Sunburn(29)

The question seemed to come from nowhere, it made the big man squirm. He gave a short nervous laugh that was meant to sound offhand. "Plenny, Pop. But I don't see where money has to do—"

"I just thought," Vincente said, "maybe it bothered you, what I'm payin' Ahty, that after I'm dead it's his ta sell."

Gino tried to wave that notion away with a gesture that was a little too emphatic. "Nah, Pop, nah. It ain't the money. It's just that—"

He broke off, twisted in his seat, shook his head, and wriggled in his choked quest for words.

"I'm listenin'," said the Godfather.

"He's an outsider," Gino spluttered. "He ain't even Italian. Fuck is he, Jewish? So now you're gonna be spendin' all this time wit' 'im, gettin' close wit im—

"Gino, you jealous?" asked his brother.

"Fuck you, Joey. It ain't about that."

"It ain't about money," Joey said right back. "It ain't about bein' jealous. Gino, the more you shoot your mouth off, the more things it comes out it ain't about."

Gino's flat black eyes picked up blue light from the pool and zinged it at Joey. The big man's hairline crawled, the cloth of his trousers chafed him, his glower flicked back and forth between his father and his brother, and he couldn't figure out who he was madder at. When he spoke again his voice was dangerously calm. "Look," he said. "I don't wanna be embarrassed. 'Zat so fuckin' hard t'understand?" "Gino," Joey said, "Pop ain't gonna—" Gino cut him off. "You ain't a Delgatto. Fuck's it to you? For all I know, your Jew friend's givin' you a cut—"

"That's enough, Gino," Vincente said. He said it very softly. His hands were folded against his shrunken stomach. He looked at his two sons and wondered how much power and how much wisdom it would take to do right by more than one person at a time. A breeze stirred, just cool enough to tickle the backs of necks. Finally Vincente spoke again.

"Gino," he said, "look at me. I'm doin' this thing, my mind's made up. But my word as your father: I won't do or say anything that would embarrass you."

The two of them locked eyes. Gino's pudgy face was a mix of umbrage and defiance; Vincente's expression held determination and a dim unlikely hope. He wanted Gino to believe him, and he wished that Gino would return his promise, his pledge not to dishonor their common name, though he understood that was probably too much to wish for.

Gino went away mad.

He climbed into his rented T-Bird, floored it in reverse, and drove the few short blocks to Flagler House. But when he got there, saw the valet coming to take charge of the car, he decided he wasn't ready to go in yet; he wanted to ride around and think. He peeled out of the driveway and started over.

He drove up A1A, along the beach toward the airport. A lopsided moon was just coming up over the Florida Straits. A powdery orange pocked with gray, it threw a reddish beam that ran along the flat water and tracked the car as it barreled up the road.

The white lines slipped past, the coastline curved, and meanwhile Gino was thinking about obedience and respect. Or at least that's what he thought he was thinking about. In truth, he was thinking more about what he could dare to get away with. Not that he was against obedience. No, obedience was a handy thing, it made it nothing personal if, say, you were called upon to hurt someone; it justified holding back, say, from something that deep down you were scared to do. You obeyed out of respect, which was fear dressed up in fancy clothes, and the respect gave the whole business its dignity.

Still, there were times when obedience was a burden, a cramp, a real pain in the ass, and in those situations it was only natural that a guy would find a reason, many reasons, to disobey. Who wouldn't? If other guys played by the rules no matter what, that would be one thing, but hey … Gino squeezed the steering wheel and thought about his old man's book. It broke the rules in every way. Telling secrets. Trusting outsiders. Did you still have to follow orders from a man who did things like that? Especially if the orders held you back from something where there was a nice buck to be made?

Gino didn't quite notice where he'd made a U-turn, but at some point he'd spun the car around; the moon was on the other side. He was heading back toward Flagler House and something had been decided.

When he bulled into his top floor oceanfront room, he did not at first see Debbi. He found her out on the balcony, sipping a martini and looking at the stars. She was holding her fingers at peculiar, pained, arthritic angles, and it took Gino a moment to understand her nails were drying.

'Tomorrow we're drivin'a Miami," he announced.

"Jesus, Gino. Not again."

By way of answer, Gino said, "Juh order me a drink?"