Tony Partly Cloudy (5 page)

He wasn’t a particularly bad guy, nor was he particularly good. He had avoided the lure of entering into the family business on a fulltime basis, never becoming a soldier within its ranks. Instead, he stayed detached but available, and did certain errands and odd jobs for some much-appreciated extra cash, earning a reputation as a stand-up guy. It was an arrangement that had worked well for twenty years, and was a big part of why his family was able to live in a house, not an apartment.

Tony knew all this. And he was prepared to enter into a similar situation – hey, you had to make the most of your situation. But he hoped he’d be able to keep the truly nasty side of the business at a distance, the way Frankie had. At the moment he was wondering whether Frankie had managed to do so based on his own strength, or if maybe he’d just been lucky so far. I mean, was it possible to ever say no to these guys once you had said yes?

With those thoughts bouncing around his brain, Tony finally drifted off to sleep twenty minutes before his alarm went off. Wednesday was one of his heaviest academic days, so Tony stopped in a deli to pick up a large coffee before heading into school, dreading the day, and dreading the night even more.

♠ ♥ ♣ ♦

The phone rang at seven on the dot. Tony would later learn this punctuality characterized Jimmy Carbone’s methodical and precise approach to all aspects of his life.

Tony picked up on the third ring, trying to sound casual, relaxed.

“Hello?”

“Tony? Tony Partly Cloudy? Is that you?” asked a friendly but unfamiliar voice, in an exaggerated Italian accent.

Shit. Somebody from school was calling him right when he needed the line free.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Tony said curtly, not asking who was calling. “Listen, can I call you back? I’m expecting a call right about now, and it’s real important that I don’t miss it.”

A pause. Then, with considerably less warmth the voice said, “Well, okay... but I was hoping you’d be happy to hear from your Uncle Jimmy.”

Tony reeled.
This
was Jimmy? How the hell did he know about Tony’s nickname? That was a school thing – nobody outside of Kean knew about that. How could he—

“Tony?” the voice interrupted Tony’s thoughts. “Tony, are you there?”

“Yeah, yeah – I’m here,” Tony said, groping for ideas. “Jimmy?
Uncle
Jimmy? Is that you? Jeez, I’m sorry – I, uh, didn’t recognize your voice.” He hoped his pathetic improv didn’t sound too stilted.

“Hey, no problem, Tony. You probably didn’t know I had your new number, so you probably weren’t expecting to hear from me, am I right?” Tony realized the accent he was hearing was genuine. This was Jimmy. Jimmy Carbone.

“That’s it, Jimmy. You caught me off guard is all – sorry about that.” Tony’s conversational well was running dry. “So,” he said. “How things been going?”

“Hey, you know me, Tony,” Jimmy said, prompting Tony to reflect that no, he did not. “I can’t complain,” Jimmy concluded.

“That’s good, Jimmy. Good. That’s real good.” Unlike my conversational skills, Tony thought.

“So anyway, Tony, the reason I’m calling is this. I thought maybe me and some of the boys could come over tomorrow, maybe play a little poker. You know, like we used to do before you started going to college and all.”

Tomorrow? Thursday? Christ, he had a chemistry exam on Friday, and now he was supposed to entertain a bunch of gangsters the night before?

“I don’t know, Jimmy – er,
Uncle
Jimmy. I mean, you know I’d love to see you, but I got this test on Friday, and I—”

“Tony,” Jimmy cut in, “relax – we’re not talking about some late night bacchanalia.” Tony didn’t know what a bacchanalia was, but he figured it was a not the sort of thing you did on a weeknight.

Jimmy continued, “We’re just talking a couple hours of cards, a few beers, a few laughs. We’ll be outta there by ten – I mean, we all gotta be at work in the morning, am I right? Besides, we’d all like to get a look at your new place.”

The place that they were paying for, Tony realized.

“Sure, Jimmy.” Tony said, resignedly. “Sounds good. I mean, it would be great to see you, uh,
again
.” Tony felt like he was starting to get the hang of this spontaneous bullshitting thing. “What time will you guys be over? You know how to get here?”

Jimmy reeled off Tony’s address, then said, “That’s the apartment number, right?”

“That’s the one,” Tony said.

“Beautiful,” said Jimmy. “We’ll be there at eight. Can’t wait to see you, Tony. It’s been too long.”

“Absolutely,” Tony agreed. “Way too long.”

WHEN TONY GOT OUT OF HIS CLASSES ON THURSDAY, he went on a frantic shopping spree. Chips, pretzels, a couple of big bowls to pour them into, a few ashtrays – those were easy. Buying beer was tougher – at nineteen Tony was not of legal age. But he finally found a tiny all-night grocery store where a chain-smoking Korean clerk sold him a case of Miller High Life, perhaps intimidated by Tony’s size and bearing. When Tony got home he surveyed his purchases, laid out on his kitchen table in front of him. He tried to envision the night’s card game, and—

Shit. Cards. He didn’t have any cards. Or any poker chips. Shit.

Back outside he went. He found playing cards easily enough, a pack of cards backed by a photo of the Statue of Liberty, on display among a bunch of tourist souvenirs at a corner drugstore. But where the hell did you buy poker chips? Everybody he knew just
had
them – but who knew where they got them? He knew Frankie had some at home, but Tony didn’t have time to make the round trip to Brooklyn.

Desperately he scoured the streets, sticking his head into every shop to inquire. To his amazement, he finally found the elusive item at the same little grocery where he’d bought the beer. In the months and years that followed, Tony was to learn that there was little that could
not
be found on the shelves of that tiny, cluttered store.

“Thanks, man – you’re a lifesaver,” Tony told the clerk, who simply nodded and lit a new cigarette from his previous one. The guy smoked more than Frankie, Tony thought. Wonder if he’d figured out a way to smoke in his sleep?

It was half past seven by the time Tony finally got home. He hurriedly straightened the apartment, a task made easier by its limited size. At eight o’clock on the nose, when he had just slumped onto his couch to catch his breath, there was a sharp rap on the door. Jimmy was right on time.

This was it, thought Tony. The training wheels were coming off. He stood, took a deep breath, and walked up to the door. Looking through the peephole, he saw one man, made to look astonishingly huge by the peephole’s lens. Tony started to ask who was there, then thought better of it. He knew who was there. So he opened the door.

It wasn’t Jimmy.

It couldn’t be, because Jimmy wasn’t seven feet tall, and the man standing in Tony’s hallway was. It wasn’t just the peephole – this guy was huge.

“Uh... can I help you?” Tony asked, looking up at the man, reflecting that he almost never needed to look
up
to see a man’s eyes. Okay, maybe the guy wasn’t seven feet, but he was six-eight, easy. And maybe four feet wide.

“You Tony Bartolicotti?” the giant asked in a surprisingly high voice. He wore a black leather car coat for which many cows had given their lives.

“Uh, yeah – that’s me,” Tony stammered, thinking Pops, what did you get me into?

The giant turned his head slightly to one side and spoke, apparently to himself. “This is the guy.” Then he took a graceful step to his side. Behind him was standing a much smaller man, dapperly dressed in an overcoat open to reveal an elegant dark suit over a crisp white shirt, topped with a blood red silk necktie. Tony recognized him at once, having seen his photo in the papers and on television. Jimmy Carbone.

“Tony Partly Cloudy!” the man said with a smile. “I love that name!” He held out his hand. “Call me Jimmy,” he commanded as they shook hands. The handshake went on far too long, Tony too dazed to remember to pull his hand away. Jimmy finally broke it off, saying, “So, can I come in, or what?”

“Oh, yeah – sure,” Tony said, backing up. Jimmy breezed past him, while the giant made a point of looking up and down the hallway before entering the apartment and closing the door. Without asking Tony, the man locked the door’s three deadbolts, then turned and assumed a frozen stance in front of the door. It became clear that nobody would be entering or exiting the room without this man’s approval.

Jimmy took off his overcoat and draped it over a chair, then turned to survey the tiny apartment.

“Not bad,” he said. “I mean, it’s small, but hey – how many guys your age have their own place, am I right?” As Tony began to nod, Jimmy said, “Oh – where are my manners? Tony, that’s Eric over there. He helps me out. Eric, this is Tony. Tony Partly Cloudy.” Taking his cue, Tony approached Eric with his hand extended, only to feel Jimmy’s hand clamp down on his shoulder.

“No, Tony! Eric does
not
like to be touched.”

Startled, Tony stepped back from Eric, whose face betrayed no emotion. Tony turned to face Jimmy, who, he realized, might have just saved his life. Or at the very least, his right arm.

Tony said, “Sorry ‘bout that, Jimmy.” Turning to Eric, Tony mumbled, “Nice to meet you.” Eric didn’t seem to hear him. Eric also didn’t seem to need to do things like blink his eyes or breathe. Tony chose to inquire no further about Eric.

“So,” Tony said, “when are the other guys getting here?”

Jimmy looked confused. “What other guys?” He sat down at the kitchen table, then his eyes brightened. “Oh, the guys I mentioned on the phone last night. Yeah, well, they won’t be making it tonight. Some other time, maybe. Tonight it’s just you and me.”

And Eric, Tony thought.

“Tonight is just sort of a dry run,” Jimmy continued. “You know, so the two of us can meet, and so Eric and I can get the lay of the land, you know?”

Tony didn’t understand. What lay? What land? Before he could inquire, Jimmy continued. “Hey, did you know that you and me are supposed to be related?”

The abrupt change of subject threw Tony. But Jimmy was smiling, which Tony hoped was a good sign. Jimmy gestured to the chair across from him, so Tony sat down. Tony said, “Yeah... well, no, actually. I mean, I didn’t know it until my pop said something to me about it.”

“Frankie B? He’s a good man,” said Jimmy. Tony was surprised that Jimmy even knew who Frankie was. But then Jimmy seemed to know a lot of things.

Jimmy said, “To be honest, Tony, it was news to me, too. And I’m not exactly sure just how we’re related. I think I’m some kind of grand-cousin or something. Maybe like a step-grand-cousin...”

“Once removed?” Tony said, trying to help.

Jimmy nodded. “Yeah, maybe so. But to be honest, I never really got what that
once removed
stuff was supposed to mean.”

Tony shrugged. “Me neither,” he said, surprised to find himself smiling. Jimmy was smiling too.

“Anyway,” Jimmy said, “I think it would be easiest if you just called me Uncle Jimmy. That work for you?”

“Works for me,” Tony said quickly. He would have called him Aunt Ethel if Jimmy had asked. Whatever made Jimmy happy – well, him and the taciturn Eric – was okay with him.

Jimmy knocked on the table twice with his knuckles, saying, “Good. That’s settled.”

Tony was gaining confidence. This Jimmy seemed like an all right guy. He said, “Can I get you a beer, uh, Uncle Jimmy? I got lots of chips and pretzels, too. And I hope I got enough poker chips.” Tony indicated the plastic holder full of poker chips that he had carefully centered on the kitchen table.

Jimmy’s face registered bemused surprise. “You got all set up for a card game?” he asked, chuckling quietly.

“Well, yeah,” Tony said. “I didn’t know how many was coming, so I got a case of beer, and those big bags of chips that have the two bags inside, and—”

“Tony, that’s great,” Jimmy said, smiling. “I appreciate the gesture, the hospitality. I can tell you’re a good guy, like they told me.”

Tony wondered who
they
were, then decided he was better off not knowing.

“But listen, Tony – we need to get going. Eric!” Jimmy had turned to face Eric, his face suddenly all business.

Without a word, Eric left his post at the door, crossing the apartment in a few strides until he stood in front of Tony’s couch. With one hand he lifted one end of the couch, pulling it away from the wall. To Tony’s astonishment, he then reached down and lifted up a part of the wooden floor, which swung upward as if on a hinge.

Jimmy was standing now. “Like I said, Tony, tonight is a dry run. We should be back in an hour – two hours, tops.” With that he walked over to the opening in the floor, and stepped into it, apparently onto some sort of stairs or ladder.

Tony was flabbergasted. “Wha – what is that? I mean, where does that lead to? I didn’t even—”

“Tony,” Jimmy said, cutting him short. “Some things you don’t want to ask too many questions about,
capisce
? Like I said, we’ll be back in an hour or two. Just sit tight, and don’t go anywhere, understand?”

“Yeah, but...” Tony groped for words. “I mean, I thought we were going to play cards...” The words sounded stupid, childish.

Jimmy was now visible only from the waist up. Looking at Tony, his expression softened. “You’re a good kid. You really were all set up for us to play cards, weren’t you?” He reached into his jacket, pulling out a roll of bills. Peeling off several, he dropped them casually on the arm of the couch.

“Anybody asks, we
did
play cards tonight. And you were on
fire
– you took me to the cleaners!” He smiled, nodding toward the cash he had just dispensed. Then he descended, disappearing from view. Eric then followed, his massive body somehow fitting into the small opening. When only his head and shoulders were visible, he turned to look at Tony. Reaching for a rope dangling from the trapdoor, Eric said, “Leave the couch where it is, okay?” For some reason the gentle, improbably high voice made the man seem even more menacing.

“You got it,” Tony said, nodding emphatically. And with that, Eric disappeared, pulling the trapdoor shut above him.

Tony stood staring at where the two men had disappeared. Slowly, tentatively, he approached the trapdoor, the outlines of which were skillfully disguised among the edges of the floorboards. Tony had lived nearly three months in the apartment without noticing. But then, it was underneath the couch, which Tony had never moved. The apartment was furnished, and he recalled being told not to rearrange the furniture. Now he understood why.

“Holy shit,” he said quietly, to nobody in particular.

He thought about lifting up the trapdoor, curious as to where it would lead. But then he thought about Jimmy’s warning not to ask too many questions. Then he saw his briefcase on the floor near the couch, and remembered the chem exam he had the next morning. Shit.

Tony pulled out his books and got set up at the kitchen table, where he tried to focus on his homework while he waited for Jimmy’s return. Across from him, Jimmy’s overcoat was still draped across the chair, proof that he hadn’t imagined all of this. Soon Tony was engrossed in his studies, and nearly fell out of his chair when he heard a voice say, “Look at the college boy, hard at work.”

“Jesus Christ!” Tony yelled involuntarily. Jimmy was standing in front of the couch, and Eric’s head was now appearing through the trapdoor.

Tony lowered his voice. “Sorry, Jimmy. Er, Uncle Jimmy. Jeez – I didn’t even hear you open the – you know, the thing there. I never even heard you come in.”

Jimmy held up his hands reassuringly. “Sorry, Tony. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Behind him, Eric closed the trapdoor and moved the couch back into position.

Jimmy strolled over to where Tony sat, standing behind him and placing his hands on Tony’s shoulders. “We appreciate your hospitality, Tony. You’re a good kid.”

“Well, hey, Jimmy – I really appreciate what you guys are doing for me. I mean, with the apartment and all. It’s so much easier to get to school, and it’s really great to have a place of my own, you know?”

Jimmy patted Tony’s shoulders, then walked around the table to grab his overcoat. As he put it on, he said, “Listen, Tony – it went good tonight. Real smooth. I’m very pleased. Let’s plan on doing this again next week, same time and all. That good for you?”

Tony nodded eagerly. “Sure, Jimmy. Next Thursday’s good. No problem.”

“Excellent,” Jimmy said. “I’ll call you.” His face grew serious. “I’ll always call you,” he said. “I’m never going to just show up. You know, through the, uh,
back door
there.” He nodded toward the couch. “So I don’t want you worried that you might get any unexpected visitors. I respect a man’s privacy, you know? I mean, you might be entertaining a young lady or something, and I wouldn’t want to interrupt, you know what I mean?” Jimmy’s smile was lascivious, his tone confidential. Just two men of the world talking about chicks, Tony thought. Yeah, right – like he’d ever get a girl interested in coming to see him here. Tony knew weather. But he didn’t kid himself that he knew women.

“Thanks, Jimmy – I mean Uncle Jimmy,” he said. “I appreciate that.”

Jimmy said, “Eric,” and Tony heard locks being unlatched. He looked over to his door, and saw that Eric had finished unlocking the door, and was now poking his head outside, looking the hallway up and down. Eric turned and nodded to Jimmy, saying, “We’re clear.” With that he stepped outside, leaving the door open behind him.

Jimmy walked to the door and turned to address Tony. “Thanks again, kid. I’ll see you next week. Same time, same station, okay, Tony?”