V Is for Vengeance

shouldn’t have been there at all, but I felt I had to intercept Pinky before all hell broke loose. Judging from the fevered activity I’d seen at the drive-in, a raid was imminent. The strategy had been worked out and the cops were suited up and ready to roll. The goal would be to contain and control the warehouse, subduing its occupants by hitting hard, then moving in rapidly before anyone could escape or destroy the evidence they were after. They’d have arrest and search warrants in hand, and they’d seize files, records, computers, and anything else that would provide details of illegal activities. Who knew how many guys they’d round up in the process?
    At the top of the stairs, the offices were enclosed in waist-high wainscoting, with glass panels above. The door was open, and a young girl with a mass of frizzy blond hair sat at her desk. There was a computer in front of her and an old-fashioned typewriter on a rolling table nearby. Unlike Dante’s downtown offices, this place was grubby—plain linoleum on the floor, fluorescent lights overhead, battered wooden desks, and cheap rolling chairs. The room was rimmed with file cabinets, and I knew the raiding party would be all over them. She looked up at me. “Can I help you?”
    I was caught off guard by the calendar on her desk. It was one of those thick blocks of sheets with the date writ large on each page, which would be torn off and discarded at the end of the day. Even upside down, I could see it was Thursday, May 5, and I could barely suppress a yelp. May 5th is my birthday. That’s why Henry had made a point of coming home. That’s why he’d offered to take me to dinner. The downside of being single and alone is having a birthday come around and catch you by surprise. I was suddenly thirty-eight years old. Still distracted, I said, “Is Mr. Dante here?”
    “In there, but he said no interruptions.”
    Dante opened the door and stepped out of his private office into the reception area. “I’ll take care of this, Bernice,” he said to her. He turned a flat look on me. “What can I do for you, Ms. Millhone? You have no business being here. I hope you know that.”
    He’d seemed friendlier in the limousine, but I needed his help, so I decided to overlook his surly attitude. I put my hand in the crook of his elbow while I steered him out of reception and into his private office. “Pinky’s got a gun and he’s either here on the premises or not far away. Dodie died this morning and he’ll kill Cappi if he catches up with him.”
    I expected him to react, but he was engaged in a more important task. His wall safe was open, and he was transferring thick packets of cash into a soft-sided suitcase that lay on his desk. He didn’t seem to care that Cappi’s life was in jeopardy or that Pinky was on the verge of bursting in with a loaded gun. His manner was relaxed; his movements efficient and methodical. He had a job to do and he was doing it with no wasted energy.
    “Do you know where Cappi is?” I asked.
    “I sent him on an errand to get him out of my hair. Sorry about Pinky’s wife. I never met the woman, but I know he was devoted. I suggest you get out before he and Cappi cross paths. Neither one of us has a dog in their fight.”
    “Can’t you put a stop to it?”
    “No more than you can.”
    I stared at him, fascinated by his calm when I was in such a state of panic. I said, “It gets worse. You’ve got three dozen cops down the road about to descend on this place.”
    “That’s Cappi for you. The guy can’t keep his trap shut and this is what comes of it. My best guess, he’ll make sure he’s rounded up with everyone else so it looks like he’s in the same jam. He better hope he succeeds. This isn’t a business where a snitch gets away with it. If Pinky doesn’t kill him, someone else will.”
    “What are you doing?” I asked.
    “What’s it look like?”
    As though on cue, I heard shouting down below, and Pinky’s voice echoed through the vast warehouse space. “Cappi! This is me, Pinky. I got a debt to settle with you. Show your face, you son of a bitch.”
    I moved toward the door.
    Dante said, “Don’t go out there.”
    I ignored him and left the office. I went out on the landing and looked over the rail. Pinky was drunk and weaving on his feet. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and when he’d managed it, he’d slept in the same clothes. He held the gun in his right hand, relaxed at his side. If