"Do not bleed all over the seat," sniffed Chiun.
"What did you say?"
And when he looked at his left hand, Remo saw blood coming out of his thumb. "You stuck me while I was sleeping," Remo accused.
"You have disgraced me before my great-great-great-grandfather."
"That how far back Kojing goes?"
"No, but I am in my end days and cannot spend an entire afternoon repeating the word great simply because there is no term in English to describe Kojing's relationship to me."
Remo checked the seatback pouch for something to wipe his hand and, finding nothing suitable, reluctantly hit the call button.
The first stewardess took one look at Remo's hand and offered to kiss it to make it better. Remo declined. The second bit her own hand and offered to become Remo's blood sister. Remo declined that honor, as well.
In the end he let them take turns sucking his thumb, but only after they swore they weren't Anne Rice fans.
Chapter 22
An unfortunate series of misunderstandings had forced underworld figure Vinnie "Three Dogs" Cerebrini to go underground.
Vinnie had been a soldier in the D'Ambrosia crime family, out of San Francisco. For his capo he had killed many times. No one questioned his loyalty. No one questioned his manhood. No one.
Until the Frank "the Fence" Feely hit.
Vinnie had gotten caught on camera coming out of an Alameda warehouse five minutes after 1:00 a.m. on the night a low-life welcher named Frank Feely died. That was unfortunate, because the established time of death according to the coronor's report was 1:05 in the morning of the twenty-fifth of February. The security camera recorded both date and time. Those were the breaks.
No problem there. The D'Ambrosia family had lawyers-"Three Dogs," Don Silvio D'Ambrosia had assured him after word went out that he was a wanted man, "you will surrender. And we will get you out this very day."
"But they got me dead-bang."
It was an unfortunate choice of words. But Vinnie didn't know then. No one knew it then.
"We have lawyers, Vincenzo. Turn yourself in. We will go your bail, and the trial will end in a very good acquittal," the capo had promised.
"But what about my dogs? Who will take care of them?"
Don Silvio had slapped him lightly on the cheek. It was an affectionate slap. After all, had not Vinnie Cerebrini killed over thirty men for him? "That is the job of your wife. You should have married a long time ago. Like I been tellin' you,"
"I'll get around to it. You know I've been busy. What with whacking this guy and clipping that one, I don't got time for broads like I should."
Another unfortunate remark, but that was life. "Bring them here. If they are your dogs, I am sure they are good dogs." And Don Silvio leaned across the kitchen table conspiratorially. "They do not piddle on the rug, do they?"
Vinnie made the sign of the cross and said, "On my mother's life, they are housebroke, Don Silvio."
"Then they are welcome in my house."
And so grateful was Vinnie "Three Dogs" that he leaned over and gave his don a very long kiss. Which was noticed.
So Vinnie Cerebrini had turned himself in, made bail and returned to his capo the next day. "The trial date's not till spring."
"Good. In the meantime, you gotta take these curs back."
"Sure. What-they been a problem for you?"
"They alla time sniffing my crotch."
"Yeah. They do that."
"What kinda queer dogs you got, Vinnie? They sniff crotches?"
"Some dogs do that. I'm sorry."
Don Silvio eyed Vinnie dubiously. "They sniff your crotch?"
Vinnie shrugged sheepishly. "All the time. Hey, what can I do? I love those dogs like brothers."
"Just get these fairy mutts outta my house. They give me the creeps. And I want you married by year's end. Capisce?"
Vinnie "Three Dogs" didn't think much of the conversation, but already the rumors were starting.
The trial went well, as promised. Evidence got suppressed, witnesses skipped town or found themselves inextricably caught up in various civic-improvement projects for which the D'Ambrosia family supplied the concrete.
"We got 'em on the run," his lawyer had confided at the end of week three.
"I just wish we could get that damn security tape quashed," Vinnie hissed back.
The lawyer shrugged. "Hey, it's circumstantial. Purely circumstantial. They can't convict on that alone."
And they hadn't. The tape was shown, and his lawyer knocked it down hard on cross-examination.
"I was taking a leak in that warehouse," Vince said solemnly from the stand. "It was dark. How was I to know the poor stiff was laying there with his mouth open?"
"But you do admit to urinating in the deceased's mouth?" the prosecuter asked when it was his turn to question the accused.
"Listen, if my piss-excuse me, Your Honor-was on that poor guy, I profoundly apologize to the family. I did not know. I swear on my mother's grave."
"But your fingerprints were found in his coat. How do you explain that?"
"Hadda wipe my hands on something. It was the only cloth in the entire joint."
In the end Vinnie pleaded no contest to the reduced charge of abusing a corpse. He was all smiles as he stepped out of the San Francisco courthouse while the press surged and jostled around.
That's when the linguini hit the propeller.
"Mr. Cerebrini, what do you have to say to these new allegations about your personal life?"
"There's ain't no such thing as the Mafia, honey. Don't you fall for that old bull."
"I was referring to the rumors of your homosexuality-"
"My which?"
"The victim was gay. Didn't you know that?"
"I didn't do nothin' to the guy," said Vinnie in an injured tone. "All I did was piss in his dead mouth. Is that a crime?"
Another reporter jumped in. "According to the security tape, you left the warehouse with your fly open."
"I told you I was taking a freaking leak. I forgot to zip up. Coulda happened to any poor mook."
"Is it true you are not-and never have been-married?"
"What are you-my godfather? I'll get around to it, okay?"
"Did you ever have relations with the dead man before he died?"
"I never knew the guy. I'm telling you. All I did was whack-I mean piss-on him. I got a weak bladder. It coulda happened to anybody. It just happened to happen to me."
And as the mob lawyer shoved him into the waiting Lincoln, Vinnie "Three Dogs" Cerebrini muttered, "What the fuck kinda rap they trying to hang on me now?"
In the car the phone rang. "Yeah?" barked Vinnie. "Three Dogs, I hear you are a free man."
"And I have you to thank, Don Silvio."
"Good. Now, Vinnnie. We been together a long time. You can tell me anything and everything. Am I right?"
"Yes, sir."
"These ugly rumors, V'mnie. There is no truth to this?"
"I swear before God, I am no fag."
"You married yet?"
"No," Vinnie said in a small voice.
"Engaged?"
"No."
"And you still got the queer dogs?"
"They are not queer! They happen to be African ridgebacks. They used to be used for running down escaped slaves. They are the biggest, meanest, most masculine dogs ever bred. Ask anyone."
"You like masculine dogs, huh, Vinnie?"
"I didn't mean it like that."
"You like to watch them walking around with their great big balls jigging between their furry butts, am I right?"
"I do not look at them that way."
"They lick your face?"
"Sometimes," Three Dogs admitted.
"You know what else they lick, Three Dogs? Their nethers. Their lower regions. You like tongues to lick you there, too?"
"Never. I swear. My dogs know better than to lick me there. They are moral and honorable dogs."