“I can’t believe it,” he said.
Herbie leaned down. His eyes widened.
“Renzelli.”
“So the Big Shot came home,” Elrick said. “He came home and they were waiting for him. Ten years ago he was a wild kid of seventeen. I grabbed him once and I told him to wise up, but he ran down the street. And I had a feeling that some day I would find him like this. In an alley. Wait here, Herbie. Don’t let anyone near the body. I’m putting in a call.”
Elrick wobbled down the alley. Excitement was climbing within him. For a long time the neighborhood had been quiet. There wasn’t much to do, outside of keeping the kids off the street and breaking up minor disturbances. But now Jimmie Renzelli was lying in an alley with four bullet holes in his chest. And Elrick knew all about Renzelli.
He knew all about the guy’s connections, his friends and the enemies. The business and the manipulations. He knew about a girl named Gladys and a guy named Vince Mazzione and a guy named Lou. And a New Year’s Eve party of two years ago. And how Renzelli had found it best to leave town the next morning.
After putting in his call, Elrick wobbled down the alley again. Herbie and the two kids were gazing at the body and at Renzelli’s glimmering black hair, which he’d always shined up with a lot of sweet-smelling grease. They were gazing at the costly gabardine suit, at the custom-made lavender shirt, and the expensive tie. And at the moonstone ring on the little finger of a cold white hand.
They were gazing at all that, and at the blood from the four punctures in Renzelli’s chest.
“He was always tough,” Herbie said. “Always a bully.”
The two little kids began to ask a lot of questions. Elrick pushed them away.