Lullaby Town Part 27

I shrugged. "Play it out that way. The Gambozas will kill Charlie for showing them up and then they'll move on you, and probably the rest of the families will, too. Everybody had an agreement and the DeLuca family broke it."

Angie said, "Bulls.h.i.+t," and threw up his hands.

Vito didn't throw up his hands. Vito stood slow and easy, and went over to Sal. "Not bulls.h.i.+t, Angie. He's right." Vito stared at Sal when he said it and Sal stared back at him. "Charlie's selling out another family to do business with an outsider. The f.u.c.kin' Jamaicans, for Christ's sake. Our word won't be s.h.i.+t. The families will turn their backs on us."

Sal nodded.

"The family comes first."

Sal looked at his brother, and the cold thing was suddenly very bright and alive. "You don't have to tell me what's what, Vito."

Vito spread his hands.

No one said anything more to me. Angie went out and came back with coffee and hard cakes, and the three of them sat on the two couches by the fireplace, drinking the coffee and eating the cakes in silence. I wasn't offered anything and I wasn't spoken to. After a while I went to an overstuffed chair across the room and sat down. Vito made more calls, and a couple of times big men knocked and looked in and would start to say something in English, but when they saw me they would switch to Italian. Angie went out twice and Vito went out once, but Sal didn't go out at all. He sat and stared, and I was glad he wasn't staring at me.

We sat like that in Sal DeLuca's den for almost six hours.

At ten minutes before five the next morning, Freddie came in with Charlie and Ric. Charlie's hair was mussed and his collar was open and he looked anxious, like maybe he had been looking for someone and he hadn't been able to find them. Ric still looked like a vampire, all hard bones and white, leathery flesh. Charlie was saying something about why the h.e.l.l this couldn't wait until morning when he saw me and you could see the fear jolt through him like a galvanic shock. He scrabbled under his coat for his gun, but Vito slapped the gun out of his hand.

Sal said, "Freddie, close the door."

Charlie said, "That's the sonofab.i.t.c.h killed Carmine and Dante." Trying to cover, doing a lot of arm waving and loud talking, as if the loud talk might convince Sal and Vito and Angie that whatever I'd said was lies. "He's trying to force us outta the bank. Jesus Christ, what's he doing here?"

Sal's left hand snapped out and caught Charlie beneath the right eye. It was a hard shot and it caught Charlie by surprise. He yelled, "Hey!"

"Shut up and listen to this."

Charlie shut up. Ric settled back against the bookcases and watched, ch.o.r.eographing the dance in his head, seeing himself move fast and perfect.

Sal looked at me again for the first time since he had sent Freddie away to find Charlie and said, "Tell him."

I went through it for Charlie just like I had for Sal. The more I said, the more Charlie fidgeted, moving from foot to foot and picking at his hands and visibly sweating. The more Charlie moved, the more Sal didn't move. When I finished, Charlie said, "This is bulls.h.i.+t. This is merda merda. Whattaya listening to this guy for?" He looked at Angie. He looked at Vito. "Uncle Vito. Hey, Angie. Who's family here?" He looked back at his father. "Whattaya listening to this guy for?"

Sal put the blank, frog eyes on his son and said, "I listened because I got no doubt in my heart that you would do this, and watching you now, I know you did."

"Whattaya talking about? That's horses.h.i.+t."

Sal hit Charlie with the back of his right hand so hard that Charlie staggered backward. Vito looked at Ric, and Ric made a little head move, saying he wasn't in it, and Vito nodded.

Charlie was taller than Sal, and younger, but where there was something flabby and mean about Charlie, in Sal it was hard and vibrant, even at sixty-five. The Rock. "You're a piece of s.h.i.+t, Charlie." What Charlie had said to Joey Putata. Charlie tried to cover up, but Sal slapped him again and again, steady, rhythmic shots. Sal held my Dan Wesson in his left hand and slapped with his right. "You double-crossed the f.u.c.kin' Gambozas. You made the family into liars, and you ain't even got the b.a.l.l.s to admit it. Be a man, Charlie. Face me and tell me that you've done this horrible thing."

I looked at Ric again, but Ric didn't seem to be watching or hearing. His eyes were flagging closed and his head was gently bobbing in time with some dark music.

Charlie stumbled into a chair, trying to get away. His face was purple and ribbons of snot leaked down across his mouth. "It's not true. I dint do nothing. I swear I dint." Like a little kid.

Sal said, "I gave them my word, Charlie. This family made peace with the other families and you've broken it. You understand that? You know what that costs?"

Charlie scrambled away from the chair and covered up against the wall. He said, "Please, Daddy."

Sal grabbed Charlie by the throat and shook him. "I keep hoping you'll come around, but that day is never going to come, is it? I put you in business, I make it easy for you, but you're always gonna be a f.u.c.kup."

Charlie slipped out of Sal's grip and fell to the floor, then tried to crawl away. Sal hit him harder, grunting with every blow.

Vito looked embarra.s.sed and Angie looked confused and I wished I wasn't there seeing it. Sal followed his crawling son around the room, hitting him until Charlie ended up on his side, curled into a ball behind a heavy leather chair. Sal stood over him, breathing hard and hitting and saying, "Be a man, be a man," until finally Vito said, "Jesus Christ, Sal," and went over and pulled him away, lifting Sal DeLuca off his feet and talking to him and calming him down. Moving the Rock.

Then it was over. Sal stood in the center of the room, the Dan Wesson at his side, breathing hard and watching his blubbering adult child for what seemed like forever. Maybe violent insanity ran in the family.

He shook his head and seemed to see me again, as if for a time I was gone but had now returned. "Okay," he said. "Karen Lloyd walks. Is that what you want?"

"Part of it. There's something else."

"What?"

"The woman who died in Brooklyn." I looked at Ric. "He pulled the trigger. I want you to give him up to the cops."

Ric moved the steel-girder shoulders and peeled himself away from the bookshelves, the leather jacket falling open.

Sal looked at Ric and then looked back at me. "I ain't never gave one of my people up to the cops and I never would. My guys know that."

Ric made a little smile.

"That's the deal, Sal. Take it or leave it."

Sal the Rock DeLuca shook his head. "No cops." He raised the Dan Wesson, aimed it between my eyes, then turned and shot Ric once in the chest.

Ric saw it coming and yelled, "No!" and tried to move, but the slug caught him. It pushed him back into the bookshelves and then his heels slid out from beneath him and he fell to the floor.

Charlie made a gargling sound and whimpered.

Ric tried to get up, but his feet kept slipping.

Sal shot him again.

Ric clawed under his jacket and came out with his gun.

Sal shot him twice more, smoke from the caps rolling across the room like smog spilling through the Glendale Pa.s.s into the San Fernando Valley.

There were shouts in another part of the house and the sound of men running and then someone was banging on the door. Freddie came in first.

Sal was as calm as if he had taken out the trash. "Freddie, get a couple of those big plastic bags and take care of this."

Freddie swallowed and stumbled backward out of the room.

Sal looked down at his son and then looked at me, his eyes empty and bottomless. "Good enough?"

I nodded.

"Okay, you got what you want. Now I get what I want. The Gambozas must never know. What we speak of here stays here, buried forever. Will you bury this? Will you keep my kid safe?" Sal and Karen Lloyd, each worried about their children.

I nodded again. "We bury it. We keep everyone safe."

Vito said, "We got loose ends, Sal. Other people know."

Sal said, "We'll take care of the loose ends, Vito." He looked back at me. "You want anything else?"

"No."

"Then it's a done deal. Get the f.u.c.k out of my sight."

Thirty-six.

I walked out of Sal DeLuca's brownstone to a fine powder of snow on the streets and the sidewalks and the cars parked at the curb. The air was cold and the Manhattan skyline to the east was clear and pink in antic.i.p.ation of the rising sun. To the west and the north, though, the clouds were still heavy and dense and promising more snow. The drunk was gone, but the little cardboard house remained, quiet and white in the early morning light. Cars belched fog-breath out on Fifth and 62nd, and men and women in heavy coats walked fast along the sidewalks, leaving gray trails. Somewhere there was music playing, but I didn't hear the notes clearly and couldn't make out the song. I slipped a twenty-dollar bill into the little cardboard house and went back to the Taurus.

I drove across Central Park, then up through the city and the Bronx and Yonkers and White Plains. I drove slowly and listened to a pretty good cla.s.sic rock station that played a lot of John Fogerty and CCR. Run Through the Jungle Run Through the Jungle. Nothing like a little Creedence Clearwater Revival at six in the morning after spending the night with the G.o.dfather. Four miles above White Plains, I pulled into a rest stop overlooking a lake and started to shake. I shook for what seemed like hours but was probably only a couple of minutes. I let the motor run and the Taurus's heater pump on high, but I wasn't shaking from the cold.

A tan and white RV was parked broadside to the view, and had probably been there all night. A man and a woman in their sixties came out with coffee cups and went to the rail, looking out at the lake. They watched the lake for a while and sipped the coffee and held hands. When they turned and came back to the RV, the woman gave me a friendly smile. The license plate on their little mobile house said Utah Utah.

At a quarter to ten I parked on the street in front of May Erdich's house. Toby and Joe Pike were standing in brown leaves and snow, tossing a beat-up Wilson football, and Peter was sitting on May's front step, watching them. Peter looked cold.

Karen Lloyd came out of the front door as I went up the walk.

I said, "It's over."

She shook her head, like maybe I was lying. "You got Charlie to go along?" Pike and Toby stopped throwing the ball. Toby ran over to stand by his mother.

"Sal. Charlie doesn't have anything to do with it anymore. It's Sal, and Sal says you're out of it. Charlie will do whatever Sal says."

She gripped one hand with the other. "I can stay at the bank?"

"Yes."

"No more Charlie? No more deposits?"

"It's over, Karen."

Peter smiled and crossed his arms but stayed on the front step.

Karen came down the steps and hugged me and then she hugged Pike. She started crying, holding us tight and digging her fingers into our shoulders as if only by holding us here could it be real. When she did it, Peter looked at his feet.

Karen let go and stepped back, smiling and crying and thanking us. She said, "Can we go back to the house?"

"Sure. Any time you want."

Peter looked up and said, "Karen, I'm glad. I couldn't be happier."

Karen smiled at him, then looked at her son. "Tobe. Let's get our things. Let's say bye to May."

They went into the house together. Inside, there was movement and warmth and the pounding footsteps of Toby running down a long hall.

Peter uncrossed his arms and pushed away from the top step. He said, "I've gotta get Dani. I want to bring her home and take care of her."

I nodded. "The police will have questions. We'll have to figure out what to tell them."

He made a little shrug. "I'll tell them the truth. She died saving my life because I'm a jerk."

Pike said, "You can't."

Peter looked at him.

I said, "I gave my word to Sal that we wouldn't let what Charlie was doing get out to the Gambozas. You tell the cops or People People magazine or anyone else you know how Dani died, the Gambozas or someone who works for them will put it together. When they do, the deal with Sal will be over. He'll come for you." magazine or anyone else you know how Dani died, the Gambozas or someone who works for them will put it together. When they do, the deal with Sal will be over. He'll come for you."

"I don't care about me."

"He'll come for Karen and Toby."

Peter pursed his lips and looked at the ground. He didn't like it, but he was learning to live with things that he didn't like. He said, "It makes me feel like I'm cheating her."

"You are, but it's all we can do. Do you understand?"

He pursed his lips some more, but he nodded. The front door opened and Toby brought out his overnighter, put it on the porch, then went back inside and closed the door. Peter watched him. "They think I'm full of s.h.i.+t."

I didn't say anything.

"I'm thinking I've gotta get back to L.A. I've got the picture going into production soon. There's no point in me staying around."

I stared at the house for a while. My back hurt and my neck was stiff and I wanted to go to bed. "You shouldn't have come back here expecting them to think of you as husband and father. You could've earned that, perhaps, but you didn't think in terms of earning. You thought it was your right. You demand what you want and you get it, usually, and that makes you think that you can get whatever you demand."

"I didn't come out here wanting to f.u.c.k it up."

"I know."

"I wanted this to work out. I wanted them to be a part of my life. There are empty places."

"Maybe the way to look at it is that you should've worked to be a part of their lives and hoped to fill the empty places they have."

Peter pressed his lips together and looked at the ground, like maybe there was something interesting there. Elm leaves, dried and brittle in the cold. "s.h.i.+t. I've gotta go."

He walked across the leaf-strewn yard and got into the limo and drove away. There was still a little snow on the winds.h.i.+eld when he left.

Pike and I waited at the Taurus until Karen and Toby came out. Karen was smiling and said, "I feel like a celebration. Would you like to have a late breakfast? On me, of course."

"Whatever you want."