Joey was thinking, come on Unk, give it a fucking rest, okay? Jesus Christ.
Then, like he was reading Joey's mind, he said, ' Mi dispiace, Giuseppe. You must be tired from your journey.'
Fucking-A right he was tired.
'Mauro will take you up to your room. We meet for lunch on the veranda in an hour. Is enough time?'
'Sure,' Joey said. That was more like it. Christ, invite him in, show a little family hospitality.
Mauro was a quiet, skinny little guy looked like he weighed about 120, with skin so dark, at first, Joey thought he was a jig, but he had the features of a white guy. Like somebody had taken brown shoe polish and covered his face. He had picked Joey up at the airport, waiting outside customs, holding up a little sign said SIGNOR BITONTE, Joey's fake name, his alias. On the way to the villa Mauro didn't say anything, not a fucking word for three and a half hours.
Now he carried Joey's suitcases up a winding staircase to his room that had a wood floor and a bed that had posts and some kind of fabric over it, looked like a girl's bed. Mauro put the suitcases on the floor and started to walk out of the room.
Joey said, 'Hey, Mauro, wait, I've got a tip for you.'
Mauro stopped and turned.
Joey said, 'Never feed a Canadian,' grinning, fucking with the skinny little guy.
Mauro looked at him but didn't react and walked out of the room.
Joey looked out the leaded glass windows, saw a good- looking babe sunning herself topless by the pool, nice taters and they looked real. Joey thinking he was going to like it here. He didn't have a choice. His father said he'd have to stay away for a while, see how it all played out.
His father had made the decision, told Joey he'd fucked up and there was nothing any of their people could do for him. He had to leave the country, move to Italy, stay with his uncle until it blew over. Joey's dad was Vito Corrado's under-boss.
Joey understood the situation, knew this business with Sharon — when and if it became known — would reflect poorly on his father, embarrass him and jeopardize his standing in the family. Getting rid of Joey would be seen as proactive, Joe P. handling the situation, taking care of it, protecting the family even at the expense of his son.
Joey told his dad what happened with Sharon.
His dad said, 'What's the matter with you? All the girls in the city, you pick her?'
Joey had asked himself the same question, but he didn't pick her. 'We met, started going out, she said she was separated, getting a divorce.'
'You got to check the people you go out with.'
Like his father knew anything about dating. Joe P. had gotten married to his mother in a Sicilian village forty- five years earlier. He doubted his dad had ever had a date in his life. Joey remembered his expression when he told him what happened, the old man's dark eyes sunken behind the thick lenses of his glasses, black horn-rims — Jesus Christ, looking at Joey like he was a little kid.
'You know how this is going to make me look?'
Yeah, he knew. That's what this was all about.
'You think we want a federal agent snooping around, sticking his nose in our business?'
He didn't want it either, but what could he do now? Nothing. So the solution was to get rid of Joey. He didn't tell his father he and Sharon had had phone conversations for five weeks and sent emails back and forth to each other. He doubted his father knew what email was. There were also phone records and sooner or later Sharon's husband was going to figure it out and come looking.
That's why he'd cleaned out the house, packed everything in boxes and had Anthony take it all to a storage place. The husband came calling, Joey wouldn't be there. And nobody but his old man knew where he was.
He'd never fallen for a girl as hard and fast as he did for Sharon. He was sure she was the one. Asked her to marry him and she said, I've got to tell you something. He remembered what she said like there was a tape recorder in his head.
'I can't marry you 'cause I'm already married. I should've told you. I'm sorry. I care about you. I really do.'
He was head over fucking heels, and she said she cared about him. By the way she acted, he thought it was mutual that she was into it as much as he was. How could he have been so wrong? Joey had said, 'You're married? What're you doing going out to bars?' Joey believed that married women should be faithful at all times. There were rules you followed and lived by.
Sharon had said, 'I'm lonely.'
Joey said, 'You're lonely, huh? How many of us have there been?'
Sharon said, 'Listen to me, I'm crazy about you. I really am.'
That sounded a little better. If she was putting him on she was pretty goddamn good. Joey said, 'If you're not happy, why don't you get a divorce?' He felt bad for her locked in a fucked-up marriage.
'I'm afraid of him,' Sharon said.
Joey said, 'You've got nothing to worry about, I'll protect you.' He grinned, thinking he'd have a talk with the guy, tell him the way it was, the way it was going to be. He sipped his champagne, picturing the husband, a balding, out-of-shape suburban executive wearing a coat and tie. This was before Joey found out who the guy was.
Sharon looked out at the lake. He could tell she was worried. 'What's your husband do, he's out of town all the time?'
'Works for the government,' Sharon said.
'For the government?'
'Uh-huh.'
'Don't tell me he's with the IRS.' You didn't want them on your ass. They could make your life miserable.
Sharon said, 'He's not.'
Joey was curious now. 'What's he do?'
She held up the champagne flute. 'Can I have some more?'
Joey grabbed the neck of the champagne bottle and pulled it out of the cooler. He said, 'Come on. What's the big deal?'
'He's a special agent in the Secret Service.'
Joey stood there, mouth open, staring at her, unable to move or talk, like her words had Tasered him. When he could, he said, 'Tell me you making this up?' But he knew she wasn't.
Chapter Fifteen
Dr Mencuccini said, 'Impressive, isn't it?'
She gazed out across the lower level of the Colosseum, students packed in a tight group in front of her.
'Fifty thousand Romans could enter and be in their seats in ten minutes. Can you imagine that happening in a modern stadium?'
McCabe wondered if he paid more attention to Dr Mencuccini than his other teachers because she was good- looking. She reminded him of an aging starlet, early forties, with a small knockout body and dark hair. She had her own style, wore scarves and coats over her shoulders, and designer sunglasses.
Chip standing behind him said, ''All gladiators up to the training area at once,'' in a theatrical Brit voice.
The students around him could hear but not the teacher.
Dr Mencuccini said, 'The concrete core — with its miles of corridors and stairways — was a masterpiece of engineering.'
Chip said, ''What sort of man is this leader of the slaves?' 'I don't know. I think they call him Spartacus.''
McCabe could see students next to him smiling.
