Canducci’s eyes flicker; LaPointe’s point is made. “I’m telling you I didn’t kill this guy!”

“You mean you had him killed?”

“Shit, I don’t even know this Verdini!”

“But at least you remember his name now.”

There is a pause. Canducci considers his situation.

“I don’t talk to cops. I think you’re holding an empty bag. You got a witness? You got fingerprints? You got the knife? If you had any lever on me, we wouldn’t be sitting here. We’d be downtown. You’re empty, cop!” Canducci says this last loudly, to be overheard by the boys in the back. He wants them to see how he treats cops.

Candy Al’s reasoning is correct, so LaPointe has to take another tack. He shifts in his chair and looks out the window past Canducci’s head. For a moment he seems to be absorbed in watching two kids playing in the street, coatless despite the cold. “I hear you’ve got something going with your boys back there,” he says absently.

“What do you mean? What you talking?”

“I’m talking about the rumor that you keep your boys around for pleasure. That you pay them to use you like a woman.” LaPointe shrugs. “Your flashy clothes, your silks, you wear a girdle… it’s easy to see how a rumor like that could spread.”

Canducci’s face bloats with outrage. “Who’s saying this? Give me a name! I’ll sink my fingernails into his forehead and snatch his fucking face off!”

LaPointe lifts a hand. “Take it easy. The rumor hasn’t started yet.”

Canducci is confused. “What the hell you talking about?”

“But by tomorrow night, everyone on the street will be saying that you take it like a woman. I only have to drop a hint here, a wink there.”

“Bullshit! Nobody would believe you! I got a doll on my arm every night.”

“A smart cover-up. But always a different girl. They never hang around. Maybe because you can’t satisfy them.”

“Agh, I get tired of them. I need a little variety.”

“That’s your story. The other bosses would grab up a rumor like that in a second. They’d have big laughs over it. So Candy Al is a fif! Some punk would paint words on your car. Pretty soon your boys would drift away, because they don’t want people saying they’re queers. You’d be alone. People would talk behind their hands when you walked by. They’d whistle at you from across the street.” Every touch is calculated to make the proud Italian wince.

His mind racing, Canducci glares at LaPointe for a full minute. Yes. A rumor like that would spread like clap in a nunnery. They’d love it, those shitheads over on Marconi Street. His jaw tightens and he looks down at the floor. “You’d do that? You’d spread a rumor like that about a man?”

LaPointe snaps his fingers softly. “Like that.”

Candy Al glances toward the poolroom and lowers his voice. He speaks quickly to get it over with. “All right. This Verdini? A friend asked me to find a room for him because his English ain’t too good. I found the room. And that’s it. That’s all I know. If he got himself killed, that’s tough shit. I got nothing to do with it.”

“What’s this friend’s name?”

“I don’t remember. I got lots of friends.”

“Just a minute ago you told me you didn’t have any friends.”

“Agh!”

LaPointe lets the silence sit on Canducci.

“Look! I’m giving it to you straight, Lieutenant!”

“Lieutenant? What happened to Canuck?”

Canducci shrugs, lifting his hands and dipping his head. “Agh, I was just pissed. People say things when they’re pissed.”

“I see. I want you to say the word ‘wop’ for me.”

“Ah, come on!”

“Say it.”

Canducci turns his head and stares at the wall. “Wop,” he says softly.

“Good. Now keep talking about this kid.”

“I already told you everything I know!”

After a moment of silence, LaPointe sighs and rises. “Have it your way, Canducci. But tell me one thing. Those boys back there? Which one’s best?”

“That ain’t funny!”

“Your friends will think so.” LaPointe slaps his hand on the bar to summon the barmaid, who disappeared when she heard how things were going in the poolroom. She has been around enough to know that it is not wise to witness Candy Al’s defeats. She comes from the back room, tugging down her skirt, which is so tight across the hips that it continually rides up.

“What do I owe you?” LaPointe asks.

“Just a minute,” Canducci says, raising his hand. “What’s your rush? Sit down, why don’t you?”

The barmaid looks from one to the other, then returns to the back room.

LaPointe sits down. “That’s better. But let’s cut the bullshit. I don’t have the time. I’ll start the story for you. This Green was brought into the country illegally. You were laundering him. You found him a room on the lower Main, away from this district where the immigration authorities might look for him if the Italian officials had sent out a want bulletin. You kept him in walking-around money. You probably arranged for him to learn a little English, because that’s part of the laundering process. Now you take it from there.”

Canducci looks at LaPointe for a moment. “I’m not admitting any of that, you know.”

“Of course not. But let’s pretend it’s true.”

“Okay. Just pretending what you say is true… This kid was a sort of distant cousin to me. The same village in Calabria. He was supposed to be a smart kid, and tough. But he gets into a little trouble back in the old country. So next thing you know he’s here, and I’ve promised to find some kind of work for him. As a favor.”

LaPointe smiles at the obliquity.

“Okay. So I get him a room, and I get him started learning some English. But I don’t see him often. That wouldn’t be smart, you dig? But all the time this bastard’s needing money. I give him a lot, but he always needs more. He blows it on the holes. I never seen such a crotch hound. I warn him that he’s beginning to get a reputation about all the squack he’s stabbing, and what the super don’t need right now is a reputation. He goes after all kinds. Even old women. He’s sort of weird that way, you know? So the only time I visit him is to tell him he shouldn’t draw attention to himself. I tell him to take it easy with the holes. But he don’t listen, and he asks me for more money. Five will get nine it was a woman that put the knife into him.”

“Go on.”

“Go on to what? That’s all! I warn him, but he don’t listen. And you walk in here this morning and tell me he’s got himself reamed. He should of listened.”

“You don’t sound too sorry for your cousin.”

“I should be sorry for myself! I’m out a lot of scratch! And for what?”

“Call it a business risk. Okay, give me the names of some of his women.”

“Who knows names? Shit, he was on the make day and night. Drag a net down the Main and you’ll come up with half a dozen he’s rammed. But I can tell you this. He went for weird action. Two at a time. Old women. Gimps. Kids. That sort of thing.”

“You said something about his taking English lessons? Who was he taking them from?”

“No idea. I give him a list of ads from the papers. I let him pick for himself. The less I know about what these guys are doing, the better for me.”

“What else do you want to tell me?”

“There’s nothing else to tell. And listen—” Canducci points a chubby white finger at LaPointe—”there ain’t no witnesses here. Anything I might have said, I would deny in court. Right?”

LaPointe nods, his eyes never leaving Candy Al’s as he weighs and evaluates the story he just heard. “It could be the way you say. It could also be that the kid got too dangerous for you, drawing attention to himself and always asking you for money. It could be you decided to cut your losses.”

“My word of honor!”

LaPointe’s lower eyelids droop. “Well, if I have your word of honor… what else could I want?” He rises and begins to tug on his overcoat. “If I decide I need more from you, I’ll be by. And if you try to leave town, I’ll take that as a confession.”