“No,” Billy said. But they would find Germaio. By then, it wouldn’t matter. Billy would be long gone. “Broken nose, maybe. But he’s gonna be under a house in about three days.”
Ronnie pointed out the window. There were gray clouds hovering over the lake. “Supposed to rain for the next three days,” Ronnie said. “Summer storm. Gonna be eight million percent humidity for the next week. You don’t watch the news?”
“I was busy last night.”
“I bet.”
“We buried him deep,” Billy said. “It could rain for a month, wouldn’t matter.”
“Point is,” Ronnie said, “they ain’t gonna be putting foundations down in the fucking rain.”
“Wasn’t how I had it planned,” Billy said. “But Germaio wouldn’t listen.”
“I had you there so nothing would go sideways,” Ronnie said. He shook his head. “The guys respect you. And then you let something like this go down? It’s a lot of fucking cleanup.”
“I didn’t let it happen,” Billy said. “Motherfucker turned blue on us. Besides, what were you gonna do with him? Have fucking tea and sandwiches?”
“I wasn’t gonna kill him,” Ronnie said.
“Of course you weren’t going to,” Billy said. He glared at his cousin for a few seconds; then he felt something soften inside of him. What was this bullshit? Grew up together like brothers, the only sons of two of the baddest motherfuckers on the planet, playing catch in the street with Family soldiers watching them like Secret Service, trick-or-treating as gangsters—trench coats, guns, hats, the whole nine—the neighbors giving up all their candy at once. Fast forward and no one wore costumes anymore. He reached over and took his cousin by the arm. “I’m sorry, Ron. We fucked up. Whatever it costs, take it from my end. Germaio can’t afford it.”
Ronnie took a deep breath, exhaled through his mouth, nodded. “Where’s Germaio now?”
“I dropped him at his girlfriend’s,” Billy said. Germaio also had a wife and a kid. This was a lie that wouldn’t last long. “Where I picked him up.”
“He’d have more money if he wasn’t paying for two families,” Ronnie said. “What time?”
“I dunno,” Billy said. “Six?” Billy heard a shuffling sound, turned and saw Big Kirk Biglione trailing behind them, ten feet away. This Lurch-motherfucker. “Sure he’s home by now.”
“I sent a couple guys over. He wasn’t home. Car still in the garage. His dumbfuck son says he hasn’t seen him.”
“What’s his wife say?”
“Same,” Ronnie said.
“He’s probably scared.”
Ronnie nodded. “You know how many people saw the three of you inside the Lamplighter?”
“No one would say anything,” Billy said.
“Maybe not. But you dumbfucks left Dover’s car there,” Ronnie said. “I told Germaio to bring it back with him and he just left it sitting in the parking lot. Why would he do that?”
Shit. Germaio hadn’t mentioned that. “He’s not real detail oriented.”
“Yeah,” Ronnie said, “but you are.” He stepped closer to the window, found a tiny hole in the tarp, pushed his thumb through it, and an arrow of breeze shot out. “Dover’s wife reported him missing this morning and there was his fucking car, right where he left it. It’s gonna cost me a lot to keep this shit quiet. More than you can afford. Which is why I’m thinking I’ll just dig him up and toss him in the lake, let him wash up in a couple days, get someone to call it a suicide.”
“They can figure that shit out,” Billy said.
“Who?”
“The coroner,” Billy said. “That’s how Junior Pocotillo got sent up.” Billy had gone to high school with Junior Pocotillo. A big fucking Indian kid. He’d killed some Russian mope who’d tried to jack him for his car, problem being that Junior had stolen the car in the first place. He’d strangled the guy and then tossed him in the river, only to have him wash up the next morning. Doctors figured out pretty quickly that the body was already dead when it got tossed in the water. Billy didn’t know how, something about the lungs, but he’d avoided dumping bodies in water ever since.
“Fine,” Ronnie said. “I’ll put him inside a burning car with a couple hookers. That make you happier?”
“Just leave him,” Billy said. “There’s a problem, I’ll handle it. Free of charge.”
“Oh yeah?” He cocked his head to the right. “Because isn’t that your car down there?”
Billy gazed out the window. The DeVille was right where he left it. Except there was a Cadillac in front of it now. And one behind it. Another pulling up across from it.
Shit.
“Yeah. I’m out of town for the next week,” Billy said. “Going to Lake Geneva.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I told you.”
“Right,” Ronnie said. He snapped his fingers. “I remember now. You said, ‘Hey, cousin, I’m gonna run out of town with a trunk full of your money.’”
Billy reached instinctively for the gun on his hip . . . but it wasn’t there. Because he was out with his wife and kid. Because he was going on vacation. Because it was in his glove box. Because he wasn’t thinking he was going to shoot his cousin. Not that Ronnie was holding. He didn’t carry a gun. That’s why he had guys like Germaio and Biglione. He was a businessman. Why he had guys like Billy.
“What’s your plan? Canada? Mexico? Maybe join those Outfit assholes at the Salton Sea? Or you getting on a boat?”
There was no use lying about anything now. Billy had been in this position before. Except he was the one asking questions. It got to this point, it was already done.
“If it’s about the money,” Billy said, “you can have it.”
