He turned away and doubled up. Vomit splattered the side of the building and the garbage-strewn ground in front of it.
“Jesus,” hissed Ron. He looked like he might puke himself.
Frank thought he probably looked about the same. His stomach sure didn’t feel good. He was definitely feeling light-headed. Not even so much at the horror of what had happened to Buckley, but at the greater horror of what might happen in the future. To Giovanna.
But he managed to control himself. More than anything, Frank needed to figure out what to do. Now.
He waited impatiently—some part of his mind feeling guilty at the impatience—until Billy was done. As soon as Billy drew in a deep breath and managed to half-lift himself, hands now placed firmly on his knees, Frank stepped up and patted him on the back.
“You okay?”
Billy nodded.
“Look, Billy, I’m sorry but I’ve gotta know. You say they tortured him? I mean, Joe wasn’t just murdered?”
Billy shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was thin but firm. “No. Christ, Frank, there are pieces of him spread around. His fingers—belly—” He broke off, giving his head a shake so violent it was more like a dumb beast trying to rid itself of a swarm of insects. “Just take my word for it, will you?”
Frank nodded and gave Billy another pat on the shoulder. “Okay, man, no sweat. I just . . . needed to be sure.” He glanced at his brothers meaningfully. “I guess we’d better . . . uh, be off, now.”
Billy finally managed to raise himself erect. He took another deep breath and then gave Frank something that might in really bad light have been able to pass for a smile.
“Probably a good idea.” Billy glanced unhappily at the doorway. “I need to get back up there anyway.” He took an uncertain step toward it.
But Frank and his brothers were already around the corner before Billy made it to the door. As soon as they were out of sight, they started running.
* * *
When Ruy Sanchez came through the door after a young officer nodded him past, the first thing he saw was Sharon Nichols. The sight of the woman, as it had for weeks now, arrested him for a moment. Had Sanchez known that Mazzare had, not long before, been puzzling over the matter of Sharon’s relationship with him, the Catalan would have been mightily amused. Since he himself was only—finally!—beginning to sort it out.
It was not so much that the woman herself was confusing, though there were many times that Sanchez found her so. It was more a matter, he’d finally realized, that Ruy Sanchez de Casador y Ortiz—as he’d called himself for several decades now; to his amazement, with complete success—had managed, not for the first time in his life, to place himself in a quandary.
Sharon still hadn’t noticed him, standing in the doorway. Neither had the priest standing beside her. So, Sanchez took the moment to examine her.
Then, very softly, sighed. Two weeks earlier, after as serious and determined a campaign of seduction as Ruy Sanchez had ever launched—and he was quite good at it—he’d come to accept the fact that he’d met his match. Not for the first time, to be sure; but it was still a rare enough experience to cause him to sulk for several days. The cardinal had been quite sarcastic about it, too. Not that Bedmar knew any of the details, of course, because Ruy Sanchez never discussed his amatory affairs with anyone. But he and the cardinal had been together now for many years, and the old bastard was hard to fool.
That left only two options: abandon the campaign with a gracious salute to the victor; or . . .
Sanchez had spent a week mulling over the “or.” And, by the end, decided he much preferred it to the alternative.
As he’d feared he would, alas. Whatever else he was, the Catalan was no fool. His pretense at nobility had gone unchallenged, true enough, but that was mostly a result of his connection with the cardinal and the fact that few men who knew Sanchez would challenge him lightly. Few, indeed, would challenge him at all; even now, as he approached his sixtieth year of life. In his own way, he was somewhat famous in the insular world of hidalgo Spain and its territories. Well known, at least; and if not esteemed, he was certainly given wary respect.