The Good Boss

by Scott Hildreth

  I opened the door. “Let’s do it.”

  Terra pushed the door open, and announced our arrival. “Guess who came to visit?”

  Terra’s mother poked her head through the kitchen door. “Look who’s here, Anthony.”

  “Come eat,” Anthony shouted from the kitchen. “She made the puttanesca.”

  Terra looked at me and grinned.

  “What?” her mother asked. “You look guilty.”

  “We have a funny story to tell you.”

  “Funny how?”

  “Just funny,” Terra said.

  “Let me fix you a plate, and then you can tell us.”

  We followed her into the kitchen, and within no time, we were sitting at the table with plates of pasta in front of us.

  Terra took a bite, and then looked at her father. “So, Michael and I raced our cars.”

  With a mouth filled with pasta, Anthony looked up. “I told him to,” he said as he fought to swallow.

  He twisted his fork into his pasta and met her gaze. “Who was faster? Nobody knows. BMW says the BMW; Mercedes says the Mercedes.”

  “Well, for a while at least, the Mercedes was.”

  He slurped pasta from the fork, looked at her, and then glanced at me. “The BMW has more top end, huh?”

  I took a bite of the bread, grinned, and shook my head. “Well, when we took off, I got her off the line. By about five car lengths. When we hit a hundred, we were neck and neck.”

  “A hundred miles an hour?” her mother gasped.

  “Let him finish,” Terra said. “We went a lot faster than that.”

  “Terra!”

  Anthony swallowed, and then took a drink of wine. “What happened?”

  “Well, you know how fast those cars accelerate. They’re like Indy cars on the street. We hit a hundred like that.” I snapped my fingers. “And then, it was one-twenty, one-thirty, one-forty. The Mercedes was ahead through most of that. Then, I looked up, and she was gone.”

  He wiped his mouth with his napkin, and then took a drink. “Gone, like she shot ahead of you?”

  “No. She disappeared behind me. Just vanished.”

  He looked at Terra. “What happened?”

  “I hit a raccoon.”

  His eyes widened. “A what?”

  “Raccoon.”

  “On the highway?”

  Straight-faced, she nodded. “At a hundred and forty.”

  He looked at me. I nodded.

  He looked at Terra, swallowed, and then cocked an eyebrow. “I can see you’re okay, what’s the car look like?”

  “My car?”

  He nodded.

  “A lot better than Michael’s.”

  His eyes shot to me. “What happened to your car?”

  “Well, I was looking in my rearview, trying to find out where Terra was, and after seeing her headlights go out, I looked up, and...” I clapped. “Bam!”

  Startled, Anthony nearly jumped out of his seat. His eyes were as wide as saucers, and his face was as white as a sheet.

  “What?” he gasped.

  “Whitetail.”

  He looked at Terra, and then shot me a confused look. “White what?”

  “Whitetail.”

  “What the fuck’s a whitetail?”

  “Deer. A whitetail deer.”

  “You hit a fucking deer? In the BMW?”

  I nodded. “Sure did.”

  “At one hundred-plus?”

  “One-fifty-five, to be exact.”

  He took a drink of wine, and then shook his head. “At least you’re okay. By the grace of God, huh?”

  He patted me on the shoulder. “I’ll get you another car. No more racing.”

  “What about me?” Terra asked.

  He lifted a forkful of pasta to his mouth, sucked it off the tip of the fork, and looked at her. “You hit a raccoon.”

  “Before the cops got there. It gets worse.”

  He swallowed the pasta and shot her a look. “Why were the fuckin’ cops there?”

  “They clocked me for speeding, and pulled me over for driving without headlights.”

  “No headlights?”

  She shook her head. “The raccoon hit the thingy on the front. You know, the part that’s way down low, with the fog lights in it? Well, it ripped it off, and the headlights came with it. It was eight-thirty at night, and dark. So, they pulled me over. I was trying to get to where Michael wrecked.”

  “Fuckin’ cops. But they didn’t arrest you?”

  She shook her head. “No. He felt sorry for me after the eighteen-wheeler hit my car.”

  He dropped his fork. “The what?”

  “Eighteen-wheeler.”

  “A big rig?”

  She nodded. “Another deer came across the highway right after he pulled me over, probably the mate to the one that Michael hit. The truck swerved to miss it, the police officer saw it, and he tackled me into the ditch just as the big rig hit my car. The entire thing disintegrated. There were car parts all over the highway.”

  “You shouldn’t have been racing,” her mother said dryly.

  Anthony pushed his plate to the side, looked at me, and then at Terra. “Both your new cars, totaled?”

  She nodded.

  I nodded.

  He shook his head. “Unbelievable. I drive my Cadillacs for what, thirty years. No wrecks. Not one.”

  “You drive fifteen miles an hour everywhere you go,” Terra said.

  He shrugged. “I like the scenery.”

  “Well, that’s not the most unbelievable thing,” Terra said.

  He looked at me. “What else?”

  I glanced at Terra.

  She reached for her mother’s hand, and then looked at Anthony. He noticed her clasping her mother’s hand in hers, and he then looked at me.

  His face washed with worry.

  He swallowed hard. “What?”

  I glanced at Terra.

  She nodded.

  I met Anthony’s gaze.

  “We’re going to have a baby. We’re pregnant.”

  The sequence of events that followed was almost as unbelievable as our car-race story.

  Anthony jumped from his seat, hit his knee on the edge of the table, and stumbled into the china cabinet.

  Over the sound of the breaking glass, he shouted as he grabbed his knee. “Fucking table!”

  Terra’s mother gasped at the same time, and before Anthony had a chance to recover from stumbling into the glass, Terra and her mother were both crying tears of joy.

  I stood, hoping to help Anthony steady himself as he struggled to keep footing in the broken glass.

  With wide eyes and his arms spread apart, he smiled. “Pregnant? A baby? Already?”

  The pride I felt was immeasurable. I hugged him and gave the rest of the news. “Conceived on the night of our wedding.”

  He leaned back and looked me in the eyes. His eyes were welled with tears, as were mine.

  “I knew,” he said. “I knew you’d give me the grandson.”

  “It could be a girl.”

  He hugged me. “It’s a boy.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He broke our embrace, waved at the table, and then wiped the tears from his eye on the heel of his palm. “The puttanesca. It’s a boy.”

  Confused, I looked at the table. In doing so, I noticed my jacket. The sleeve was covered in a large crimson stain, as was the shoulder.

  I looked at Anthony.

  Blood dripped from his fingertips.

  Actually, it didn’t drip.

  It ran. Like a faucet.

  In the excitement of it all, he hadn�
��t even noticed.

  “You’re bleeding,” I said. “Bad.”

  He looked down, and then stumbled toward his seat.

  I grabbed a knife from the table, pierced the tablecloth, and tore a length of it free. “Anthony’s been cut. Call an ambulance.”

  While Terra and her mother shouted frantically, I tied a tourniquet to Anthony’s upper arm, looked around me, and realized how much blood he had lost.

  I looked at him.

  His eyes were closed.

  I lifted him from the chair. “Cancel the ambulance,” I shouted. “Tell them we’re on our way to the emergency room. We’ll probably need a transfusion.”

  He was fading in and out of consciousness as I carried him to the door.

  “We’re coming,” Terra shouted.

  “Get in the back seat of my car,” I said. “Keep him awake. Talk to him. Cover him with my jacket.”

  I rushed to the car, slid him into the back seat, and while Terra and her mother were buckling seatbelts, backed out of the drive, and headed for the highway.

  When I reached the end of the onramp, I was already doing in excess of one hundred miles an hour.

  As I merged into traffic, I hit one-forty.

  I heard Anthony clear his throat.

  I looked in the rearview mirror.

  “I have...something...to...say,” he murmured.

  I glanced at the road, and then at his reflection. I swallowed hard. “What...what is it?”

  “Be careful...not to...hit...the...whitetail.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Terra

  My father was lying in the bed, which was positioned in a recline position. Half sitting up, half resting on his elbow, he looked at the doctor.

  “You’re lucky you got him here when you did,” the doctor said. “The tourniquet, whoever had the foresight to tie it? They saved his life.”

  “It’s not the first time.”

  The doctor returned a confused look. “Not the first time?”

  “He’s saved me more than once. And, we’re having a baby.”

  “Who’s having a baby?”

  He waved his arms around the room. “We are.”

  “Congratulations,” the doctor said.

  I smiled. “Thank you. I’m the pregnant one.”

  “I’m going to give you another thirty minutes,” the doctor said to my father. “And, then I’ll release you.”

  “I saw the light.”

  The doctor reached for my father’s shoulder. “Excuse me?”

  “Before I woke up. I saw the light. Everything was bright. There were voices. Am I crazy?”

  “Like a dream?”

  My father shook his head. “It was real.”

  “It’s not uncommon for people to have a spiritual experience when they’re close to death. Everyone’s different, however.”

  “So, I’m not crazy?”

  “Not at all.” He patted my father’s shoulder. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

  The doctor left, and we all shared an odd look. Michael spoke first.

  “What was it like?” he asked. “When you saw the light?”

  “Comforting.”

  “I suppose that’s a good thing.”

  “I’m not afraid,” my father responded. “But I’m in no hurry, either.”

  Michael chuckled. “I expect not.”

  I reached for his hand. “I’m just glad you’re not hurt worse than you were.”

  “We’re all lucky. Raccoons, whitetails, and the china cabinet. You never know what it’s going to be.”

  I looked at Michael and raised both eyebrows.

  Michael cleared his throat. “We didn’t really wreck the cars. We made the story up to soften the blow of the pregnancy.”

  He looked at me. “No raccoon.”

  I shook my head. “The car’s in the garage, safe and sound.”

  He looked at Michael. “No whitetail?”

  Michael laughed. “No.”

  “But there’s a baby? You are pregnant, aren’t you?”

  I nodded. “I am. That part is true.”

  He smiled. “With my grandson.”

  “It might be a girl.”

  “The puttanesca,” he said. “It’s a boy.”

  “The puttanesca?”

  He waved at me. “It’s a story for another time.”

  In a few minutes, the doctor came in and released us to leave. Although the hospital required we take my father to the car in a wheelchair, it wasn’t necessary. Short of the two-dozen stitches, and his recollection of the flash of light, there were no other indications to support his near-death experience.

  “I’m glad that’s over,” I said as we pushed him down the hallway.

  “We need to go to the mall,” he said. “Is it still open?”

  “The mall?” my mother asked. “It’s past midnight, Anthony.”

  “Oh. I wanted to go shopping.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “Gifts,” he said. “For my grandson.”

  “Stop saying that,” I said.

  “The puttanesca.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t lie.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Michael

  Mad Sal pulled the office door closed, and then sat down. He brushed the wrinkles from his slacks as if he really didn’t care if he accomplished the task or not.

  When he was satisfied, he looked up. “How long have I been your consigliere?”

  Anthony shrugged. “Since the beginning.”

  Sal flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Do you value my advice?”

  “Arguing with you is like arguing with a stone wall.”

  Sal cocked an eyebrow. “Do you value my advice?”

  “I do.”

  Sal nodded. “God has a lot on his plate, Tony. He doesn’t have time to look down on all of us, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Italy, the United States, Canada, Brazil, Spain, Argentina, Greece, France. That’s a lot of people to look after. Hell, there’s even Christians in China.” He looked at me. “Did you know that?”

  I nodded. “I did.”

  He met Anthony’s gaze. “So, when God takes time to tell us something, we need to listen. It’s disrespectful if we don’t.”

  “You think seeing the light was a sign?”

  “A warning sign,” Sal said. “What else can you call it?”

  Anthony looked at me, and then at Sal. “I don’t know.”

  “Make some changes, Tony.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Anthony said.

  Sal waved at me. “You haven’t made it official, but my guess is that Michael is the underboss, no?”

  I hadn’t given it much thought since Anthony’s return from jail, but no one officially replaced Gino. Sal was the consigliere, which was an advisor or counselor to the godfather. He was the one person who could oppose the orders of the man in charge without fear of repercussion or retribution.

  Anthony nodded. “He is.”

  Sal glanced at Anthony, and then at me. “In this room we have the boss, the underboss, and the consigliere. The three men who can make changes in the family. Let’s make them.”

  I had no idea what was going on, only that Anthony called a meeting between Sal and me.

  “What problem are we trying to resolve?” I asked.

  Sal looked at Anthony. Anthony nodded. Sal looked at me. “Tony wants to live long enough to enjoy his grandson.”

  I wanted him to live long enough to enjoy his grandchildren as well. I had intended to talk to Anthony about working less, and spending more time with the child once he or she was born.

 
If it was Sal’s intention to have Anthony either step away or minimize his time with the family, it would no doubt mean I would have to step up, and that was something I didn’t really want to do. I took an oath, however, and I would do whatever the family asked of me.

  I sat and silently hoped more work wasn’t in my future.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” I said. “What are our options?”

  Sal cracked his knuckles. “I think we’ve got one option, and only one. I don’t like it, and I’m going to guess you won’t like it either.”

  “Are you talking to Anthony or me?” I asked.

  “You.”

  The thought of the only option being one I didn’t like wasn’t very appealing. I swallowed hard. “I’m all ears.”

  “I’ve thought about it since Tony’s trip to the hospital.” Sal pursed his lips, and then shook his head. “I won’t like it either, but I think it’s the only way to keep everything in order, and profitable.”

  “Enough with the suspense,” Anthony said.

  “It’s tough to talk with a dry mouth, Tee.” Sal nodded toward the scotch. “Pour Michael and me a glass.”

  Anthony poured three glasses and handed each of us one. Sal sipped his scotch and continued, “If a man owns a profitable business in Philly, and his service is one that everyone wants or needs, he opens another branch in Atlantic City. And then, in Jersey City. Allentown. The next thing you know, he’s got branches in Los Angeles, Dallas, and Kansas City.”

  He finished his scotch and slid the glass across Anthony’s desk. “But. If he doesn’t open the other branches, he reaches a limit on the outreach of his company. One branch can only yield so much profit.”

  Anthony leaned forward. “So, what are you saying, Sal?”

  Sal gestured toward his empty glass. “Pour me a glass.”

  Anthony poured Sal’s glass full, and then pushed it across the table. Sal raised it to his lips. “Open another branch, Tony.”

  “The fuck.” Anthony coughed. “I called you here for solutions, gran coglione. That’s not going to solve my problems, Sal. It’ll create new ones. More responsibility. More headaches. More chances of being arrested, killed, or—”

  Sal stood. “Let me finish, you stubborn prick.”

  Anthony chuckled. “Sit.”

  Sal sat, brushed the leg of his slacks, and then looked up. “There’s a market in Central America that we’re not tapping into. South America, too. Here’s my suggestion. Michael moves to Belize. You move there, too. From your homes in Belize, you run the south branch of the family’s operation. Guns and protection. That’s it. No rackets. No nothin’. Guns and protection.”