Invasion of Privacy

says she wants her boyfriend investigated. I find out he isn’t what—”
    Junior said, “We heard all this shit. Cut to where Di-Rienzi’s at, or”—glancing meaningfully toward the old oak stand—“we start cutting you.”
    I just watched Ianella. “When I told the client what I’d found out, that your bookkeeper wasn’t who he claimed to be, I think she went down to see him at his condo unit. There’s some indication they took off together.”
    The mottled look. “What’s this ‘some indication’ shit?”
    “His neighbors overheard an argument. One of them saw your guy loading suitcases into her car the night he cleaned out his bank accounts.”
    “What night’s this?” said Cocozzo.
    I still addressed Ianella. “Thursday.”
    “The night we got here,” said the balding man.
    “Right. Only thing is, my client never touched her own money, and when I went around to the parking lots at Logan —”
    “Where?” said Junior.
    To my left, Zuppone’s voice said, “That’s our airport, Mr. Ianella.”
    “When I checked the lots, I found my client’s car, a flashy Porsche.”
    “There another kind?” said Cocozzo.
    “Which didn’t strike me right, since your bookkeeper was driving a much quieter car for dumping. And the parking attendant said the male was driving, when my client told me she never let anybody else touch the car. And the driver waved to the attendant.”
    Junior said, “Waved to him?”
    “Yes.”
    Shake of the head. “That Judas fuck DiRienzi never waved to anybody in his life.”
    Cocozzo said, “He was a cold guy that way, Cuddy. No personality, you know?”
    I said, “Even if DiRienzi was Mr. Congeniality, he wants to ditch the car and disappear. Why would he try to make an impression by waving to anybody?”
    Cocozzo didn’t reply.
    I went back to Ianella. “Which is what I meant before by ‘some indication.’ I think it’s possible they took off together, but those things seem wrong.”
    Junior looked over at Cocozzo, who said to me, “You been sticking your nose into DiRienzi’s cover, the feds running the witness program should have been on to you.”
    “They are. They say they don’t know where he is, and they don’t care.”
    Ianella said, “The fuck does that mean?”
    “I think it means he’s already given them what they wanted, which was testimony against your father, and now they’d just as soon he did disappear as have to be accounted for.”
    “Accounted for?”
    Cocozzo said, “Like if we got to him, Boss. Only we didn’t.” The balding man turned to me. “You say the neighbors where he lives told you that DiRienzi and his girlfriend were arguing on Thursday night, right?”
    “Right.”
    “Seems to me, they were lovey-dovey before, now they’re not, it’s gotta be because the girlfriend tells him she hired you.”
    “Probably.”
    “Yeah, but that means DiRienzi oughta know his cover ain’t blown, except to you and her, right?”
    Cocozzo’s point was a conversation-stopper. I hadn’t thought about it that way.
    Junior looked lost. “The fuck you saying here, Coco ?” The patient voice. “What I’m saying, Boss, is that DiRienzi knows the only one on to him is his own girlfriend and Cuddy here, then his new ID is still just fine, account of we don’t get into town ourselves till Thursday night and Cuddy don’t know who his ‘client’s boyfriend’ really is till we see him at his office on Friday.”
    I didn’t like where this was leading.
    Cocozzo said, “Which means that Thursday night, DiRienzi’s got no reason to run. He just calls his keepers, and they straighten things out, and he gets to stay Mr. Whoever-he-is.” From ten feet away, the muzzle of the semiautomatic hovered about heart-high on my chest. “If Cuddy’s been telling us the truth, that is.”
    Primo Zuppone stepped toward Ianella. “Cuddy don’t lie.”
    Junior looked at him, astonished. “The fuck you saying, he don’t lie?”
    “I seen him in a bad situation before, Mr. Ianella. I grant you, the guy might have more balls than brains, but he don’t lie.”
    Junior glared, the mottling spreading upward and breaking like a wave over his features. “Primo, this dickhead knows he’s gonna die here he don’t tell us what we want, and you say, ‘He don’t lie, Mr. Ianella?’ What’s the matter, all those pimples spoil your brain too?”
    The rage ran visibly through Zuppone. “Mr. Ianella—”
    “Shut the fuck up,