The Gate House by Nelson DeMille Read Free Book Online Page A

not to mention fucking my wife. He also had a sense of humor, and he laughed at my jokes, which showed good intellect. But did I respect him? No. But I liked him.
    Anthony said, “My father trusted you.”
    I’m sure Anthony really did want to know about his father; but he also wanted to know more about me, and why his father thought so highly of me. And then . . . well, like his father, he’d make me an offer I should refuse. Or was I being egotistical, or overly suspicious of Anthony’s neighborly visit?
    Anthony saw that I was vacillating, so he said, “I’d consider it a favor.”
    I recalled that these people put a high value on favors, whether they were offered or received, so I should not take the word lightly. On the other hand, one favor needed to be repaid with another, as I found out the hard way ten years ago. Therefore, absolutely no good could come of me having anything further to do with Anthony Bellarosa.
    But . . . to blow him off might not be a good idea in regard to my concern about Susan. And if I was very paranoid, I’d also consider my own concern about Salvatore D’Alessio. As Frank once explained to me, “Italian Alzheimer’s is when you forget everything except who pissed you off.”
    Anyway, there were still some blasts from the past that perhaps needed discussion, and with those thoughts in mind I made my second mistake of the evening and said, “All right. Dinner.”
    “Good.” He smiled and asked, “How about Giulio’s?”
    I really didn’t want to return to the restaurant in Little Italy where Frank took three shotgun blasts. Bad memories aside, I didn’t think the owner or staff would be happy to see me show up with Junior. I said, “Let’s try Chinese.”
    “Okay. How about tomorrow night?”
    It was Monday, and I needed about forty-eight hours to come to my senses, so I said, “Wednesday. There’s a place in Glen Cove called Wong Lee. Let’s say eight.”
    “I can pick you up.”
    “I’ll meet you there.”
    “Okay. It’ll just be us.” Anthony reminded me, “You don’t want to mention the time and place to anybody.”
    I looked at him, and our eyes met. I nodded, and he said, “Good.”
    I started to open the door, but Anthony said, “Just a sec.” He pulled out his cell phone, speed-dialed, and said, “Yeah. Ready.” He hung up and asked me, “You want to come out and say hello to Tony?”
    I wouldn’t have minded some fresh air, but as I learned at Giulio’s, it’s a good rule not to stand too close to anyone who needs a bodyguard, so I said, “Perhaps another time.”
    He apparently needed a minute to be sure he wouldn’t be standing alone on a dark road, so to pass the time, he asked me, “How come you haven’t seen her?”
    “I’m busy.”
    “Yeah? Is she busy? She got a boyfriend?”
    “I have no idea.”
    He looked at me and surprised me with a deep philosophical insight by saying, “This is all pretty fucked up, isn’t it?”
    I didn’t reply.
    His cell phone rang, and he glanced at the display but did not answer. He said to me, “Thanks for your time.”
    I opened the door and said, “Thank you for stopping by.”
    He smiled and said, “Hey, you looked like you saw a ghost.”
    “You have your father’s eyes.”
    “Yeah?” He put out his hand, and we shook. He said, “See you Wednesday.”
    He walked out into the chill air, and I watched him go through the small postern gate and out to the road where Tony stood beside a big black SUV of some sort. What happened to the Cadillacs? The SUV was running, but its headlights were off, and Tony had his left hand on the door handle and his right hand under his jacket.
    Some of this was a little melodramatic, I thought, but you might as well follow the drill. You just never know. Then, I thought, maybe there’s an open contract out on Anthony Bellarosa. And I’m having dinner with this guy?
    Before the boys completed the drill, I closed the door and went back into the dining room,