Wosznik suddenly stood very goddamn tall and wide. “Get out!” he rasped. “Get outa here!”
Cavanaugh interceded. “Wait a minute, that’s not what—”
“Get out!” The old man was really riled. The police dog lifted its head, snarled. Very deep in the throat.
“Now hold on, old buddy!” Johnson grinned. “That ain’t no goddamn way to talk with old friends!” Maybe he didn’t see the dog.
“Come on,” said Cavanaugh to Johnson. “I think it’s better to go.” Robbins was already at the door, his eye on the dog.
“Aw, it’s all right, Mr. Cavanaugh,” said Johnson, rocking placidly. “We still ain’t found out—”
Wosznik made a lunge at Johnson. Johnson sprang up, cocked his fist, but simultaneously the dog shot off the cot, made for Johnson’s arm. Vince was the fourth one out the door, Georgie Lucci right behind him. Sounds of scuffling behind them, snarling and cursing, table falling, a groan. Johnson stepped out, a grin on his long face. “Shit, that old mutt ain’t got no teeth, boys. Now, don’t you wanna have that talk?”
“No,” said Cavanaugh bluntly. He was plainly sore. They found the car empty.
“Jesus, she’s got a long walk home,” said Lucci.
“In the rain, too,” said Robbins.
They all stared a moment down the muddy road. They couldn’t see her. “That’s enough for today,” Cavanaugh said.
When all but he and Robbins had been dropped off, Vince said: “Jesus, I’m sorry about Johnson, Ted. He invited himself, and I didn’t—”
“I know, Vince,” Ted said. “Those things happen. Let’s just hope Miller doesn’t get wind of it. Forget about it.” But he knew he’d chalked up a negative, and he thought he saw Robbins grin.
In walked Charlie Saturday afternoon, the eleventh, snapping his fingers, cap tipped so far down his nose he could’ve polished the bill with his tongue, and the door hadn’t even swung shut before he and Vince were into it again. Etta planted herself heftily between them, got Charlie maneuvered into the kitchen for a sandwich. When Vince asked him why he didn’t show up the night before like he’d said he would, all he got from the boy was a wink. A few minutes later, Charlie passed through the living room again, sandwich in hand, tipping his cap, revealing his nearly bald head, and then—snap! snap! — right on out the door.
“Didn’t stay long, did he?” Vince remarked sourly.
Etta sat down on the couch, big smile on her face. “Looks funny with that haircut, don’t he?”
“Haircut can’t change a boy.”
“Vince, you’re too hard on him. He’s a good boy.” Etta sat pleased and plump. She sighed. “I guess he’ll be a big man on the town tonight.”
Vince saw it was silly to carp. Anyway, it was good in a way to have Charlie home. Livened up the house. He wished the other kids would come home more often. Lots of room for them now. Grandkids and all.
There was a knock on the door.
“Jesus, he’s in trouble already!” said Vince, getting up, stuffing his feet back into the shoes.
“Mr. and Mrs. Vincent Bonali?” asked the boy at the door. Holding a goddamn bouquet of flowers big as he was.
“Well, yeah, that’s right,” said Vince.
“Well, Happy Easter, Mr. Bonali!” the kid said with a big smile, and handed him the flowers.
“What is it, Vince?” asked Etta from the living room.
“Jesus, I don’t know!” said Vince. He lugged the bouquet into the living room. “Somebody sent us this!”
“Oh my God!” cried Etta, jumping up. “It’s beautiful!” She came hurrying over, but she seemed almost afraid to touch it. “Does it have a card or anything?”
Vince fumbled around the stems, found a little white envelope. “Yeah, just a minute.” Fingers unsteady. The thing had really bowled him over. “Well, I’ll be damned!”
“Who—?”
“‘To the Vince Bonalis, Happy Easter! Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Cavanaugh and family.’ Wow! Whaddaya think about that!”
Etta, speechless, took the card from him and read it. “I can’t hardly get my breath!” she said. “Why, it must’ve cost a fortune! But, but where can we put it?”
“Hell, I don’t know. May have to build a new house just to have room for the damn thing!” Really, it was too great, it was a great thing to do! “There, let’s clear off that end table, it’s big enough, I think.”
When Angie came home an hour later, they still hadn’t got used to the thing, still kept fiddling with it, staring at it, putting the card one place or another, walking around it. She started to tell them she’d just seen Charlie, then stopped short: “Good golly, where did you get that!”
Vince shrugged. “The Cavanaughs,” he said as casually as he could, though he felt like a goddamn blimp in his pride.
“Really?” Angie was tremendously impressed. “Gosh, Mom, Dad’s really getting important, isn’t he?”
“Say, Vince, that’s some damn forest there!”
“Yeah, well, I told Ted he didn’t need to go to so much trouble this year, just a few samples off the shelves down at his store would do fine, but I guess he didn’t hear me.”
Greatest Easter of all time.
Angie and Etta passed round the coffee and sweet rolls, some thirty or forty people milling through the old house. Place looked shipshape, too. Etta had worked hard getting it ready for Charlie. Outside, the front was brightly painted and grass was poking up. Vince caught Angie’s eye, winked at her. He felt very damned proud of her. This after-Mass breakfast had been her idea.
“Ready for the Second Coming, Vince? Just got seven more days, you know.”
“Now, you know I’m always ready, Joe. But me and Georgie here, we’ve talked it over, and we’ve decided not to hold it for a little while longer yet. Still too many of you sinners around.”
Vince had really enjoyed church this morning. First time he had really felt one hundred percent at home since he’d started going back regularly. Even Charlie had consented to come along, remarking in his fashion that it was a good place to search out skirts. He’d made a big splash, too, polished and shined to a spit, and Vince saw that the Marines had been good for the boy, had slapped his burgeoning beergut back flat again and given him a new stature. Angie, full of ideas, had made a cutting from the bouquet and fashioned corsages for Etta and herself, and then, just before Mass, all excited over her project, had gone along with Vince to buy the sweet rolls and to borrow an extra percolator from the Ferreros.
Mass itself had been something extraordinarily beautiful, he’d forgotten it could give a man so much pleasure, so much peace. His conscience completely clean, he had entered into this day of Christ’s Rising with unchecked enthusiasm. Afterwards, Father Baglione had singled him out and, in front of everybody, had thanked him for his recent good works. His thick strong hand on Vince’s shoulder, he had looked up with dark searching eyes. “Dio vi benedica, Vincenzo,” he had said gravely. A wonderful old man.
“Mr. Bonali, we think it is an excellent fine thing you are doing with this, how you call, Common Sense Club.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Abruzzi. I really appreciate your support.”
Etta moved with surprising grace among the people. She never failed to have something to say, and folks even seemed to seek her out. Cavanaugh was right. She was a great woman.
“Where’s Charlie? Didn’t I see him at Mass this morning?”
“Yeah, but the experience was too much for him. He was afraid he might get his halo bent around such a big crowd.”
“How’s he getting along in the Marines?”