laughing, an affectionate laugh, capish, Chaz? âWho is this? he asks me,â and he laughed happily. âYou want to know who this is, Frank?â he said. âThis is John La Bruna.ââ
âShit,â Chaz says.
ââBook a flight to Sicily, kid,â he told me. âGo to Catania, a friend of ours wants to meet you.â âPlease, Don La Bruna,â I said, still shitting my pants. âMay I know ⦠the name of this friend?â âYou gotta know, Frank,â he said. âHis name is Sal Scali ⦠heâs a well-dressed guy like you, and just like you, he handles business for us. Capito, kid?ââ
âOkay, Frank,â Chaz says without nodding, âIâll go tell Jasmine to bookââ
âWhere the fuck are you going, Chaz?â Frank cries, nervous because Chaz hasnât nodded. âYou think I can land in Catania, just like that?â
He stands up and, after a couple of attempts to unjam his pants from between his buttocks, continues, âIf Jasmine makes that fucking call, Iâll find myself at Catania Airport with those FBI pigs all over me! Cazzarola! Frank Erra plus Sicily equals disaster.â
âYouâre right, Frank, Iâm sorryâ¦â Chaz says, nodding.
âWe need an excuse.â
âAn excuse, Frank?â
âYes, I gotta find an excuse to go to Rome.â
âTo Rome?!â
âOf course, Chaz, I canât go directly to Sicily, not even with an excuse, because, excuse or no excuse, the FBI will be suspicious ⦠I gotta find an excuse to go to Rome, and then from there I gotta find an excuse to go to Sicily.â
Chaz doesnât understand shit, but he nods repeatedly. And Frank, seized by a sudden wave of affection, has to restrain himself from giving him a big, passionate hug.
ITâS ELEVEN OâCLOCK WHEN NICK GETS UP WITH A START
Itâs eleven oâclock when Nick gets up with a start from the armchair where heâs spent the night. The TV is still on, with the volume turned down. Thereâs a cooking show on. Thereâs a huge turkey and a guy, whoâs also huge, in a white chefâs jacket, talking to a blonde who seems to find what heâs saying very funny. The turkey is covered in aspic, and itâs so shiny, and so obscene with its hacked-off legs and naked skin, that Nick runs to the bathroom. In the bathroom he shivers from the cold, but still he turns on the cold water, puts his head under the faucet, looks at himself in the mirror, and groans.
Out of the same compulsive need that makes us go to the toilet before we enter an operating room or after a doctor has told us weâre done for, Nick picks up the shaving foam and shakes the can. The can slips from his hand, he bends down to pick it up, feels dizzy, leans on the sink, looks up, fills his hand with shaving foam, smears it on his face, shaves, and tries to whistle.
In the kitchen, he opens the fridge and is lost in wonder at the big cartons of milk. Why do I buy all this fucking milk? Why? One day he told Tony about his craving for cartons of milk. Tony nodded sympathetically. âOf course, Nick! There was that kid from that family, what was his name, the one where the father had a knot in his tie as big as an apple, and the kid with that fucking cap who seemed like the only grown-up in that crazy house, every time the family pissed him off he went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, took out this carton that was bigger than he was, poured himself a big glass, and started reflecting on life with a big milk mustache. Of course, Nick, I know all about those cartons.â
Christ, Nick thinks as he pours the milk into a glass thatâs yellow with lime, the fucking things that come into Tonyâs mind â¦
Meanwhile the doorbell rings, three or four times, the fucking bell Nick never hears. Nick comes out of the kitchen, with the glass in his hand, turns