“No,” I said. “You have to go down the stairs and open the vestibule door.”

“What kind of shithole is this you live in, Vic?” said Cressi as he stood up and slipped the long barrel of his gun into his pants, buttoning his jacket to hide, though not very convincingly, the bulge. “And you a lawyer and all. You expecting anyone?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, though I wondered if maybe Morris or Beth had come by to check on me.

“Let’s hope not for their sakes,” said Cressi, as he started around the table and toward the door, the pistol in his pants turning his walk into a sort of waddle. He stopped for a moment and turned to us.

“Don’t either of yous move or you’ll piss the hell out of me.”

Then he turned again and disappeared around the bend of the living room.

“WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?” asked a frantic Caroline as soon as we were alone.

I turned to her and put my finger on her mouth and whispered. “You came to me because of my connections with the mob. Well, there’s a battle going on for control of the organization and, somehow, I’m in the middle of it.”

“Who are they?” she asked, whispering back. “Those two men?”

“They’re the men who killed your sister and brother.”

“Oh, Jesus Jesus Jesus. I’m scared. Let’s get away, please.”

I took hold of her and stroked her hair. “Shhhh. I’m scared, too,” I said, “but it will be all right. I took care of some things.”

“They knew who I was. What do they want with me?”

“I don’t know,” I said, lying, because I was pretty certain that what they wanted with her was for her to be dead.

“Why did he want the stuff in my grandmother’s box?”

“I don’t know, except maybe it’s not your grandmother’s box after all.”

“I thought about what you said, in the car.”

“That’s good, Caroline, but we have a more immediate problem. We have to get you out of here.”

“I know I need to change things, but it’s harder than you think. You don’t reorganize your life’s story like you reorganize your closets. You need something to reorganize it around. What is there for me but the horrors of our past?”

I took her face in my hands and I looked at her and saw the struggle playing out on her features, but then the toilet flushed and a terror washed the struggle away with a consuming bland fear. I jumped from my chair and went to a kitchen drawer, slid it open with a jangle of stainless steel, pulled out a small paring knife. As I slammed the drawer shut I dropped the paring knife, point first, into my pants pocket. Then I went back to the table, took hold of her shoulders, and leaned over her.

“You’ll have a chance to get away,” I whispered. “Sometime. Keep your eyes open. Keep alert. I’ll give you the sign. When I do, run. All right?”

She was staring at me, her eyes darting with panic. The water started running in the bathroom sink as Calvi washed his hands.

“All right?” I asked again.

She nodded her head.

“Now pretend to smile and be brave.”

I let go of her and turned to sit on the tabletop. I was sitting casually, an arm draped over the pocket to hide the outline of the knife, when Calvi came out of the bathroom, shaking his hands. The cat ran out of the doorway ahead of him and jumped onto a cushion. Calvi looked around with suspicion. “Where’s Peter?”

“My bell rang,” I said. “He went to answer it.”

Calvi went back to the table, sat in his seat, picked up his cigar from the edge where he had left it. He sucked deep. “Good,” he said, exhaling. “They’re here.”

Cressi came back, not leading Morris or Beth by gunpoint, as I had feared, but with three men, apparently allies. Two I had never seen before, they wore dark pants with bulges at the ankles and silk shirts and had sharp handsome faces and slicked hair. The third I recognized for sure. The long face, the wide ears, the crumbling teeth and bottle cap glasses and black porkpie hat. It was Anton Schmidt, the human computer, who had kept Jimmy Vig’s records in his head.

Anton Schmidt, his hands in his pockets and his mouth pursed open to show his rotting teeth, stopped still when he saw me. “I didn’t know you were with us, Victor.”

“It looks like everything’s changed,” I said.

“Not everything,” said Anton. “The same rules, just a different opponent.”

“How’s your chess?”

“I’m seeing deeper into the game every day.”

“Good. Maybe your rating will rise,” I said.

So Anton Schmidt was now with Calvi, and might have been all along. Of all the people in that room, me included, Anton, the chess master, was by far the smartest. Calvi was more powerful than I had thought if he had Anton doing his planning. Maybe Raffaello was right to step aside.

“Everything ready, Schmidty?” asked Calvi.

“The Cubans are in, waiting for orders. I sent them over the bridge where the bus won’t attract any attention. They’re at a diner in New Jersey.”

“They got good diners in Jersey,” said Cressi. “Tell them they should try the snapper soup.”

“We’ll know in a few minutes,” said Calvi.

Schmidt leaned over and spoke a few lines of Spanish to the two men, who nodded grimly and shot back some words of concern. Schmidt answered their questions and then turned to Calvi.

“Let’s do it,” said Calvi.

I had two phones in the apartment, a portable in the bedroom and one by the couch with a cord long enough to reach the table. I sat at the table with the corded phone, the line stretched taut from the outlet. Schmidt sat next to me and next to Schmidt was Calvi with the portable handset. Cressi sat across from us, his gun out of his pants and back in his hand. Caroline was sent to the bedroom, the door guarded by one of the two Cubans. Before she shut the door, Sam the cat scampered in after her. From behind the closed door we heard a shout.

“She has a thing about cats,” I said.

“Make the fucking call,” said Calvi.

I dialed the number I had memorized from the Rev. Custer message.

“It’s Victor Carl,” I said into the phone when it was answered. “Let me talk to him.”

“Who?” said the voice at the other end.

“Just shut up and put him on or I’ll rip off your face.”

Cressi broke into a big smile. Calvi and Schmidt remained expressionless. After a few moments of dead quiet I heard his voice.

“Hello, Victor,” said Raffaello. “What have you heard?”

“I’ve been approached about a meeting,” I said flatly.

“Who? Tell me who?”

I looked over at Calvi as he listened on the portable. He nodded.

“Walter Calvi,” I said.

“That bastard, that shit-smoking bastard. Is Cressi with him like we thought?”

Calvi nodded.

“Yes,” I said.

“Who else, Victor? Tell me who else.”

Calvi shook his head.

I looked at Anton Schmidt and said, “I don’t know who else. That’s all I’ve seen.”

“Dammit, that bastard. How strong are they, Victor, tell me.”

Calvi nodded. I looked at the Cubans and thought of the bus in New Jersey. “Strong,” I said. “They’re ready for a war.”

Raffaello sighed into the phone. “Did you tell them my offer?”

“Yes.”

Calvi looked at me and mouthed, “I want full control.”

“They’ve agreed to your proposal so long as you turn over full control,” I said.

“Of course. That is what this is all about.”

Calvi mouthed something else. “And you’ll have to leave the city,” I said.

“I understand. But he agrees no reprisals, no war, and he’ll guarantee my safety and my daughter’s safety?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

“All right. When is this meeting to take place?”

I put my hand over the mouthpiece as Calvi conferred with Schmidt. “Tomorrow morning,” said Schmidt. “Five-thirty. Before the city awakes.”

I relayed the message.

“Fine,” said Raffaello. “That’s fine. We’ll meet at Tosca’s.”