Accidental Mobster (7 page)

Someone is letting Baxter into my room at night (although I always forget to ask who), and I hate to admit that I enjoy walking the little dog around the fancy neighborhood. Vince often joins me on these walks, even though he spends most of the time teasing me about getting attached to a dog that is really more like a rat. I don't mind the teasing or the dog, and I decide that if and when I go back to Ridley, I will force my parents to get me a dog to make up for traumatizing me. But maybe I'll ask for something a little less girly than Baxter. Julia ignores me as easily as she ignores everyone else at the Vigliotti house. Whenever I see her, she makes an effort to show me just how little I matter in her life. I could care less—she is certainly gorgeous, but after meeting Portia, Julia's snooty attitude makes her slightly less attractive. In fact, I'm glad that my lack of interest seems to irritate her.

“She's usually worshipped by boys, so she's offended by any male interest that is less than extreme,” Vince tells me. “I'd show her some attention if you want her to be friendly.”

I just shrug, but am thrilled with the little power I hold.

The day before school begins, I am finally becoming comfortable with the idea of attending Newcastle High. High school would be a challenge regardless of whether I went to Ridley or Newcastle, and Newcastle may actually be a better experience because I have the connections and the clothes that I never had in Ridley. However, I know my reputation as a good wrestler at Ridley won't matter at Newcastle unless I prove myself. What if I'm not as good or can't make the team? This motivates me to go jogging and work out in the Vigliotti's home gym, especially with all the pizza Vince and I have been consuming. Vince mocks me when I work out and has no intention of joining me.

That same day, my mom shows up on the Vigliotti doorstep. I am still damp from my after-jogging shower as I answer the doorbell and am ashamed of the panic I feel when I see her. Mom looks terrible. Her bleached hair is pulled back from her face in a limp ponytail, and her face is clear of the usual five pounds of makeup she applies daily. The bruise on her left cheek is conspicuous in the glaring sunlight. Her green eyes are bloodshot, and the wrinkles around them seem to have been etched overnight. I would never have considered my mother beautiful, but now she appears weary and miserable. A battered Volkswagen sits in the driveway; I remember it belongs to the lady who owns the salon where Mom works.

“Hi,” I say quietly. “Are you okay?”

She nods, her eyes brimming with tears as she notices the stitches in my head. “I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry.”

“Have you come to get me?” I ask abruptly, even though I wish I didn't have to hear the answer.

But to my surprise, she shakes her head, a tear trailing down her tanned, crinkled face. I feel relief, but I don't want Mom to cry, especially not out on the Vigliotti doorstep. I pull her inside the house. She immediately appears out of place in the luxurious environment. Is that how I looked when I arrived here? I wait as she takes in the impressive foyer and elegant staircase; she seems to be lost in thought, so I finally clear my throat. Mom turns to face me. “It's been so long. I had forgotten how wonderful everything was.”

“Yeah—it's pretty amazing. How do you know these people?”

She ignores my question, and I wonder whether I will ever find out how a woman like my mom knows people like the Vigliottis. Instead, she looks me over, her eyes skimming my new clothes. “Are you okay, Danny? Do you like it here?” she asks. I shrug; I don't know how much to tell her, thinking I will hurt her feelings if she knew
how
much I like it at the Vigliotti's. “It's fine. It's easy to get used to the nice stuff, I guess. What happened to Dad?” I ask, changing the subject.

“I'm not sure. I've been staying with Sue. I guess he's back at the house. No one's pressing charges, so the city's not going to waste their time with it,” she says, her face expressionless.

So, Mr. Doonesby didn't press charges, I realize. Maybe my principal feels guilty about the whole mess.

He should
.

Mom continues to study me, staring at my head for a long moment, and I shift from one leg to another, feeling uncomfortable under her scrutiny. “But are
you
okay? After everything—you know—how are you handling it?” she asks breathlessly, as though she almost can't ask the question, just as the look on her face says she doesn't really want an answer.

I stare at her. I can think of many things to say—many things I want to shout at her. The pain and loneliness take hold of me, threatening to become angry words. So I say nothing. Isn't that what she wants anyway? What good would anger be for either of us now? Neither of us can handle it, neither of us wants it. She should leave, just as she did a few weeks ago. Leave and let me live this new life that is the only item of worth she has ever given me. I can feel myself trying to tell her these things with my expression, and fortunately, whether Mom understands the exact message or just my emotions, my meaning seems to push its way through.

“I've gotta go, Danny. I still have so much that needs to be done before we can be a family again.” Her eyes look at me hopefully.

I feel heartless as I gaze back at her without giving any sign that there is still hope for our relationship. I can't forgive her, at least, not at this moment—and not for some time to come. Even though I am feeling selfish now, she is the one who was selfish. That selfishness took me from her, and perhaps, that is exactly what self-centered people deserve. She puts a hand on my shoulder, and I stand motionless. I can't hug her—not yet. A few more tears stream from her eyes, and she turns and leaves the house. I have given her no indication that I miss her, and now she is leaving again. And I am ashamed that I am glad.

* * * *

Later that night, I lay my clothes out and gather my school supplies into my expensive new backpack. I am so excited and nervous about the next day that I wonder if I will get any sleep. I want to make a good impression and blend into the background all at the same time. And I find myself wondering if I will see Portia, and if so, will she be friendly like she was before? And will Vince pretend that he barely knows me, ignoring the last week of fun we've had together in order to not appear to be “friends” with a freshman? I decide that's probably a good possibility based on Vince's past behavior.

I choose a pair of jeans and a green polo shirt and wipe a scuff mark from my shoe. I try to think of what else I might need. My sunglasses! I skim the room and rack my brain for where I might have left them. Then I remember the argument Vince and I had on the way to pick up milk for Ronnie. Vince, who had once again been driving the Lexus, had grabbed my expensive shades from my face and had thrown them in the backseat after an argument over the score on a recent video game. I had grabbed for Vince's sunglasses in retaliation, but I quickly gave up when Vince's attempt to fight me off resulted in the Lexus swerving toward the guardrail of the highway. I now realize I never retrieved my glasses from the backseat. The house is quiet as I leave my room and make my way toward the garage. Ronnie is having a girls night out, and Vince and Julia are probably in their rooms, although almost certainly not in bed yet—it's only nine p.m. Gino is nowhere to be found, and I guess that he is out, possibly working. Ronnie explained that Gino is a computer networking specialist who works mostly during the night on company computers so as not to disrupt the company's normal daily business. I do not think Gino fits the stereotype of a computer technician, but then, I don't know many computer technicians. At any rate, he must be very good, judging by the way this family spends money.

I switch on the light in the garage and open the back door of the Lexus. I start searching the seat and floor for my sunglasses and eventually shut the door when the vehicle starts beeping. Thankfully, the interior lights remain on as I continue my search. Several minutes later, I am sweaty and frustrated. I climb over the backseat and into the large rear area of the SUV. Some junk is back here (Ronnie has a complete winter roadside emergency kit—even in the middle of August), and the interior lights click off as I strike my knee on a snow shovel and grit my teeth in pain. I decide to stop searching just as my hand feels the smooth lens of my sunglasses. I rub them on my T-shirt and lay on my side for a moment, enjoying the pitch-black quiet inside the vehicle. However, the heat is too much for me, and I am just about to climb back over the seat when the front doors of the Lexus suddenly open.

“Let's go, Frank,” I hear Gino say. “We've gotta get to Iggy before he kills Capriotti.”

I frantically squeeze myself up against the back of the rear seat, barely daring to breathe. I wish I had sat up the minute the Lexus doors opened and warned the men that I was in here, but as soon as Gino spoke those chilling words, I had followed my instinct to crouch down and hide. Now I can't show myself; I only hope that I have misunderstood what Gino said about killing and that I can get out of this car undiscovered. Can Gino and this Frank guy see me from their seats in the front of the Lexus? The vehicle is large; if they aren't looking for me, they might not notice me. But maybe they will need something from the back seat. What will they do if they find me? Did Gino actually say someone was going to get killed?

I know so little about Gino, even though I have spent over a week at the Vigliotti house. I had guessed that Gino was gone much of the time because he is busy with work; the Vigliotti lifestyle is certainly an expensive one, and Gino probably works long hours to make the big bucks. But what is Gino planning now? Is this part of his work? Maybe I misunderstood Gino—maybe he was speaking in computer terms that I don't understand.

“Are you sure the Lexus is clean?” Frank asks Gino.

I strain to hear Gino's answer. “Yeah, I have my guy sweep it for bugs every week. But I'll tell you more later. We'll switch vehicles at the diner.”

I feel a brief moment of relief. Gino and Frank are not planning to stay in the Lexus. Once they leave, maybe I can make a run for it and take a taxi home. After a week at the Vigliotti's, I always have some cash in my pocket and hopefully it will be enough to get me back to the house.

“Just one thing,” I hear Frank say. “What did Capriotti do to get Iggy so upset? Iggy's a captain. Doesn't make sense for him to go off on his own and take Capriotti out. What could have made him so angry that he would kill a district attorney?”

Gino swears. “I don't know. But Iggy knows better. We all take orders from Ray, and Ray can't afford to lose Capriotti. The man is a parasite for sure, but he's in a position of power, and if something happens to him, who knows if his replacement would cooperate with us. Iggy knows that, so Capriotti must have done something really stupid this time. But nobody's allowed to kill him, so I guess we gotta get to Iggy first.”

My body is so rigid with anxiety, I feel my back and shoulders start to ache. I somehow know that something terrible is about to happen, and I only hope I can get out in time to get away. And yet, I hate to admit that I am beginning to feel just a little curious about the whole thing. What is Gino involved in?

Reggie's words come flooding back to me; I remember the excitement in his voice when he suggested that Gino was in the mob. Is that possible? What does computer technology have to do with Mafia activity? In every movie or show I have seen about the mob (and I have seen a lot of those in the last week with Vince), mobsters have been involved with loan sharking, the garbage industry, gambling, and money laundering—but computers? Maybe Gino has nothing to do with computers at all. Maybe it's all a cover. I suddenly feel I must find out.

The vehicle slows and pulls onto a dirt surface. We must be at the diner, but I don't dare lift my head. I have to control my curiosity and focus on freeing myself from the SUV and getting safely away from whatever is going to happen. I want to know, and yet, I don't. I like my new life in Newcastle. Finding out that Gino is some sort of criminal will ruin everything.

“Hey, look!” Frank says excitedly. “There's Iggy now! We won't have to chase him down after all. Maybe he's changed his mind.”

“Not likely,” Gino grumbles, and he abruptly puts the SUV in park and jumps out. Frank follows, and I find that although I am finally alone in the vehicle, I must still wait to escape. I hear angry voices outside and, as soon as the interior lights dim, I lift my head just enough to peer out of the tinted rear window. My eyes search the darkness outside, barely able to make out figures in the street a few buildings down from the diner. Once my eyes adjust better to the night, I am able to identify Gino, and I suppose the younger, tall man standing next to Gino is Frank. The two men face off with a small, chubby older guy. This must be Iggy. I see Gino reach out and push Iggy roughly up against the side of a building. I raise myself up a little on my arm, knowing I shouldn't watch, and yet unable to take my eyes from the scene.

What I see next almost makes me sick. Gino stands back from Iggy and points at Frank. Frank starts punching Iggy. The older man is no match for the athletic Frank, and Gino stands back and watches Iggy get pummeled. Gino then pulls out a gun from under his jacket, and I find that I want to beat on the glass of the car window, just to keep the inevitable from happening. I'm stunned and frightened at the same time. Is that really my godfather, the guy who rescued me, threatening someone's life? What will I do if I see Gino commit murder?

But luckily, I'm not forced to make that decision. Frank stops beating Iggy and pulls Gino aside, pushing the barrel of the handgun toward the ground and talking quickly. Iggy leans back against the building, too dazed to move, blood streaming from his nose. Gino tucks the gun back under his jacket, and he and Frank leave Iggy slumped against the building, but alive. They are coming back toward the Lexus, and I duck back down and fold myself up even tighter against the back seat, realizing that I missed my opportunity to escape. But Gino and Frank do not come back to the SUV. I hear another car pull out of the lot and lift my head to see the two leaving in an old battered pickup truck. The truck pulls away from the diner and quickly disappears down the road.