used to do.” He gave her a wink.
“We did nothing of the kind,” Marie huffed. She turned to Kathleen. “That true? No marriage?”
Before Kathleen could think of a response, Marie shook her head and left us to chat with some guests.
Sal said, “You bring an envelope?”
“Better than that,” I said, “but we have to go inside to get it.”
“No shit?” Sal said. “Then let’s go!”
He told T-Bone to guard the stash and motioned to Big Bad to follow us. We started making the journey through the crowd of well-wishers and glad handlers. As we walked I said, “How’d you know about the adoption?”
Sal smiled. “I got my—whatcha call—sources.”
To Kathleen, Sal said, “You ever see this one fight?”
“I
Sal said, “Heard him? What’s that mean?”
She gave me a look. I said, “Nellie’s Diner. Joe DeMeo’s goons.”
Sal said, “You was there?”
Kathleen nodded. “Sort of,” she said. “I was in the restaurant, hiding under a table.”
We entered the great room. Santo Mangano waved from the foyer and yelled, “Hey, Sallie!” Sal returned the wave.
“Thing of beauty,” Sal said, “the way Creed—whatcha call—inflicts physical damage. We was in a place one time, some martial arts guy was drunk and comes at me for no frickin’ reason. Before Big and T have a chance to react, Creed goes after this guy and I swear to Christ, it looked like a cyclone fightin’ a water bug!”
Kathleen squeezed my arm. “You think that’s something, you should see him in the sack.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Except in the sack, I’m the water bug.”
Sal started to laugh but a thunderous voice suddenly took over all the speakers in the house. He flinched slightly, but stood his ground. All around us, gangsters hit the floor, pulling their wives down with them. Women screamed as their husbands scrambled for cover. Guns were produced from ankle and shoulder holsters. Servers brandished knives, proving me right about the brandishing.
The voice was masculine, and powerful, like the wrath of God.
The voice boomed: “The mightiest warriors are not the most physically impressive!”
The lights went out and circles of blue lasers started flashing at the far end of the foyer. The giant voice spoke again.
“Behold the mightiest warriors of all time!”
A giant cloud of smoke appeared and the lights came back on. A wheelchair stood where the smoke had been. Not an ordinary wheelchair, but one fashioned from space age materials. It was equipped with a series of roll bars, lights, and all manner of electronic equipment. Navigating the chair was a little person with enormous dreadlocks, wearing an electrified shirt.
Victor.
At Victor’s side, the ever-present, always angry Hugo, “The Little General,” stood guard. Hugo was Victor’s aide, confidante, and advisor in all things military. Victor and Hugo were little people who dreamed of conquering the world with their midget army. If they ever succeeded it truly would be a small world, after all.
All eyes turned to Sal.
“Relax,” he said. “The little guys wanted to make a—whatcha call—entrance. I told ‘em, knock yourselves out.”
