“You’re a good boy, Dante. Let me say that while I have the opportunity.”
When he finally let go, Dante pulled up a chair and sat down across from him. “How goes the battle?”
“About like you’d expect. This morning’s not so bad.”
“Cara says you were up half the night.”
“I’m afraid I’ll die in my sleep.”
“Don’t want the Grim Reaper catching you unawares?”
“I intend to put up a fight,” Alfredo said. “Your father came to see me yesterday. We had a long talk.”
“Let me guess. He thinks I’m too hard on Cappi. He wants me to hand over the bale and let him run the circuit.”
“That was the gist of it. Not that I’m siding with Lorenzo, but how’s the kid going to learn responsibility if he’s never given any? I’m not making a judgment here so don’t get on your high horse. I’m just asking.”
“The ‘kid’ as you so aptly refer to him is forty-six years old. I think he’s already demonstrated his capacity for growth and maturity,” Dante said. “Cappi takes advantage. He wheedles and whines and next thing you know, Pop thinks he’s come up with the idea himself.”
“No doubt about it. Cappi pays me a visit, I know he’s working an angle, maneuvering for support.”
“He’s not getting it from me. I may make a show of teaching him the system but I’m not going to cut him in on the profits from an operation worth millions. You think that’s a good idea, you’re nuts.”
Alfredo tilted his head, his tone mild. “Here’s another way of looking at it. How many years you been saying you want out of the business? This might be your opportunity.”
“Doesn’t work that way. I’m fifty-four years old. What would I do, go to medical school? Get a law degree? It’s too late. Pop expected me to do this and I’m doing it. Now he expects me to turn the biggest chunk of it over to Cappi, who fucks up everything he does. I won’t do it.”
“How are you going to get around it when he’s made up his mind?”
“He can make up his mind about anything he wants. I’m the one in control. Anyway, ask me, he’s losing it. He’s talking about Amo and Donatello like they’re in the next room.”
“He’s forgetful sometimes. Happens to all of us.”
“Not you,” Dante said.
“I’m a special case,” Alfredo said wryly. “Big problem you got is Lorenzo doesn’t always see what Cappi’s up to. You should put a stop to it before it gets out of hand.”
“How?”
His uncle’s face registered distress. “What’s the matter with you? You know better. That’s not a question you should ever have to ask.” Alfredo studied him briefly. “You know what your problem is?”
“I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.”
“You’ve gone all dainty on me. There was a time when you’d have taken care of this. No talk, no hesitation.”
Dante smiled. “‘Dainty.’ That’s a first.”
“You know what I mean. Man in your position can’t afford a conscience. It’s unbecoming. You don’t back away from what’s difficult. You do what needs to be done.”
“You don’t believe we are what we do?”
“Of course. We just have to accept that about ourselves. That we’re corrupt, that our sins are mortal. God knows mine lie heavy on my soul.”
“And you wish the same torment on me?”
“You know what’s right.”
“Not what’s right. I know what’s expedient. I’m trying to rise above it for a change.”
Uncle Alfredo shook his head. “Contrary to your nature.”
“I’d like to think I’m a better man at this late stage in my life.”
“Your brother doesn’t share your moral sensibilities, which gives him the upper hand.”
“That’s how he looks at it, at any rate.”
Dante took his own car, a 1988 Maserati, silver with a black leather interior. He arrived at the Hatch at 12:45 and parked his car around the corner. He’d given his chauffeur and his bodyguard the day off, opting instead for a loaded Colt Lightweight Commander that he kept in a special compartment in the driver’s-side door. He’d instituted the heavy security measures two years before, when a Colombian gang set up shop in Perdido, twenty-five miles south of Santa Teresa. A crew of ten came to town, six men and four women, using driver’s licenses that identified them as Puerto Ricans. They were, in fact, trampling on territory run by a friend of his who was a Puerto Rican by birth and took offense, not only at their encroachment, but at their maligning his country of origin. Since Dante’s friend was in prison at the time, he’d volunteered to have his own men step in. They cornered the Colombians in a motel room, where a faulty heater exploded, killing the occupants and blowing off half the roof. After that, the remaining Colombians kept their distance but let it be known they’d settle the score in their own good time. Dante’s friend had been felled by a sniper’s bullet his first day out of prison, and from that point on Dante insisted on armed household guards and armor-plated transportation.
Entering the Hatch, Dante nodded at Ollie and took a table in view of the door. He wanted a bourbon and water but decided to abstain. Ordering a drink seemed like a cheat, as though seeing Nora again was something he couldn’t manage without being fortified with booze. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if she didn’t show. He was just as anxious at the idea that she
There was an impressive gathering of patrons at the bar, faces he’d seen on previous occasions. He hadn’t been at the Hatch for months, but nothing had changed. He looked around, seeing the place as Nora would see it, shabby and unappealing. No charm, no character. He’d chosen the spot because, as he’d said to her, there was no danger she’d run into anyone she knew. Those in her social circle had probably never heard of the bar and wouldn’t be caught dead there if they had.
His gaze strayed to the door, which stood open, admitting a column of daylight, smoky at the edges, as though a filter had been placed over a camera lens. The haze infused the room with a vintage air, a World War II movie set against a backdrop of loss and death and betrayal. That was a cheerful prospect. He didn’t know her at all, had no idea, for instance, whether she was punctual or habitually late. He checked his watch and saw that it was 1:00 straight up. Ten more minutes and he’d either order a drink or get up and leave. She was a happily married lady, or said she was, so why would she meet him here, or anywhere else for that matter? She was elegant. She had class. She was reserved and self-contained. There was something in her face that made him want to weep, that made him long to see her again, whatever the cost.
It was three minutes after one when she appeared in the doorway, blocking the light briefly as she came in. He stood. She saw him and crossed the room. He held a chair for her and she sat down. She wore a white wool suit with a short skirt. The jacket was neatly fitted, and where the lapels met the collar there was a rim of red lace. He nearly reached out and slid a finger down between her breasts.
He said, “I didn’t think you’d come.”
Her smile was brief. “I doubted it myself.” Her gaze flicked from the lighted neon beer sign mounted on the wall to the bar and from there to the cartoon arrow that pointed to the ladies’ room.
“I’d offer to buy you a drink, but you’re not comfortable.”
“Of course not. All this cigarette smoke? By the time I get home, my clothes will stink and I’ll have to wash my hair.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Place I want to show you. You’ll like it.”
“We’re going someplace else?”
“Don’t be so nervous. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
She dropped her gaze. “I have time constraints.”
“We’re not leaving town,” he said. “Let me correct myself. A short distance out of town. Fifteen minutes max.”
“What about my car?”
“I’ll bring you back. What time do you have to be home?”
“Four.”
“Not a problem.”
