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But the flip side was that nobody else played the song anymore. All the regulars, the owner Sal Calcagno, the waitresses, everybody, they were sick to death of ‘Ti Amo.’ It was a good song, and for a long time it had been Joh
Now, though, as he came up off the sidewalk behind the grilled fence, past the couples drinking their espresso or cappuccino or Peroni beer or sirops, he wasn’t too thrilled to hear it because hearing it meant that the Angel was there already and he wouldn’t have time to ask one of the boys why he’d been summoned down here again.
Not that he should be too worried. Mr Tortoni was his godfather. But he was also his employer, and certainly he was no one to get on the wrong side of, and this thing last night-having to explain Ingraham’s disappearance, being six hundred dollars short-had not made him happy. Which Joh
As always, Mr Tortoni was sitting all alone at the back of the room, back to the wall, under the poster of the Leaning Tower, at the small white table. Two of the other boys were playing pool, and Joh
“Can I get you something, Joh
It was amazing how quietly the man talked, how small and frail he looked. You didn’t have to talk loud to get heard; physical strength was a small part of having power. These things Mr Tortoni had taught him.
Joh
“You wanted to see me?”
Mr Tortoni put his cup down and fiddled for a moment with a short cigar, which Joh
“Okay,” Joh
“So maybe-no, not maybe, I’m sure it’s an oversight.”
Joh
“Well?”
“Whatever it is, I’ll fix it,” Joh
“You don’t know? It could be you forgot. The excitement all last night, this Ingraham problem.”
Joh
“Ingraham is five hundred dollars. I get reminded today-bookkeepers, you know, they keep track of things.”
Joh
Mr Tortoni put his hand over Joh
In spite of the sirop, Joh
“So you collect from this Doreen?”
“Sure, like always.”
“Then you got the hundred? Her hundred?”
Joh
“You still nervous, Joh
Mado
Angelo Tortoni palmed the bill and laid a hand softly against Joh
“Absolutely.”
“Maybe get a book,” Mr Tortoni said. “Keep track who’s a six and who’s a five. And who’s a one.” He puffed at his cigar. “That Doreen Biaggi, she’s got to be a pretty girl now with the nose fixed?”
Mr Tortoni stared now at Joh
“You know, Joh
Joh
“I know you hear what I’m saying, Joh
“I wouldn’t do anything like that,” he managed to get out.
“I put a man like you in a position of trust. He represents my interests to the community. A man betrays that trust, I got no use for him. Lean closer to me, Joh
The hand still covered his, gripping tightly.
“I kiss you now and you’re a dead man.”
Joh
The strains of ‘Ti Amo’ began again. Mr Tortoni leaned back in his chair. He took the flattened tip of the cigar into his mouth like a nipple and drew on it. “I love this song,” he said.
Fra
Earlier, he’d almost gone back to his own house, suddenly worried that staying here was putting her in some danger. He just wasn’t thinking clearly. There was no co
Now, closing in on midnight, she lay in the king-size bed, Dismas out at the kitchen table, probably staring out at the street as he’d done in every minute of his spare time since he’d been here, watching to see if Louis Baker would show up.
It wasn’t like Diz. Just sitting there, brooding, with that damn gun out on the table, drinking decaffeinated coffee and waiting for Abe Glitsky to call him.
Which didn’t seem like it was going to happen tonight.
Dismas had come in around six-thirty from his day of touring gun shops, excited that he’d proved something -Rusty Ingraham had indeed put in an order for a gun on Wednesday afternoon at a place called Taylor’s in the Tenderloin district. He’d needed the gun as protection against Baker. Also, Louis Baker had evidently come by the Shamrock looking for Hardy. So he had placed a call to his friend Glitsky and thought with the new information, Glitsky would have enough at least to take Baker off the streets.
Fra
“Well, Abe’s problem here seems to be Rusty as much as anything else. Since they haven’t found his body, he is somehow not as real a victim as Maxine Weir.”
“Well, maybe he’s not.”