by Meg Watson
“What can I get you?”
“Pancakes!”
I get a farmer’s breakfast, the whole nine yards. Three eggs, ham, sausage, bacon, home fries and toast. Nico gets some weird egg white spinach thing that I refuse to look at even when it's right next to me. Honestly. A grown man.
Charli gets biscuits and gravy because of course she does. That girl can really put it away. She's not shy about it either.
The coffee is good and hot, and strong, thank God. I can feel it bubbling slowly through my blood, waking me back up. My muscles still feel shredded but at least I'm conscious.
Gus is not disappointed in the pancakes. In fact everybody is pretty happy with their breakfast choices except Nico, and it kind of serves him right. We sit there for a while just eating and drinking coffee. Everybody watches Gus cut precise little triangles out of the pancake, building up dams to make sure that the syrup doesn't spill in messy ways.
Kid after my own heart. I can totally appreciate that.
It’s just like a regular thing, like a regular family. As the waitress brings the check, it hits me, this was nice. It actually was really nice. Now that I'm all the way awake, I feel kinda bad about brushing Charli off. I could've been nicer to her about it. She's got a lot going on, I know. She doesn't need me adding stress to her life.
But as we get up out of the booth, she doesn't even look up at me. She keeps her eyes down and takes Gus by his little hand to guide him back toward the bathrooms again for another quick trip before we have to get back on the road.
Nico sucks his teeth as he stands up next to me.
“What was that about?” he asks me, picking up on the tension in the air I guess.
“Beats me. I could never figure that broad out.”
He rubs the back of his neck with his hand, stretching slightly. Somehow he’s got a clean shirt on and his hair is perfect again. Is it just permanently glued like that?
“You know, you don't have to be so shitty to her all the time,” Nico sighs. “She's doing her best. She's got a lot on her plate. You taking swipes at her isn’t going to make you feel any better either, so why don’t you just quit it?”
I can’t even look at him. The last thing I need is a lecture from Nico.
“You know what? Stay off my case. You decided you still got a chance at being Capo if we go back to Annapolis, right? Is that why you’re so gung ho for this adventure? Don't act like this is about anything else. Don't act like this is about justice with Aldo, or tipping off Dante, or anything like that. None of this is gonna make things right between us, you realize that, right? None of this is changing anything.”
Three or four emotions cross over Nico's face before he finally just sets his lips in a hard line and shakes his head. He pivots on his heel and heads out to the front door and the parking lot.
I do feel pretty good about that for just a second, but the feeling evaporates almost immediately. Yeah, I've been waiting to give Nico piece my mind for a long damn time. But now? Really? Like this is my big moment, in a diner in Chattanooga?
Jesus, Tek, you must be pretty hard up for entertainment.
I pause at the table for a minute, pushing things around a little bit, trying to look busy while I wait for Charli and Gus to return from the bathroom. When she comes down the hallway with him she looks up at me confused for a second, apparently wondering while I'm still here.
“You don't have to wait for us,” she grumbles.
Of course I had to wait for her. What, I'm just going to leave her in a diner now? Is she kidding me with this?
But as I follow her out into the parking lot to meet Nico at the minivan, I realize I'm the last guy in line. Nico and Charli seem to be getting along, and the kid is actually pretty enjoyable, I have to admit. So what is my problem? Why do I have to be the monkeywrench in the wheel of this operation?
I don't know. I guess I'm still mad.
***
Getting a phone number for Two-Fist turned out to be harder than I thought. We couldn't put Charli’s sim card into a new phone without risking giving up our location.
So instead, Nico had to call half the wiseguys he knows before he could track down a number for her uncle. Then he let Charli use his phone, and she eventually got a hold of her Aunt Roni. Took an hour or so. We’re invited to lunch.
I took the drive pretty slow, winding up the side of one mountain and then another, through small towns that look like something out of a storybook. The place is really beautiful. Lots of people on bikes, which actually doesn't seem like such a great idea considering that there's almost no visibility as cars are whipping around the corners. And still it has a distinctive southern flair. Hipsters and hillbillies. Quite a combination.
I guess I should not judge, since we’re going to go see a legendary mafioso, right here in the middle of Dukes of Hazzard land or whatever. Talk about your fish out of water story.
Two-Fist used to run books out of Eastern Annapolis, with a little bit of a presence in Philly. He had some loansharking on the side too. Strictly neighborhood business stuff.
But Two-Fist didn’t play around. He loved his job. He liked to have everybody in his pocket, more or less. He was one of those guys who'd give you a favor that sounded like it was for free the first time, but then he would send a couple of guys to your door one night, maybe two or three in the morning, and expect that favor repaid. Could be anything. Feed some guy breakfast in the middle of the night, hold onto a suspicious looking package for a few days, whatever.
That was kind of how business was done in the old days. Our Family had an important place in a neighborhood. People didn't just go to banks like they do now. They didn't just apply for credit cards on the Internet. If you needed something, you went to your local Family boss and asked him for it. You didn't have to do anything illegal or anything. Just maybe you needed money to get your kid’s broken arm set or keep your car from getting towed away. Things like that. Maybe he'd set you up with a newsstand or food cart or something.
All these old bosses had ideas about how their neighborhood should look. If their wife needed a place to get her hair done, they’d find somebody who needed to start a business and poof, new hair salon. They kept things going. They really cared.
The movies make us all out to be these hard-nosed thugs, murderers and whatnot. That’s the soldiers like Nico and me, cleaning up messes on an emergency basis. But really the old bosses were just business men with an inflated sense of civic duty. At least, a lot of time anyway.
I follow the GPS yet directions until we get to a gate that winds up through the woods to a place I can't see.
“I thought you said they were on a fat farm?” I ask Nico.
“This is where she told me to go,” he says. “Look, the gate is opening. They must expect us.”
If this is a fat farm, it is not what I expected at all. Maybe that's not even the right word. A spa? It's not that either. This is just a straight up gated community on the side of a mountain. Large, complicated houses are tucked behind beautiful landscaping. Cobblestone driveways. Mercedes and little convertible Porsches in everybody's driveway.
“Okay, I guess this is it.”
I turn into a driveway with a Subaru on one side and a golf cart at the end. A fucking golf cart. Oh the guys back home are going to love this. Where the hell am I? La-la-land?
I get my answer it just a couple of seconds. Charli and Gus hop out of the back of the minivan and start up the steps, just as the front door opens.
“Carlotta!”
A woman floats out with her arms extended. She's wearing one of those floral, flowing, silky just things that go all the way down to the floor. It's all different colors, like she's underwater or something. Her hair is enormous, fluffed up from her head like a big salt-and-pepper cloud.
“It's Charli, Aunt Roni, remember?” Charli mumbles as she comes up the steps. She opens her arms wide and takes Roni's hug, then steps to the side as Gus comes up behind her.
&nbs
p; “Oh my God, who is this?!”
Roni drops to her knees immediately, clapping her hands under her chin excitedly. “Oh my God, aren't you just the most darling thing I ever saw? Look at you now! Just look at you!"
“Say hello, Gus. This is your Aunt Roni.”
“Hello, Aunt Roni,” Gus says with a small, polite smile.
Roni claps her hands over her mouth as though overwhelmed with shock. “Oh my God, is he for real? Look at him! He's like a doll, I tell you! A little doll! I could just eat him up!”
I'm getting curious what's about to happen here. I know when I was a kid that age, some loudmouthed old lady dressed up like a carnival would freak me out for sure. But Gus actually seems kind of okay. When she squishes him against her neckline, his arms just go limp at his sides. He doesn't even seem to be struggling.
I have to hand it to that kid. He's got a whole lot of self-control.
Roni stands up again, breathless. She looks over at me and Nico, nodding. She remembers us. The expression in her eyes tells me that whatever Aldo said to Two-Fist, it probably was not nice.
But then she looks back over Charli, and then back to us, and then back to Charli. It's all coming back to her, I can tell.
I forgot about this part. There were a lot of rumors about the three of us, I know. At the time, I was so swept up that it was hard to worry too much about that. But the idea we tried to stick to was that I was dating Charli, and Nico and I just happened to share an apartment.
But people whispered about us, like they do. I think that most of them figured it was just gossip, too outrageous to be true. But then the way that Roni is looking at me now, I don't know if she really ever bought that. Old ladies are smart, as a rule. They pick up on all kinds of shit.
I hate this feeling. Trying to wonder what people are thinking, what they're going to do. I prefer a simple job. Trying to unknot everybody's emotional entanglements is too much for me to try to figure out. It's too irrational.
She waves us all inside, and we all kind of stumble awkwardly into the atrium. This place is enormous. Marble foyer, two-story entrance. Brass and glass and shiny things. Kind of your typical Italian decorating sense, but out here in the woods. Sort of an interesting combination.
“I thought you said this is some kinda spa or something?” I ask Nico, who just shrugs.
Roni shakes her head. “You're thinking of the Bennett Spa,” she explains loudly. I see her eavesdropping skills haven't diminished in any way. “And we do not say fat farm. That’s weight-shaming and strictly prohibited, okay?”
Nico and I nod obediently as she leads us deeper into their home. It’s bright and serene, with skylights and houseplants dangling over niches that go all the way up to the ceiling.
“That's where Bruno took us, when he brought us out here. Donnie had a real problem, you know? With the weight and stress and everything? His health was terrible. And he didn't want to leave back home, I can tell you that. But I gotta bless Don Dante for stepping in, because when we got here, it changed his life. Changed his life I tell you! Oh! Here he is!”
As we walk into the kitchen area a figure comes to greet us. I was expecting about 400 pounds of man, but that's not what I'm getting. Donnie actually looks like half the man he used to be, and that's a good thing. He's taking long strides toward us and holds his arms out to accept a hug from Charli.
“Donnie!” Nico says. “You look fantastic, man! How you doing?”
Donnie's slaps his chest with his palms robustly. “I feel like a million bucks! Changed my life! And it’s beautiful here, right?”
He guides us out onto the back porch, where there is a grill going. The table is set with flowers and crystalline plates. Real posh.
I know we just ate a few hours ago but already I am salivating at the smell of whatever the heck is on the grill. Donnie could always cook like a mother.
“Just look at this view,” Donnie sighs, gesturing toward the horizon. “They tell me you can see seven states from here. Seven!”
“Which ones?” Gus asks immediately.
“Oh ho ho ho!” Donnie chuckles. He kneels down and fake-cuffs Gus on the chin in slow motion.
“Gee, nobody's ever asked us that before,” Roni says. “Maybe you should look that up on the Google or something?”
“He's a smart one, Carlotta!” Donnie hoots. “He's got his mother's brains, that's for sure. Come on, everybody sit!”
Carlotta. Somehow I forgot that was her name. She started calling herself Charli right before we officially met her at her Aunt Millie's house. We had seen her many times before that. Nico and I always knew who she was. In our crew, there was always some kind of big Family happening. Some wedding, some funeral, some first communion/confirmation/baptism, something like that.
She was about the same age as four or five other girls, but there was nobody like her. She had straight blonde hair that she always kept in a high ponytail, swinging so that the tips of it just brushed her shoulders. She took long steps, strong like a basketball player or something. Volleyball maybe. She's tall and has broad shoulders, while the rest of our associates’ daughters were curly-haired, curvy Italian girls. Her people are probably northern or something. Green eyes and blond hair definitely stuck out.
She never seemed to see us, though. Somewhere around middle and high school everybody got what was called “boy crazy.” Nico and I thought this was our moment, and yeah, a lot of those girls got very friendly in a hurry. But not Carlotta. She always had her chin out, like she was ready to box. She always had some sass loaded up and ready to deliver.
But she just looked right through us. After high school, she started calling herself Charli. She went to college and then came back. I think she has a degree in nursing or education or something. Something smart.
We didn’t see her again until she was at one of Millie’s parties, hanging out by herself with a glass of wine in her hand. The sun hit her hair just right so that she seemed to glow.
Nico turned to me just in time for me to turn to him. There she was. We both knew it. We knew instinctively what we had to do to. Just walked over to her, and that was that.
It was pretty great, if you ask me.
And now everything’s gone to hell. She sits there chatting quietly with Roni while Gus pushes little borders between the food on his plate, keeping it all separate. Nico is nodding at Donnie, waiting for a time to talk, man to man. The old family’s all here, but we couldn’t be more separate.
I can’t wait for this to be over.
When we’re done eating, Roni and Charli stand up and start picking up dishes. Gus follows them, carrying a short stack of plates. I can't believe Charli just let that happen, either. Usually she'd object to any kind of gender stereotype task, but I'm glad she is doing it anyway. We need to talk to Two-Fist, and we need to make this good. I mean, I guess we can’t call him Two-Fist anymore. But what am I going to call him, One-Fist?
“So, Two— er, Donnie, you enjoying yourselves out here?” Nico starts in right away. I know we’re on the same page. I can totally feel it. I don’t need to do anything either. He's the talker.
Donnie nods thoughtfully. He really is looking pretty great. He’s tan, looks strong, looks healthy. There's no trace of that wheeze he used to get or the redness around his eyes when he was just struggling to breathe in and out.
“I don't know if Charli told you the reason for our visit…”
“You need help,” he says simply. Is not an accusation. It's been his whole life, fulfilling people's needs. He actually sounds a little pleased about it, if I'm reading him right.
“All those years ago, you remember? You were going to come testify for Tek, but something… Came up?”
Donnie presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Aldo. That's what came up. Aldo.”
“Okay, so you do remember,” Nico says carefully. He's measuring out his words, trying to dance back and forth a little bit and see what it’s going to take to convince Donnie to c
ome back with us.
“Well of course I remember. One of the biggest mistakes of my life. I never should have let Aldo get over on me like that. But he said he had you guys covered. He told me he just didn't need me. And then when Carlotta did what she did… What was I gonna do? You know what I’m saying?”
I nod. We all know what he is saying. Even once Donnie knew that Aldo had misled him, Charli's interference made the whole thing impossible. Just like I told her. Just like she won't admit. She never should have lied. She should have just left it alone and let us handle it.
“But I don’t see what I can do to help you now,” Donnie continues. “Sometimes it’s just best to let sleeping dogs lie, you know what I mean? I mean look at all of this.” He opens his arms and gestures out at the supposed seven states’ worth of panoramic view he's got there. I kind of doubt that it is seven actual states.
“I never thought I was gonna leave the city. I loved what I was doing. I loved having all those people around me, needing me. You know how it was: I made things happen for people. But it almost cost me my life, the way I was living. When Bruno brought us out here, I was none too happy about it, I can tell you!”
“When you were at the… spa?”
He waves his hand in the air. “Yeah, that was just for like eight weeks. But after Roni and me got settled in, everything just sort of seemed to fall into place. All that stress, all the pollution. Out here we got birds and deer and shit, fucking everywhere. Roni's taking painting lessons from this little gal who lives on the mountain over there. Cindy Procious, you hear of her?”
Nico and I just blink. He's an art collector now?
“Oh you gotta meet her. She's here actually, hanging some new pieces for us. She's famous, like all over the world famous.”
He smacks his lips together, an expression I’ve seen him make a thousand times. He loves being a big shot. Collecting art, though? I never would have thought it.
“See? It's a whole different kind life out here, and we love it. We really love it. Why don’t you come meet Cindy? Maybe you should just leave all that crap behind and just come on out here? Do you know they don't even have a money guy around here? We could start our own operation.”