Page 137 of The Deadly Candies

When they were out, he was leaning on the sink to watch her comb through her long tangles in the shower. She smiled at him, “I need my conditioner. My hair is a mess.”

“Looks beautiful to me,” he shrugged.

“Well, it’s not. It takes work. I’ll have to press it again to get it straight,” she sighed. There aren’t even stores here I can go to. Maybe if the technicians can’t get the phones installed, we should prepare to go back home tomorrow.”

“This is paradise. Why not stay?” he said under his breath. “It’s our honeymoon.”

“Quebec?” she laughed. “We can’t live in Quebec. We can’t live here. We have a family and lives in New York. We can deal with the Feds. I won’t have to testify. You know that. They can’t make me testify. We’re married. WE can work it out. You and I will bring the families together, not apart. And maybe sit Sandy down and tell her the truth. We needed this, but it’s time for it to end.”

She turned on the dryer and started to blow out her hair. He walked out of the bathroom and left her there. He went to the large double doors to his verandah. He pushed them open and stepped out on the terrace. Below, he saw the men he’d hired to protect them strolling the grounds of the grand villa he’d purchased by the lake.

Nino was at the table eating with his caregiver, another professional he’d hired for the job. He had spent three years planning their new life down to the simplest detail.

Ernesto appeared.

He glanced at his consigliere as he approached Nino and kissed him on the top of his head. He must have arrived at night. Kathy believed there were no phones, but there were phones, just not for her. Soon he’d have to tell he the truth, and he just wanted a little peace with her before he blew up her world. Peace was over. This was a time of war.

Ernesto looked up at him. Carmelo nodded, and his consigliere walked off. He went back inside and closed the doors. He dropped his robe and went to his closet to get his things to dress. He put on his watch first.

“Kathy?”

“Yes,” she called out.

“Ernesto is here. I’m going to meet with him and get us a phone, then we’ll talk at dinner about what comes next.”

She came out of the bathroom. Her hair was thick and puffy everywhere. He paused again at her raw beauty. “Okay, tell him hi.”

He smiled. “I will, see you in a few.”

She went back into the bathroom. He checked his watch and hurried.

41

Debbie’s Place – Brooklyn, NY – 1949

The Studebaker hadn’t even stopped rolling when Debbie flung the door open, her patent-leather pumps hitting the pavement before José could yank the emergency brake up.

“Wait! Christ, Debbie?—”

She was already at the brownstone door. It swung open before she could knock—Carmelo stood there, his white dress shirt wrinkled and untucked, the hollows under his eyes so deep they looked like bruises. Debbie crashed into him, her fingers clawing at his back as she held on to him.

“Where is he?! Tell me now!”she sobbed. “He needs me. He needs me. Tell me where he is. I have to find him.”

José slipped in behind her, quietly shutting the door. The living room smelled of stale whiskey and sweat. The place is still boarded up as the repairs have now come to a screeching halt. A half-packed suitcase lay open on the sofa—Matteoo’s, by the look of the Superman magazines and other things spilling out.

Carmelo’s arms tightened around Debbie for a second before he pushed her back gently.“I don’t know. We’ve looked everywhere.”His voice was hoarse, the words slurred like he hadn’t slept in days. “He was here, but when I got here, he was gone.”

“Why didn’t you call us?!”Debbie’s fists pounded against his chest.“I heard my father talking about the funeral—Matteo needs me! He’s been hurting, and you never called!”

José stepped between them and pulled Debbie off Carmelo, who took her slaps and punches as if they felt like nothing to him.“It’s been hard for all of us.” Was his only response.

Debbie whirled on him.“Kathy calls me every day! She said she wrote to you—did you get the letter? She even called your house, she was so worried about you.”

Carmelo blinked.“Letter?”The only one he’d touched in weeks was the letter left for him beside his mother’s rosary on his father’s desk—the paper still smelling of her perfume. He raked a hand through his greasy hair, pacing past the overturned coffee table.

“Where the hell do we even start looking?”José asked, pulling Debbie against him as she trembled through her rage, grief, confusion, and desperation.“What’s your family doing to find him?”

Carmelo stopped dead.“DeMarco’s dead.”

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