Gold Coast

How's that? The scary thing is that four months ago, if I'd heard that conversation, I wouldn't have understood half of it. Now I could make it up. Mado

After about fifteen minutes, Frank returned to our table. "I'm sorry, Counsellor. I had some business there."

"No problem."

The pasta came and Frank dug right in. "Whaddaya think? Smell like a whore's pussy? Yes? No?"

"No comment."

I picked at the pasta, which I guess did resemble little sparrow tongues.

Actually, it was quite good, including the fishy sauce, but I was stuffed.

Bellarosa tore off a piece of bread and actually stuck it in my dish.

"Here, dunk. Don't be shy."

I don't even like it when Susan takes food off my plate. But I took the bread from him and ate it.

I glanced at my watch. "Do you want to call your wife?"

"Yeah. Later."

"Maybe we should let her know you're out on bail."

"She's okay."

"She was upset after you left."

"Yeah? I told her to stay upstairs. You see? They don't fucking listen anymore."

"Nevertheless, a call – "

"What made you think of my wife? The puttanesca sauce?" He laughed. "Is that what made you think of calling my wife?"

I wasn't going to touch that one. I played around with the pasta and sipped the wine.

Bellarosa finished his pasta and spilled some of mine onto his plate, commenting, "You're not eating. You don't like it?"

"I'm stuffed." I glanced at my watch. It was two-thirty. I informed Bellarosa, "I told your wife I'd have you home this afternoon."

"Yeah? Why? I told you, we got to stay around here. I got more people to talk to. I want you to say something to the newspeople later. We got a nice big suite at the Plaza. We'll hang around town for a few days."

"A few days?"

"Yeah."

"Frank, I have a business, appointments -"

"What can I tell ya? The shit hit the fan, Counsellor. I'll make it up to you." Actually, I had no appointments and nearly no business left to worry about. And for fifty large, I could stick around for a few days.

Frank took the rest of my pasta. "Yeah, we'll send home for some clothes. Your wife will pack some things for you."

"Will she?"

"Sure. That's what wives are for."

Not my wife, goombah.

He waved his hands over the plates as if he wanted them to go away by themselves, but a waiter popped up out of the floor and whisked them away. Another waiter brought two plain salads. Frank said, "Clears your palate." He sprinkled oil and vinegar over his greens and tomatoes, then did the same for me. "Eat," he said.

I poked at the salad.

"Eat it. The vinegar helps you digest."

"What does the oil do?"

"Helps you shit. Mangia."

The salad I could handle, but I said, "Don't order any more food for me." "You have to have the main course. What did you come here for?" Bellarosa called over the waiter. They discussed the main course in Italian, then Bellarosa turned to me. "Whaddaya like? Veal? Chicken? Pork? Fish?" "Sheep's head."

"Yeah?" He said something to the waiter and I heard the word capozella. They both laughed. He turned to me. "They got a special chicken dish here. Nice and light. Okay? We'll share it."

"Fine."

Bellarosa ordered, then turned back to me. "This dumb wop walks into a pizzeria, you know, and says to the guy, "I want a whole pizza." And the guy says, "You want it cut in eight pieces or twelve?" And the dumb wop says, "Twelve, I'm really hungry."' Bellarosa laughed. "Twelve slices. I'm really hungry. Get it?" "I think so."

"Tell me one."

"Okay. This Wasp walks into Brooks Brothers, you know, and he says to the guy, 'How much is that three-piece pinstripe suit?' And the guy says, 'Six hundred dollars.' And the Wasp says, 'Fine, I'll take it.'" I went back to my salad. Bellarosa let a few seconds pass, then said, "That's it? That's the joke? That's not fu

"That's the point."

"What's the point?"

"Wasps aren't fu

He processed that a moment, then said. "You're fu

"No one else thinks so."

He shrugged.

We drank awhile, and the nice little chicken dish came, and it was enough to feed half the dining room in The Creek. Bellarosa spooned the stuff onto two plates. "This is called pollo scarpariello. Say it."

"Pollo… scarp…"

"Scarpariello. Chicken, shoemaker style. Maybe a shoemaker invented it. Maybe they make it with old shoes."

I turned over a piece of meat with my fork. "What part of the chicken is that?" "That's sausage. You make it with sausage, too. It's sauteed in oil and garlic, with mushrooms."

"That does sound light."

"Eat it. Here, try this. This is escarole with more oil and garlic. The garlic gets that pussy smell outa your mouth. Here. You got to try everything." I called the waiter over. "Bring me a bottle of that water with the bubbles in it and a glass of ice."

"Yes, sir."

He brought a green bottle of Pellegrino, and I made a mental note of it for the future. I poured and drank three glasses of the sparkling water while Frank ate the chicken and sausage.

It was nearly three-thirty but the place was not completely empty. Frank's four friends had left, but a few old men sat around with coffee and newspapers. Two old guys were actually snoozing. Vi

The door opened, and I instinctively tensed. A man entered, about fifty years old, wearing a dark grey suit and sunglasses. Behind him was a younger man whose eyes darted around the tables. I poked Bellarosa's arm and he followed my gaze to the door. I glanced at Vi

Frank stood and stepped away from the table, and the man with the sunglasses took them off and came toward Bellarosa. They met in the middle of the restaurant and embraced, but I could see it was more a demonstration of respect than affection.

Frank and his buddy sat at an empty table. The man's partner, or bodyguard or whatever, took a seat with Vi