All He Saw Was the Girl (3 page)

    Now
McCabe brought it in. He went right, crossed over, drove for the hoop, Fabio
all over him, bumping him with his body. McCabe hesitated, faked left, went
left, threw up a half hook that kissed the glass and went in.

    The
prisoners went crazy.

    Fabio
brought the ball in, faking left with his eyes, going to

    his
right with his right hand, knees bent, made his move, juked McCabe with a
shoulder fake, crossed over, right to left, and back, had him off balance as he
went up for a fifteen-footer, but McCabe regained his balance and stripped the
ball.

    McCabe
brought the ball in, went full tilt for the basket, stopped, pulled up and
launched a twenty-five-footer. Fabio tried to block the shot, but he was too
late. The ball bounced around the rim and in.

    Fabio
was pissed off now, McCabe could see the strain on his face, McCabe making him
look bad in front of his boys. Fabio brought the ball in, did a shoulder fake,
froze McCabe and launched a high thirty-footer that landed on the rim and
bounced off.

    The
prisoners were really getting into it, shouting, taunting.

    McCabe
worked his way toward the basket, keeping his dribble low, protecting the ball.
He went in for a short jumper, left his feet and Fabio hit him, fouled him in
mid-air. The ball hit the glass and went in. McCabe went flying, landing hard
on the concrete. He got up slowly, gaze locked on Fabio, "This the way you
want to play? Okay."

    Fabio
held the ball close to his chest under his chin. He drove left, went behind his
back with his right hand, left McCabe standing there. Drove hard for the hoop
and went in for a lay-up, a sure thing, but McCabe caught him, stuffed him from
behind, and knocked him down; the inmates were yelling, going crazy.

    Fabio
got to his feet, squaring off with McCabe, fists raised, ready to go at it as a
guard appeared, pushing his way through the crowd.

    "I
didn't see McCabe again till we were taken over for trial," Chip said.
"There were thirty of us packed in a holding cell, waiting to be
transported to the courthouse. I look over, see McCabe handcuffed to this
little dude, I thought he was a midget."

    "He
was Sardinian," McCabe said. "Scared to death. Kept throwing salt
over his shoulder and picking his nose."

    "Why
salt?" Brianna said.

    She was
Chip's girlfriend. Brianna Labitzke, a nice-looking brunette with perfect
teeth, from Santa Clara, whose father owned a vineyard named after her. They
made a premium Chardonnay and an award-winning Pinot.

    "For
good luck," McCabe said.

    "Why'd
he pick his nose?" Brianna said.

    "I
don't know," McCabe said. "Maybe it's a Sardinian custom." He
flashed back to the transport van, the size of an airport shuttle, narrow
two-sided bench that ran down the center, six prisoners sitting back to back
with six others, McCabe handcuffed to the nervous little dude with tiny feet in
scuffed brown shoes dangling over the floor, the bodies of twelve men jerking
back and forth to the sway of the van. He remembered the view approaching the
city, Rome spread out in the distance, seeing six of the seven hills.

    Now
they were sitting at a table at Pietro's, a neighborhood cafe two blocks from
school, eating bread and cheese and olives, drinking wine, the house Chianti,
McCabe across from Chip, Brianna on his left. The room was big and open and
only a third full at 7:00 in the evening. There was an Italian newspaper,
Corriere della sera,
open on the table, McCabe reading a headline that
said:

    US
senator's son acquitted in taxi theft

    There
were photographs of McCabe and Chip, shot when they were standing on the steps
of the courthouse after the trial, their names transposed. A line under
McCabe's photo said,
Charles Tallenger III, son of US senator Charles
Tallenger II.
The line under Chip's picture said,
William McCabe, a
student at Loyola University.

    Chip
said, "There must not be much happening in Rome if this qualifies as
news."

    McCabe
said, "Are you kidding? Any time a famous rich kid screws up, people want
to know about it. Makes them feel good. Makes them think they're better than
you."

    "Well,
I've got news for you, they're not," Chip said.

    "Remember
when Paris Hilton went to jail? The media interrupted coverage of the G8 summit
to tell us what was happening in her life."

    Brianna
glanced at McCabe and said, "It looks so strange to see your name under
Chip's picture." She took a sip of wine, eyes staying on him. "You
don't look like a Charles Tallenger III."

    Chip
said, "McCabe couldn't be me if he had to. "

    McCabe
said, "I'm not dumb enough." He picked up an olive and popped it in
his mouth, chewed it and spit the pit into his napkin.

    "You're
not refined enough," Chip said. "It comes down to refinement and
breeding."

    McCabe
said, "You sound like a French poodle."

    Brianna
said, "Or what's that dog that looks like a Chinese person?"

    Chip
said, "A shih-tzu."

    "No,"
McCabe said, "a shih-tzu looks like a miniature lion. You're thinking of a
Lhasa apso."

    Chip
said, "How's a guy from Detroit know what a Lhasa apso looks like? A
Rottweiler or a pit bull, I can understand."

    He
picked up his wine glass now, drank too much and splashed down his chin onto
his shirt. Chip dipped his napkin in his water glass and rubbed the wine stain
on his shirt, blotting it, making it worse.

    "Look
at him," McCabe said. "It comes down to refinement and
breeding."

    Chip
grinned showing a mouthful of olive paste.

    "He's
a class act," McCabe said, "isn't he?"

    Brianna
said, "McCabe, look at the positive side. If you were Chip, you'd get the
trust fund, and I'd be going out with you."

    McCabe
said, "So you're in it for the money, huh?"

    Brianna
winked at him and smiled flashing her perfect teeth.

    "'Course
I am."

    "Be
nice, wouldn't it?" McCabe said. "Somebody hands you a million
dollars for doing nothing."

    "Add
two more zeros," Chip said, "you'll be in the ballpark."

    Brianna
said, "I want to hear about jail. Were you afraid?" She put her sexy
gaze on Chip.

    "I
wasn't," Chip said. "Prisoners I met were a bunch of pussies."

    McCabe
glanced down at the newspaper, the next page, and saw two black-and-white
photographs of faces that looked familiar. "It's your buddies from
jail."

    Chip
said, "What're you talking about?"

    "Guy
who took your cigarettes and his friend."

    Chip
said, "Yeah, right?"

    McCabe
picked up the newspaper and turned it around so Chip could see the pictures.
Chip picked it up and read the article, and when he finished, looked up at
McCabe.

    "The
prison transport they were riding in was ambushed as it came into the city. It
was stopped at a traffic light. Men dressed as construction workers got out of
a truck that was parked on the side of the road. Shot out the van's tires,
gained entrance and overpowered the guards. The two prisoners and their
accomplices escaped." He held up the paper. "Look at this."

    There
was a photograph of the van, tires resting on their rims, bullet holes in the
windshield.

    "The
two prisoners, Sisto Bardi and Roberto Mazara, had been arrested for extortion
and were going to trial when the van was intercepted."

    "Who
are they?" Brianna said.

    "We
were in a holding cell at police headquarters," Chip said. "I asked
the long-haired guy, Mazara, for a light. He asked me for a cigarette. I took
out my pack and he grabbed it."

    Brianna
said, "What'd you do?"

    "Nothing.
It wasn't worth it." He picked up his glass and sipped his wine.
"McCabe went over and got it back. I couldn't believe it. You should've
seen these guys. They looked like extras in
The Sopranos
." Chip
glanced down at the paper.

    "It
says they're allegedly involved in extortion, kidnapping, weapons trafficking
and racketeering."

    Brianna
said, "What's racketeering?"

    "Being
involved in illegal activities," Chip said. "They're armed and
dangerous." He was reading the article. "You see them, call the ROS.'
He looked up. "Like we're going to see them again."

    Brianna
said, "What's the ROS?"

    Chip
said, "Raggruppamento Operativo Speciale," reading the article,
"an elite unit of the carabinieri formed to fight organized crime."

    McCabe
saw Pietro, the owner, wave him over, Pietro sitting at the bar, having a glass
of grappa before it got crowded. McCabe stood up and said, "I'll be right
back." He walked over and sat next him.

    Pietro
was in his mid-forties, short and heavy with a thin tapered mustache and dark
hair combed back.

    "McCabe,
what is this I hear about you in Rebibbia?"

    For
whatever reason, Pietro had taken a liking to him, introduced him to his
family, invited him to his house for dinner, offered him the use of his summer
home in Lazio. McCabe told him what happened.

    Pietro
shook his head and glanced at Chip. "Him I can see, but not you, McCabe.
You should have phone me. I know a few judges. They come here for
cannelloni." He patted McCabe on the cheek. "Stay out of trouble,
uh?"

    McCabe
went back to the table.

    Brianna
said, "You guys were lucky. Anything else happen? Anybody try to…"

    McCabe
said, "You mean did we end up being somebody's girlfriend? I don't know
about Chip, but I walked out with my virginity intact."

    Chip
said, "I was in a cell with a South American pickpocket and an old dude
who'd been there since the early seventies."

    Brianna
said, "What'd he do?"

    "I
don't know, but he slept with his clothes on, thinking he was going to be
released any time and wanted to be ready."

    Brianna
said, "How'd you get out?"

    Chip
said, "The Senator bought the taxi driver a new Fiat and gave him money
for his trouble."

    "You
call your dad the Senator?"

    "No,
I call him Chuck."

    "Come
on?" Brianna said.

    "That's
my name for him because it's so out of character. He's Charles. Not Charley or
Chuck or Chucky. He's too straight to have a nickname."

    Brianna
said, "You don't call him Chuck to his face, do you?"

    "Not
if I want to collect the trust fund. Chuck also hired attorneys who knew one of
the judges. A deal was made, although I don't know the particulars."

    Brianna
said, "You mean a bribe?"

    Chip
said, "We don't use words like that, it's politically incorrect."

    
Brianna said, "Judges?
How many were there?"

    "Three,'
McCabe said, "and a prosecutor who wanted to make an example of us. Teach
American students what happens when they steal a taxi in Rome. He wanted to
give us eighteen months."

    Chip
said, "Then one of the judges said something, and it was over and we were
shaking hands with our attorneys."

    McCabe
flashed back to the courtroom, he and Chip in coats and ties, sitting next to
their lawyers, facing three serious men wearing white powdered wigs and black
robes, listening to the prosecutor yelling at them in Italian.

    "On
the way back to school," McCabe said, "Chip told his dad I stole the
taxi and he tried to stop me. What a friend, huh?"