Chapter Twenty-One
TWENTY-ONE
The inside of Charlie’s house smelled like the stagnant seaweed in the canal outside.
He led them out of the laundry room and into the living room, where bottles of beer and cans of cheese littered any available flat surface.
Charlie took a plastic seat and motioned for the two of them to do the same.
“Remind me to get a tetanus shot when we’re done,” Shepherd whispered to Ginny.
She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze, and didn’t let go even as they sat in different chairs.
He held on tight, for the good of his own nerves.
For some reason, his stomach was doing somersaults—probably because of the very terrifying mob boss in front of them, in his stained bathrobe and bunny slippers.
Ginny crossed her legs, her sneakered foot crunching on something loud hidden in what was left of the area rug. “Mr. Cardello, thank you for talking with me.”
“Eh.” Charlie held up a finger. “Pizza man, you time this.”
Shepherd furrowed his brow. “Huh?”
“One minute of talking equals one meal, so you’d better time this and see how many meals I get. Minimum of five.”
His free hand clenched in a fist, Shepherd forced himself to relax, gripping the off-white plastic instead. “That is not what I agreed to.”
“That’s what it’s gonna take for me not to kick you out of my house. We gotta deal or what?”
Ginny turned her large, blue, pleading eyes towards him.
What was he supposed to do? Her mom was missing, and it was only going to cost him a little bit of money out of his pocket.
Not the million and a quarter her folks were going to have to put up.
“Fine, fine. One minute equals one meal, with a minimum of five, but you will tip the driver.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“I was allowed to bring it this time, right?”
Ginny nodded.
Shepherd ignored the curious look Charlie cast over them and opened the stopwatch on his phone. “And go.”
“Why would Mr. Martin say your name, Charlie?”
Charlie adjusted himself on the chair, sniffing and pulling at the waist of his sweatpants. “He said, ‘Cardello,’ not ‘Charlie.’ Right?”
“That’s right.”
“So, he didn’t implicate me personally, is what I’m getting at.”
Ginny’s fingers tapped on Shepherd’s knuckles. “No, sir. He simply said, ‘Cardello.’ Why do you think he would do that?”
Charlie was silent for a long time. A full minute, according to the stopwatch. Finally, he said, “I don’t know.”
Shepherd glared at him. “You’re not just going to run up the time to get free meals. Either have a real talk with her, or we’re out, and you’ll not get so much as an order of garlic knots from me.”
Charlie raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. But I don’t know any landlords named Martin, and I don’t know how he knows me.
Could be we did business together a long time ago.
Right? I used to have my fingers in a lot of different businesses.
The ketamine, sure, but also a mortuary, a private school, an orange grove.
But I don’t anymore. OK? I’ve got my fingers in nothing right now. Even my girlfriend left.”
He picked up a half-empty bottle of beer and drained it in a few good gulps, burping loudly afterwards.
“What happened, Mr. Cardello?” Ginny asked, discreetly fanning away the odor. “Why did you lose your girlfriend and your businesses?”
“I, well”—he scratched his stomach—“I got shot. A couple of times. Survived it. Obviously.” He gestured at himself.
“But in the haze of recovery, I got pushed out of work by one of my capos. The fucking traitor. I can’t even hit him back, right.
I mean I could. I could totally hit him back if I wanted to, but I can’t because of a deal I worked out with some feds.
Because of a deal my ex-wife made with some feds.
I can’t talk about it, so don’t ask. And my girlfriend, she said she was going to college to get a nursing degree.
But I know she left because I gotta take a pill now to get intimate.
It still works!” That last bit was directed at Ginny.
“But it takes, like, thirty minutes. That’s nothing.
That’s, like, have a glass of wine, relax.
Maybe put on some music. Good things take time, you know?
But there’s no reasoning with that generation. ”
The fact that this man’s girlfriend was young enough to go to college and was referred to as “that generation” by a man his own age made Shepherd’s skin crawl.
“And then my ex-wife, she sends a letter. A letter! And she asks me, ‘Do you need help?’ No, I don’t need your help! I don’t need anybody’s help!” He reached for another open and half-finished bottle of beer. “Women.”
Charlie, during his villainous monologue, had gone over the five-minute mark, so every further question was costing Shepherd more and more money. But he couldn’t help himself. “Why a letter?”
Charlie shrugged. “Bee works in interesting and mysterious ways.”
Shepherd blinked several times, his tongue darting out to wet his mouth. “That is not an answer.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cardello.” Ginny let go of his hand and stood. “If you don’t mind, while Shepherd keeps the clock running, I’m just going to do a quick check of the house, OK? I don’t think my mom is here, but I’ll regret it if I don’t double-check.”
“Measure twice, cut once,” Charlie said, and dismissed her with a wave. He chugged his beer and eyed Shepherd. Shepherd held his phone and eyed him back.
“I’d offer you a beer,” Charlie told him, “but there aren’t any unopened ones.”
Shepherd said, “Hmm,” and willed Ginny to hurry up.
“You want some cheese?”
“I’ll pass, thanks,” Shepherd said. “Still full from lunch.”
Ginny, blessedly, walked back into the living room.
“Thank you, Mr. Cardello. You can stop the timer now, Shepherd. Mom isn’t here, and I believe that you don’t know what happened.
But if you can think of anything else, anything at all”—she reached into her purse and pulled out a business card—“please call me. Anytime, day or night, if you can think of anything about Mr. Martin or my mother that might be helpful to us. Any detail at all. OK?”
Charlie took the card with a nod. “Sure. But don’t get your hopes up. Show me the timer.”
Shepherd did. Eleven and a half minutes.
“The half counts,” Charlie said. “You can see yourselves out. The front door, this time.”
Ginny was the first one out the door, but Charlie’s voice called out, “I do hope you find her, Miss Kent.”
She paused at the threshold. Her eyes were bright, and when she blinked, her eyelashes sparkled. “Thank you, Mr. Cardello.”
“Yeah,” Shepherd groused, herding her down the stairs. “Thanks a lot.”