Pagan Babies

She said, "Is this where you used to bring in liquor from Canada?"

"Me?"

"During Prohibition."

"How old you think I am? No, that was mostly the Jews, the Fleisher brothers and Beeny Bernstein, the Purple Gang. Before my time."

She turned from the glass and sat down with him, the slate table between them. She said, "What's the catch?"

"What're you talking about?"

He reminded her of Ben Gazzara, maybe a bit older and heavier, but that type. She said, "What do I have to do?"

"Oh, you think I want to have sex with you. Pop a few Viagras, listen to Frank Sinatra while we give the pills time to kick in. And you know what? I think it'd be terrific, even with Clara upstairs saying her beads." He said, "Are you fucking the priest?"

Out of nowhere.

Like a heckler in a comedy club, something she could handle. She said, "No, are you? Does he get the check or not?"

Tony brought it out of his inside coat pocket and looked at it, a pale-green check. He said, reading it, "Pay to the order of The Orphans of Rwanda Fund," looked straight at Debbie and tore the check in half.

She said, "Well, that's that. You've got your picture and you'll come off looking great in the paper. I should've known."

"You should've known what?"

She said, "Considering how you make your money."

"You don't know what I do."

"I'm following your trial."

"The feds don't know half of it. I don't talk about what I do, I don't advertise. I don't put on a show. You see these pro backs, these iitterbugs, they score a touchdown and do their dance, the funky chicken? Larry Czonka, one of the greats, said if he ever did that in his time, Howie Long, another one of the greats'd punch him in the head. That's my style, do the job without calling attention to yourself.

You say you should've known, like you know what you're talking about. What do you do? You work for lawyers, right? Personal injury stuff, but you want to do comedy. That's what Ed tells me. He says you're fu

Are you fu

"I'm working on it."

"How serious are you?"

"I'm trying seriously to do comedy. How's that?"

"I touched a nerve there. Maybe you have trouble making up your mind what you want. Or how you want to do it. I don't think you have to be that fu

"Richard Pryor."

"Jesus Christ, the iig with the filthy mouth. What about Red Skelton? You ever see him do the Guzzler's gin skit?"

"Gimme a break."

"You don't like Red Skelton?"

"I put him right up there with Milton Berle."

"Now you're the tough kid, uh? On your own turf."

"You have your style," Debbie said, "and I have mine. If I make it, it'll be on my terms."

"Do whatever you have to, uh?"

"Whatever."

"You know I can help you."

She said, "How, write my material?"

Tony smiled at her. "You take chances, don't you?" He got up from his chair saying, "Don't move," walked over to his desk, brought something out of a file folder and came back with it. A check.

This one a pale blue. He handed it to Debbie and sat down again.

"What's the amount?"

"Two hundred fifty thousand."

"Made out to?"

"Cash."

"You notice," Tony said, "it's a cashier's check, not like the other one for the newspaper picture. This one's good the minute you put it in the bank or you cash it. You don't have to wait for it to clear."

She looked up at him. "You're giving this to me?"

"It's all yours."

"Why? Is this like a test?"

"You mean see if you do the right thing? Sweetheart, there isn't any right or wrong about it. I'm giving it to you 'cause I don't care one way or the other about the mick priest and his orphans. There's always orphans around, it's the way it is."

She said, "But the whole idea, what we talked about, you know, his mission-"

"I make the deals," Tony said. "I say it's your money, it's yours, nobody else's."

Debbie was looking at the check again.

She said, "Really?"

"And if you're worried about seeing the priest again, forget about it," Tony said. "I'm sending him back to Africa."

26

TERRY WANTED TO RIDE IN front with Vito Genoa, maybe this time mention the cigarette business, try to get next to the guy and find out what was going on. Were they getting the check or not? But Vito said no, he had to ride in back. After that Vito pretty much kept his mouth shut. Terry did mention the cigarette business, but all Vito said was, "Yeah?" It was a quiet ride along the freeways, nothing to see.

Once they got to Fran's house it was a different story. Vito got out of the car to tell him face-to-face, "You go

"I told you," Terry said, "I don't have return flights."

"It's taken care of," Vito said.

"Do I leave without the check?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Does Debbie have it, Miss Dewey?"

"It's none of my business," Vito said. "I see you at nine."

"That won't give us time to deposit the check."

And Vito said it again, "Don't worry about it."

Fran let him in, Fran asking questions from the moment Terry stepped inside, and Terry said, "Let me get something to eat, okay?

I'm starving." Almost nine-thirty and he hadn't eaten anything since lunch, one of Mary Pat's famous minced ham sandwiches. Mary Pat was on the phone in the library talking to her mother, talking to her for the past hour. Fran said they talked two or three times every day; how could they have that much to say to each other? Terry had another minced ham sandwich, potato chips and a beer while he answered Fran's questions up to and including the photo session with Anthony Amilia and Debbie having to stay; he didn't mention being picked up tomorrow at nine. Maybe he wouldn't be here.

While they were talking two things happened at the same time: the front doorbell rang, and Mary Pat came in with the girls to say good night to Uncle Terry.

The door opened and the Mutt said, "I'm looking for Fr. Du

You his brother?"

This kind of porky fella said yes he was and asked, "Is he expecting you?" Like he wasn't going to let him in otherwise.

"Yeah, I'm suppose to see him."

The porky fella hesitated like maybe he didn't believe him. He said, "By any chance did Mr. Amilia send you?"

The Mutt felt the right answer would get him in and he said, "Yes, sir, he did."

It opened the door all the way. The porky fella motioned, this way, and the Mutt followed him out to the kitchen. There was the priest in his black suit turning to look this way, and a woman and two cute little girls, the Mutt thinking, Shit. Now what'm I suppose to do?

The porky brother said, "This gentleman has something for you, Terry, from Tony Amilia."

This gentleman-the Mutt had never heard that one before. He just nodded.

The woman, their mom, was telling the little girls now to leave the pictures where they werea bunch of photos they were looking at on the high kitchen table-and kiss Uncle Terry good night. She said to the Mutt, "We'll get out of your way."

He said, "Much obliged." But shit, those little girls were going to make it hard for him to do the job he'd come for; he sure didn't want to have to shoot the mom and dad and their little girls. The priest got down so they could hug and kiss him. Then they ran out of the kitchen, their mom and dad shooing them and also leaving. It was the priest that spoke first.