Part 45 (1/2)
He handed her one of the manila envelopes of photographs.
”What's this?”
”Open it. Have a look. The jig, as they say, is up.”
”I thought you were my friend, that I could at least count on you.”
”You can, Penny.”
”Then do me the favor. I'll give you a phone number, Matt. And all you would have to do is meet the guy someplace.”
”You're not listening,” he said. ”Bulls.h.i.+t time is over, Penny. Look at the photographs.”
”You're a son of a b.i.t.c.h, you always have been. A son of a b.i.t.c.h and a s.h.i.+t. I hate you.”
”I like you too,” Matt said. ”Look at the G.o.dd.a.m.n pictures.”
”I don't want to look at any G.o.dd.a.m.n pictures. What are they of, anyway?”
She slid the stack of photographs out of the envelope.
”Oh, Jesus,” she said, her voice quavering.
”Got your attention now, have I?”
”Have you got him in jail?”
”In jail”? What the h.e.l.l does that mean? Why should we have the FBI guys in jail?
”Looks familiar, does he?”
”He's the man who shot me, who killed Tony,” Penelope Detweiler said. ”I'll never forget him-that face-as long as I live.”
Jesus H. Christ! What the h.e.l.l is she talking about? What am I into ?
”We know all about you and Tony, Penny,” Matt said. ”As I said, you can stop the bulls.h.i.+t.”
”Who is this man? Why did he kill Tony?”
”Who knows?” Matt blurted.
”He won't tell you?”
”He's being difficult,” Matt said. ”I don't think he believes that you're alive. If he had killed you, there would be no witnesses.”
I don't know what the f.u.c.k I'm doing. I'm just saying the first thing that pops into my mind. Jesus Christ, why did I do this? I'm going to f.u.c.k the whole thing up!
”I'll testify. I saw him. I saw him shoot Tony, and then he shot me.”
”Why didn't you tell us before?”
”I couldn't hurt my father that way,” Penelope said, making it clear she considered her reply to be self-evident. ”My G.o.d, Matt, he thinks I'm still his little girl.”
”And all the while you've been f.u.c.king Tony DeZego, right?”
”That's a s.h.i.+tty thing to say. We were in love. That was just like you, Matt. Always thinking the nastiest thing and then saying it in the nastiest possible way.''
”Tony the Zee had a wife and two kids,” Matt said. ”Little boys.”
He couldn't tell from the look in her eyes if this was news to her or not.
”I don't believe that,” she said.
”I told you, precious Penny, bulls.h.i.+t time is over. You were running around with a third-rate guinea gangster, a married guinea gangster with two kids. Who was supplying you with cocaine.”
”He really was married?” she asked.
Matt nodded.
”I didn't know that,” she said. ”But it wouldn't have mattered. We were in love.”
”Then I feel sorry for you,” Matt said. ”I really do.”
”Does Daddy know about Tony?”
”Not yet. He knows about the c.o.ke. But he'll have to find out about DeZego.”
”Yes, I suppose he will,” she said calmly. ”If I'm going to testify against this man, and I will, it will just have to come out, and Daddy and Mommy will just have to adjust to it.”
She looked at him and smiled.
Jesus Christ, he thought, she's stoned.
He saw that her pupils were dilated.
Has she been getting that s.h.i.+t in here ? In a hospital?
She's on cloud nine. I think the technical term is ”euphoric. '' She didn't even react when I called DeZego a guinea gangster, or when I told her he's married and has two kids. The first should have enraged her, and the second should have . . . caused a much greater reaction than it did. She didn't deny it when I said DeZego was supplying her with cocaine, and she didn't seem at all upset when I told her I know her father knows about the cocaine and will inevitably learn about her and DeZego.
Ergo sum, Sherlock Holmes, she doesn't give a d.a.m.n about things that are important, and is therefore, almost by definition, stoned.
It could be, come to think of it, that she is stoned on something legitimate, something they gave her for the pain. Or possibly that Dr. Dotson gave her a maintenance dose, having decided that this is not the time or place to detoxify her, either because of her condition or because he 'd rather do that someplace where a lot of questions would not be asked.
So where are you now, hotshot? What do you do now?
”Penny, are you absolutely sure that the man in those photographs is the one who shot you?''