“Me too,” she said. “So where’s the bar?”
“There,” I said, pointing to the door that led to the terrace.
Once outside I could see that Sal had really outdone himself. The terrace had been professionally decorated with lavish columns, topiaries, and hundreds of tiny white lights that made it seem like a fairyland. The tables were draped in textured, white linen, with centerpieces of fresh-cut orchids. The chairs were covered in white fabric with organza sashes in cobalt blue. The bar was at least twenty feet long, with three bartenders going at it double-time.
Despite the ample and capable staff , it took ten minutes to get our drinks. While I waited, I looked back up at the house. The curtains along the back of the house were open. All the lights were on, and I could see inside Sal and Marie’s bedroom.
I’d been hiding in Sal’s attic for a reason. He had been given some misinformation about me and decided to have me whacked. I figured the safest place to hide out was in his attic. I tapped his phones and bored some tiny holes in the various ceilings and fitted them with pinhole cameras. I was trying to learn which of Sal’s lieutenants had lied about me. I figured I’d find him and torture a confession out of him. Barring that, I’d kill Sal. As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long. Six nights into my stay, while Sal and Marie slept in their bed, I heard two guys break into the house. Through pinhole cameras I watched them creep toward the master bedroom with their guns drawn. I positioned myself over Sal’s bedroom. When they flipped on the lights, I put a gun in each hand and jumped through the space between the floorboards, came crashing through Sal’s ceiling with guns blazing. I killed both the would-be assassins, and later learned they’d been sent by Artie Boots, the guy that tried to set me up.
You’d think Sal would have been grateful, but it took all this time for him to forgive me. One reason he finally began trusting me is because, with Victor and Hugo’s help, I took down Joe DeMeo. I seized several of Joe’s off shore accounts, worth millions of dollars, and gave Sal half of everything I stole.
Money may not buy happiness but enough of it buys loyalty.
As we stepped away from the bar, I spotted Sal and Marie holding court on the far end of the terrace. One by one, criminals approached him, kissed his cheeks, and handed him envelopes. Sal shook their hands, appeared to make some small talk, and spent a lot of time smiling. As the mugs left, Sal looked in the envelopes and said something to either T-Bone or Big Bad, his bodyguards. T-Bone seemed to be writing something in a small ledger book, probably recording the size of each man’s contribution. Then Sal deposited each envelope into a large wooden box on a bar table that Big Bad was guarding.
Kathleen and I were particularly impressed with the backyard.
At the center of the terrace, eight wide steps down led to the sun deck and swimming pool, which had been covered for the occasion with an enormous dance platform. An eight-piece swing band had set up in the gazebo, next to the pool house, but hadn’t started playing yet. For now, the music was provided by an unlikely pair of very old men. One, the violin player, had a shock of white hair and wore the thickest black glasses I’d ever seen. He moved through the crowd while playing, pausing occasionally to whisper something in the ear of each pretty lady he encountered. The other guy, the guitar player, squinted and scowled at the guests like a jealous lover, and did his best to keep up with the violinist, both musically and spatially.
“I love the musicians,” Kathleen said. “They’re so cute!”
“Cute,” I said.
“Well, just look at them. They must be eighty years old.”
I did look at them, in fact, I knew them. And “cute” didn’t seem an appropriate description. Johnny D and Silvio Braca were a pair of octogenarians who could play a romantic ballad one minute and break your knee caps the next.
“I wonder what he’s whispering to all those women,” I said.
Kathleen flashed a grin at me. “Maybe I’ll just walk over there and find out,” she said.
Chapter 12
Sal caught my eye and motioned us over. We worked our way over to him.
“This is my wife, Marie,” he said to Kathleen.
“And this is Kathleen,” I said.
I nodded at Big Bad and T-Bone and they each gave me a short, tight nod in return.
Sal made a great show of bowing and kissing her hand. Then he took a step back and appraised her body like a meat inspector deciding between choice and prime. Prime won.
“Ah,” he said, licking his lips. “You done good with this one here, Creed.”
Marie said, “Stop it Sal. You’re making the poor girl uncomfortable.” To Kathleen she said, “Don’t pay any attention to him. He thinks he’s a stallion.”
Kathleen smiled.
Marie’s eyes turned fierce. “I mean it,” she said. “Don’t pay any attention to him!”
Kathleen flashed me a look of confusion.
Sal said, “Marie, this is Creed’s girlfriend.” He emphasized the word by arching his eyebrows.
Marie showed skepticism.
“They’re adopting a kid, for Crissake,” he said.
Marie’s demeanor changed instantly. “Really, Donovan?”
“It’s true,” I said.
Marie beamed at Kathleen. “You’ll have to let me help you plan the wedding!”
Sal laughed. “Hell, they ain’t gonna exchange—whatcha call—nuptials. They’re going to keep living in sin like we used to do.” He gave her a wink.
“We did nothing of the kind,” Marie huffed. She turned to Kathleen. “That true? No marriage?”
Before Kathleen could think of a response, Marie shook her head and left us to chat with some guests.
Sal said, “You bring an envelope?”
“Better than that,” I said, “but we have to go inside to get it.”
“No shit?” Sal said. “Then let’s go!”
He told T-Bone to guard the stash and motioned to Big Bad to follow us. We started making the journey through the crowd of well-wishers and glad handlers. As we walked I said, “How’d you know about the adoption?”
Sal smiled. “I got my—whatcha call—sources.”
To Kathleen, Sal said, “You ever see this one fight?”
“I heard him once.”
Sal said, “Heard him? What’s that mean?”
She gave me a look. I said, “Nellie’s Diner. Joe DeMeo’s goons.”
Sal said, “You was there?”
Kathleen nodded. “Sort of,” she said. “I was in the restaurant, hiding under a table.”
We entered the great room. Santo Mangano waved from the foyer and yelled, “Hey, Sallie!” Sal returned the wave.
“Thing of beauty,” Sal said, “the way Creed—whatcha call—inflicts physical damage. We was in a place one time, some martial arts guy was drunk and comes at me for no frickin’ reason. Before Big and T have a chance to react, Creed goes after this guy and I swear to Christ, it looked like a cyclone fightin’ a water bug!”
Kathleen squeezed my arm. “You think that’s something, you should see him in the sack.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Except in the sack, I’m the water bug.”
Sal started to laugh but a thunderous voice suddenly took over all the speakers in the house. He flinched slightly, but stood his ground. All around us, gangsters hit the floor, pulling their wives down with them. Women screamed as their husbands scrambled for cover. Guns were produced from ankle and shoulder holsters. Servers brandished knives, proving me right about the brandishing.
The voice was masculine, and powerful, like the wrath of God.
The voice boomed: “The mightiest warriors are not the most physically impressive!”
The lights went out and circles of blue lasers started flashing at the far end of the foyer. The giant voice spoke again.