He massaged his right hand where the knuckles were bruised and swollen, though not as painful as they appeared.

Lou Elle glanced over at him. “What happened to you?”

“I busted a lady in the chops. I forgot what it’s like punching someone’s lights out. Hurts like a son of a bitch.”

“You hit a woman?”

“I had to stop her barging into the middle of a shoot-out.”

“A shoot-out?”

“Cappi and a guy named Pinky Ford exchanged fire while the raid was going on. Talk about a wild scene. Pinky got clipped, but he’ll survive. It’s a wonder nobody else was hurt.”

“I remember him. He came to the office once. Wasn’t he that wiry, bowlegged fellow in a satin shirt?”

“That’s him.”

“Is Cappi all right?”

“Cappi’s dead. A cop took him out with one shot to the head. The timing was close. Cappi was about to blow a hole in Pinky’s chest.”

“You’re okay with that?”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. Saved me doing it myself. It’ll break Pop’s heart and I’m fine with that too. He’s getting what he deserves. You talk to Nora?”

“Well, I called, but she didn’t seem receptive. I gave her the information, but she didn’t jump all over it.”

“You tried, at any rate.”

He reached into the inner jacket pocket of his suit coat and took out a bulky envelope with a name and address written on the front. “Couple of weeks, deliver this. Tell her to do what she wants with it. The money’s compensation for the punch.”

Dante slid the envelope into her handbag on the floor at his feet. Lou Elle turned left onto a short street that led to a small fixed-base operating terminal used by charter companies. He told her to pull up to the entrance to the field and press the call button. When the intercom came to life, she gave the name Dante was using for current travel purposes, and five seconds later the gate slid back, allowing her to pass through. On the tarmac, there was a midsized private jet, a Gulf-stream Astra, with a range of twenty-three hundred nautical miles, sufficient to deliver Dante to the second plane he’d be taking that day. There was a third flight as well before he reached his destination. Lou Elle drove within twenty feet of the plane.

Dante retrieved his suitcase from the backseat and walked around to the driver’s-side window, which Lou Elle lowered. He leaned in and kissed her lightly. “You’re a peach. Thanks for everything.”

“Good luck,” she said. “You want me to wait until takeoff?”

“I’d prefer to picture you at your desk,” he said. “Cops are gonna come down on you like a ton of bricks and I’m sorry about that.”

“What can I tell them? I don’t know anything.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“It was a pleasure working with you. Safe journey. I hope life is good to you.”

“I’ll touch base when I change planes. Nothing after that.”

“Understood.”

Dante proceeded to the aircraft where one of the pilots stood near the retractable stairs. The two shook hands and Dante offered his passport for identification purposes. The pilot glanced at it briefly and then returned it to him. The pilot had been paid well and exhibited no curiosity.

“I was hoping a lady friend would be here. Nora Vogelsang. I put her name on the manifest.”

“She hasn’t arrived. How long do you want to wait?”

“Give it fifteen minutes. She knows time’s at a premium. She doesn’t show, she doesn’t show. Have we been cleared?”

“We will be shortly. You want me to put that bag in back?”

“I’ll keep it with me in the cabin.”

The pilot boarded the plane, leaving Dante on the tarmac. Dante looked over at the gate. Lou Elle’s car was receding and the gate was sliding shut. There were cars parked outside the fence, but no cars coming in or out of the lot. He’d said his good-byes and regretted he hadn’t had the chance to say good-bye to Nora. The way things had turned out, maybe it was just as well. With Cappi dead and Lola gone, Pop would rattle around the house on his own. Alfredo might last another week to ten days and then he’d be gone as well. Dante knew his sisters would come to the old man’s aid, but he didn’t think any of the four would offer to take him in. Saul Abramson had been instructed to keep up maintenance on the estate for as long as he deemed wise. Dante had given him power of attorney with instructions that if the legal bills got out of hand, he was free to list the house for sale. If it sold, so be it. Pop could go into a nursing home and rot.