Free Shallow Graves - Jeremiah Healy by Jeremiah Healy Page B

their handles
over tiles the color of dried blood. The tiles covered the work areas
of the counters as well as the floor.
    As Zuppone stepped behind me to close the door,
probably the tallest Vietnamese woman I'd ever seen stood up from a
stool. There was a cigarette burning in a crystal ashtray in front of
her, at least half a dozen smoked ones in the base of the tray.
    The woman self-consciously touched her hair, swept up
in a bun with jewelry combs. Her cheekbones were high, her lipstick
light. She wore a bac dai, the traditional long, slitted dress of her
country, but the slit was conservative and the dress itself was
black, not a gay print. A mother in mourning.
    She said, "My husband and the brother of my
husband are in the den."
    As we went by her, I said, "I'm sorry for your
loss."
    The woman dropped her gaze toward her feet. Her eyes
started to close, but the left lid went only halfway down as the
right closed completely. As she looked back up, I realized the left
eye was gone, the brown and white egg in its socket a beautifully
wrought piece of glass.
    I felt a chill as Zuppone
led the way through the first floor of the house.
    * * *
    From across the den, they looked like twins standing
in front of adjoining mirrors at the fun house. One was stocky, with
coarse black hair in clots that didn't stay put. His jaw seemed about
one generation removed from cracking bones around a cooking fire. He
wore a shirt and tie, but the tie's knot was wrenched almost halfway
down his chest, and the sleeves were turned up twice, revealing
forearms thatched with black hair. As he drained a glass of what
looked like Scotch, he made you think of why Webster put the word
"guzzle" in the dictionary. The other guy was slim and five
inches taller, maybe six one. The tide on his hair was going out,
front to back. His features were more delicate, like the altar boy
who goes on to play guard for the CYO basketball team. I guessed the
suit to be in the seven-hundred range at Brooks Brothers, a Repp tie
still knotted tightly at the collar. There was no drink in his hand
or anywhere nearby.
    As Zuppone and I got closer, I realized the stocky
one was about my age, the slim one a little younger despite the
hairline. The stocky one said, "This him, Primo?"
    "Yes, Mr. Danucci."
    I thought, Jesus Christ.
    The stocky one put down his glass. "The name
registers with you, don't it."
    My eyes went to the slim one. He seemed mildly amused
but not inclined to show it much.
    The stocky one said, "Look at me, Cuddy."
    I did. "I thought you'd be older."
    The slim one said, "You're thinking of our
father."
    I said, "Tommy Danucci was your father?"
    The stocky one said, "Is our father."
    Tommy Danucci. Tommy the Temper. One of the mob
bosses you heard about but never saw, directing things quietly from
the backroom instead of splashing across the front page. I remembered
whiffs of him coming up during the media coverage of the Angiulo
cases, but I thought he'd died in the mid-eighties.
    The slim one said, "I think you're entitled to
an introduction, Mr. Cuddy. This is my brother, Joseph Danucci. My
name is Vincent Dani."
    I said to Dani, "You were Mau Tim's — — "
    "Tina! " thundered Danucci. "My
daughter's name was Tina! Use it."
    Nobody said anything until Primo said, "Boss,
can I freshen that up for you?"
    Danucci was breathing through his mouth. The sound
was like a hurricane blowing through a lantern. It wasn't hard to see
which gene he got from Tommy the Temper. "Yeah. Yeah, Primo.
Thanks."
    "Chivas?"
    "No. The Johnny Black tonight."
    Zuppone crossed to the wet bar in a corner of the
room. The paneled walls were covered with framed prints of different
Boston athletes. Dom DiMaggio and Rico Petrocelli from the Red Sox,
Gino Cappelletti from the Patriots, Phil Esposito from the Bruins. It
took a minute to realize they all had Italian surnames. Danucci
accepted his drink and downed half of it. He ran the back of his hand
across his mouth, then ran his palm