Wiseguys In Love (18 page)

“No, I don't. So you'll find someone else to marry you and—”

“Yeah, sure! You think anyone's going to marry me now? I killed a man tonight. You think that makes me good wife material?”

“Well, it depends—”

“Well, it doesn't hold water in Michigan, Michael! My life is over. I can't live here anymore. I can't work here anymore. I should have killed myself years ago. That's it, I should turn myself in. They'll do it for me.”

“We don't have capital punishment in New York.”

“Jesus Christ, I don't understand this city! Then I'll turn myself in someplace where they do. Just one bolt of electricity and—”

Her voice was rising, and Michael stood up and grabbed her shoulders and gave them a shake.

“Stop it! This isn't about paying for killing a guy,” he said loudly, and she stared up at him. “First of all, you shot someone who was running at you to take the gun away and shoot all of us. It was self-defense, don't you understand?”

“I—”

“And how come you have no self-respect? Huh? Is that what they teach women in Michigan? To lie down like a dog just so a man will marry you? This guy you've been living with sounds like a lowlife, and you're stomping around here wrecking things, not because he's an idiot but because you're gonna actually have to take a
stand,
face him and stick up for yourself. You're no weakling. You're a good, strong woman, and the second you start believing that, then the second you'll be able to do something for yourself instead of whimpering that this jerk isn't going to marry you.”

He grabbed her shoulders with his hands and stared into her eyes.

God, he wanted to kiss her.

She looked up at him and her eyes slid down to his lips. A confused look crossed her face. He gave her a shake, then pulled her in and gave her a quick squeeze, and she finally nodded up at him. His arms lingered around her until he let go, catching himself again.

“Now, what do you want to do?” he said, rubbing his forehead with one hand and staring at the carpet for a moment to calm down.

“I want to go someplace safe where I can think things through.”

“Fine, I know a place.”

She nodded and silently went into the bedroom. A couple of minutes went by. The phone rang, and she appeared so quickly at the bedroom door, he was surprised. She had changed into a pair of jeans and a shirt and was twisting the strap on a purse around in her hands as the phone rang again. His chest felt tight, as though they'd been caught.

They both listened, frozen, as the taped voice of Andrew droned out the message.

Beep.

“Andrew?” an annoyed female voice began.

In a blur of a second, Michael watched Lisa rip the machine out of the wall. He watched her open the top and take out the cassette. There was a slight whirring sound as she pulled the shiny brown tape out of its casing:
whir, whir, whir,
till a ribbony pile lay at her feet. She dropped the cassette ceremoniously on top of the pile, exhaled, strangely satisfied, and looked at him.

“We can go now?” he asked.

She nodded and he followed her out the door.

*   *   *

Henry Foster Morgan hit the sidewalk, ignoring the line out front. He loosened his collar and stared up and down the block for his limo. Goddamn it! Why had he told the fucking chauffeur that he'd be there till three? He stepped off the curb. If he hurried, he could be out at the Hamptons for the Sonders' wedding by dawn. That would give him enough time to go buy some clothes, find some coke, and get cleaned up.

*   *   *

Tony silently walked up the steps of his mother's row house in Brooklyn. Everything was dark as he entered the hallway. He took off his jacket, holster, and gun, dropped them onto the sofa in the living room, and walked on into the kitchen. A large aluminum saucepan had been left on the stove. He lifted the lid and looked inside: meatballs in gravy.

Next to the pot was a pot of water for pasta. He opened the bread box on the counter and ripped off half a loaf of Italian bread. He stuck it in the sauce pot, like a spoon, and began stirring the gravy. When he was sure it had soaked into the end, he took a large bite, and stood in the dark room, chewing. His mother's homemade tomato sauce filled his mouth. He thought over the day.…

Louie'd told him that Angela was out running around again tonight with Joey D. His stomach tightened at that.

He should date. Beat Angela at her own game.

Find a nice woman, someone who could understand what he did, who'd stay at home, raise children.… He wasn't getting any younger.

He dipped the half loaf back into the gravy.

Understanding what he did—that was the trouble. It wasn't like he could just tell someone, like he was a mechanic or something.

His mind flashed through everyone he knew. There weren't too many unmarried women his age left in the neighborhood.

Fucking Angela again. The problem with Ralphie's daughter was that she understood exactly what he did, and it didn't matter to her. As long as he kept givin' her things—cars, furs, diamonds. In the year and a half they'd been together, the woman had sucked through his salary like a high-powered vacuum cleaner.

So he'd been working overtime for Solly, any job and every job. Yeah, sure it was good for his career—he was now in a better position with the Soltanos than he'd ever dreamed—but still, she was never satisfied.

So the end had finally come in the Cadillac two months ago. She'd just been to the beauty parlor and her hair, now all blond, was done up real high on her head. Her long fingernails were bright red with little black stripes painted across and little sapphire chips glued on. She'd been leaning on him for an hour about doin' an extra job so she could get a pair of diamond studs. He'd watched the five-carat diamond he had given her glint as she waved her hand around angrily. Then he'd watched her pull around her shoulders the mink jacket he'd given her for their four-week anniversary.

“And I don' unnerstand why you can't do this one little thing for me!”

“It ain't my hit—”

“Pop said if you wanted it, you could have it. What do you want me to do? Show up without earrings? To Gino's birthday party? What do you think I am? Cheap?”

“I ain't gonna do no hit on Perrino. He was like a uncle to me when I was growin' up an—”

“So, whatta you care? Someone's gonna get him, and it mi'se well be you.”

“Aw, nice, Angela, nice way for a woman to talk.”

“Don't give me this sainthood crap, Tony Macarelli. I know what you do, when you do it, an' how many times you do it.”

“Hey, you shut your mouth.” He glared at her. “You don't talk about my business.… You're talkin' about a man's life here! I should kill a man so you could get a pair of earrings?”

“He's gonna die anyway, so I mi'se well be the one who gets from it,” she snapped, and began drumming her nails on the car door, just loudly enough to drive him crazy. Her pointy nostrils were flaring and her thin lips, painted a raspberry red, were twitching back and forth. They sat silently as Tony drove toward Mill Basin.

“You know, I could
make
you do it,” she said quietly.

Tony's eyes narrowed as they turned onto Ralphie's block.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me. I could make you do it. I could tell my father to make you do it.”

He pulled the car over, leaned across her, and pushed her door open.

“Wha—”

“Get out!”

“What?”

“Get the fuck outta my car, now.”

She was still screaming as he slammed the door closed. He slid over to the window and rolled it down.

“I'm gonna tell my father,” she screeched.

“You go ahead, Angela, you tell him what you been sayin'. I don't care if you show up at Gino's without no clothes on, 'cause I'm not gonna be there wid youse! I had enough. I don't wanna see you no more.”

He slid back over and started the car. She stood on the curb, temporarily dazed. As he drove away, he could hear her screaming for Ralphie and he heard the thud on the trunk from her handbag hitting as he drove off.

Of course, it had taken six weeks to straighten it out with Ralphie. It turned out Angela had been looking at wedding gowns for two months. Her whole family and the neighborhood had been told they were engaged. And Angela'd hinted that she was in the family way, which was the kiss of death for Tony. Then Ralphie woulda gone to Solly and
made
him marry her.

Tony had thought back on that long and hard, trying to remember when he'd said anything about being engaged. There hadn't been one word—he was sure of that.

So now Angela was dating Joey D.—lowlife scumbag who sold crap for the Soltanos. Ralphie couldn't know about this. Tony swallowed the mouthful of bread and gravy and then shot a glance at his watch. It was 2:30. Driving at this hour, he could be parked outside of Angela's in forty-five minutes.

He sank the remaining end of the bread into the gravy, and the memory of Angela that day ran through his mind again. Yeah, Angela understood his business all right, but she didn't care that he chopped people up.

That wasn't right for a woman.

All she was after was every dime she could get. And besides, Tony felt that the mother of his children should care that he hacked people up.

Not
do
anything about it, but care he did it.

*   *   *

Michael waved his arm and the cab made a U-turn across Seventy-second and came to a stop in the street in front of them. Lisa came running off the curb and got in as he held the door open for her. He slid in next to her and closed the door. He sat, staring at the torn seatback for a moment.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked in a heavy Chinese accent.

“Michael?” Lisa asked, looking at him.

“The Plaza.”

*   *   *

Henry stuck his card into the bank-machine slot and pressed in his pin number. A man weaved over to him and held his hand out as Henry pressed in the amount of the withdrawal.

“Spare some change?”

“Get real,” Henry snapped, and the man moved slowly off, walking in an
S
pattern along the sidewalk.

The drawer opened and Henry took out eight hundred dollars, then snatched his card back and took his receipt. He jammed them into his pocket and stepped out to the sidewalk and hailed a cab.

A battered taxi pulled up and he got inside.

“Vhere you go to?” a thick Polish accent grunted as the cab pulled away from the curb.

“East Hampton.”

The car came to a screeching halt, which threw Henry against the divider.

“Vhat you say?” the man said, leaning his arm on the seat and staring at Henry.

“East Hampton! Christ, don't you understand English?”

“You got money for this?”

“Yes, I got money for this,” Henry snapped, aping his accent.

He sat back and stared out the window. The cabbie didn't move. After a couple of moments, Henry looked back to him.

“Well, what the hell are you waiting for?”

“I see money, please.”

Henry stared at him, openmouthed.

“Money please or you get out,” the cabbie repeated.

Henry shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out the eight hundred, and, before he could lower it, the cab screeched away from the corner, throwing him sideways on the seat.

“You don't be so nasty with peoples, is not good,” he added as Henry tried to pull himself up on the seat. He glared at the back of the cabbie's thick head.

*   *   *

“No luggage, sir?” the bellhop asked as Michael walked past him into the suite.

“That a problem?” he asked, looking steadily at him.

“Oh, Michael, look at the flowers.” He heard Lisa's voice behind him.

He shoved a five into the man's hand.

“There still bar service?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” he said, and walked out of the room, closing the door.

“Michael, really, this is so expensive,” she said, walking into the bedroom.

He smiled after her and dropped his coat on the couch. He looked around the suite. Pale gold with green satin striped upholstery covered the couch and chairs. The white and gold coffee table had a glass ashtray on it. Long, filmy white curtains covered a somewhat grayed linen blind with a small gold rope tassel on it.

The front room of the suite looked as though it had been decorated in the early 1960s and not touched since. It was gaudier than he'd had in mind. And it was more run-down than he expected. He picked up the phone and waited to be connected to the bar as the sight of Lisa bouncing on the bed caught his eye.

“Oh, Michael,” she repeated, and he watched her get off the bed and disappear out of sight.

Jeez, didn't the bum she was living with take her anywhere in New York? The line clicked and he got the bar.

“Order,” the voice said, and he paused for a moment.

“Stone!” Lisa's voice came from the bedroom. “The bathroom is stone!”

She stared at the brown stone floor, polished to a mirror shine. The stone went halfway up the wall and dark wood paneling took over from there. His and her sinks, and sinktop-to-ceiling mirrors looked onto the most elaborate tub and shower Lisa had ever seen. She stood at the entrance to the bathroom and suddenly took her shoes off. She walked slowly across the cool stone and stared at the shiny gold-finished faucet and hot and cold water taps for a tub large enough to swim in. But it was the shower that really intrigued her. Three wide shower heads were lined up vertically on either side of the cornered wall. Six shower heads, just to make sure you really got rinsed off, she imagined. She darted a glance at the door, then carefully stepped into the tub. Maybe she should take a shower, she thought.