“Okay,” Nolan said. “Now get out of here.”
The guy with the camera did.
Joey got out of bed and pulled on his trousers. His dignity was ruffled, and he was a little confused, flustered, but that was all. He said, “Nolan...”
“Joe,” Nolan said, “allow me to introduce you to Felicia Colletta.”
Colletta?
“Who?” Joey said. “Colletta?”
“Colletta. That’s right. You know the name.”
He knew the name if it was that Colletta, the Family Colletta.
“You know how Mr. Colletta feels about his daughters,” Nolan said.
Colletta. Boss of the biggest New York Family. Colletta, with four beautiful daughters from age fourteen to twenty-two. Four beautiful daughters Colletta loved with an Old World paternal passion.
“You probably heard about his older daughter Angela,” Nolan was saying, “who is married now. You probably heard about the college kid who screwed Angela when she was fifteen.”
Colletta had a guy use acid on the kid, Joey didn’t want to think about where.
“Felicia’s going to turn eighteen this summer, aren’t you, Felicia? Mr. Colletta sent her here to the middle West where she could breathe some clean country air.”
This wasn’t happening.
“All right, Felicia,” Nolan was saying, “thank you so much. Don’t say a word about this to anyone, you hear?”
And she was nodding and leaving.
Joey sat down on the bed.
Nolan came and joined him.
Nolan said, “I want you to tell me about Charlie.”
Joey said, “No.”
“The pictures will be destroyed. I’ll bring you the camera and let you take the film out and expose it yourself.”
“This is a goddamn hoax.”
“Okay.”
“That isn’t Felicia Colletta.”
“Okay. See you, Joey.”
Nolan got up.
Joey grabbed Nolan’s sleeve. “That... that isn’t Felicia Colletta, is it?”
“If you say so, Joe. See you.”
Nolan walked to the door and put his hand on the knob.
“Nolan!”
“Yes?”
“I’ll tell you.”
“All right.”
“Charlie’s death... Charlie’s death wasn’t an accident. The Family did it.”
And Nolan started to laugh. “I’ll have the best shot blown up to poster size and send it to you, Joe.”
“You bastard.”
“See you, Joe.”
“Come back, you fucker!”
“What do you want, Joe?”
“Nolan... you know, Nolan. You know, don’t you?”
“I think so,” Nolan said, nodding. “But I want to hear it from you.”
Joey put his head in his hands. Sobbing was coming up out of him, out of his gut somewhere. It was hard to talk through it.
“Charlie,” Joey said, chest heaving, “Charlie is still alive.”
5
There was no moon and you could count the stars on your fingers. Nolan lay on his back on the rubber raft, floating around the deep end of the pool, studying the sky. He was having a hard time deciding whether the sky was black or dark blue, and finally compromised on Smith and Wesson blue-black. He found watching the lustreless sky soothed him, and after a while he noticed he could make out some clouds up there and figured they were probably responsible for his problem pinning down the sky’s color. The clouds were like charcoal smoke clinging to the sky, blending with it, making the sky look light in places, as though it were wearing out.
It was restful, drifting around the pool, the easy movement of the water lulling him. There was no one to bother him, as it was eleven-thirty now, and at eleven the pool was closed to Tropical guests. The gas torches that surrounded the pool flickered and danced on the water’s surface, and Nolan watched and enjoyed the reflecting flames when he wasn’t looking at the sky.
He needed this interlude, needed it to drain away what tension he had left from the preceding hours of rant and rush. The news of the robbery at Planner’s had led to a frantic afternoon and evening, beginning with an hour of heated, involved conversation with Felix and ending with the preparations for having Joey Metrano down for a chat. But now that Nolan’s theory about Charlie had been proved correct, there was no need for everybody to run around like a bunch of idiots in heat. What there was a need for was rest for Nolan, time for him to relax, sort things out, calm himself before setting out for his money.
He hadn’t thought about Planner being dead. Now that he was feeling good again, he wouldn’t allow such thoughts to push forward in his mind and spoil his mood. He wasn’t good at sorrow anyway, and it didn’t occur to him to feel in any way guilty about the old man’s death. Nolan figured Planner knew the rules and risks of the game. Besides, most of Nolan’s friends didn’t get to be as old as Planner had.
Sherry’s head bobbed up out of the water beside him and she arose wet and grinning, the water splashing up and around and on her as if it was having as good a time as she was. “Hey, this is fun!” she sputtered, treading water. “I ought to go swimming more often!”
Nolan shook his head. This was probably the first time she’d been swimming this summer, though she’d spent most of every day at the pool. Sunning. Just now Nolan had convinced her to go to the pool with him and she’d found nothing else to do there but swim.
Nolan said, “How you doing, Felicia Colletta, child of the underworld?”
Sherry giggled, paddling hands and feet to stay above water. She said, “I just hope you keep me in mind come Academy Award time.”
“Don’t know about that,” Nolan told her, “but if I ever cast a stag film, you’re the first one I’ll call.”
She made a face and slapped at the water to get him wet, then decided that wasn’t enough and overturned the raft and dumped him, arms flailing, into the deep. “Don’t be afraid of the water,” he heard her say, “it won’t bite!” Which struck him as a very hypocritical thing for this queen of suntan lotions to say.
The pool was heated, so the water was luxuriously warm, like a lazy bath, and Nolan stayed down under for a while, waiting for her to come looking for him. She did, and he grabbed for her, and she slipped away from him, swimming down toward the shallow section, underwater all the way, stroking like a frog. He caught up with her just as she was getting on her feet at the far end of the pool, and he pinched her ass just as her head cleared the water. She was still squealing as he got to his feet laughing and saw Felix standing there, back far enough to keep from getting wet, but standing there just the same, looking vaguely annoyed.
“Hello, Felix,” Nolan said.
“What are you doing?” Felix said.
“Right now I’m getting out of the swimming pool,” he said, and did, giving Sherry his hand and helping her out, too.
Felix said, “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”
“I am,” Nolan said.
Nolan went to the lounge chair where he’d left his towel and dried off. There was a small round metal table next to the chair, a canopied table with a pitcher of martinis and ice on it. Nolan poured three glasses from the pitcher and gave one to Sherry and one to Felix and kept the third.
“Thank you,” Felix said. His tone was almost friendly now; evidently he was dropping the reproving manner, having gotten nowhere with it. He sipped the drink and said, “What sort of martini is this?”
“Vodka,” Nolan said.
“Oh,” Felix nodded, and took a seat beside Nolan’s lounge chair, checking it first for moisture.
“How’s Joey doing?” Nolan asked.
Sherry had finished her drink already and was diving back into the pool.