The tapes were identified as the rainy day they were across the street from the bookie joint on Michigan Avenue and wouldn't get out of the car. They're talking-you could tell their voices- JoJo the Dogface Boy, they called him, saying "What do you think would happen if old Tony got whacked?" t.i.to, who doesn't know s.h.i.t, says he doesn't know, but then asks, "Who'd take over?" JoJo says, "That's what I'm talking about. It's how you move up in the crew. The way Gotti did it in New York when he took out Castellano. New York, they know how to do it. Here, you sit on your dead a.s.s." t.i.to's voice: "You want to whack out Tony?" JoJo: "All I'm asking is what would happen."

Bulls.h.i.t. He was thinking about it or he wouldn't mention it to t.i.to. Some of the other guys could be thinking about it, too.

That time when he spoke to Tony about taking the yahoos out and Tony said no, he spoke up to him. He said, "Tony, people hear what's on those tapes-those a.s.sholes can't even drive home without getting lost-people will lose respect for us, think we're a bunch of morons." Tony said don't worry about it and went to take a p.i.s.s. The old man a boss in name only now. He's convicted and goes away, the door'd be open and Vincent believed he could walk right in. Tony doesn't go to prison, then you have to wait for him to p.i.s.s himself to death, or, as the two morons were saying, somebody whacks him out. If that ever happened and who knows?- then he'd walk in and take over. The first thing he'd do, keep Randy's eight K a week for himself and become Randy's full-time partner, hang out at the restaurant, let people see him, know who he was. He believed rich broads especially liked to meet gangsters, flirt with a guy known to be dangerous. Wear a tux. f.u.c.kin Tony lived like a mole, stayed in his hole till he had to go to court. He wouldn't say what this meeting was about. Only that it was a priest coming. It had to be the same one from last night who called Vito a guinea f.a.ggot. The guy had nerve for a priest.

They came over 10 Mile to Kelly Road, Debbie driving, turned right and there it was. "La Spezia." Terry said, "Closed on Sunday."

Debbie said, "Not if this is where Tony wants to meet. What time is it?"

"Four-twenty."

"Perfect. Ed said don't come before a quarter after." Turning into the lot she said, "There's a guy at the door who looks like your friend."

They parked in front of the place, its low-sloping roof and A-frame facade making her think of a ski lodge. She waited for Terry to get his bag of photos from the backseat and together they approached Vito Genoa holding the door open.

"How you doing, Father?"

It reminded Terry to hunch over a little more, show a stiffness in his neck as he turned his head. He said, "I think I'll live."

Following them inside, Vito said, "You shouldn'ta said that to me."

Terry kept his neck stiff and turned his body to say, "Now you tell me."

They came through the empty restaurant, white tablecloths and place settings in the gloom, and the neat little guy Debbie recognized from last night, Vincent Moraco, motioned to them to approach the round table. She saw Tony Amilia in a blue warm-up jacket watching them as Ed spoke to him, Tony nodding. She didn't know if they were supposed to sit down at the table. It didn't look like it, because now Ed was looking at them-his expression solemn, he could be at a wake-and said, "You understand this is not a social occasion. I've told Mr. Amilia who you are, so go ahead, tell us what you have in mind."

Terry stepped up to the table with his athletic bag, zipping it open, and Ed said, "Father, you're gonna make the presentation?"

He didn't get a chance to answer. Vincent Moraco appeared next to him, took the bag from him and felt inside. He placed it on the table and said to Terry, "I'm gonna have to pat you down, Father, since we don't know you." Vincent's tone pleasant enough. "You could be some guy dressed like a priest."

Terry turned to him holding his suitcoat open. He said, "I understand. Go ahead."

Debbie kept her eyes on Tony, his face and balding crown tan from a winter in Florida. He wore tinted, wire-frame gla.s.ses and could be taken for a retired business executive, a former CEO now taking it easy.

Vincent Moraco stepped aside and now Terry began bringing out his photos, reaching out to lay them in rows across the middle of the table.

Debbie watched Tony lighting a cigarette, talking to Ed now, showing no interest in what Terry was doing. She wanted Terry to notice and hurry up, get on with it. He looked up, finally- And said, "I'm sure you've seen pictures of homeless kids before, orphans with no one to take care of them. These kids represent thousands just like them, left on their own to search through garbage dumps for food, because their parents were murdered, most of them cut down with machetes. In my church in Rwanda are forty-seven bodies that've been lying there since the day I was saying Ma.s.s and saw them killed, slaughtered, many of them having their feet hacked off, something that was done by the Hutus all over Rwanda during the genocide."

Terry placed his hands on the table to take his weight, resting for a few moments before straightening again, slowly, to show his pain.

"I came here to visit parishes and raise money for the kids. But now I can't because of an injury I sustained last night when I slipped and took a fall in a restaurant called Randy's."

Debbie kept her eyes on Tony and Ed. No reactions. Terry was putting them to sleep.

She stepped forward saying, "Father, sit down, please, before you fall down," pulled a chair out and got him seated, Tony watching now, more interested.

"If you'll allow me to make the pitch," Debbie said to him, "I'll cut right to it." Tony seemed to give her a nod and she kept going. "I'm involved in this, too. If you want to know why, it's because that c.o.c.ksucker who owns the restaurant conned me out of sixty-seven thousand dollars and refuses to pay me back."

She had Tony's attention.

"The next time I saw the son of a b.i.t.c.h I hit him with my car, in front of witnesses, and drew three years at Sawgra.s.s Correctional in Florida. I get my release and find out Randy's loaded, won millions in a divorce settlement and owns a successful restaurant downtown. I decided to go after him. I brought Fr. Dunn along-Father's a friend of the family-with the hope that he could possibly get Randy to look at himself, recognize what a f.u.c.king snake he is and do what's right."

Tony was holding his cigarette in front of him, the ash so long it was about to fall off.

"My plan, Mr. Amilia, was to ask Randy for two hundred and fifty thousand, half for Father Dunn's children, the other half representing double what the snake owes me, to make up for money I was unable to earn while I was down those three years." Debbie cleared her throat and said, "You mind if I have a gla.s.s of water?"

Tony didn't answer. He looked at Vincent Moraco. Vincent came over, picked up a bottle of Pellegrino and poured her a gla.s.s. Debbie took a long drink, paused and took another one. She said, "Thank you," and got back into it.

"Something happened last night at the restaurant that changed our plan. We were evicted from our table by two of your men. It upset Fr. Dunn and he said something he's sorry for now. He called your Mr. Genoa a f.a.ggot. Mr. Genoa naturally resented the remark and decked Fr. Dunn, injuring his back. Let me say, in Fr. Dunn's behalf, he spoke up because he resented our being removed from the table by a party an hour late for their reservation." As Tony Amilia's gaze wandered over to Vincent, Debbie said, "Fr. Dunn's a man of G.o.d, but he's also a stand-up guy. You have to be to run a mission in central Africa, up against street thugs killing people at will."

Debbie picked up the gla.s.s and took a sip of water.

"So the meeting with Mr. Agley, which followed, took a turn. Now we included a personal injury settlement, which we believed Mr. Agley would understand and prefer to going to court. I suggested to him how he could make things right and he told me to get lost. Actually, what he said to me was 'Don't f.u.c.k with me, kid. You're not in my league.' Well . . . I'm going to anyway. May I sit down?"

It would give her the table to hold on to.

Tony nodded, unaware of the cigarette ash on the front of his warm-up jacket.

She took the chair next to Terry's, put her hand for a moment on his shoulder and got ready.

"What I'd like to propose, Mr. Amilia-if you were to get the two-fifty from the snake, and make out a check for that amount payable to the Little Orphans of Rwanda Fund, you could write the entire amount off on your income tax. And, the press will see you as the savior of Father's orphans, the publicity coming at a time when you need it the most."

There was a silence in the room.

Tony continued to stare at Debbie, but said nothing. It was Ed Bernacki who broke the silence.

"If the check goes to the orphans, Deb, how do you get yours?"

"Ed, I hope you don't think Father would cheat me out of my share."

"All right, and how does this timely publicity get in the paper?"

"I'll make sure it happens. If Mr. Amilia is willing, with a photo of him handing Father the check."

"You don't think the intention would be obvious, coming at this time?"

"Why? Mr. Amilia is well known for his charitable interests. His being on trial right now, facing some rather absurd allegations, is beside the fact. His generosity speaks for itself."

Ed smiled. "You're laying it on pretty thick, Deb."

Her face remained solemn. "I can't help it, Ed, if it's how I feel."

Again a silence, everyone waiting for Tony the boss.

Finally he said to Terry, "Tell me something. These guys that cut off people's feet-why do they do that?"

20.

MONDAY MORNING TERRY WOKE UP FIRST, left Debbie in the king-size bed asleep and went downstairs to get the paper and put the coffee on.

Last night Debbie sat by the phone waiting for Ed Bernacki to call and tell them Tony said okay, Debbie full of confidence. "I know he will. Why wouldn't he? He's got the clout. All he has to do is tell Randy to give him the money." As they were leaving the restaurant yesterday Ed walked them out and she asked him what their chances were. Ed said he didn't have an opinion. "Tony's predictable in certain areas but this isn't one of them. You have to let Tony make up his mind. He says no, you forget about it, you don't try him again."

"If it doesn't work," Terry said last night, "then what, go back to Randy?"

Debbie said, "He'll do it. Didn't you notice? Tony likes me."

He brought Debbie a cup of coffee and sat looking at the little scammer sleeping like an angel. He could imagine keeping it going, living together. The idea of getting married had not come up. She'd said one time she never planned on having kids and he said, "Why not?" He said he'd always imagined having a family, three or four kids, and she said, "Why didn't you? Instead of trying to fake out your mother all those years." They could go round and round on that one: he wasn't ready, hadn't met the right girl, never had a job he liked-all those excuses. There was no question in his mind Debbie could be the right girl. Christ, look at her. And she was funny. How many girls were funny? But that was the reason she wanted to be an entertainer and why he couldn't see her keeping house. So there you were.

He said, "Deb?" Tried it once more and she opened her eyes.

"Did Ed call?"

"He's probably in court."

"He'll call when they break for lunch."

"My brother and the family'll be home this afternoon. They get in about four."

Debbie said, "We'll have to change the bed. No, we'll have to do the sheets and put the same ones back on. And the towels. Then what do we do? You stay and I move out? Unless you set Fran straight, then you can move in with me, we can play house."

It was funny that she said it that way. He nodded to the coffee on the nightstand.

She picked it up, smiling at him. "You know what you are, Terry? A saint. I said that to your brother one time while you were still in Africa with your orphans, and your housekeeper with the cool skirts, I said, 'Maybe he's a saint.' Your brother said, 'I wouldn't go that far.' And then he said, 'But who knows?' See the impression you make? You are, Terry, a very thoughtful person."

It didn't make him feel any different than he already felt, sitting there in a bedroom that wasn't his, on the verge of . . . whatever happened next, looking at a girl he slept with and believed he loved, experiencing tender feelings, but without that urge to take it further. There were similar times, moments, when he was with Chantelle in Ah-fri-ca and wondered what would come of it. Chantelle was beautiful, but not funny, though maybe she was funny in Kinyarwanda, something he would never know.

Debbie was sitting up now sipping her coffee. She said, "We get the check we'll have to open an account-"

"I told you, I already opened one," Terry said, and saw her eyes change. "Right after I got here Fran took me to Comerica. We can put it right in there, the Little Orphans Fund."

"Yeah. I forgot. I thought we'd be opening a joint account."

"What do you think I'm gonna do," Terry said, "withdraw it when you're not looking?"

She smiled. "That means you believe we're gonna get it."

She kept her cell phone turned on all morning and into the afternoon. It rang at one-fifty.

They were in the bedroom again with the clean sheets, Debbie trying to remember how they were tucked in and folded back when they pulled the covers down last night and jumped in. She moved to the window with her phone and stood looking out at the road, the shrubs and trees just beginning to show buds, Debbie taking it as a sign.

"Deb?" Ed's voice.

"What did he say?"

"He'll do it."

"Did you have to sell him?"

"You did that, kiddo. He likes you. He said to me after you left, 'How about her calling Randy a c.o.c.ksucker?' He loved that."

"I thought he would, that's why I said it. Tapes, they're always calling guys that. So now what happens?"

"Once he has it in his hands I'll call you. Or somebody will. It can't take more than one visit. Those guys, I'm telling you-"

"Ed, why do you represent them?"

"I'm a lawyer. Didn't you know that?"

"Come on, tell me."

"All right. One, the cases are dynamic, you get a lot of press. Two, they pay on time. And three, they're fun to watch. Look at 'em all on TV in sitcoms-I get to see the real thing. Now, with the trial? I'm practically living with them. You know what I mean. If you know you're not gonna get hurt they're amusing guys to be around. If you're not laughing with 'em you're laughing at 'em, either way. I'll see you, and congratulations."

Terry was poised by the bed, still holding his side of the sheet. "When do we get it?"

"In a day or two. He has to have it in his hands first, Tony does."

"Well, you did it. If you'd left me up there I'd still be making the pitch and they'd all be asleep."

Debbie said, "I told you he liked me."

Angie answered the phone. She said, "Just a minute," and brought the portable into the bedroom where Vincent Moraco was pulling on his pants. He always left his shirt and socks on, though never seemed in a hurry. That was the problem this afternoon, trying to get him out of the apartment by six.

"Who is it?"

"I think it's Vito."

Vincent took the phone. It was Vito, Vito saying Tony wanted to see him right away. "He couldn't find you," Vito said. "I told him I bet I know where he's at. So, how was it?" Vincent hung up on him.

"Tony wants me."

Angie glanced at the clock. Five past six.

"Well, you better get going."

She wore a big loose white cotton sweater that hung down to cover her panties, pink ones. From there on were the whitest legs Vincent had ever seen in his life, like f.u.c.kin marble. Except they were always warm you ran a hand up them.

"You got somebody coming, haven't you?"

"Honey," Angie said, "I work. If I don't have somebody coming, you don't get your free ride."

"Who is it?"

"What difference does it make? A guy."