Part 3 (1/2)

I smiled and asked, ”And how is it that you're you're still unattended, Lucky?” Like most wiseguys, Lucky had married and had children. But Mrs. Battistuzzi had died a few years ago, and Lucky never brought a date to dinner. ”Do you like bachelorhood?” still unattended, Lucky?” Like most wiseguys, Lucky had married and had children. But Mrs. Battistuzzi had died a few years ago, and Lucky never brought a date to dinner. ”Do you like bachelorhood?”

He shrugged. ”A man gets lonely.”

”So you think you might settle down with someone again?” I asked as I started clearing Chubby Charlie's table.

”Well, actually . . .”

When I glanced at Lucky, he lowered his eyes. I thought he might be . . . blus.h.i.+ng blus.h.i.+ng.

”Hey, Esther, I got that.” Angelo, one of the busboys, came over to Charlie's table and started clearing it. ”Stella says it's slow tonight, you can leave early.”

I nodded, then asked, ”Lucky, can I get you anything else before I go?”

He waved me away. ”Nah, I'm fine. Get out of here, kid.”

”This f.u.c.kin' job,” Angelo said. ”Such bulls.h.i.+t.”

Angelo Falcone was an aspiring young wiseguy. He had the social skills of a rabid squirrel, and he made sure the rest of us knew that working in a restaurant was way way beneath him. When he wasn't bussing tables, he was doing everything he could to make himself useful to the Gambello family, in hopes of achieving a full-time career change. Since I didn't want to know anything about my coworker's life of crime, I had told him, too, that I was dating a cop. (Though absent, Lopez sure was coming in handy lately.) And since Angelo wasn't very bright, I had to beneath him. When he wasn't bussing tables, he was doing everything he could to make himself useful to the Gambello family, in hopes of achieving a full-time career change. Since I didn't want to know anything about my coworker's life of crime, I had told him, too, that I was dating a cop. (Though absent, Lopez sure was coming in handy lately.) And since Angelo wasn't very bright, I had to keep keep reminding him about my cop ”boyfriend” to make him shut up. reminding him about my cop ”boyfriend” to make him shut up.

Glad that Charlie had tipped me so well on such a slow night, I went into the staff room, took off my ap.r.o.n, clocked out, and divvied up the bartender's and busboy's portions of my tips. Then I grabbed my sweater and purse, and I headed out of the restaurant. As soon as I was out on the street, where my cell phone got better reception, I checked my voice mail. I was hoping for a message from my agent telling me I had an audition. But no such luck. I snapped the phone shut and sighed.

”Did your date let you down?” said a voice behind me.

I turned to see Chubby Charlie approaching the restaurant. He was smiling flirtatiously (as he no doubt imagined it) at me.

Wondering why he was back, I said, ”Did you forget something?”

”Yeah.” He grinned. ”I forgot to ask you out last time I was here, honey. You're one of Stella's girls, right?”

”Um, I'm one of the servers here, yes. But you did did ask me-” ask me-”

”I thought so! You're the one with the good voice, yeah? You sang 'Beyond the Sea' last time I was here.” He patted his heart. ”Got me right here.”

The gesture drew my unwilling attention to his chest. ”Did your handkerchief fall out of your pocket?” Although I had tucked it in for him a few minutes ago, I saw that it was missing now.

”Huh?”

”Your red handkerchief,” I said.

”Hey, you remember it?” Looking pleased, he slapped the empty pocket. ”I f.u.c.kin' lost it. Can you believe that? Probably some p.r.i.c.k stole it.”

”That was fast.” I wondered who on this street would be reckless enough to pick the pocket of a Gambello killer.

”It matched this tie so great, too,” he said sadly.

”Uh-huh.” I tried to push past him. ”Good night, Charlie.”

”Hey, where you goin', cutie? I want to hear you sing tonight.”

”Your memory's slipping, Charlie,” I said. ”I did did sing tonight.” sing tonight.”

”Well, I ain't f.u.c.kin' been inside tonight yet, have I?” Then Charlie noticed my sweater and purse. ”So you're leavin'? I guess I won't get to hear you sing tonight. s.h.i.+t. Well, next time, huh? I'd f.u.c.kin' love to hear you do 'That's Amore.' It's what I was gonna ask you to sing.”

”But . . .” He had had asked me to sing it. Tonight. Wondering if he was having some sort of ministroke, I asked, ”Are you okay?” asked me to sing it. Tonight. Wondering if he was having some sort of ministroke, I asked, ”Are you okay?”

”No! I'm starving to death! I got stuck in traffic. And now, I swear, I could eat the f.u.c.kin' table!”

”But you just ate-”

”Maybe you should join me,” he said. ”You look a little dizzy.”

”I . . . I . . .”

”Got a date? Got a boyfriend? Got a f.u.c.kin' dental appointment? What?” he prodded.

”You asked about my boyfriend,” I said, studying him for signs of a mental breakdown. ”Do you remember?”

”Yeah, I asked two f.u.c.kin' seconds ago. What the f.u.c.k is the matter with you?”

”No, you asked earlier earlier tonight,” I said. ”I'm dating a cop. A detective. Remember?” tonight,” I said. ”I'm dating a cop. A detective. Remember?”

Charlie fell back a step, an appalled expression on his face. ”You date a cop cop?”

”Yes.”

”A cop? cop?”

Or maybe I I was the one having a mental breakdown. was the one having a mental breakdown.

”Jesus.” He shook his head and muttered, ”Dates a f.u.c.kin' cop.”

”We had had this conversation,” I said. this conversation,” I said.

”When did we f.u.c.kin' have this conversation?”

”Fifteen minutes ago.”

He squinted at me. ”Does Stella know you're doing drugs?”

”I'm not not doing-” doing-”

” 'Cuz she runs a clean place. If she finds out you're into that stuff, she'll can your a.s.s. And I don't f.u.c.kin' blame her.” He wagged a fat finger at me. ”If you want a good job at a nice place like this, you should keep your f.u.c.kin' nose clean.”

This was just what I needed: to be lectured by a foul-mouthed killer.

”I'm going inside now,” Charlie said. ”I'm f.u.c.kin' starving. I could kill for some pasta arrabbiata pasta arrabbiata.” At the door to Stella's, he paused and looked at me. ”You're still a great singer, though. Even if you are all f.u.c.ked up.”

”Such a tribute,” I muttered.

Lucky Battistuzzi exited the restaurant as Charlie entered it. When he saw me standing there, staring after Charlie with a frown, Lucky asked, ”Was he bothering you again?”