luca Z took in the reply. “How close? Uh-huh, uh-huh. You got somewhere I can call them at? There’s money in this if they can get it done quickly, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of as well. You know I’m good for it.”

He snapped his fingers in the air and made a writing gesture. Dante Vero produced a ballpoint pen, and pushed that day’s copy of the Boston Herald toward him. I watched as Luca Z scribbled a cell phone number above the masthead. I was already entering it on my own phone before he’d finished setting down the final digit.

Luca Z ended the call. He looked to be on the verge of flinging his cell phone against a wall, but restrained himself.

“That was bullshit,” he said. “He’s never going to talk to me again, and if he spreads the word, no one else will either.”

“Then we make sure he keeps his mouth shut,” said Vero. “We can do that. We’re not the Rotary Club.”

But I was barely paying attention to them as I entered the number on my tracker app. The SIM in the cell phone held by Pantuff and Veale was constantly transmitting data, even when it wasn’t in use. That made it vulnerable to geolocation. The app wasn’t perfect, but it could narrow a cell phone’s position down to a block, or even a building. This time, though, I’d have known where these men were holed up even if the app had been able to offer only the most general indication of their whereabouts, because there was only one hotel in that locale.

They were staying at the Braycott Arms. Of course they were.

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