“Alright, okay. What if...” Furrowing my eyebrows, I dug into my purse again. It was my magic bag of tricks tonight. The twinkle in Juice's eye said he thought I had more money for him. Instead, I slid out the photo I'd been keeping at my side since Jacob had handed it over. “Maybe seeing him would jog your memory?”
In front of me, Juice's eyes boggled. I thought he'd drop the cash and just run. “Holy shit,” he whispered. He studied me with new respect—or was that disbelief? “You're looking for Lars Diani?”
A rubber band snapped in my chest.
Lars Diani.
The roof of my mouth trapped my tongue. “Is that his name? This guy, are you sure?”
“Fuck, yeah. That's his ugly mug.”
It was finally happening. I knew his fucking name.
Lars Diani.
He was going to die.
Trembling, I jammed the photo away. I wasn't careful, it crinkled and tore. I didn't care at all. “Lars Diani. His name is Lars Diani.”
“Uh, yeah. You okay?”
I realized I was smiling. I looked insane, but that was fine. “Juice, can you tell me where I can find him?”
“Like, right now, or in general?”
My stomach dropped through my feet. “You know where he is right now?” Could my luck be this good?
Itching nervously at his cheek, he tucked the money away and lifted a palm. “Okay, so look. I'll tell you where he is, but you need to let me know you'll never, ever, say you heard anything from me. I'm out of this life, I'm moving on. I won't be the next body found in an alley.”
Everything was reverberating, even my teeth. Looking at his hand, I slid more money into it. The number of things I owed Kite an apology for was growing. It'd be nice to get a chance to make it up to him. “My lips are zipped. Now tell me, please.”
Juice rocked on his heels. His dilemma was nothing compared to mine, and apparently, nothing compared to his greed. “Tonight is Hecko's wake. I was thinking of paying my respects, but now... I might hang back. Visit his grave later, or something.” The kid pulled his thick sweater around tighter. “It's happening on the corner of Smith and Pine. Open door, anyone can pay their respects. Word is Lars will be there. Those mafia types, they think of everyone close to them as family.”
“Thank you,” I said, and to both our surprises, I gave him a hug.
It was spontaneous, over so fast he was left standing with his arms lifted at his sides.
He'd opened the path to my redemption. I was incredibly grateful to him.
Through the chilly night, I sprinted to Kite's car and climbed in.
I had a wake to catch.
****
The place was exactly where Juice had said. A stubby building, hard stone and soft yellow lights. The front door was wide open, allowing people to mill in or out. Whoever Hecko had been, he seemed to have a large family.
Sitting in Kite's car, I peered through the windshield and just... waited. I didn't know what to expect, I'd never been so close to the confrontation I'd been envisioning for years. I'd expected that Juice would give me something to go off of. It could have taken days or weeks, but no.
Here I was, waiting for Lars to appear like I'd rolled out the red carpet.
Perhaps karma did exist.
Everyone wore black; suits, dresses, you name it. They funneled into the building or hovered by the edges. It reminded me oddly of the charity ball, when I'd stood in the garden with Kite.
The night they'd both spun me in their arms. Don't think about either of them.
Fidgeting, I reached for my purse. I needed to do something to stay busy. Holding the pistol, brushing the suppressor, I mulled over Kite's advice. Unless you yourself load in the clip, always check.
Pulling the bolt of the Ruger back, I stared into the chamber and scowled. Ejecting the clip, I confirmed my suspicion. Only three bullets? Shit! It was good I'd checked, but if I'd looked earlier, I could have grabbed extra ammo. I'll have to make sure the shot is close. I can't risk missing.
Condensation had begun fogging the windows. Even so, I still saw him when he appeared.
The car that pulled onto the street was fancy. Rich midnight blue, the kind of model you saw on television but rarely in real life. The driver's side cranked open, spitting the putrid monster I'd had nightmares about into the street.
Lars Diani.
Having a name to put to him was amazing. My memory had been spot on; thick shoulders, trunk arms, and a chest so wide I was sure his suit was custom made. His piggy eyes glistened, settling on the doorway to the wake.
There was sweat on my palms. Everything was slick and hot. Calm down, you can't shoot him yet. You'll never hit him. The time I'd missed Kite when we'd played paintball was a sobering reminder.
Telling myself this didn't keep me from crushing the Ruger until my fingers ached.
Lars made it to the building, the lights casting a long shadow behind him. The people standing outside greeted him, many shaking his hand and looking delighted. Didn't they know what kind of demon he was?
Shoving the gun into my bag, I jumped from the car. Letting Lars leave my line of sight was giving me anxiety. Call me obsessed, I wouldn't argue it, but the man I wanted dead was here, right here.