Free Killing the Blues by Michael Brandman Page A

grief-stricken. She was trying to hold it together, but the worst was yet to come, and I could see in her eyes that she knew it.”
    â€œSo you got drunk?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBut you haven’t gotten drunk again?”
    â€œNo.”
    Dix didn’t say anything.
    â€œI identified with her grief.”
    â€œJenn?”
    â€œYes.”
    Neither of them said anything.
    â€œI regretted it,” Jesse said. “I’m determined not to let her get to me again.”
    They sat silently for a while.
    â€œIs there anything else you want to tell me,” Dix said.
    â€œI’ve started seeing someone.”
    â€œSomeone other than Sunny Randall?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSo you’re not seeing Sunny any longer?”
    â€œShe’s away.”
    â€œIf she were here?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI flew too close to the flame.”
    â€œWhich means?”
    â€œI like it better where it’s cooler.”
    Dix didn’t say anything.
    â€œI don’t think I’m ready.”
    They sat quietly for a while.
    â€œDo you take these sessions seriously,” Dix said.
    â€œI do,” Jesse said.
    â€œDo you find them helpful?”
    â€œMostly.”
    â€œDo you reflect on them?”
    â€œSometimes. Why?”
    â€œBecause you’re often obtuse.”
    Jesse didn’t say anything.
    â€œI don’t want you to wander off the path toward self-realization,” Dix said.
    â€œIt’s when I wander that I come to see you.”
    â€œWhich is a good thing.”
    â€œIf you say so.”

25
    J esse returned to the safe house. He parked in the garage and went inside.
    Everything was as it had been except that both Perkins and Suit now had two days’ worth of beard.
    â€œAnything I should know about,” Jesse said.
    â€œHe’s agitated. He’s been asking for you,” Suitcase said.
    â€œThat’s a start,” Jesse said.
    They went to the door and watched Lopresti for a while.
    He, too, needed a shave. Jesse went into the room.
    â€œGood morning,” he said.
    â€œWhere were you? Why in hell did you take so long to come back?”
    â€œDid you miss me?”
    â€œDon’t fuck with me.”
    â€œDo you have something to tell me?”
    â€œI might.”
    â€œI’ll want to know several things, but first I’d like to learn who you’re working for.”
    â€œHow do I know that you’ll let me go if I tell you,” Lopresti said.
    â€œYou don’t.”
    â€œYou said something about verifying what I might tell you. How does that happen?”
    â€œThat’s my concern.”
    â€œHow much information will I have to give you?”
    â€œEnough to satisfy me.”
    â€œYou don’t give an inch, do you?”
    â€œSomeone has died because of this business, Robert. I intend to put a stop to it. If you help me, you’ll go free. You’ll have to trust in that.”
    Lopresti thought about it. “John Lombardo,” he said.
    â€œHow do I find John Lombardo?”
    â€œI don’t know. He finds me.”
    â€œThat’s not good enough, Robert.”
    â€œListen, I don’t know how to find him. If I need him, I call his cell.”
    â€œWhat’s the number?”
    Jesse wrote it down as Lopresti recited it.
    â€œHow did you come to know Mr. Lombardo,” Jesse said.
    â€œFall River. I was workin’ the streets. Me and Santino. Every now and then we’d lift a car. Mostly just to see if we could. I knew a guy was interested in parts. We’d sell the cars to him.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œAnd this one time we brought in a car and our friend told us that Mr. Lombardo might have work for us.”
    Jesse didn’t say anything.
    â€œSo we met with him. He asked if we’d like to join his operation. The money was good. So we did,” Lopresti said.
    â€œHow long ago was