I hesitated. Naming names was against the rules; it got people into trouble. But I thought I could trust Joey. “One of them might be called Angel.”
“Angel DiFiore, that son of a bitch.” Joey nodded in recognition. “That’s the older one. The younger two were probably his sons, Enzo and Raymond.”
My mouth fell open. Enzo was Angel’s son?
“Angel is an associate of Tony Provenzano,” Joey went on, “the bastard who put the hit on Big Leo Scarfone and got my father killed.”
I sucked in my breath. “Was Angel involved in those murders?”
“He wasn’t put on trial, but that don’t mean he wasn’t.” Even in the dark, I saw the fury in Joey’s stance. “He came from Brooklyn a while back, and his operation was on the west side of Detroit, but now he’s over here with his sons, muscling in on the east side rackets. He’s pissing some people off.”
“How do you know so much?”
He shrugged. “I got ears.”
“Is he a bootlegger?”
Joey shook his head. “He runs a club, lottery, races, and a bunch of other things you don’t want to know about.”
A series of clanks from the alley made us both jump. “Let’s get out of here.” I grabbed his arm. “Can you come home with me?”
“Been waiting years for you to ask me that.”
I almost choked. “Please.”
We walked back at a fast clip, and I jumped at every cricket chirp and cat yowl. I checked on my sisters the minute we got in, relieved to see them both sound asleep. Mary Grace clutched a small stuffed bear she claimed she didn’t like anymore. I brushed the strawberry hair off her pale forehead and tiptoed out, shutting the door behind me.
Joey was in the kitchen. “You got anything to eat?”
“Are you kidding? How can you think about food?”
“A guy can always think about food.” He shot me a look over his shoulder. “Among other things.”
“Well, all I can think about is that ten thousand dollars.” I sat down at the kitchen table with a stubby pencil and piece of paper while Joey foraged for a snack. Some quick math told me I’d have to move about fifty-six cases of whisky to clear ten grand. Scribbling more numbers, I figured I had at least enough in my shoebox to buy twelve cases after taking out the hundred I had to give Angel tomorrow night. If I sold them all, I’d have just over two thousand bucks—a far cry from ten. But maybe it would be enough to buy me some time.
“So. What’s your plan?” Joey munched on some Uneeda Biscuits right from the box and straddled the chair across from me.
“My plan is to get the damn money. What choice do I have?”
He was silent a few seconds, then spoke low. “You don’t want to go to the cops, do you?”
“Are you kidding me? I know better than that,” I scoffed. “Angel’d kill him. And I don’t want to tell Bridget about this yet, either. She’ll panic.”
“Do you think she has the money, though? Maybe she’d give it to you.”
I shook my head. “She’s on her own with three boys, and she has Martin to pay too.”
“Who the hell is Martin?”
“The assistant manager she hired after you left for Chicago. Anyway, after what happened to Vince, I don’t want Bridget involved at all.”
“OK, but she’s gonna notice your pop’s missing.”
I thought for a moment. “I’ll tell her he went down to Cleveland to deliver a car to somebody. He’s done that before.”
Joey shoved one last cracker into his mouth and brushed off his hands. “I’m coming with you tomorrow night.”
“That’s not a good idea. You might run your mouth and cause trouble. Besides, what harm can they do at a crowded club?”