Burn this City by Aleksandr Voinov

17

Bethany Grace Howard. It had been Enzo’s cop buddy who’d come through with the driver’s license. The photo was definitely older—it showed her as a bleached blonde, and with the lack of contrast, she looked like a ghost except for her wide-set dark eyes. She lived in one of two apartments above a nail salon, front door toward the sidewalk, which made it easy to observe from where Sal had parked a bit further down the road. Nearby were a dentist and a physiotherapist, and unless somebody paid him close and prolonged attention, Sal could have been a bored husband waiting outside for his wife or children.

He still had to wait too long, so he pulled his tablet from its padded sleeve and pretended to work. It took only about an hour for Miss Howard to appear in the door with a bag slung over her shoulder. Her dark hair was gathered in an untidy ponytail, and she looked rushed and preoccupied. He dropped the tablet underneath the seat. Port Francis was pretty safe, but it was still the kind of city where some people might be tempted to grab a piece of tech if all it took was to bash in a window. The professional criminals would never touch a made man’s car, but some amateurs might not be so wise.

He checked his reflection in the car mirror, but he looked fine. If his eyes were still slightly reddened, he could always claim allergies.

Sal stepped out of the car and locked it remotely, then walked parallel to Miss Howard on the other side of the street. She vanished into a supermarket on the corner, but instead of chasing her, Sal leisurely crossed the road and waited on the corner, peering at his phone like a dozen other people within sight were doing. Once he pretended to make a call, acting as if he’d been stood up, or whoever he was planning to meet wasn’t answering the phone.

There she was again. She came dashing out of the shop, carrying a gallon of fresh milk in one hand, and a bag of sliced bread in the other.

“Excuse me?”

Sal slipped his phone into his pocket, forced to give chase because even though there were no people between them on the sidewalk, Miss Howard maintained a hectic pace. She either hadn’t heard or was ignoring him.

He repeated, “Excuse me, Miss?” He carefully chose a more urgent, insistent tone in the vicinity of “you dropped your wallet”, and that made her stop and look over her shoulder.

Bingo. It was definitely her. She probably weighed no more than a hundred twenty pounds soaking wet.

Sal put on his best smile, and added some “of course I know you, surely you recognize me” to his expression. Bullshitting had to get him past the fact that he had no reason to know her last name or any idea what Barsanti called her. “I do apologize. We have a friend in common—Jack Barsanti.”

She froze, flashed a nervous smile, but it didn’t linger. But she clearly recognized the name. “Oh?”

He’d read that most people formed a first impression in about seven seconds, including whether somebody could be trusted. They were solidly into that short period now, and noticed her gaze zigzagging over him as she assessed whether he was a threat. So he kept his smile in place and adopted a “not a creep” stance.

Sal made a big show of relief. “Sorry, I’m Sal. Jack’s friend.”

She kept her guard up—almost literally, because she drew that gallon of milk toward her chest and the hand with the bread defensively held onto the straps of her shoulder bag. Yeah, this wasn’t working, but he kept his smile up as if he expected her to recognize him, already readying other strategies.

“Jack. Is he okay? He didn’t …” She interrupted herself, and Sal wondered if Barsanti had already given her the Cosa Nostra girlfriend briefing: don’t talk to anybody. If you see anything weird, call me first. The police can’t help you—I’ll handle it.

“He’s had a busy morning. Quite tied up with a few things.” Sal almost laughed.

She gave a weak smile back. “Oh, well.” She clearly wanted to say more, but suppressed it, then looked over her shoulder in the direction of her flat, telegraphing how uncomfortable she was. “Nice to meet you, Sal, was it?”

“Yes.” Now was it Bethany, Beth, Betty or something else entirely? “Sal Tomasi.” Close enough, using Catia’s maiden name.

She kept studying him. “Are you a colleague of his?”

“No, a friend.” He lifted his eyebrows for emphasis.

She grew even paler and then flushed slightly, eyes wide. “Oh my God. Are you his boyfriend?”

The last two syllables were said in such a low voice that Sal needed a second to process the word, but in an impulse—because fuck it, why not—he nodded. “Yes. I am.”

“Oh my God,” she said again, voice shifting into a much higher tonality. She didn’t seem shocked, more surprised. Immediately, her defensiveness broke apart and Sal was relieved. He’d made the correct call, even though his mind was still catching up with the unexpected turn of events. He’d been stalking the prospective girlfriend of one of his enemies, and she thought Sal was his boyfriend?

While she was clearly still off-balance, he pressed his advantage. “And what should I call you?”

“Beth.” She still stared at him and he noticed her shoulders relaxed and her expression eased, which made sense because now he was gay in her eyes. Also, he thought he caught some veiled appreciation for how he looked too. Or maybe she was mentally positioning Jack next to him and decided they fit well together. What the fuck?

Beth. He could easily have chosen wrong multiple times and ruined his approach. With a sigh, he lifted his shoulders and dropped them. “I know it’s probably weird, but maybe we can talk somewhere? Could we grab a coffee, maybe?” He nodded toward a shop that sat on the corner across the road.

“Uhm, sure.” She seemed to only now become aware again of the things she was carrying and stuffed the bread at least into her bag. “But if you don’t mind, maybe we could go to the independent one down the road? The chain place burns their beans really badly, and Jack wouldn’t forgive either of us if we went there, right?”

Based on the Gaggia, Barsanti knew his coffee. “Of course. I figured it was closest. Please.” He stepped to the side, gesturing for her to take the lead.

She did, a bit slower than her prior pace, but she still moved briskly. “Now I only hope we’ll get a table.” She shook her head at herself. “I’ll look like a complete idiot if it’s full and we have to go back to the place of Burnt Beans, right?”

A “complete idiot” for trying to get them decent coffee? Really? “Well, I’m easy. And we don’t have to tell him.”

She pushed through the door and a delicious waft of coffee and carby baking fumes from the waffle maker on the counter, welcomed them. She nodded toward the back where one table was being vacated. “I’ll grab that one.”

“Great. What can I get you?”

“A latte and a waffle, maybe?”

“You got it.” He watched her navigate around the departing patrons and claim the table, while a girl wearing an apron and a dozen facial piercings cleaned away the cups and plates.

Sal then waited for a couple of takeaway customers to put in their orders before he asked for two lattes and two waffles, paid, and was assured he’d be served at the table. Of course, the whole interlude gave Beth time to relax and maybe question what it was he wanted from her. If he got nothing out of this but her phone number and being able to establish a relationship he could exploit later, that could still count as a win. Apart from that, discovering Jack was gay opened up a whole new dimension.

He joined her and glanced around as if to take in the surroundings, before he focused on her. “Didn’t know this place existed,” he admitted. It definitely hadn’t been on his radar as anything more than a hangout of college students, but the patrons seemed more diverse, from shoppers having a break to middle-aged friends meeting for a catch-up.

“Best coffee and waffles and ice cream within walking distance for me.” She was clearly pleased that he seemed to like it. “So, wow. You’re the only one of Jack’s friends I’ve ever met.”

“Same.” Sal chuckled. “For a guy as connected as Jack is, he doesn’t seem very good at connecting people with each other. A dinner party would do.”

“Maybe he needs time alone after work. Anyway, nice to meet you. And thanks for the invitation.”

“Absolutely. So yeah, it’s going to sound weird, but I was wondering if you could help me.” Catia had told him once that asking people for help for something small and meaningless helped establish a connection, and he’d found that it actually worked.

“Is it about Jack?”

“Of course.” Sal smiled again. “He’s been … off, I guess. I mean recently. The past couple weeks, definitely. And he’s, well, guys like that, they don’t talk about their emotions. It’s not like I can tie him to a chair and force him to talk.” It made him laugh, but a small voice in his head told him to not stretch that angle too far, as much as it amused him. “That would be wrong,” he added, because she didn’t laugh with him.

But her face seemed thoughtful. “Yeah. I mean, maybe not … we don’t talk that often. But we text and talk on the phone. Sometimes we meet up, but I know he’s busy a lot with work, and sometimes he looks so tired I feel bad that he’s gone to all that trouble only to check if I’m okay.”

That last bit pinged something else in his brain. “And, are you okay? I don’t want to bring all this stuff to you if you have your own stuff going on.”

She looked up and smiled, a small, honest and somewhat shaky smile. “Thank you. I’m better. Jack helped me through a rough patch a while ago, and it took some time to get back on my feet, but I’m good now. Happy to help you both if I can.”

He took a moment to taste the words and listened to the tone behind them. All right, so while he hadn’t unearthed a kinky lover or girlfriend, she was a friend, and from the way she made it sound, Jack Barsanti’s only one. And they couldn’t be more different—this shy, pretty creature with her tender heart, and Jack Barsanti who believed everything could be negotiated, and that taking a bullet to the head for his boss was the expected end to his career. Basically, if they did have a real emotional bond, she was prime leverage.

“Did you notice anything? I might be imagining things, but …” He shrugged in a display of helplessness. “He’s got me worried.”

She drew her bottom lip through her teeth. “I …” She stopped herself, shook her head. “Sorry. I’m confused because some things make so much sense now.”

“Such as? I don’t mind if it’s a jumble.”

She looked up and Sal saw the pierced girl approach from the side, so he leaned back in his chair to give her easier access to the tiny café table.

Beth pulled the waffle and coffee toward her. “That he’s gay, for example. I always thought he was, from the day we met. It was so clear to me, even though we never talked about it. I thought he knew that I knew, so that was never an issue when we met up, and then yesterday …”

… when she’d all but fled from the scene.

“Yesterday?”

“Promise you won’t be angry with him?”

The fuck?“Did he make a move on you?” She didn’t say anything, so he added. “Of course, I promise.”

“Not a move, no. Though I guess you could call it that in a way … he asked me to marry him.” She was clearly upset, red spots dancing on her pale cheeks.

“And you said no.”

“Of course! Firstly, I can’t be a gay man’s … what’s the word, beard? I’d do everything else for him, but I can’t marry him. It’d make us both unhappy. He might think he wants that right now, but what happens a few years down the line? Can you imagine? If I meet his friends or colleagues and they think he’s straight, and I have to keep up appearances, but we’re both living this gigantic lie?” She angrily stabbed the waffle and Sal found her terribly endearing with her ruffled feathers. “But more importantly, he has to stand up to his people. This is the twenty-first century; he can’t keep hiding from his family.”

Oh, Beth.Barsanti hadn’t meant that type of family.

Because there was one type that for the most part hadn’t emerged into the twenty-first century when it came to the rainbow crowd. “That’s what he said? He asked you because of his relatives?”

Sal got it. He knew why Jack was hiding. For the most part, Cosa Nostra families hadn’t emerged into the twenty-first century when it came to the rainbow crowd. “That’s what he said? He asked you to marry him because of his relatives?”

“Yes.” She put the fork down and folded her hands. “I guess his parents might be old and traditional, but he can’t let them pressure him to marry someone he doesn’t love. It’d ruin his whole life. And for what? Just so they’re not disappointed? Next, they’ll bring up grandkids, and I’m definitely not up for that.”

“For the record, I don’t think he’d ‘ruin his life’ with you, but the rest of your argument stands. What the fuck, Jack?” He focused on his waffle which was still warm and crispy on the outside and slightly moist on the inside. The richness of vanilla was clearly noticeable.

“Exactly. What the fuck, Jack?” She mirrored him, also eating her waffle. “So that’s why I tried to call him this morning. And I got worried too, because he didn’t answer. I’m sorry I disappointed him after everything he’s done for me, but I’m also angry, I guess? I shouldn’t be angry, but I am.”

“Nah, your emotions are perfectly valid.” One of the things Catia would tell her. “You thought you can trust him and then he’s pulling that shit on you. That’s not right.”

“… but …”

“It’s not right, Beth. Trust me. Jack’s a strong guy, he’s tougher than he makes out.”

“I hope so. Does hearing all that from me help you, though?”

“It’s definitely a piece of the puzzle I was missing.” That seemed to relax her again, and he leaned back in the metal chair. “He’s not talking about his emotions, and I thought we were getting to that stage in our relationship where he could open up to me about what’s going on inside of him, you know.”

She nodded with enough force that he knew he was on the right path and that the Jack she knew was consistent with his fake boyfriend Jack. “Men.”

“I know, right?” He laughed softly. “But I like him, so I’m trying.”

A long pause, then she asked, “How and when did you guys meet?”

“Work thing. I was aware of him for years because my firm sometimes works with him, but we got closer at a wedding. Some alcohol was involved, and I was pretty surprised to see that other side of him.”

“Are you in consulting too?”

Oh, thank you, Beth, for adding more puzzle pieces.“No, I’m in IT. Project manager, though I keep getting promoted. At some point, I’ll run this whole damn city if they don’t stop opening doors.” He laughed into his latte.

“Do you want to?”

Her question caught him off guard, even though it seemed innocent. “Not exactly, though most of the time, when I see the infrastructure other people have set up, I think I’d do a better job. Plus, if I roll out WiFi, trust me, your download speeds would look totally different. No more fucking Zoom lag, that’s for sure.”

Nothing much changed about her expression, so she wasn’t into computer stuff, and that meant he didn’t have to keep up that charade. A lot of people in this city were IT professionals, thanks to a generously funded and very well-regarded technology-focused college, and multiple start-up hubs dotted around town. Settle anywhere with a laptop or a high-performance tablet, and you became scenery and practically invisible.

“Maybe you could work together on a project? Maybe if you spend more time together, he’ll open up?”

“Strictly speaking, he’s currently consulting for the enemy. My outfit and his have ‘history’.” He added scare quotes. “Anyway, how did you two meet?”

“Oh.” She took her cup and held it with both fingers. “He saved my life.”

“Pardon me?” Wow, that came from left field. It wasn’t even in the same stadium, maybe the same sport anymore. Above all, it was her tone that gave away that she meant this literally. “I mean, wow. Will you tell me?”

She hesitated. “As I said, I was … going through some stuff. Stupid boyfriend stuff. That, and some other things, and I couldn’t see a way out anymore. I know that sounds dramatic, but I thought maybe I didn’t want to be around anymore.” Her voice was now flatter, and she looked very subdued. “And that night, when I … was going to do something about it, he was already at the place, and he was standing there.” She swallowed. “I was glad I wasn’t alone. He didn’t … do anything much, at some point he gave me his coat. But it’s even harder to do something when a human soul cares about you. Even if he’s a total stranger.”

“Shit, sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, I think it’s important to talk about it. It helps. If you’re too much in your own head … thoughts can take a wrong turn and suddenly doing something terrible seems like the best solution. Even if there’s a better way. That’s my five cents, anyway.” She shook her head.

“Are you better now?” Weirdly, he found he actually wanted to know. Though in his experience, people who were close to a breakdown didn’t talk about it so openly. Silence was the killer, not weakness.

“Yes. Much better. Thank you.” She smiled warmly at him. “I didn’t ask at the time, of course, but since then, I’ve wondered why exactly he was alone on that bridge that night. I guess as far as meet cutes go, ours sucks. Yours is better. Weddings are a classic.”

Sal nodded and had to force himself to concentrate. He had pieces of the puzzle that could help Beth understand Jack Barsanti. Shit, he’d come here to secure leverage, and maybe find a weak point in the consigliere’s emotional armor, a way to get to him. She’d given him so much he could turn Barsanti inside out if he wanted.

“You know what Jack needs? A therapist.”

She nodded. “It really helps. If he’s worried about seeing one, I can tell him what he can expect. Maybe he can work through his family stuff with them. I feel he’s focused on the wrong solutions. Maybe you can help him understand that?”

Unlikely. “I’ll see what I can do. Wow, that got pretty heavy for such a nice Sunday.” He finished off the waffle and watched her eat too. “Thanks for telling me all this. It helps me understand what’s going on.”

“He’s lucky to have you. You seem kind.”

“Doing the best I can.” Sal checked his phone. “I need to call a friend. Maybe we can exchange numbers and keep in touch?”

“I’d like that.” She gave him her number, and he texted her to make sure he had the correct one. Yet another thing Catia had briefed him on. “And can you tell him to call me?”

“Will do. First, I’ll have to have a somewhat difficult conversation with him myself, but you can have what’s left over when I’m done.” He winked to indicate he was joking.

“Oh my God. Please be gentle? He’s a good guy.” She, too, said it jokingly, but he still nodded.

He left her at the table, dialing the doc’s number before he got to the door.