The Accidental Pallbearer (20 page)

Conte says nothing.

“Your friend going to do me next?”

“He doesn’t know your name. He doesn’t know where you live. Only I know. Where did you park?”

“Only spot I could find was three blocks away.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“He won’t get your plate. Highly unlikely.”

“In other words, he’s thinking about doing me.”

Conte says nothing.

“A Mafia thing all the way. Kinter thinks you’re hot on the trail and Janet can link him up to the pallbearer. That’s what it was.”

Conte says nothing.

“The real question, Eliot? How does he know who you are? Where you live? Follows you around? To the McFarley residence? How does Kinter know these things? Christ, what have I involved myself in?”

Conte says nothing.

“Two final points and I’m outa here. He came with the dropcloths. The other point, if I’m you? Never turn your back on that man.”

At his front door, Conte finds a FedEx package. Return address: Laguna Beach, California. Tears it open, walks to the sidewalk, and under the street lamp reads:

He hadn’t sent a copy to the Laguna Beach Police and could think of just two possibilities. The former Joan Dearborn or Nancy herself. Conte is inclined to put his money on his ex.

Late – no alcohol – little sleep. Three in the morning when the shock of Kinter’s execution wears off and he’s surprised by sympathy – even sadness for a man he had thought less than human.

9:00
A.M.
The corridor toward his father’s room. Coming at him, the executioner himself: “He wants you now, El. Just you. Are we surprised?”

“How is he, Robby?”

“Grateful for all I’ve done and for all that you didn’t have to do, because I did.”

“And you? Robby? How are you?”

“Everybody’s safe now. We’re all safe.”

Pause. They stand uneasy in the silence.

“Coca won’t trouble you again – guaranteed.”

“It had to be his plan from way back when we were kids, El, don’t you think?”

“What plan?”

“You wouldn’t have to, because I would, to please the father who wasn’t mine. And I did please him. Greatly. He had a plan, El, and I was it.”

“You were always the favorite son, Robby.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck
me
? Really? You forget the time when Silvio ponied up The Golden Dago’s fat fee? And Joe DiMaggio agrees to come to Utica? And Roofie goes for the lavish meal at Ventura’s? Next day Joe and Silvio take to the links at Valley View. Silvio refuses a caddy but Joltin’ Joe doesn’t, at which point Silvio – that is to say, the man registered as my father – offers who else but you? The boy of the books, that’s me, gets to shake the Yankee Clipper’s hand at the first tee and watch you three go up the first fairway in a sea of midsummer green. You were his favorite, Robby. No question.”

“I remember at Ventura’s we ate grilled baby goat.
Capretto
, El.”

“Yeah.”

They embrace.

As Conte is about to enter his father’s room, Robinson calls out, “Still on for this afternoon?
Bohème
with Pavarotti and Freni at their fuckin’ peak?
Ossobuco alla Milanese
? What d’ya say, bro?” Conte shrugs, enters Silvio’s room to find him in bed – IV, other monitors – apparently asleep.

Silvio opens his eyes. “They were supposed to bring me a Coke an hour ago. They didn’t come across.”

“I’ll get you one.”

“No.”

“It’s just down the hall.”

“Talk to me.”

“I’ll get the Coke first.”

“Stay. Please. (Pause.) There was no plan.”

“You heard him say that?”

Silvio smiles.

“I’ll die today.”

“No you won’t.”

Pause.

“You always loved to contradict me. What else is new?”

“Sorry.”

“Your best quality. It saved you. (Pause.) We’ll see, if you’re saved. I won’t be, of course.”

“I could do better.”

He coughs. “Hold my hand.”

Eliot does.

“Don’t let go, Eliot.”

“I won’t.”

Pause.

“What a catastrophe.”

“What?”

“Time.”

Pause.

“I’m here, Dad.”

“Never had any for you.”

Eliot does not respond.

“You were always interested in storybooks. Reading at the table. The book in your lap. (Pause.) You’re a reader. Beautiful.”

“But you’ve got the stories. Unruh, Bobby, JFK – tell me another one.”

Silvio looks away. Extended silence.

“The Barbones were the story. Salvatore and Bad Frank.”

“Tell me.”

“Sin City of the East cleaned up, their proceeds run down. They come to me.”

“Why?”

“Squeeze city contracts. For them. Scum.”

“Tell it all.”

“They gave me an ultimatum.”

“Or?”

“Or else.”

“Or else they?”

“Raise up the back of my bed. Thank you.”

“What did you do?”

“Did I give in, you mean?”

“Did you?”

“That’s what they thought.”

Eliot says nothing.

“Save my own ass and my minorities lose their jobs? Yeah, sure, Sal, give me a couple of months. Just two months and I’ll make you and Frank very happy. So. (Pause. Finding his breath.) So. (Pause.) Talked to an intermediary, is that the word? You know all the words, Eliot. (Pause.) So. Intermediary tells me no can do. Small fish, the Barbones. Minnows.”

“Don’t tell me you contacted someone connected?”

“Yes. I’m telling you. A month later the intermediary gets in touch. Aristarco, Aristarco is coming to Utica. (Pause.) Albert the Whale. In addition, we’ll do the Barbones for you. Seventy-five grand.”

“What are you telling me?”

“My best story. Rhode Island sends Kinter. Providence sends him. There’s a word for us, Eliot. ‘Providence.’ Patriarca’s city has the right name, don’t you think?”

“You sponsored him? You’re telling me that?”

“Yes.”

“Who bribed DePellaccio?”

“I did.”

“DePellaccio knew what he was getting into?”

“No. He knew only to have back spasms. Poor bastard.”

“Kinter killed him?”

“Good guess.”

“Who told him to?”

“His own initiative, leave it at that.”

“Leave it at that?”

“Jed wanted a new life.”

“Jed? A first-name basis?”

“Got him a job through Whitaker. Gave him his rent and then some. Every month. Cash.”

“Or he would?”

“Of course.”

“
Kill
you?”

“Worse.”

“What?”

“Expose.”

“Who told Robby to crash the bus?”

“Your dear father. Providence sent Jed, but I was the engineer. I designed it all.”

“Robby’s been in contact with Kinter all along?”

Pause.

“It would seem so. Leave it at that.”

“Janice McPherson?”

“Kinter. Or a sex maniac. I believe a sex maniac.”

“How does Kinter know about me?”

“You know.”

“Robby?”

“Yes.”

“Kinter kills Janice to save you and Robby from exposure?”

“If he did it.”

“On Big Daddy’s orders?”

“No, never. She was not within my design.”

“Who told him to? Robby?”

“I will never believe that. Forget that thought forever. Robby is a good man.”

“Was Kinter going to do me eventually?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Pause.

“Trust me, if you can. He feared Robby.”

“Robby killed him last night. Do you know this?”

“Of course.”

“Your doctor, who vouched for DePellaccio’s phony back spasm? Ronald Sheehan. Kinter?”

Pause.

“That was a tragedy. A great man.”

“Kinter again. Right?”

“I never authorized that.”

“But he did it anyway. Right?”

“An accident, we hope.”

The Coke arrives.

“Help me, Eliot. Hold it. Thank you.”

Silvio recovers energy that had seemed forever lost, a fierceness now visible, to tell his last story:

“That poor devil, Michael Coca, a failure in business many times, but a decent person with an unfortunate name – your
mother, did you know, was distantly related to him? There’s some Caca in your blood, Eliot. The last venture before I sent him with Antonio in their mid-thirties to the police academy was the Clinic for Italian-American Mental Health. Don’t laugh. Coca says, Mr. Conte, we Italians are wonderful people, but our heads are not screwed on tight. I had to agree. My head was always a little tilted. We need, he says, special therapy in the context of our explosive heritage. Will you help? I made a nice contribution. Tragically, the only psychiatrists he found were two old Jews, and that was that. Don’t laugh.”

He closes his eyes. Pauses for thirty seconds.

“After the sad injury that destroyed his chance for a pro career, Antonio was doomed to coach at Proctor High for some years … unhappy watching those kids play lousy the game he could no longer play. My plan was to have them rise together. Which they did. To be at my disposal down the road. But after the Aristarco business, I made the choice of Antonio. Antonio was always in the cards for my personal chief of police. Let’s face it, it had to be that way – Antonio over Michael, the second banana, who was in the cards to be my backup should anything ever happen, including backup in the van if Antonio, our gentle Antonio, lost his nerve, Michael would take over the van, Michael was in on the plan from the start. Jealousy sets in, it tends to, of course, and after a point the second banana couldn’t take lagging behind. That point was reached a couple of weeks ago. I’m tired, Eliot … It was not in my design to hurt Michael. Until you called him to the Savage Arms last night with Jed in the trunk of your car, Antonio never hurt a flea. He killed him. Yes. Let’s be totally honest on my deathbed. You know enough law to know
you didn’t have the legal goods and in the back of your mind that’s why you called Antonio to that forsaken place. He came prepared with the dropcloths to do what you in your heart wanted done, but couldn’t do. Don’t bullshit yourself on that point. You brought Kinter to the Savage to die.”

Long pause.

“I set it in motion fifteen years ago. I did it. I was the designer. Me. Now it’s over in the best way and we three pay with the knowledge of what we three wanted.”

“You were the spider at the center of the web.”

“You were always good with words, Eliot.”

“Why have you told me all this? Why now?”

“You’re smart. You tell me.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

“To set you free. What else?”

“From?”

“Me.”

“You must be joking. You actually believe that?”

“Are you, Eliot? Free?”

“Is that a serious question?”

“Have patience. You’ll see. Something else. If I thought you were interested in Tootsie, I’d be worried.”

“Why?”

“She’s your half-sister. After your mother, I fell in love with Angie Tomasi.”

“Christ, what else do you have in store for me? Tootsie knows this? Jesus Christ.”

“Yes. Tootsie knows for a long time.”

“Why?”

Pause.

“Thought it would keep her from having the wrong feelings for you. How stupid of me.”

“Did you ever cheat on Mom?”

“Never.”

“Ever want to?”

“We want bad things at times. Doesn’t mean we do them. I wanted one very bad thing, and I did it.”

“You authorize or you don’t authorize. You design. My God, Dad.”

“You’ve got a terrible temper, Eliot. (Pause. Weakly:) Don’t cross the line with it.”

“Anything else?”

“Hold my hand.”

Pause. Softly:

“I’ve been holding it.”

“Love Robby. Love your brother come hell or high water.”

“I think we’re drowning in hell, Big Daddy. You, me, Robby.”

Silvio smiles a big smile, “That’s my boy!”

“But I never –”

“Don’t” (wracking wet cough) “bullshit yourself.”

Tootsie enters: “My favorite two guys in the world, together again at last. Hey! I’m head over heels!”