jumped through the space between the floorboards, came crashing through Sal’s ceiling with guns blazing. I killed both the would-be assassins, and later learned they’d been sent by Artie Boots, the guy that tried to set me up.
You’d think Sal would have been grateful, but it took all this time for him to forgive me. One reason he finally began trusting me is because, with Victor and Hugo’s help, I took down Joe DeMeo. I seized several of Joe’s off shore accounts, worth millions of dollars, and gave Sal half of everything I stole.
Money may not buy happiness but enough of it buys loyalty.
As we stepped away from the bar, I spotted Sal and Marie holding court on the far end of the terrace. One by one, criminals approached him, kissed his cheeks, and handed him envelopes. Sal shook their hands, appeared to make some small talk, and spent a lot of time smiling. As the mugs left, Sal looked in the envelopes and said something to either T-Bone or Big Bad, his bodyguards. T-Bone seemed to be writing something in a small ledger book, probably recording the size of each man’s contribution. Then Sal deposited each envelope into a large wooden box on a bar table that Big Bad was guarding.
Kathleen and I were particularly impressed with the backyard.
At the center of the terrace, eight wide steps down led to the sun deck and swimming pool, which had been covered for the occasion with an enormous dance platform. An eight-piece swing band had set up in the gazebo, next to the pool house, but hadn’t started playing yet. For now, the music was provided by an unlikely pair of very old men. One, the violin player, had a shock of white hair and wore the thickest black glasses I’d ever seen. He moved through the crowd while playing, pausing occasionally to whisper something in the ear of each pretty lady he encountered. The other guy, the guitar player, squinted and scowled at the guests like a jealous lover, and did his best to keep up with the violinist, both musically and spatially.
“I love the musicians,” Kathleen said. “They’re so cute!”
“Cute,” I said.
“Well, just look at them. They must be eighty years old.”
I did look at them, in fact, I knew them. And “cute” didn’t seem an appropriate description. Johnny D and Silvio Braca were a pair of octogenarians who could play a romantic ballad one minute and break your knee caps the next.
“I wonder what he’s whispering to all those women,” I said.
Kathleen flashed a grin at me. “Maybe I’ll just walk over there and find out,” she said.
Chapter 12
Sal caught my eye and motioned us over. We worked our way over to him.
“This is my wife, Marie,” he said to Kathleen.
“And this is Kathleen,” I said.
I nodded at Big Bad and T-Bone and they each gave me a short, tight nod in return.
Sal made a great show of bowing and kissing her hand. Then he took a step back and appraised her body like a meat inspector deciding between choice and prime. Prime won.
“Ah,” he said, licking his lips. “You done good with this one here, Creed.”
Marie said, “Stop it Sal. You’re making the poor girl uncomfortable.” To Kathleen she said, “Don’t pay any attention to him. He thinks he’s a stallion.”
Kathleen smiled.
Marie’s eyes turned fierce. “I mean it,” she said. “Don’t pay any attention to him!”
Kathleen flashed me a look of confusion.
Sal said, “Marie, this is Creed’s girlfriend.” He emphasized the word by arching his eyebrows.
Marie showed skepticism.
“They’re adopting a kid, for Crissake,” he said.
Marie’s demeanor changed instantly. “Really, Donovan?”
“It’s true,” I said.
Marie beamed at Kathleen. “You’ll have to let me help you plan the wedding!”
Sal laughed. “Hell, they ain’t gonna exchange—whatcha call—nuptials. They’re going to keep living in sin like we
