“Am too!”
We climbed the steps and entered the house. I remembered every nook and cranny of the place from two years earlier, when I’d broken into this very same home and set up residency in Sal’s attic for a week.
The party was in full swing. Some of the guests were half plastered, as evidenced by the young, up-and-comer from Dayton, who shouted, “Hey, Creed! Yeah, I’m talking to you. You think you’re hot shit? You ain’t nothin’!”
Beside me, I could feel Kathleen’s body tensing.
I gave him the hard stare and his eyes went wild. He started moving toward me. Lucky for him, his father grabbed him by the collar and passed him off to his bodyguards.
“My son has no manners,” said Sammy “The Blond” Santoro. “Please forgive him, Mr. Creed. It’s the liquor talking. I shouldn’t have brought him.”
I looked at him without speaking. We’d made it maybe ten feet inside Sal’s home and I was already on the verge of being exposed.
Sammy, a well-known killer in his own right, a city boss in Sal’s organization—was visibly nervous, practically cowering. Bringing Kathleen to this party had been a mistake. I could only imagine what she must be thinking. She had to be wondering why these hardened men were terrified of me.
“Mr. Creed, I’m prepared to make this right,” he said.
I moved close to him and whispered something in his ear. He bowed, thanked me profusely, and backed away.
“What on earth did you say to that man?” Kathleen said.
“I told him he and his son gave a great performance.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s all part of the show,” I said. “Sal hires people to maintain the theme. It’s all staged, like when you go to a Wild West town and a gunfight breaks out in the saloon.”
The foyer led to the huge great room, decorated in white. We crossed the foyer and got stuck in guest traffic for a minute.
“You think a phony gunfight might break out tonight?” Kathleen said.
“If it does, just play along,” I said.
Looking over her shoulder I watched Sammy “The Blond” and his goons drag Sammy’s son out the front door. One goon had his meaty hand smothering the kid’s mouth so I wouldn’t hear the insults he was attempting to hurl at me.
I recognized Jimmy “The Pearl” Remini standing next to us.
“Hi Jimmy,” I said.
He turned to see who was speaking. When he recognized me his face blanched.
“Jimmy?”
“The Pearl” had gone mute.
“Jimmy, it’s okay,” I said, extending my hand. “I’m just a guest here, saying hello.”
Jimmy breathed a visible sigh of relief. “Jesus, you startled me,” he said. “I haven’t seen you since—” he stopped to consider his words.
“Since that thing,” I said, helpfully.
“Yeah, right,” he said “the thing.”
We introduced our significant others, and Kathleen said, “What thing?”
“Take care, Jimmy,” I said. “You too, Mrs. Remini.”
