could you have with this mangiacake?”
“That means white bread,” Phil told me.
“I know what it means,” I said.
“I been seeing this broad,” Ryan said. “You know, since me and Cara split up. The broad calls today, says the same car’s been outside her place all the time, following her around. I have a guy run the plate and Geller’s name comes up. The husband hired him ’cause he thinks she’s fooling around on him.”
“Which she is!” Phil said.
“Yeah, thanks, Philly. So I call Geller, pretend I got information for him, sucker him to the park here to give him a message. A taste of what he’ll get if he don’t leave her alone.”
“Yeah?” said Marco. “When we were walking over here, you were looking pretty chummy. Having this heart to heart.”
“You know me,” Ryan said. “I don’t have to raise my voice. I was trying to keep it low-key with so many people around.”
Just then a great shout went up from the southern diamond and a softball bounced into view. A game must have started there after we came down the path. An outfielder came loping after the ball with long strides, actually giving it a little effort. He stopped when he saw the four of us-one man with a bleeding mouth surrounded by three obvious thugs-and let the ball roll to the fence.
“You okay?” he called.
“Mind your own business, asshole,” Marco told him. The right fielder was tall, in shape, maybe thirty with a mane of blond hair and a thick red-blond beard. God bless this province’s Scottish roots. This guy wasn’t walking away. He waved at some of the other fielders to come join him.
“This is no good, boss,” Ryan said. “There’s people everywhere. A guy up the hill with a camera, for Chrissakes.”
“So why did you meet him here?” Marco asked.
“Who knew they’d play ball in this heat?” Ryan said. “Now he’s got the message, let’s go.”
“Yeah?” Marco turned to me. “The message get through?”
“Sure,” I said.
“I wanted to send you a message, you cocksucking Jew.” He shaped his hand into a gun and snapped his thumb down against his index finger like a hammer. The extended finger jabbed the bridge of my nose, his nail breaking the skin. “Like that,” he said, jabbing me again. “But I got outvoted. The old goats from my father’s time, pussyfooting around like you were a real cop. Only they’re not here now, are they? It’s just me and you and I know you’re not a cop. What do you say, Undercover Guy? How about I send a message right between your eyes?”
“Don’t do it,” Ryan said under his breath.
Marco turned away to look at Ryan. His profile was like a hatchet ready to split wood. “What did you say to me?”
“There’s too many-”
“You said, ‘Don’t do it.’ Like you were giving me orders. You’re not even Italian, you Irish fuck, where do you get off?”
“I’m trying to keep you out of jail,” Ryan said, nodding toward the softball players looking our way. More were walking toward us from the infield, carrying aluminum bats. Bench strength. You gotta love it in your team.
“It’s a long slow climb back up to the street,” Ryan said. “Take us ten minutes going uphill.”
“Take me fifteen,” Phil said.
“We do anything here,” Ryan said, “someone’s on a cellphone to the cops. By the time we get to our cars, the tac squad is waiting and the geezer with the camera has it on film.”
Marco looked up the hillside to where a group of sunset watchers had gathered. They were all staring at us, some of them pointing. Ed was at the centre, hunched over the camera. Stay there, I pleaded silently. Don’t show Marco your face. But he stood up, the damn fool. I hoped Marco had lousy eyesight to match his lifeless eyes.
“Someone could be calling right now,” Ryan said. “We got unregistered weapons here.”
“I got one, boss,” Phil said. “Don’t make me go back inside so soon.”
“He’s not worth it,” Ryan said. “Like you said, he’s a douchebag, a pube. He’s nothing.”
“A million he cost me.”
“He’ll cost you more if we don’t go.”
Marco sighed unhappily. “Okay, Dante, okay. You made your point.”
“Just looking out for you, boss.”
“I appreciate that,” Marco said, with all the warmth of a jackal. He squared up to face me. “You got lucky this time, Geller. Won’t happen again.” He turned as if to walk away, then spun back and threw a wild right hook at my jaw. The punk couldn’t help thinking he had a freebie coming, but his telegraphed punch was easy to slip. I backed away in a fighting stance. I had let Dante Ryan work me over, for both our sakes, but Marco would have to earn anything he got.
I backed quickly toward the open field where more people would see what was happening. Marco charged toward me, leaving Ryan and Phil in the shelter of the picnic tables. He squared up and threw a short left. I blocked it hard with my forearm. He threw a right and I banged it aside harder.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. “You can only hit guys who are being held down?”
“You want I should hold him?” Phil asked.
“Stay right there! I don’t need help.” Marco rushed at me with his head down and tried to knock me over, dead easy to sidestep and trip. He went sprawling onto his knees and elbows.
“Minchia!” Marco yelled.
Phil translated again. “Prick or pussy, depends what part of Italy you’re from.”
“Fight like a man,” Marco panted, his hands on his knees.
“And put you at a disadvantage?”
He rushed at me and tried to kick me in the balls. I swept his kicking leg up and away with my forearm and he fell hard to the ground, landing on his back.
I wanted to go after him, beat him worse than I had Claudio. But if I went too far the guns might come out, and with these guys, who knew where too far was?
Marco got up slowly and gave me the dead eyes. “That’s it,” he said. “I don’t care how many people are around.” He reached into his back pocket and came out with a black object that looked like a pen until he moved his thumb and a six-inch blade shot out the end. Then it looked a lot like a stiletto. He came at me, feinting with the blade, trying to get me to plant my feet. I kept my eyes on his knife hand. Marco lunged forward and swept the knife toward my chest. I backed far enough away to dodge the blade easily, but stepped in a rut and stumbled. He swept the knife at me again, slashing the front of my shirt but breaking no skin.
“Hey!” came a shout behind us.
I regained my feet and darted right, risking a quick glance. The cavalry had arrived in the form of half a dozen ballplayers.
“Come on,” Ryan urged Marco. “We’re drawing a fucking crowd here.”
“All right, Jewboy,” Marco said to me. Sweat was dripping off the end of his nose. “You get a free pass for now. But I’m not through with you, got it? You’re dead meat, man. Dead kosher meat.” He laughed and Phil chimed in a moment later. Ryan forced a grin. I clenched my fists.
“No one talks to me like you did,” Marco said.
“More people should.”
“Shut up, Geller!” Dante Ryan said. “Just shut it!” Was he still playing a part here or genuinely concerned that I was going too far? “And stay away from that woman’s house, understand? You go near her again, I’ll kill you myself.”
“Get in line,” I said.
“Come on,” Marco said. “It’s too fucking hot down here.”
He retracted the blade and put the knife away.
“You all right?” the big blond called.
I told him I was and thanked him. He and a few others looked like they wanted to take the bats to Marco, but I waved them off. Who knew what Phil might do if someone took a swing at his boss?
“Look out!” someone shouted. I turned just in time to see Marco rushing at me from the right, the knife blade
