worsted jacket. Tuccio thinks, Fuck, heâs pissed about something, otherwise he wouldnât have his hands in his pockets ⦠a guy like that doesnât put his hands in his pockets if he isnât pissed. Tuccio tries to approach Uncle Sal, looking as nonchalant as he can, but as he walks, his body and feet seem to be going in different directions.
Uncle Sal stands there with his hands stuck in his pockets, while Tuccio, whoâs quite a bit taller, bends to whisper something in his ear. The guy who was in his way, and whoâs watching the scene now with feigned detachment, sees for a moment in his mindâs eye the grille of the confessional, an image that used to disturb his adolescence.
Uncle Sal is listening, solemn and motionless, his lips curled in a bitter grimace.
MEANWHILE IN NEW YORK
Meanwhile in New York, at the offices of Starship Pictures, in Lou Sciortinoâs former office to be precise, Frank Erra is sitting at Louâs former desk and rummaging nervously through the drawers.
âChaz! Chaz!â he shouts out of the corner of his mouth, the other corner being entirely occupied by one of his usual Cohiba Coronas Especiales. âWhat kind of crummy office is this? They havenât even got a fucking lighter!â
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Frank Erra is in Lou Sciortinoâs former office because, about a month ago, Louâs grandfather, Don Lou Sciortino, summoned Pippino the Oleander, Tony Collura, Jack Bufalino, and Turi Messina to his house and, pointing to the phone with a grave, solemn gesture, said, âTuri, call John La Bruna for me, please!â
Turi Messina turned white. The previous weekend, in one of the best tapas restaurants in New York, Turi Messina had met Angelo La Bruna together with two Puerto Rican girls with these breathtaking Spanish asses, and so he could flirt with those asses heâd thrown caution to the winds and started talking to Angelo, the nephew of John La Bruna, his bossâs rival.
âDon Sciortino, you gotta believe meâ¦â Turi stammered.
âOkay, okay, son,â Don Lou said softly, âitâs all right ⦠itâs all right. I owe you an explanation.â
The explanation was that a couple of months had gone by since the bomb had exploded in their faces, and they still knew fuck all, but now they had to deal with whoever was responsible ⦠âLike the Chinaman says ⦠or was it somebody else? Who was it? Minchia! If the enemy wonât come to you, you gotta go to the enemy!â Don Lou had said, getting confused between Sun-tzu and the Prophet. âAnyway, Turi, call me that suckass John La Bruna!â And Turi had called.
After the voices of a couple of secretaries, probably interrupted giving blow jobs, Turi heard the voice of John La Bruna in person and passed the receiver deferentially to Don Lou.
âHow are you, John?â Don Lou said.
âLou!â La Bruna replied. âLou! What a nice surprise! Iâm fine. How you doinâ?â
âFine!â Don Lou said.
â Cazzarola, Lou! What an unexpected pleasure!â
âI got a problem, John.â
âTell me, Lou,â La Bruna replied sympathetically.
âI need somebody at Starship Pictures ⦠Somebody who understands something about the fucking movie business.â
â Cazzarola, Lou! I should have called you before! How can you ever forgive me?⦠Shit! The world we live in these days. Bombs going off for no reason!â
âNo problem, John, no problemâ¦â Don Lou replied.
âIf I understand you, Lou, you need somebody to take your grandsonâs place.â
âExactly, John! I guess you know I sent my grandson to Sicily. To get a bit of sun!â
âYou did the right thing, Lou ⦠absolutely! Hmm, let me think it over a little, eh, Lou?â
âTake all the time you want, Johnââ Don Lou said, meaning days,