'He's white, a missionary.'
'They all come with their hand out. How much's he want?'
'It's a pitch,' Bernacki said, 'but has an interesting twist to it, an idea you might go for.'
'All right what is it?'
'I'd rather you hear it in person.'
'The phone's okay.'
'They hang wires, Tony, outside the house. You know that. Listen, why don't I set it up? Instead of heating it twice, you hear it directly from Fr. Dunn. Today, so we don't mess around trying to pick a date that's agreeable.'
'A mick priest, he's got his fuckin hand out. That, I'm sure Of.'
'As I say, there's an angle you might like.'
'You're absolutely sure of' this guy?'
'A man of God, Tony, vouched for by someone I trust all the way.
'All right, I'll set it up and let you know. Hey, and tell him to bring some holy oil. He can give me the last rites ahead of time, get it out of the way.'
19
THEY WAITED IN A PART of the restaurant that could be closed off for private parties: Tony Amilia and his lawyer, Ed Bernacki, at a round table that would seat ten, covered with a white tablecloth. On it were dishes of olives, several bottles of Pellegrino, a pot of coffee, glasses and cups, ashtrays, one in front of Tony sipping coffee and smoking a cigarette. Bernacki was next to him and they'd talk, but never loud enough for Vincent Moraco, standing by the table, to hear what they said. Vincent, buttoned up in his dark suit and shirt, moved to the open doors of the section. From here he could look through the empty restaurant to the entrance where Vito Genoa was waiting for the priest.
Vincent had asked Tony, 'Who we meeting?' Tony said, 'A priest.' He asked him, 'What priest?' thinking of the one from last night, and Tony said, 'A priest, okay?' Tony with one foot still in the Church from going to his grandchildren's baptisms and First Communions.
Twenty years ago Vincent would never've asked the boss-a different boss then-who they were meeting. He never spoke unless he was spoken to first. Now it didn't matter. You couldn't say old Tony was one of the boys, like you could bullshit with him; still, you could call him Tony and you could piss and moan about the trial fucking up business. All Tony'd say was wait, they'd be back running things again. Just before the trial, Tony said to him, 'How come you weren't indicted, Vincent?' sounding suspicious, but never coming out and asking had he made a deal with the government. Vincent told him, the main reason, he never talked to those street assholes. Even in a car he never said a fuckin word about business-and thanked Almighty God he hadn't the one and only time he went to the courtroom, sat with the visitors, and they played the tapes they got off the bugs in the cars.
The two yahoos talking tough. JoJo and that fuckin grease ball Tito, both of 'em now federal witnesses. He asked Tony, after, if he wanted 'em taken out and Tony said, 'What do those two fuckups have to tell? The only thing they have is hearsay, or my word against theirs. Ed'll ask 'em on the stand what kind of deal they made and that will be that.'
The tapes were identified as the rainy day they were across the street from the bookie joint on Michigan Avenue and wouldn't get out of the car. They're talking-you could tell their voices-JoJo the Dogface Boy, they called him, saying 'What do you think would happen if old Tony got whacked?' Tito, who doesn't know shit, says he doesn't know, but then asks, 'Who'd take over?' JoJo says,
'That's what I'm talking about. It's how you move up in the crew.
The way Gotti did it in New York when he took out Castellano. New York, they know how to do it. Here, you sit on your dead ass.' Tito's voice: 'You want to whack out Tony?' JoJo: 'All I'm asking is what would happen.'
Bullshit. He was thinking about it or he wouldn't mention it to Tito. Some of the other guys could be thinking about it, too.
That time when he spoke to Tony about taking the yahoos out and Tony said no, he spoke up to him. He said, 'Tony, people hear what's on those tapes-those assholes can't even drive home without getting lost-people will lose respect for us, think we're a bunch of morons.' Tony said don't worry about it and went to take a piss.
The old man a boss in name only now. He's convicted and goes away, the door'd be open and Vincent believed he could walk right in. Tony doesn't go to prison, then you have to wait for him to piss himself to death, or, as the two morons were saying, somebody whacks him out. If that ever happened and who knows?-then he'd walk in and take over. The first thing he'd do, keep Randy's eight K a week for himself and become Randy's full-time partner, hang out at the restaurant, let people see him, know who he was. He believed rich broads especially liked to meet gangsters, flirt with a guy known to be dangerous. Wear a tux. Fuckin Tony lived like a mole, stayed in his hole till he had to go to court. He wouldn't say what this meeting was about. Only that it was a priest coming. It had to be the same one from last night who called Vito a guinea faggot. The guy had nerve for a priest.
They came over 10 Mile to Kelly Road, Debbie driving, turned right and there it was. 'La Spezia.' Terry said, 'Closed on Sunday.'
Debbie said, 'Not if this is where Tony wants to meet. What time is it?'
'Four-twenty.'
'Perfect. Ed said don't come before a quarter after.' Turning into the lot she said, 'There's a guy at the door who looks like your friend.'
They parked in front of the place, its low-sloping roof and A-frame facade making her think of a ski lodge. She waited for Terry to get his bag of photos from the backseat and together they approached Vito Genoa holding the door open.
'How you doing, Father?'
It reminded Terry to hunch over a little more, show a stiffness in his neck as he turned his head. He said, 'I think I'll live.'
Following them inside Vito said, 'You shouldn'ta said that to me.'
Terry kept his neck stiff and turned his body to say, 'Now you tell me.'
They came through the empty restaurant, white tablecloths and place settings in the gloom, and the neat little guy Debbie recognized from last night, Vincent Moraco, motioned to them to approach the round table. She saw Tony Amilia in a blue warm-up jacket watching them as Ed spoke to him, Tony nodding. She didn't know if they were supposed to sit down at the table. It didn't look like it, because now Ed was looking at them his expression solemn, he could be at a wakeand said, 'You understand this is not a social occasion. I've told Mr. Amilia who you are, so go ahead, tell us what you have in mind.'
Terry stepped up to the table with his athletic bag, zipping it open, and Ed said, 'Father, you're gonna make the presentation?'
He didn't get a chance to answer. Vincent Moraco appeared next to him, took the bag from him and felt inside. He placed it on the table and said to Terry, 'I'm gonna have to pat you down, Father, since we don't know you.' Vincent's tone pleasant enough. 'You could be some guy dressed like a priest.'
Terry turned to him holding his suitcoat open. He said, 'I understand.
Go ahead.'
Debbie kept her eyes on Tony, his face and balding crown tan from a winter in Florida. He wore tinted, wire- frame glasses and could be taken for a retired business executive, a former CEO now taking it easy.
Vincent Moraco stepped aside and now Terry began bringing out his photos, reaching out to lay them in rows across the middle of the table.
Debbie watched Tony lighting a cigarette, talking to Ed now, showing no interest in what Terry was doing. She wanted Terry to notice and hurry up, get on with it. He looked up, finally-And said, 'I'm sure you've seen pictures of homeless kids before, orphans with no one to take care of them. These kids represent thousands just like them, left on their own to search through garbage dumps for food, because their parents were murdered, most
