by Taylor Hill
“Hey,” he shrugged, “I’ll get him back again, he’ll understand.”
Something about the casual way he said it struck me as unusual and I looked up at him as he poured me a glass of wine at the table where I was sitting. “Romeo,” I said, “can I ask you something?”
“Yeah?”
“Has Gino paid you guys the first installment of the loan yet?”
“What are you talking about? He’s still in hospital…”
“Yeah, but didn’t he say he was going to pay you the first installment this week?”
Romeo shrugged, switching the pour expertly to his own glass with a rich, full glugging sound. Lisa and Lou could have Vivaldi, but tonight there was nowhere I’d rather be in the whole world than Gino’s Café. Maybe it had something to do with the company.
“It doesn’t matter what he said,” Romeo answered finally, “he’s still in hospital.”
I knew there was no point pressing him on it so I just sighed and took a sip from the wine. It was delicious—rich and silky and elegant—nothing like the cheap table crap me and Lisa were used to downing by the bottle.
“For all his years you’d think Gino would have grown up a little by now,” I said.
Romeo raised an eyebrow. “For all yours,” he said, “you’d think you might give yourself a break once in a while and let yourself just enjoy being young.” He took a sip of his wine and smiled appreciatively. “Man, that’s good.”
“Romeo,” I said, looking at him seriously, “I haven’t exactly had a normal life—some people get to be young, but not me. I mean you know about our mom and all, but did Lou ever tell you about what happened to our dad?”
Romeo frowned, his eyes somberly on my face. “No,” he said, “he never has, but I’ve heard some stuff elsewhere.”
I sighed. “Of course you have, it was big news at the time. On CNN and everything. Romeo, my father was a good man—at least he was to me and Lou and to our mother too, on the surface anyway—but he was involved in some bad stuff. Some real bad shit.”
I peered across the table at him and his grim face, sober and supportive in the soft light of the candles, impelled me to go on.
“He was old-fashioned, kind of like Gino but even more so—a real old school Italian gentleman if you know what I mean.”
“A mustache Pete,” Romeo said and I winced.
“No,” I said, “not like that, he wasn’t one of those Mafia guys, even though he got involved with them. You know, I think he just wanted to make life as good as it could be for his wife and children. He and my mom were pretty old when they started a family. Dad was already in his fifties and I think sometimes that the reason they left it so late is that he wanted to make certain life would be stable for us when they did. He wanted to make sure that we were never left wanting, like he had been when he grew up. I think that was his fatal flaw.
“Like I said, he was a good man and he worked hard. He was a trained accountant with more than one college diploma and if we were richer growing up than we should have been, well everybody thought that that was just because he worked so hard. But it wasn’t…”
I took a deep breath, searching inside myself to find the right words, as Romeo reached across the table and placed his strong hand on mine. “Go on,” he said.
“He got mixed up with the mobsters—I don’t know when, probably he’d always been involved with them in one way or another, you know how it goes. The sad fact is that in an old Italian-American neighborhood like this one, most everybody is connected in some way. It’s the only way to survive.”
“Sure,” Romeo shrugged and I worried for a moment that I might be offending him, what with his own connections and all, but when he nodded for me to continue I felt confident that he didn’t mind at all.
“Well by the time I was nine and Lou was eleven, daddy was in deep. I guess by then both the cops and the mob were turning against him and when he disappeared one day it caused quite a storm. It was only in the subsequent news reports that we first learned there was anything untoward or unseemly about the way our daddy lived his life—until that moment he was a hero to us, he was Superman, a giant of a figure who could do no wrong.”
“Christ,” Romeo said, wincing to himself as he thought about it, “that must have been hard.”
“Yeah,” I nodded, “it was. Especially when they started reporting that he’d likely ran away with a mistress too—the madam of a brothel no less. My mother is an old fashioned Italian women Romeo, can you imagine what that did to her?”
“I guess it played a factor in the…”
“Dementia? Yeah, well she was never the same again, but it was only in the last year or two that she really deteriorated. Gino was always there to help us growing up from then on but it was still pretty tough.”
Romeo gave my hand a squeeze but said nothing as he watched me. I guess there was nothing to say—it was just enough to have him there, to have somebody I could finally open up to without worrying about whether or not I had to be responsible for their well-being.
“And the worst thing was,” I said, “that when daddy disappeared he took some extremely confidential documents and material with him. I suppose it must have been to use as leverage in case anybody tried to get to him through his family or something, but a side-effect of it was that every Mafia family in the country was looking for him and his name was on the news for weeks and weeks afterwards. It was terrible, my whole life changed in an instant and nothing was ever the same again. Nine years old and I had to start acting like a full-grown woman already.”
Romeo smiled sadly. “Sandy,” he said, “I wish there was something I could do… If I could only go back in time or something and rough the guy up…”
I snorted laughter. Rough the guy up? Come on… But all the same, deep down I was really glad at the sentiment. “Typical proactive male,” I smiled, “go back in time? What are you, the terminator now or something?”
We both laughed at that and as it petered off into a comfortable silence our eyes met, gazing across the table at one another.
“It’s enough that you’re here,” I said, “enough that you even care to listen.”
“Sandy,” Romeo said, standing up from the table and walking slowly to my side. “I care. Jesus, I care.” He reached down and brushed his thumb and forefinger gently along my cheek, resting under my chin and tilting my head up towards him. My stomach erupted in flutters. My lips parted as he leaned down and we kissed, locked together in a moment that was timeless in that candle-lit quaint old Italian Café.
Things with Lisa had been going so much better since Valentine’s Day. After that first night with the Wild Cats—after all the gossip and commotion it had caused around campus in the ensuing days—he’d been almost certain that he’d blown it with her for good. But thanks to his friends, thanks to his family, he’d managed to win her back to him. First with Romeo and Sandy and then with Eyeball arranging to get him a table at Vivaldi through Sal, whose great-uncle Silvio owned a stake in the place.
Vivaldi had been amazing that night, Lou wearing a white tux over black pants, a white bib and a bowtie like the richest player in the city and Lisa looking absolutely stunning in a long white sparkling gown that she’d gotten on loan from her sister’s store, while they dined on fine cuisine and champagne that would have cost him several weeks’ wages if the bar gig had been the only thing going for him. Lisa had looked so incredible in her dress that Lou had gone in to buy it for her the very next day and after he presented it to her at his apartment the two had made love for hours, whether wrapped in a searing embrace in his bedroom, or feeding each other strawberries and cream straight from the fridge, still sweating in its cooling glow. Those two days had been like a dream and the fact that it had happened at all, that Sal had pulled those kinds of strings for him, surely meant promising things for his future.
And of course, Lisa wasn’t the only one whose furies had been tamed of late… T
hose Wild Cats up at CCU weren’t so wild anymore, in fact now they copped up to Lou and his crew with every little move they made and the whole operation was growing faster and proving to be more profitable than any of them had ever expected. That was why he’d been called to Sal’s HQ for a personal meeting with the man himself.
The streets were quiet as he made his way towards Sal’s club that day, with only one or two elderly gents strolling the sun-lit sidewalks (and of course anybody he passed greeted him by his first name—this was the Orange Grove after all). It had been uncharacteristically warm that winter and it seemed now like spring would be coming in early, which was good news to Lou since he detested the freezing weather with a vengeance. It was hard to look tough in a duffel coat and mittens, no matter how much effort you made, and Lou would have opted for a muscle-and-tattoo displaying tank top any day. Now though, he’d settled for a faded old members-only jacket over a dark wool jumper, jeans and boots. He was fairly certain that he looked tough in the garb, maybe in a weather-beaten dock-worker kind of way, and as he reflected on this, his posture and swagger grew a little more menacing.
He arrived outside the Eden and pushed his way through the two padded red doors that served as its entrance, stepping into the darkness inside. Classic rock music played on the speakers at a low volume while at the other end of the room, where the bar opened out into the main floor and stage, one of the day girls was strutting her stuff, apparently oblivious to the general lack of customers in the pit. In fact the whole place seemed to be empty, besides a couple of red-nosed old drunks hunched over their drinks at the bar, most likely lamenting the fact that between them they probably didn’t have the dollars required to pay for a single dance. Hard luck for them, Lou considered. With the kind of money he was making these days he could have purchased a group dance from every stripper in the place all at once (and tipped every one of them too) if he’d been so inclined. And he had to admit, the idea was strangely alluring…
He came up to the bar and the young server slowly stood up from her stool and nodded at him.
“Hey,” she said, “get you anything?”
“Nah,” Lou shrugged, “I’m just here to see Sal. He’s expecting me.”
The girl looked him up and down, obviously appraising his standing in the hierarchy of wiseguys and Lou instinctively stood a little taller, letting his muscles flex beneath his gear.
“He’s upstairs,” the girl said, “let me call him for you.”
“Thanks,” Lou nodded as she turned around and picked up the phone.
“Hi, Sal?” she said and her voice sounded a lot more sweet and respectful than it had been a moment ago when she was talking to Lou. “Some guy’s down here to see you, what you want me to do?” She listened for a moment, looking back at Lou and then nodded. “Sure thing.”
This time her tone was softer and more respectful and she smiled as she spoke to him. Damn right, Lou thought, I’m one of the company men, so you better show Respect…
“He told you to go on up. You know where the back office is?”
He had an idea, having seen Sal emerge from a door marked private upstairs, but had never been privileged enough to enter there himself. “Sure,” he nodded.
“Can I get you anything while you’re here?” the girl asked.
“Uh, yeah. A ginger ale with ice and a slice of orange.”
“Sure thing sugar,” the girl said and went to fix his drink. “I’ll send it up to you.”
“Thanks,” Lou nodded and made his way towards the stairs.
The VIP balcony area upstairs was closed off, with a red velvet rope and a sign marked “RESERVED” covering the gate at the top of the stairs. Lou stepped around it on his way up and made his way towards the office door, glancing over his shoulder to see if he was being watched, for some reason feeling paranoid even though he’d been invited in by the boss himself.
The thin, warped-looking hallway at the other side of the door stood in stark contrast to the svelte and stylish red and black décor of the club below. The walls were a faded, grubby yellow and there was no carpeting at all on the gritty wooden floorboards between them. He could hear a radio playing, as well as muffled voices coming through a door at the other end of the hallway. He walked down to it and knocked.
“Yeah?!”
“It’s Lou.”
“No shit! Come in!”
He opened the door and was surprised at how loud the music was on the other side—the men must have been shouting to talk over it—and he realized that the room had some kind of special soundproofing on the walls, nonetheless inadequate at keeping the noise in.
“Lou! Good to see you kid,” Sal called, “sit down.”
Sal was sitting behind a desk, his hair slicked back and his face marked with a thin film of sweat. He was wearing a black suit jacket and silky white shirt, several of the top buttons of which were open, unveiling a thick gold chain against his waxed and muscular chest. Behind him, further down the long, narrow room opposite a broad range of CCTV monitors, two older guys were dividing mounds of white powder into parcels and packing them up on a fold-out table. With their bulging necks, bald heads and grizzled faces, they looked to Lou like a cross between convicts and bouncers. Hell, at this place they probably were the bouncers. And if they weren’t convicts now, they probably had been at some point in their lives.
Trying his best not to show his discomfort, Lou sat down on the chair in front of Sal’s desk and grinned. Bizarrely, the music on the crackly old radio seemed to be some kind of upbeat old-timey salsa song and the temperature of the room was far hotter than anybody would find comfortable.
“Hey Sal,” he said, “how you doing?”
Sal picked up a half-smoked cigar from an ashtray and lit it. “Well,” he said, “I’m doing good Lou. I’m doing very good.” He pulled in a puff of blue smoke and then let it float from his lips into the atmosphere around him. Through the smoke, he considered his guest. “You want a cigar Lou?”
“Uh… sure.”
“These were a gift from Tony Bones up in Harlow,” Sal said as he produced a silver cigar case from one of the desk’s many drawers, “Cubans of the very finest variety. You know Tony?”
“Yeah,” Lou nodded, and then: “well no. I mean I never met him but I know who he is and all.”
“Relax,” Sal said, “you’ll meet him.” He held the case open for Lou and then lit a match, holding it out between thumb and forefinger for the younger man to light his cigar.
Lou took a drag, swirled it around in his mouth, as he was aware was the correct procedure, and then blew the smoke back out again. “Wow,” he said, “that’s a good cigar.”
“Yes it is,” Sal said. “Lou… Ferret and Eyeball, those little bastards, they tell me that your university operation is going very well for you fellas up there.”
“It is,” Lou nodded, “it’s going very well boss, that’s right.” For a second his eyes met with one of the two big behemoths packing powder at the other end of the room and he quickly looked away.
“What about these Wild Cat fenooks?” Sal asked, “These football players. Strangest crew I ever heard of.”
“Yeah, the Wild Cats,” Lou nodded, “we taught em a lesson. Now they work for us and not only that, they’re happy to as well. Eyeball schooled em, taught them how to make real bank. After he’d showed them all the tricks of the trade they thought we were gods.”
Sal smiled. “Drug-slinging 101 with Professor Eyeball and Assistant Ferret, something like that?”
Lou laughed, “Yeah, exactly. Good one Sal.”
The smile disappeared. “Yeah well even gods got to answer to someone. On the ground gods answer to priests. Or popes or some shit, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you remember who you answer to. You answer to me, a’capice?”
“Sure,” Lou nodded, “of course.”
“Those other two jackals might be your connect but you make sure you remembe
r who’s really in charge of this operation…”
“Yeah,” Lou said, “you’re the boss Sal, I know.”
“Good boy. Good boy. You know, I don’t think any of us ever thought there could be that much hustle in this thing—we’ll all get rich on this, long may it last—and I want to tell you Lou, if things keep up we might even make a whole new crew someday especially for the campus area up there. And kid, if you play your cards right I could see myself handing that crew over to you, how does that sound?”
Holy shit, was Sal actually offering him his own crew? Lou wasn’t even a made guy yet and already this? Incredible.
“Well yeah, that sounds amazing Sal,” he said, “obviously—but what about Ferret and Eyeball?”
“Forget Ferret and Eyeball. They work for me, in my crew. I need them at my side, but you, well this operation has been your thing from the start, right? You and the Mancini kid. All I’m saying is keep it up and we’ll see where it takes us. I’ll have to be bumped up myself to have that kind of sway so we’re talking a couple of years down the line here at least. You just keep the money rolling in until then and we’ll see what happens, a’capice?”
“Sure Sal, of course,” Lou nodded.
“But listen, don’t let the vote of confidence go to your head, ok Lou? You ever think of skimming or downplaying the numbers, you just remember—somebody’s always watching over your shoulder.”
At that moment the door opened and Sal looked up sharply. “Candy! What the fuck? You don’t knock?”
Lou turned on his chair to see a decidedly sheepish looking blonde bombshell in a shiny pink bikini and gold stilettos standing in the door. In her hands she held a tray with his drink on it.
“Sal, baby,” she whined, her face contorted in horror, “I’m sorry, but Junie asked me to bring up your friend’s drink. It was too busy downstairs for her to get away.”
“Then Lou can get his own drink!” Sal shouted, a fleck of spit shooting from his mouth, “you don’t ever, EVER, come in to my office without asking first, you hear me?”