Page 7 of Married with Mayhem

6

MONTE

B eaches aside, Long Island has always bored me. But Silvio’s home base is all the way out in Suffolk County so I had no choice but to make the drive today.

Now and then I look up at the brilliant summer sky, empty of all aircraft as we’re now on Day Three of the cyberattack fallout.

It’s also Day Three of Sabrina.

At least her suitcase showed up yesterday so she has clothing options other than BIG APPLE BOOTY shorts. I tell myself this is a huge relief. The way those shorts molded to her ass gave me far too many ideas.

Then again, who am I kidding?

I’ll have the same ideas no matter what she’s wearing.

When I left Gino’s, Sabrina had already happily colonized the same table she used all day yesterday to tap chaotically on her keyboard while working on her game designs.

My uneasiness about leaving her to fend for herself today was only lightened by my dad’s promise to watch out for her. Nico’s taking bets at the racetrack all day and I’m very aware that the daughter of Albie Barone might attract attention from the wrong people. Sabrina’s father earned a long list of enemies and the casualties from last year’s mafia war are still fresh in everyone’s mind.

My dad swears there’s no reason to worry but sometimes he’s too optimistic. He gives people the benefit of the doubt when he shouldn’t. The hard truth is that you can hand the shirt off your back to a snake but you’ll still get bitten because you’re dealing with a fucking snake and that’s what they do.

On the plus side, Sal Castelli is widely liked. It’s highly doubtful that anyone will invent a reason to make a scene inside his pizzeria.

My dad seems thrilled to keep Sabrina around for as long as possible. Ever since she strolled into Gino’s he has behaved as if she’s the long lost daughter he always wanted. He cooks for her, he waits on her, and he yells at me whenever I’m caught rolling my eyes, making a smart remark, or somehow failing to be Sabrina’s enthusiastic servant.

Yesterday was Sunday and Gino’s closed early. Sabrina had the idea for a family movie night. I didn’t think my dad would be eager to hang out upstairs in the apartment all evening but I was wrong.

Even Nico stuck around. The four of us sprawled on the living room furniture, eating pizza and wings and watching Ready Player One , which Sabrina felt compelled to narrate in case we were confused.

A few times I glanced at my dad, expecting to catch him dozing off. But he was always smiling and alert. Then I tried to recall the last time we all hung out together outside of Gino’s and couldn’t. By the time the movie was over, I felt a grudging level of gratitude for the girl who sat beside me on the couch and consumed massive quantities of sugar in between sharing everything she knew about video game Easter eggs.

When Sabrina finally leaves, my dad won’t be the only one sorry to see her go. Honestly, Sabrina is very demanding. She’s kind of immature. And she never quits talking until she’s won whatever argument she started. But there’s no way to deny that she’s highly entertaining. She’s also the sexiest girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on and my eyes have visited a lot of places. What’s more, she’s oblivious to her own appeal.

I nearly fell off the couch the other night when she casually referred to herself as a ‘geeky, big-breasted sidekick’. I think she also said something about genetic leftovers. She was completely serious, which is fucking baffling. Does the girl never look in the mirror? It’s moments like that where I have to wonder if she’s in touch with reality.

I could show her some reality. I’d give her some new experiences that would shut her up and keep her from walking straight. Not that I’ll be doing this, but it’s fun to think about.

However, now’s not a good time to dwell on how badly I want to fuck my houseguest. I’m waiting in a room full of gutter-mouthed mobsters and trying to keep my impatience from showing.

This place used to be a pool hall and then a strip club and now it’s an ordinary bar. It goes through a new renaissance every time Silvio needs a local project to pillage.

“There you are,” says Mike Silvio when he finally shuffles in here to act like I’m the one who kept him waiting and not the other way around.

He raises a dismissive hand to the employee who has been taking inventory behind the bar. Since I sat down ten minutes ago, I’ve watched the guy sneak stealth shots three times. I’m betting he picks the expensive shit and I’d bet even more that he does this all the time. That’s the thing about bad habits; they tend to multiply.

The bartender flees after a nervous glance at Silvio. A trio of Silvio’s captains had been enjoying a rowdy game of darts but after a nod from him, they also clear out.

I stand up as a show of respect and Silvio slaps my back with affection before plopping down in a wooden chair.

“Thought you’d make it out here yesterday,” he says.

“Something came up.” That’s all he needs to know. There’s no way I’m bringing Sabrina’s name into the conversation.

Luckily, Silvio isn’t interested in the details of my life. He winks as he passes a fat envelope across the table. “You did good. You’re now the best enforcer around. My Florida people were impressed.”

That’s funny, since it was their mess I was cleaning up.

I toss the envelope into a nylon drawstring bag. “I enjoyed the trip. Even got to feed some gators.”

Silvio gets the joke and grins. His gold tooth catches a string of sunlight coming in through the window overlooking the water. “Those swamp gators have a good appetite for rats.”

“They do,” I agree. “And with the rat problem handled in Florida, I don’t expect there will be a need to hire another exterminator anytime soon.”

“You never know.” Silvio’s chair creaks when he shifts his bulk. He shakes a fat finger. “Your uncle would be proud of you. Me and Vinny came up in the world at the same time so we were often partners in crime. He’s missed. I heard Kiki moved to Seattle.”

“Yeah, she took the loss hard and wanted a fresh start. And my mother is her only sister. Nico says they’re living right next door to each other now.”

Silvio folds his hands over his belly. “Speaking of your brother, he’s doing a hell of a job helping you run the bets at the track. I think he’s ready for something more prime time.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Giving nothing away, I play it cool with a thoughtful pause.

“Maybe soon,” I say with a shrug. “For now he could use some more toughening up.”

Nico would go fucking ballistic if he heard these words coming out of my mouth. I’m not even telling the truth. My kid brother is plenty tough. I just can’t stop flashing back to that bullet hole in his arm the day of the Valentine’s Massacre. I’ll keep him out of the fray for as long as I can.

Silvio grunts but his head bobs with a nod so I guess I’ve convinced him. One of his boys hovers in the doorway looking all eager and twitchy. I’ll take this as a signal to wrap up the meeting.

Before leaving, I could do Silvio a favor and drop a comment about watching the liquor stash. But what the fuck do I care if he can’t keep tabs on his own guys?

We’re all thieves, every one of us. A cardinal rule of mafia life is to take what you can when you can. Just be aware of who you can fuck over and who you can’t. And don’t get caught.

Outside, the breeze rolling off the ocean gives the air a salty taste. Today is perfect beach weather. I’m hit with the crazy thought that what I ought to do is go collect Sabrina in the city and drive her out to the Jones Beach boardwalk for some fresh air. She’d enjoy the field trip and I’d enjoy taking her there.

But the weight of the contents of my drawstring bag reminds me that I’ve got some errands to run.

When it comes to shuffling money around in a way that won’t alert the government watchdogs, it’s better to hand over the task to experts.

First, I pay a visit to my old Queens neighborhood and seek out Jimmy Sox, a former loan shark who has graduated to international money laundering. His take is ten percent but this is a decent price for a clean transfer.

“Sending to the same place?” Jimmy asks and sucks on an asthma inhaler.

“Yup.” I wait while he squints at a laptop and clicks some keys. “Should we wait until all this cyberattack bullshit is over?”

“Nah, I haven’t had any issues with these Caribbean banks.” He hits one more key and closes the lid. “Looks like the transfer is going through neatly. Give it a few hours to show up in the account.”

“Thanks.” No need to shake his hand because Jimmy’s a germophobe.

“Anytime,” he says and takes another puff from his inhaler.

Once I’m back in my car I tap out a quick text to get the chore out of the way.

There’s another bag of gold in transit.

Within seconds, three dots appear to indicate the recipient is already responding. An annoyed sigh blows out of my mouth as I wait.

I can just picture that cosplaying cowboy motherfucker out there in his vast western kingdom. It’s high likely this is exactly where he is right now. He prefers to scheme from his home base and send his sons out to do the muscle work.

There was a time when I admired rather than despised the man. I know better now. But I still need to pay him. That was the contract made when I volunteered to assume a family debt. If I fail, I can expect an unpleasant visit from my own cousins.

Thanks for the heads up. Don’t be a stranger. – Uncle Cass

He always does that, signs off on his texts like I might have forgotten our connection. I wish I could forget. For now, I toss the phone on the passenger seat and opt to disregard the deranged members of my extended family.

With that chore out of the way, I pay a visit to an old high school buddy who runs an underground casino out of his family’s hardwood flooring business. I still have some influence in this neighborhood and I send a lot of players his way in exchange for a fee. He’s happy to cough up the cash and tells me to stop by for next week’s game night.

“I’ll think about it,” I tell him even though I won’t. The only appeal games have for me is as a means of separating fools from their money.

While I’m driving back over the bridge and watching the shadowy skyline of Manhattan loom closer, Sabrina’s words echo back to me.

“Life doesn’t come with a set of rules. But games do. The gaming world is the one place where I know how to win.”

I wasn’t ready for that honest glimpse into what makes Sabrina tick. And I’d really love to throttle the breath out of whoever made her feel like she’s a loser at life. Her father was no prize and he treated his daughters as if their only value was as pawns for marriage alliances but I get the feeling Sabrina’s Daddy issues don’t tell the whole story. She might have told me the rest if I’d pushed, but the hour was too late and she was sitting too close and I was far too interested in having more than a conversation with her.

Once I’m back on the Lower East Side, I walk two blocks out of my way to a pretzel street vendor before doubling back to Gino’s.

Neil Diamond is belting out Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show on the jukebox, a trio of construction workers are ordering at the counter, and Sabrina is seated at the same table where I left her this morning. But now she’s carefully paging through a thick blue photo album that looks suspiciously familiar.

“Is this Monte wading around naked in a creek?” she asks.

What the fuck?

My father deposits pizza slices on plates and answers her question at the same time. “Yeah, when he was four he went through a phase where he kept taking his clothes off and couldn’t be stopped.”

Sabrina stares at the picture and turns the page. “Look, he did it again. This time he’s standing in the woods butt naked and waving a plastic red shovel.”

My dad chuckles. “That was taken at his Uncle Vinny’s cabin in the Catskills.”

“Aw, why is he crying here while clutching a really dirty blue blanket?”

“He called the blanket Mr. Bluey,” my dad says. “Every time we tried to take it away to wash it he’d start screaming like he’d been set on fire.”

“That’s so cute.” Sabrina turns another page. “Oh, I think this must be his first day of school. He’s carrying a lunch box with yellow ducks and he looks scared.”

“Excuse me!” I shout.

Everyone looks up. Even the construction workers turn around. They give me a onceover, produce deep scowls and return to waiting for their pizza slices.

“Hi, Monte,” Sabrina says. “Why are you just standing there? You’re allowed to sit down.”

I know I’m allowed to sit down. Yet I feel like I might have misplaced a few threads of my dignity as I yank a chair out and drop down directly across from her.

“What are you doing?” I ask as she flips another page in the family photo album that should be buried in a closet at my Dad’s house in Queens.

She sips her soda and flips another page. “I’m examining your childhood memories. What happened to your hair here?”

“He cut his hair with a pair of safety scissors at school,” my dad says as he emerges from behind the counter.

“Why?”

“He said he wanted his head to be as smooth as a baseball.”

Everyone ( EVERYONE!) in the room breaks into mocking laughter.

“Why in the hell did you show her the old photo album?” I grumble to my dad.

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Relax. She was asking questions about what you were like as a kid so I figured this was the best way to answer them.”

Sabrina takes a break from studying the photo album and points. “Where’d you get that?”

I’d forgotten all about the giant soft pretzel I was holding. “Found it in the street.”

“You bought me a pretzel, didn’t you? You didn’t buy it for yourself. I know you don’t like them.”

“I told you I found it in the street.”

“Freshly baked and wrapped in wax paper?” Sabrina lunges for the pretzel but I hold it out of her reach.

Her mouth flexes into a pout. “What do I have to do to get my pretzel?” she whines.

A few incredibly filthy suggestions jump into my head but they definitely can’t be said while my father stands four feet away with his arms sternly crossed.

“Here’s your pretzel, princess.” I hand the stupid thing to her.

Immediately, I feel like an asshole when she lights up with a beautiful smile. “Thank you, Monte.”

She reminds me of those old candy commercials. First they taste sour, then they taste sweet. That’s Sabrina in a nutshell. Just when she brings you the brink of imploding with frustration she manages to melt your heart.

Sabrina breaks off a piece of the pretzel and pushes it between her lips while turning the album pages. My mind veers straight to the gutter.

“What did you win this trophy for?” she asks. Her tongue darts out to lick a salt fragment from her lower lip.

I don’t fucking care about a trophy because I’m hypnotized by her mouth. “What?”

She holds up the photo album. “You’re all dressed up and posing with a trophy but I can’t read what it says.”

My dad peers over her shoulder. “Talent show. He won first prize. What was it you sang again?”

“I have no memory of this,” I mutter. I’m lying.

Sabrina sets her pretzel down and studies me with fresh interest. “Monte, I didn’t know you could sing. Let’s hear it.”

“No. Must have been a one time thing.”

“He’s being modest,” my dad says and clamps a hand on my shoulder. “My boy’s got a great set of pipes. He definitely missed his calling.”

“What are we talking about?” says my brother, who has arrived on the scene just in time to torment me.

“Monte’s gift for singing,” Sabrina says. “Do you remember when he won a talent competition?”

Nico takes a seat beside Sabrina and glances at the photo album. “Sure. That was at school. He took first place. He sang That’s Amore .”

“He did?” Sabrina couldn’t be more delighted if a bushel of pretzels just landed in her lap.

“Yup,” says Nico, cheerfully ignoring my glare of threatened death. “Now he just sings in the shower. I’m surprised you haven’t heard him.”

“Why haven’t I heard you singing in the shower?” Sabrina asks. “Show me.”

“Go ahead, Monte,” says Nico. “Show her.”

I’ll have to remember to smother him when we’re not in public.

“Sing,” commands Sabrina. She starts pounding on the table. “Sing! Sing! Sing! Sing!”

My treacherous little brother joins in. “Sing! Sing! Sing! Sing!”

Stevie, all the way over at the counter, adds a loud hand clap with every word. “Sing! Sing! Sing! Sing!”

The construction workers, chins dripping with pizza grease, start chanting. “Sing! Sing! Sing! Sing!”

“All right!” My father waves his arms. “We’ll settle this.”

He takes a walk over to the jukebox. I know what he’s doing before I hear the first note. And I could easily refuse to cooperate.

Instead, I decide to be a good sport and stand up to join in with good old Dean Martin crooning about the moon hitting you in the eye. My dad didn’t lie. I’m a competent singer, even if I am rusty when it comes to performing. I’m so into the music that I forget where I am and by the end of the song my eyes are closed as I drag out the last note.

Applause erupts. Sabrina is clapping so hard she’s in danger of hurting her hands.

“You’re wonderful,” she gushes.

I’m not one to get bashful but something about hearing those words from her makes the heat rush to my cheeks. I escape behind the counter and help myself to a soda to get out of the limelight.

While I’m filling a cup, my eyes happen to land on a small round photo beneath my grandparent’s picture on the Memory Wall.

Aunt Teresa was radiant on her long ago wedding day. I’m glad her husband isn’t included in the picture. He doesn’t really belong there anyway since he was still alive enough to answer my text this afternoon.

Nearly thirty years have passed since Cassio Tempesta flew to New York for some business and left with a bride. He spotted my father’s only sister when he showed up for one of the infamous basement card games here at Gino’s and the rest is history. Within six years Teresa had delivered four healthy sons. And then she was gone, far too young, far too tragically.

It's been eons since I’ve set foot in a church but I feel the urge to make the sign of the cross as I gaze at the photo of my unfortunate aunt.

“I’m going to change before tonight’s card game,” Sabrina is saying. “I need to look intimidating.”

A bad feeling roils in my gut and I look to my father for an explanation. “Tell me she doesn’t mean what I think she means.”

He’s returned to his spot behind the counter and starts slicing up a cheese pie. A frown shadows his face. “Pete Vecchio and Bruce Tarantella stopped by for lunch. They got a real kick out of meeting Sabrina. When Pete mentioned the card game tonight, Sabrina asked how she could get an invitation to play. He laughed and said she’s welcome to be his personal guest. There was nothing I could do about it.”

The look on my face must be pretty lethal because my father is quick to jump in with assurances before I utter a word of outrage.

“It’s all old timers coming tonight,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Bruce was laid up with his pacemaker for most of the past year and Pete is still recovering from hip surgery. There won’t be any trouble.”

I don’t share his optimism. They may be old mobsters but they’re still mobsters. Mobsters are greedy about their money. And no matter how old and decrepit they are, they can’t be trusted to remain polite in the company of a pretty girl.

“I’m staying in the room every second she’s there,” I say to my dad. “And nobody better fucking argue with me.”

He fights a smile. “Nobody would dare, son.”

Back at the table, Sabrina is all cozy with Nico while interrogating him about family photos. The two of them look up when I reclaim my chair.

“Singing must take a lot out of you,” Sabrina says with a tsk of her tongue. “You look pale.”

“I’m not pale. But these card games have a thousand dollar buy in. Your bank is still broken.”

“I know. It’s such a pain. Luckily, Nico lent me the cash.”

My irritation swivels to my brother. “Seriously?”

He shrugs. “Sabrina asked for my help.”

“What are you worried about, Monte?” Sabrina says. “I’ll win and I’ll pay him back with interest.” She stands and grabs her backpack. “Nature calls. Nico, don’t let him hide the photo album. I’m only half finished looking at it.”

I watch her walk to the bathroom. Even in the midst of all my frustration I can appreciate how spectacularly short her pink and white striped skirt is. When the bathroom door swings closed, I smack my brother on the back of the head.

“What the fuck was that for?” he complains.

I peel a stack of cash from my billfold. “Here.” I drop the bills in his lap. “I don’t want her owing you anything.”

He explodes with laughter. “I get it. You only want her indebted to you , isn’t that right?”

“Little brother, don’t forget that I can still force you to kiss the pavement if you keep getting testy on me.”

“The two of you,” he mutters as he pockets the cash. “I swear.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re the one who’s her phone bestie.”

He throws me a look. “We’re just friends. It’s you she asks about every time we talk. And she doesn’t know how to be subtle.”

I have no clue what to do with that information right now.

I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear it. There’s plenty of other shit to worry about.