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killed him dead?”
    “Who’s they?”
    “Who knows? I don’t. But he was never very smart with money.”
    “Joey told me he had a girlfriend.”
    “That’s a lie. Not my Joey. He was never one for the girls, had no handle on them. Not like his father, who knew how to have his way. For my little Joey there was only me.” She twisted the ring on her finger. “I was his girl.”
    “Do you know why he was going out the night he died?”
    “He was going out, that’s all he said. Over to Jimmy T’s, that craphole, like his father before him. I used to send him there to bring his father home. He hated when I did that. His father would smack him each time. Never went on his own when his father was still living. But after, it became his place. Your mind can go crazy trying to figure it out. Jimmy T’s and that Lloyd Ganz, who was stealing from us every day of his life.” She spit between her fingers. “Whatever money Joey Senior earned, he took half of it, the thief. One hand is all you need to steal. Joey knew I’d never call there, so he gave me another number to call if I needed him.”
    “What number?”
    “He had a number where he could be reached if I needed him. I was to leave a message and then he would get back to me. Made me memorize in case something happened with my heart like the last time.”
    She recited it to me. I took out a piece of paper and had her recite it again.
    She sighed, took a sip from her wine. “Tell me, Victor, what kind of trouble was my Joey in this time?”
    “It was about something he did long ago, that’s all I know.”
    “Is that why he was killed?”
    “I don’t know, Mrs. Parma. I don’t know why he was killed. He might simply have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
    “Joey was always in the wrong place at the wrong time, but that’s no reason to be dead, is it?”
    “No, ma’am.”
    She picked up the framed picture of the three altar boys. “Take this.”
    “No, Mrs. Parma. I can’t.”
    “Take this. You remember him.” She jammed the framed photograph into my hands. “Take. Look. They killed the boy too, not just the man. Everything he ever was, it fell to the ground with the blood. The man, to be truthful, wasn’t worth much, even I’ll admit that, but the boy. Like marzipan. He would run from his father, snuggle on my lap, bury his head in my neck. The warmth of his tears, his sweet tears. You do me favor, Victor?”
    “Anything.”
    “Find out what happened to my boy.”
    “I don’t know if I can, Mrs. Parma. The police—”
    “I don’t want to hear about police. What have police ever done for my Joey. You done, you the only one. You find out what happened to my boy. You.”
    “I’ll try.”
    “Good. And when you find who did it, you let me know, okay?”
    “I will.”
    “You let me know and I take care of it. Like I took care of Joey Senior. Just get me the name, Victor. My knives are sharp. Whoever it is I’ll cut off his balls, slice them thick, fry them with garlic, feed them to the rats.”
    “Mrs. Parma.”
    “I shock you, maybe, Victor? He was my boy. You know what is vendetta?”
    “Yes, I do. But—”
    “What is wrong, Victor? You think I’m not entitled?”
    “Of course you are entitled. And no, Mrs. Parma, you don’t shock me. It is just that I think we can do better than feeding the rats.”
    “What are you saying, Victor?”
    I reached into my jacket pocket, pulled out an envelope. “Have you ever seen, Mrs. Parma, a contingency fee agreement?”

Chapter
6
    I DIDN’T KNOW what it was about hospitals that pressed their weight upon me with a physical force the minute I entered one, whether it was the information lady with her perky smile, the doctors walking casually among desolation and death, the smell, the stuffy framed portraits of long-vanished healers, the sick, the really, really sick, the smell. Did I mention the smell? You know what I mean, eau de mortality, a fragrant mixture of rubbing alcohol,