Last Dark Place by Stuart M. Kaminsky

Author:Stuart M. Kaminsky [Kaminsky, Stuart M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-0026-9
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2012-12-14T20:30:00+00:00

10

“YOU’RE LOOKIN’ FOR ME,” the man with the gnarled thumb said.

People were moving away from Ida Katzman’s grave and toward their cars. Abe had told Bess to wait with Lisa for a few minutes. Bess had followed her husband’s eyes and seen that he was staring at a heavyset man on the other side of Ida Katzman’s grave. The man wore a dark suit and a properly funereal dark tie. With people moving away, the man stood alone, hands folded in front of him, feet slightly apart, eyes fixed on Abe.

“A few minutes,” she had said, touching his arm. “We’ll be in the car.”

“Turn on the air.”

“You said ‘a few minutes.’”

He kissed her forehead and said, “Ten minutes. Time me.”

She glanced at the big man and went to meet Lisa who stood, arms folded, waiting a few dozen feet away.

When everyone was gone, the big man slowly walked around the grave, crossed himself as he passed the hole being filled in by two men with shovels, and approached Abe.

It was then he had said, “You’re lookin’ for me.”

“Probably,” said Lieberman.

“No ‘probably,’” the big man said, looking over the detective’s head. “Word’s out. Guy told a guy, told a guy, told me. It’s this.”

He held up his right hand.

“You know why I’m looking for you?”

“Something to do with a guy who got killed in New Mexico.”

“Arizona, Yuma,” Lieberman corrected.

“Whatever. Wherever.”

“What’s your name?”

“Anthony Imperioli,” the man said. “No secret. You’d track it down. I’m heading whatever this shit is down before you drop it in my driveway.”

The sun was in Lieberman’s eyes. He moved to the right, being careful not to step on the bronze plate that marked the grave of one Seymour Glitz.

“You related to Joseph Imperioli?”

“My cousin. I’m from Boston. Moved here four, six months ago, something like that.”

“Gower,” said Lieberman.

“Who?”

Lieberman didn’t answer.

“That the guy who got killed in, what was that, Yuma?”

“Yuma.”

“I’m being honest with you, Lieberman,” the man said, hands folded in front of him again. “I’ve been told you’re a real hard-ass, which lookin’ at you is a little tough to believe, but shit, I knew a guy back in Boston, Vince Falco, smaller than you, skinny like you wouldn’t believe, big eyes, you know. Toughest bastard I ever knew.”

“I consider it an honor to be in his company,” said Lieberman. “Gower?”

“Yeah,” said the big man, shifting his feet and looking down. “We’re off the record here. Anything I say, I deny it later. All’s we’re doin’ here now is talking about what a nice funeral it was.”

“Gower,” Lieberman repeated.

“He whacked my sister’s husband two years ago. Not saying Jimmy didn’t deserve it. Jimmy deserved. But he shouldn’t have done it in front of my sister. He shouldn’t have dragged it out, didn’t have to shoot him in the goddamn eye, you know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean,” said Lieberman. “Where did he do this?”

“Home. Boston. Jimmy owed big. Jimmy was into drugs, light, not heavy. Jimmy pissed some people off who it was a mistake to piss off.

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