Re: Chapter 2.2: Winter of Our Discontent [01/30/1925]
Moretti accepted the light with a grin. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Shaking his head, he took a drag on his cigarette, exhaling slowly.
"I was going to tell you I was fine, but you know me too well. You'd figure I was lying," he said. Taking another draw, he added, "You remember that crazy Cajun moonshiner, lived south of New Orleans? What was his name...Lejeune? Didn't have any front teeth, but he sure could run a still. What I wouldn't give for a jar of his liquid magic right about now."
He looked down at the ground. Part of him wanted to talk about the mirror. The problem was he didn't know how. But what he'd seen within it wasn't the only thing that was beleaguering him.
"I never beat anyone to death, Bo," he said, "You, better than most, know the kinds of things I've done. But I never had to do that. Take someone's life away with my bare hands. I'm not saying the coglione didn't have it coming, but...I don't know, pointing a gun's a hell of a lot easier."
"But it's not just that. Last night, when I heard Zubaida talk about how afraid she was, how someone she loved was taken from her, I thought going into that spice shop and getting answers was the right thing to do. Especially if it was another group like those assassini from the Juju House. You know, find out who they were, get some justice for the innocents they'd murdered, the people they left grieving."
He tapped the ash from his cigarette. "But now, I think I handled it wrong. Not because of what happened to al-Sayed, but...working for Joe, it's different. You go in some place you know there might be trouble, everyone with you is the same. You're all a bunch of no account thugs who work for the family. Guys that'll all do some pretty bad things before they end up in a box on Hart Island, the world a better place for them being gone. Raised in Harlem, die in Harlem. It's what you agreed to when you joined in, signed your life away."
He looked at Bo, his expression remorseful. "Tommy and Miss O'Connor, they're not like me, Bo. They're good people. You and I both know O'Connor's had her hands in some shady business, but not the sort of monstrous things I've done. And here, sure she's working for Carlyle, but in the end, she's just trying to get answers like everyone else. And Tommy...he's shown the kind of loyalty you can't get from your own blood. Ready to risk it all to find out what happened to Jackson."
"By pushing my way into that shop last night, I put them both in harm's way. And look what happened. Al-Sayed did something to Miss O'Connor I can't even explain. I should have brought everyone back here, handed it all over to Bishop. Let him decide how it needed to be handled. Either that, or go it alone."
He smiled humorlessly. "And then there's the mirror that I left behind, intact."
He took another drag, his eyes distant. "I'm starting to think it was a mistake, me coming to England. In New York, I know the game. Maybe I should've hung back. Not been so stupid to believe I could contribute anything useful over here. Getting people to sell you liquor is one thing. This is something different. If I'd stayed behind...or if I go back, I could use Joe's resources to make certain all the Bloody Tongue people were hunted down and exterminated. The boss wouldn't have any problem giving a little to that cause. And I wouldn't get anyone hurt...anyone that didn't have it coming, anyway."
He took a last pull on his Modiano and crushed it out on his heel. Managing a smile, he said, "Damn. Enough about me, huh? So, Rosalie and Stanley? Bishop's a lucky bastardo. Hell, I've had a crush on Rosalie since I was ten." He nodded. "Stanley's smart enough to recognize his good fortune. He'll do right by her. She deserves a good man."