voodoo witch doctor and that not even the family could fight him. Of
course, everyone laughed about that. And Carramazza sent five of his
best, five big mean bastards who know how to watch and wait and pick the
right moment.”
“And something happened to them, too?” Rebecca asked.
“Yeah. Four of them never came back.”
“What about the fifth man?” Jack asked.
“He was dumped on the sidewalk in front of Gennaro Carramazza’s house in
Brooklyn Heights. Alive. Badly bruised, scraped, cut up-but alive.
Trouble was, he might as well have been dead.”
“Why’s that?”
“He was ape-shit.”
“What? ”
“Crazy. Stark, raving mad,” Shelly said, turning the Scotch glass
around and around in her long-fingered hands. “The way Vince heard it,
this guy must’ve seen what happened to the other four, and whatever it
was it drove him clear out of his skull, absolutely ape-shit.”
“What was his name?”
“Vince didn’t say.”
“Where is he now?”
“I guess Don Carramazza’s got him somewhere.”
“And he’s still . . . crazy?”
“I guess so.”
“Did Carramazza send a third hit squad?”
“Not that I heard of. I guess, after that, this Lavelle sent a message
to old man Carramazza. “If you want war, then it’s war.” And he warned
the family not to underestimate the power of voodoo.”
“No one laughed this time,” Jack said.
“No one,” Shelly confirmed.
They were silent for a moment.
Jack looked at Shelly Parker’s downcast eyes. They weren’t red. The
skin around them wasn’t puffy. There was no indication that she had
wept for Vince Vastagliano, her lover.
He could hear the wind outside.
He looked at the windows. Snowflakes tapped the glass.
He said, “Ms. Parker, do you believe that all of this has been done
through . . . voodoo curses or something like that?”
“No. Maybe. Hell, I don’t know. After what’s happened these last few
days, who can say? One thing I believe in for sure: I believe this Baba
Lavelle is one smart, creepy, badass dude.”
Rebecca said, “We heard a little of this story yesterday, from another
victim’s brother. Not so much detail as you’ve given us. He didn’t
seem to know where we could find Lavelle. Do you?”
“He used to have a place in the Village,” Shelly said.
“But he’s not there any more. Since all this started going down, nobody
can find him. His street dealers are still working for him, still
getting supplies, or so Vince said, but no one knows where Lavelle has
gone.”
“The place in the Village where he used to be,” Jack said. “You happen
to know the address?”
“No. I told you, I’m not really involved in this drug business. Honest,
I don’t know. I only know what Vince told me.”
Jack glanced at Rebecca. “Anything more?”
“Nope.”
To Shelly, he said, “You can go.”
At last she swallowed some Scotch, then put the glass down, got to her
feet, and straightened her sweater.
“Christ, I swear, I’ve had it with wops. No more wops.
It always turns out bad with them.”
Rebecca gaped at her, and Jack saw a flicker of anger in her eyes, and
then she said, “I hear some of the neese are pretty nice guys.”
Shelly screwed up her face and shook her head.
“Neese? Not for me. They’re all little guys, aren’t they?”
“Well,” Rebecca said sarcastically, “so far you’ve ruled out blacks,
wops, and neese of all descriptions.
You’re a very choosy girl.”
Jack watched the sarcasm sail right over Shelly’s head.
She smiled tentatively at Rebecca, misapprehending, imagining that she
saw a spark of sisterhood. She said, “Oh, yeah. Hey, look, even if I
say so myself, I’m not exactly your average girl. I’ve got a lot of
fine points. I can afford to be choosy.”
Rebecca said, “Better watch out for spies, too.”
“Yeah?” Shelly said. “I never had a spic for a boyfriend. Bad?”
“Sherpas are worst,” Rebecca said.
Jack coughed into his hand to stifle his laughter.
Picking up her coat, Shelly frowned. “Sherpas?
Who’re they?”
“From Nepal,” Rebecca said.
“Where’s that?”
“The Himalayas.”
Shelly paused halfway into her coat. “Those mountains?”
“Those mountains,” Rebecca confirmed.
“That’s the other side of the world, isn’t it?”