11
As he walked back toward his apartment Jack realized he had just enough time to pay a visit to the ersatz Mama Roselli. He dialed her on her cell.
A weak, raspy voice said, "Hello?"
"Mrs. Roselli? This is Jack. I stopped by last night but I heard you weren't feeling well. Are you okay?"
"I'm better, thank you."
"I was wondering if I could come over to give you an update. I found Johnny and—"
"Can this wait until tomorrow? 1 don't think I'm well enough yet for company."
Yes, it could wait till tomorrow, although Jack would have liked his questions answered tonight. But if she was feeling as bad as she sounded—if she was faking it she deserved an Oscar—then giving her more time to recover made sense.
"Tomorrow then. I'll see you about noon or so?"
"I'll be here."
Jack cut the connection. Her sudden frailty bothered him. He'd suspected her of being kin to Anya, a tough old bird who looked like she hadn't had a sick day in her life. The only time he'd seen her not in control was when she'd had that sudden sharp pain in her back. Took her a day or so to get over it. And the next day he'd seen an oozing sore on her scarred-up back… on what she'd called "the map of my pain"… the map of where Brady was burying his pillars.
Could it be…?
He'd find out tomorrow. Tonight he had to share a car with Cordova and somehow keep himself from strangling him.