What was it that black kid Terrence kept saying before the fight? Old man, old man. “Old man oughta stay in the old man home.” The words echoed in Teddy’s mind and he knew all at once, he was going to die. He would go through with the radiation and maybe even the chemotherapy, but the cancer would kill him, no matter what the doctor said. Terror seized his heart and shriveled his lungs.
Suddenly he didn’t want to leave this life. It was too soon. What did he have to show for himself? There was no son to inherit what little wealth and respect he’d accumulated. His daughter couldn’t even understand he was a boss. And with Vin dead, there wasn’t even anyone to share his twilight years. Why had he killed the one friend he had left? Out of a code? Out of vengeance? For what? Vin having a son when he didn’t?
His mind began to collapse in on itself. Who would remember him after he was gone? There was Carla, standing pregnant over by the refrigerator. But she was only a girl. Teddy had an urge to go running into her children’s bedroom to wake her son Anthony Jr., just to see if there was any family resemblance between them. Some small trace of Teddy to pass on to the next century.
But it was late and he knew he’d be out of energy before he had one foot on the floor.
And now the spreading warmth around his lap told him he’d given up the bag to hold his urine too quickly. He’d pissed on the couch. He started to tell his niece what he’d done, so she’d get him a towel and a blanket. But shame overcame him and he began to cry.
“Uncle Ted, what’s the matter?” she said, coming over to take his hand.
“It’s nothing.” He choked. “Lemme be.”
A grown man pissing and crying on a couch. You began this life like a baby and you finished it the same way. But in the end, you were alone, with no one to care for you. Especially if you didn’t have children to look after you. Maybe Vin was right. They all should have made more babies.
He buried his face in his hands as his niece put her arm around his shoulder. “It’s all right, Uncle Ted,” she said. “I’m with you.”
But she wasn’t with him. And she never would be. She’d married that mutt Anthony and they were all poisoned by his tainted blood. Everything Teddy had done in his life amounted to nothing, and the dream he’d once had of controlling all of Atlantic City, the entire neon forest, was gone now.
He reclined all the way back on the couch again and closed his eyes.
“I think I’m just gonna sleep awhile,” he said. “You get me up if anybody comes in.”
65
“I DON’T SEE WHY you find this so unusual,” Frank Diamond said.
“It’s not unusual, it’s irregular,” explained the F.B.I, agent named Wayne Sadowsky.
“Look,” said Frank. “You’ve been my case agent, investigating me for six years and you’ve never found anything. I’m a law-abiding citizen making a valid complaint. I’m entitled to have you investigate it and take action, as you would with anyone else.”
They were standing at the back of the room during the post-fight press conference. Elijah Barton was not present. His brother John stood at the microphone, explaining that Elijah was upstairs with his doctor trying to determine whether any of the blindness or hearing loss would be permanent. Terrence Mulvehill was half slumped over on the dais, wearing a black baseball cap with a white towel draped around his neck. He had a large ice pack pressed against the side of his face.
“All right,” said Sadowsky. “Run it by me one more time.”
“The charge would be fraud and extortion. Mr. Russo set my fighter up with this girl I was telling you about.”
“And why didn’t you file a complaint before the fight?”
“I have certain fiduciary responsibilities,” Frank said evenly. “If I’d had Mr. Russo arrested beforehand, I might’ve endangered the bout and cost my fighter a payday. I had to protect his rights.”
At the front of the room, Terrence was standing at the podium as the photographers snapped flashes at his bruised eyelids.
“And you-all want us to pick this Anthony up tonight?” Sadowsky asked, looking and sounding only slightly incredulous.
“Why not?” asked Frank. “You shouldn’t have any problem getting a warrant. I’ve seen a half dozen federal judges standing by the roulette wheel upstairs.
Sadowsky threw back his shoulders, as though he was ready to go twelve rounds himself. “Well, I suppose we could pick him up for questioning,” he said. “Have you already paid his people for their part in the fight?”
Up at the podium, John B. was smiling with the innocence of a holy fool with a gold-capped tooth and saying his brother could claim a moral victory tonight.
“Of course, they’ve been paid part of the advance,” said Frank, picking up a champagne glass. “But I can find at least five places where they’ve violated the spirit and letter of our contract.”
Sadowsky inhaled and rolled his eyes. “You drive some hard bargain, Mr. Diamond.”
“Well, what do you expect?” said Frank. “The object of this sport is to knock the other guy out.”
66
A HALF HOUR LATER I was still in the empty dressingroom, waiting for Frank. I was beginning to wonder if I’d gotten the time and the place wrong. Everything seemed out of sync since I’d gotten the stuffing knocked out of me by that guard. Doors opened and closed too quickly, footsteps were too loud on the stairs.
I dug the Filofax out of my jacket pocket and double-checked. “12:15: Pick up balance of payment from Frank D.” Where was he?
I started tearing apart the dressing room, looking for some kind of note from him. He couldn’t have just skipped out on me. He wouldn’t have the nerve. I looked under the training table, which was covered in dried blood and sweaty towels. I searched through the box full of bandages and rolls of tape. I even lifted the red carpet at the corners. But nothing.
I was beginning to panic. I ran upstairs to the casino, hoping the guards hadn’t let Tommy Sick back in the building. My vision blurred and then split in two. I saw two sets of Japanese businessmen jamming the baccarat pits; two sets of yuppie couples at the craps tables, hollering like it was divorce court; four sets of young black and Chinese dope dealers in expensive running suits throwing thousands of dollars at the blackjack dealers.
Something about watching two guys beat the shit out of each other made people feel like gambling, as if they were the ones taking the risks.
I blinked until my vision came together again and then walked the length of the casino floor, past the jangling bells and twirling slots, heading for the lobby. I wanted to at least get the sixty thousand dollars I had out of the hotel safe.
As I came down the escalator, I heard the old song “California Dreaming” playing on the P.A. system and wondered if I’d ever make it out there.
I got to the front desk and asked the clerk, who was dressed as a pirate, to go get my briefcase. He took my registration number and hurried away, twitching his butt in his tight brown britches. While I was waiting for him to come back, I caught sight of a tense, disheveled guy in a wrinkled jacket and dirty sweatshirt in the nearest smoked wall mirror. And then I realized I was looking at myself. My nose began to bleed as the clerk returned and handed me the briefcase across the counter.