The Take(59)

“You there?” asked Falconi.

“Yeah, I’m here.” Coluzzi put a foot on the retaining wall and breathed in the sea air. A thousand feet below him the ocean crashed against the rocky shoreline. “I got no idea what he means. I don’t have anything that belongs to him.”

“He said there’s still time. No hard feelings. Mean anything to you?”

“Nah. Nothing.”

“You think he’s talking about the other day?”

“Of course not. Anyway, it’s impossible. It can’t be Ledoux.”

“You sure? He said you two did some work together a while back.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Black hair, not too big, green eyes. About forty. Just a regular guy. Oh yeah…and a scar on his forehead.”

“A scar?”

“A nasty one. Like a fishhook.”

Coluzzi remembered delivering the blow, swinging the sharpened stick of iron, putting all of his weight into it, all of his anger, all of his fear. “No, no,” he said. “That can’t be. No way.”

“I almost forgot. His first name is Simon.”

Coluzzi felt the wind against his scalp, heard the breakers crashing on the rocks far below. But in his mind, he was back in the prison yard, standing over Ledoux’s unmoving body, the sun beating down, thinking he’d never seen so much blood in his life. “Listen to me, Luca. There’s no way Simon Ledoux can be in Paris.”

“So you do know him?” said Falconi with relief. “I thought something was up.”

“Know him?” said Coluzzi. “I killed him.”





Chapter 31



A voluptuous brunette with cunning dark eyes and ruby-red lipstick took Falconi’s place next to Simon. She set her purse on the counter, then arranged her hair, giving him a look he was too experienced to misinterpret. Her name was Raquel. He bought her a few drinks and listened to her hard-luck story. She was just what he needed to keep an eye on the place.

Luca Falconi had installed himself at a table in the far corner. He was seated with a fidgety man with sideburns and a thick mustache, and a svelte blonde who looked too sophisticated for the place. Simon allowed his gaze to linger, letting the restless guy see him, guessing that this might be the Giacomo Nikki had mentioned.

Raquel was getting drunk quickly and laid a hand on Simon’s thigh. “Hey,” she said huskily. “Why don’t you take me to someplace nice?”

“Any ideas?”

“I’ll bet you live someplace nice.”

Simon smiled. She smiled back. The woman’s eyes were glazed and her mouth had a sloppy habit of hanging open at one side. He leaned closer. “You’re right,” he said invitingly. “I do. But you’re not ever going to see it.”

The woman quaffed the rest of her drink before grabbing her purse and walking toward the ladies’ room. As Simon’s eyes followed her, he observed that Falconi and his nervous friend had been joined by two men, both of whom looked like they came from the enforcement side of the business.

“Another beer?” asked the bartender.

“No, thanks. Just the bill.”

“Didn’t find your friend?”

“Must be at the wrong place.” Simon paid the bill. When he turned to leave, Falconi and his cronies were blocking his path.

“Ledoux,” said the one with the mustache.

“Do I know you?”

“My name’s Jack,” said the man, not offering a handshake. “You were asking about Tino Coluzzi?”

“Jack” for Giacomo. No doubt now. Nikki had steered him to the right place.

“He’s an old friend,” said Simon. “Like I said to Luca.”

“Is that right?” said Jack. “Maybe we can talk about this outside.”

“I’m fine here.”

“It’s confidential,” said Falconi easily, buddy to buddy. “Just take a minute.”

“Sure thing.” Simon crossed the room in a leisurely manner, the four men close behind. He opened the door and stepped outside. At the end of the alley, a steady stream of pedestrians passed by on the well-lit street. Jack walked in the other direction, deeper into the shadows, before addressing Simon.

“So you are a friend of Tino?” he asked, more of an accusation than a question.

“I am.”

“Because I know all of Tino’s friends. I’ve never seen you or heard him mention you.”

“We worked for Signor Bonfanti.”

“Bonfanti,” said Jack, rising up onto his toes. “He’s done. No one cares about him anymore.”

“Giacomo,” said Falconi. “Show some respect.” The older man directed his attention to Simon. “When did you work for Il Padrone?”

“A long time ago. Almost twenty years. Don’t remember you.”

“You wouldn’t. I was away. In Italy. Cremona.”

“Making violins.” As well as the home of the finest violin manufacturers in Italy, Cremona housed one of Italy’s largest maximum-security prisons.

“Something like that,” said Falconi. “I need to ask you a couple of questions, then we can all get out of here. What do you say?”