House of the Rising Sun

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Tony Zello was at Jenny’s door.

She glanced at Ray. He was on his feet. He had recognized Tony’s voice.

She turned back to the door. “I said, who is it?”

The voice was angry. “You know who this is, now open the fucking door.”

“Let me get something on. I’ll be right back.”

More pounding. “Open the door, Jenny.”

She crossed the room, grabbed Ray’s arm, then dragged him down the short hallway into the bedroom. “You stay in here. I’ll get rid of him.”

“How?”

She pulled a robe from a hook on the back of the closet door. “Stay here and for God’s sake be quiet.”

Tony hammered again. Jenny started for the door. In the hallway she stopped suddenly. Still wearing black panty hose and matching pumps.

This is dangerous. I’ve got to keep my head.

From the bedroom door Ray watched as she kicked away her shoes and peeled off the panty hose. Jenny pressed a finger to her lips, then waved him back into the bedroom.

The door shook under Tony’s fist.

As Jenny passed by the end table next to the sofa, she snatched the cordless phone from its base. Standing at the door, she said, “What do you want, Tony?”

“I want to come in.”

As silently as she could, Jenny latched the night chain, then said, “Why?”

Tony shouted through the door. “I need to talk to you.”

Five thirty in the morning. With most everyone in the building still in bed, her neighbors had to hear him. She ran her hand through her hair, mussing it to look like she had been asleep. A final glance back down the hall. Ray was just closing the bedroom door. Jenny unlocked the dead bolt, then opened the door.

Tony tried to push his way in but was held back by the night chain. He pressed his face through the crack. “Take off the chain.”

He wasn’t alone. Joey, one of Vinnie’s muscle-bound idiots, loomed behind him.

“What do you want, Tony?”

“I want to come in.”

“I’m not opening the door. You got something to say, say it.” Tony snaked a hand through the crack and tried to reach the chain.

Jenny slammed the door on his fingers.

“Owww.”Tony shouldered the door open to the limit of the chain. “Stop that, you bitch.”

“I’m going back to bed. If you’ve got something to say, you better say it fast.”

His eyes narrowed, but he kept his voice calm. “Have you seen Shane?”

Jenny stared at him for a second, trying for a look of disbelief, a look that said she was shocked he would ask such a stupid question. “You woke me up to ask me if I’ve seen Ray?”

“Answer the question.”

“No, I haven’t seen him.”

Tony peered past her shoulder. “You sure?”

Jenny tapped the heel of her palm against her forehead. “You’re right, Tony. I forgot. Ray’s in the bedroom. We’ve been screwing since I got home.”

“Don’t get smart with me. I’ll knock your teeth down your throat.”

She pressed a hand against the door frame next to the chain. “That’s a nice thought, Tony, but I think I’ll pass.”

He slipped a finger through the door and traced the tip along the back of her hand. “I never heard you complain before.”

“Fuck you, Tony,” Jenny said, her voice toneless and tired.

“Open the door.” Tony’s voice was soft. “I still need to talk to you.”

She shook her head.

Tony glanced over his shoulder at Joey, then back at Jenny. The edge came back into his voice. “Open it, or I’ll break it down.”

“You mean you’ll have your boyfriend break it down. You’re too much of a pussy to do it yourself.”

She jumped back as Tony shoved his arm through the crack and tried to grab her.

“I’ll wring your fucking neck, you cunt.”

Standing back, just out of his reach, Jenny held the cordless phone up in front of him. “You don’t leave right now, I’m calling the cops.”

“You better open this fucking door.”

She pressed the TALK button and a dial tone buzzed from the speaker. Jenny pressed the 9, then the 1. With her finger still poised over the 1, she said, “You going to leave me alone, or do you want me to press it?”

Tony glared at her, but he pulled his hand back.

She said, “On a nine-one-one call, even if I hang up, they dispatch a car.”

In frustration, Tony smacked his fist against the door, then once more pressed his face through the crack. He jabbed a finger at her. “I’ll deal with you later.” Then he was gone, stalking down the hall with Joey trotting along after him.

Jenny closed the door. As she turned the thumb latch on the dead bolt, Ray stepped into the den. “That was good thinking, that thing with the phone.”

She walked toward him and stood close. “Is your car outside?” she asked, worried Tony had seen it.

“I took the bus.”

The thought of Ray Shane, tough-guy, ex-Vice detective, riding a city bus made her laugh. Picturing him getting on, fishing through his pocket for the exact fare-they didn’t give change-then stuffing himself into a tiny seat, waiting for his stop. She laughed harder, laughed until her belly hurt and tears came to her eyes.

He watched her for a while. Then said, “What’s so funny?” Still laughing, holding her stomach, she said, “You on the bus.”

He grinned. “I’ve lived here all my life, and it was the first time I’ve ever been on one.”

“Where is your car?”

“At my place,” he said. “I had to leave in a hurry.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

He shook his head. “And tell them what, the mob is trying to kill me?”

Jenny nodded. “Why not?”

“I’m just another ex-con. The cops aren’t going to do anything to help me.”

“So what did you do?”

“Caught the bus and rode around.”

“Soaking wet?”

“To the driver, I was just another nut with nowhere to go.” Ray wrung his shirttail. Water dripped on the floor.

Jenny hadn’t noticed before but Ray’s clothes were wet.

“When the bus stopped on Canal Street, I got off and walked here.”

“And brought Tony with you.”

He shrugged.

After a long look at him she made a decision. “Get your clothes off and get in the shower.”

He didn’t say anything, but his eyes told her he was grateful.

“Believe it or not,” she said, “I’ve still got some of your clothes.”

“Did you believe her?” Joey asked.

Tony looked over at him. “She knows better than to lie to me. I’ve kicked her ass before, and the little bitch knows I’ll do it again.”

Joey had both hands on the wheel as he steered the big Lincoln down Canal Street. “Where we going?”

“Fuck if I know,” Tony said, more to himself than to Joey.

And that was the problem. He didn’t have any idea. He knew he had to find Shane. But how? Where was he? Tony didn’t know where else to look.

Joey said, “How about his family or maybe his friends? That’s probably where he’d go if he got in a jam.”

Tony shook his head. “I thought of that. Our line of work, people don’t fill out applications and leave the phone numbers of people to reach in case of an emergency.”

Joey didn’t say anything else, so Tony went back to thinking about his problem. Thinking how he had Shane in his grasp and let him slip away. A wave of rage washed over him, and he pounded his fist against the dashboard. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Joey jump. Joey was another problem. Technically, he worked for Tony, but everyone at the club ultimately worked for Vinnie.

Tony wondered if he could count on Joey. Or would Joey feel obligated to report to Vinnie that they had lost Shane? So far, Joey had not been out of Tony’s sight, so there was no way Vinnie could know what had happened, at least not yet. But what about later?

Tony glanced at his watch. It was 6:00 AM. There was still time to straighten this out. All he had to do was keep an eye on Joey-don’t let him use the phone-and find that prick Shane. Tony hadn’t made it this far just to let a crooked ex-cop fuck everything up. And he had come a long way.

Growing up in the Irish Channel with seven brothers and sisters, the Zellos were the only Italians in the neighborhood. His dad worked thirty years as a pipe fitter, but never put in any overtime because he liked the booze too much. Without enough money for Catholic school, the Zello kids went to public school.

At McDonogh No. 35, they were the only white faces in the hallways. Tony had to fight every day-fight to get to his locker, fight to get to class, fight to get home. By tenth grade, he’d had enough. He cut out of school early and told his mom and dad he was quitting.

“The hell you are,” his father said, his booze breath washing over Tony. “You’re gonna graduate and get a good job.”

“I got a good job.”

Mr. Zello’s eyebrows shot up in an exaggerated look of surprise. “You do, huh?”

“I work for Mr. Nicky.”

Tony’s father might have been a poor white-trash boozer, but he was an honest poor white-trash boozer. He knew Nick, knew Nick was connected, knew Nick ran numbers and shylocked on the side. Nick even ran a little protection racket on the businesses along Saint Claude Avenue. “You’re staying away from Nick, and you’re staying in school,” his father said.

They were in the kitchen and his dad had already turned around to pour himself another drink when Tony said, “I’m not going back. Fuck those niggers, fuck that school, and fuck… you.”

The speed of the move caught Tony by surprise. His father spun around, highball glass in his right hand, and smashed it against the side of Tony’s head. Sprawled on the kitchen floor, Tony pulled his hand away from his head and saw it was covered with blood. The next day he went to a doctor and had the three-inch slice above his left ear sewn up. That was twenty-five years ago, and he had not seen his father since.

Riding in his Lincoln, Joey driving, Tony was on the verge of seeing everything he had worked for disappear because of one man-Ray Shane. With no idea where Shane was, no leads on where to start looking, and time running out before Vinnie found out what had happened, Tony decided to make a career move. He was going to-

“Hey, Tony, you listening?”

“Huh?” Tony looked at Joey. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard the big goon. “What did you say?”

“I said, where to?”

They were at the foot of Canal Street, at the river. “Head uptown on Tchoupitoulas.”

“Where we going?”

“I’ll tell you when we get there.”