out toward me.
'I don't smoke.'
'Come on. Have a cigar.'
I took a cigar. In truth, all Wasp lawyers know how to have a cigar, because it's part of certain rituals. I took the cigar out of its metal tube and punctured the end with a silver pick that Bellarosa handed me. Bellarosa lit me up with a gold table lighter, then lit himself up. We puffed billows of smoke into the room. I asked, 'Aren't these illegal?'
'Maybe. We'd trade with the devil in hell if we needed fire. But cigars we don't need, so fuck Cuba. Right? Horseshit.'
So much for world events. Now, the local news. 'This is your office?' 'Yeah. When I first saw it, it was all painted pink and white. Even the wood floor was painted. The real estate lady liked it. She said decorators did it for some kind of show.'
'A designer showcase,' I informed him.
'Yeah. Every fucking room looked like some fairies got loose with paintbrushes.' I looked around. This was the library that Susan had once told me about, the one that had existed in an English manor house and had been purchased by the Dillworths in the 1920s. The shelves were all dark oak, filled with books, though I was certain they were not from the original library. There was a fireplace on one wall, and on the opposite wall were double doors that led out to the balcony from which I'd seen the light when I was riding here in April. In the centre of the large room was an oak desk with a green leather top. Behind the desk in a large alcove, sort of a secretary's station, I could make out a word processor, copy machine, telex, and fax. The Mafia had gone high tech. Bellarosa said, 'It cost me five large to get the paint stripped off this room.
Then another five for the books. Books go for ten bucks a foot.'
'Excuse me?'
'There's five hundred feet of bookshelf. Books are ten bucks a foot. So that's five large… five thousand.' He added, 'But I had a few books of my own.' I guess you can talk money here. I observed, 'That saved you a few bucks.'
'Yeah. I had my school books.'
'Machiavelli.'
He smiled. 'Yeah. And Dante. St Augustine. You ever read that guy?'
'Yes. Have you read St Jerome?'
'Sure. His collected letters. I told you, those Christian Brothers made me learn.' He jumped out of his chair, went to a shelf, located a book, and opened it. 'Here's St Jerome. I like this. Listen.' He quoted, ''My country is prey to barbarism, and in it men's only God is their belly, and they live only for the present.'' He shut the book. 'So what's new? Right? People don't change. If this guy wasn't a priest, he would've said, 'Their belly and their cock.' Men follow their cocks around and that's how they ruin their lives. You gotta think with your head, not your cock. You got to think of the future before you stick it someplace it don't belong.'
'Easier said than done.'
He laughed, 'Yeah.' He looked at his books. 'Sometimes I sit here at night with one of those old school books. Sometimes I think I should've been a priest. Except for… you know… my cock.' He added, 'Women. Jesus Christ, they drive me nuts.'
I nodded in sympathy. 'You aren't a real bishop then?' He laughed again and put the book back. 'No. My uncle used to call me his bishop because my head was all full of this stuff from La Salle. He used to say to his friends, 'This is my nephew, the bishop.' Then he'd make me recite something in Latin.'
'You speak Latin?'
'Nah. Just some stuff I leaned by memory.' He went to a serving cart and took a decanter and two brandy snifters from it and put them on the coffee table. He sat again and poured a dark fluid into the glasses. 'Grappa. You ever have this?'
'No.'
'It's like brandy, but worse.' He raised his glass to me.
I picked up my glass, we clinked, and I poured it down. I should have listened to Bellarosa's veiled warning about grappa. I can drink anything, but this was something else. I felt my throat burn, then my stomach heaved, and I thought I was about to blow the coffee hour all over the cigars. Through watery eyes I saw Bellarosa watching me over the rim of his glass. I cleared my throat. 'Mamma mia …'
'Yeah. Sip it.' He finished his grappa and poured himself another, then held the bottle toward me.
'No, thanks.' I tried to breathe, but the cigar smoke was thick.
I put my cigar out, stood, and went out onto the balcony.
Bellarosa followed, with his cigar and his glass. He said, 'Nice view.'
I nodded as I breathed the clear night air. My stomach settled down. He pointed off in the distance with his cigar. 'What's that place? You can't see it at night. It's like a golf course.'
'Yes. Exactly like a golf course. That's The Creek.'
'Greek?'
'Creek. A country club.'
'Yeah? They play golf there?'
'Yes. On the golf course.'
'You play golf?'
'A bit.'
'I can't see that game. How's it fun?'
I thought a moment, then replied, 'Who said it was?' I added, 'They have skeet shooting, too. Do you shoot?'
He laughed.
I thought it was time to let Frank Bellarosa know I was a real man. I said, 'I'm not bad with a shotgun.'
'Yeah? I fired a shotgun once.'
'Skeet or birds?' I inquired.
He stayed silent a moment, then replied, 'Birds. Ducks.' He added, 'I don't like shotguns.'
'How about rifles?' I asked.
'Yeah. I belong to a club in the city. The Italian Rifle Club. It's a social club. You probably heard of it.'
Indeed I had. An interesting establishment in Little Italy, some of whose members had never fired a sporting rifle in their lives, but who found the rifle range in the basement convenient for pistol practice. I asked, 'What type of rifle do you own?'
'I don't remember.'
I tried to recall how the Colombian drug king was murdered. Pistol, I think.
Yes, five bullets in the head from close range.
'You feel better?' he asked me.
'Yes.'
'Good.' Bellarosa sipped his grappa, smoked his contraband cigar, and surveyed his kingdom. He pointed again with the cigar. 'I found a fountain over there and a statue of Neptune. That's where that guy scared the hell out of Anna. You ever seen that?'
'Yes. I've ridden all over this land.'
'That's right. Anyway, I fixed that whole place up. The pool, the fountain, the statue. I put a statue of the Virgin there, too, and had the whole thing blessed by a priest friend of mine. You gotta see it.'
'The priest blessed the statue of Neptune?'
'Sure. Why not? Anyway, there was these Roman ruins there, too. Broken columns and all. The landscape guy said it was built like that. That right?' 'Yes.'
'Why did they build a ruin?'
'That was popular once.'
'Why?'
I shrugged. 'Maybe to remind themselves that nothing is forever.'
'Like, sic transit gloria mundi.'
I looked at him. 'Yes. That's it.'
