Callie’s Last Dance

39.

CALLIE’S IN A sundress, I’m wearing a blazer and jeans, and holding a legal-sized folder when mid-west crime boss Sal Bonadello accepts us into his office. His face is ashen, completely devoid of the humor one can normally find playing around his eyes.

He’s pissed.

Really, really pissed.

So angry, he doesn’t flirt with Callie when we take our seats. This is a first, in my experience. I wonder if I underestimated his reaction to Frankie’s death.

He points a finger at Callie. “You killed Frankie?”

“Yes, sir.”

“On my orders, Sal,” I say.

He keeps his eyes trained on Callie and says, “You live in Vegas?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Nice place?”

“Nice enough.”

“Carpet in your living room? Or hardwood floors?”

“Marble,” she says.

“Marble,” he repeats. “That is nice. What about your den?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Your den. Is it carpeted?”

She looks at me. I shrug. She looks back at him and says, “Yes, Sal. My den is carpeted.”

“Tell me, my dear. What color is the carpet in your den?”

“Sage.”

“Sage?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a color?”

“It is.”

He shakes his head. “What is that, some sort of light brown?”

“It’s more of a muted green, with greyish undertones.”

“Greyish undertones,” he says. “Sounds expensive.” He pauses a moment, then says, “How much does something like that cost, ah-whatcha call-per yard?”

“I don’t remember.”

“No?”

“Not off-hand.”

“But expensive, am I right?”

“I guess.”

“You’re not sure? Because it sounds pretty-whatcha call-impressive to me.”

“I’d say it’s definitely upscale.”

“Sal,” I say.

“Huh?”

“Are you okay?”

He looks at me through smoldering eyes and says, “Have you taken a shit today?”

“Excuse me?”

He checks his watch. “It’s two twenty-eight. I was just wondering if you’ve taken your daily shit yet.”

“And this is important to you because?”

“Because I haven’t shit yet today. And I feel a huge one working its way through my colon.”

We’re two men looking at each other, one furious, one confused.

I finally say, “I hope you can hold it in till we’re finished here.”

“You’d like that?”

“If it’s not too much to ask.”

He looks at Callie and says, “I wonder if you’d be so kind as to lift up your dress so I can shit in your lap.”

“I think not,” she says.

“No? Well how about I fly to Vegas this afternoon, walk into your beautiful home, and take a big, fat, greasy shit on the upscale sage-green carpet in the middle of your fucking den. Would that be okay with you?”

“No.”

“Really? Because you seem to have no problem taking my money for a simple hit, and shitting all over me! Maybe I’ve got too much respect. Too much-whatcha call-consideration. Too much decency. It’s what prevents me from getting up from my desk, dropping my pants, and shitting in your lap.”

“That, and the fact I’d kill you before you got your fly unzipped,” she says.

“You’re deadly in small numbers,” he says, “In close quarters. I’ll give you that. But I don’t operate with small numbers. I don’t play in close quarters. And you crossed the line.”

“We had a reason for our actions,” I say.

“Much as I adore you both, I’m-whatcha call-devastated by what you’ve done.”

He slams his hand on his desk and yells, “Frankie was a made man!”

He slams the desk again. “A captain! My top earner!”

“I realize that.”

“You realize that.”

He looks at Callie and says, “He realizes that. I feel so much better.”

To me, he says, “I’ll require an explanation. And it better be the best fucking explanation I ever heard in my life, or I’ll require-whatcha call-retri-retri-”

“Retribution?” I say.

“No.”

“Remuneration?”

“Tribute. I’ll require tribute. In the form of money and a life. Your money, Callie’s life. And if you refuse to pay? We’ll be more than enemies. We’ll be at war.”

He suddenly slaps the table again. “Because I will be respected!”

Slaps it again. “I will be consulted before you kill my people!”

“Are you ready to hear my explanation?” I say.

“Not yet. Three things, before you speak.”

“Go ahead.”

“One.”

“Yes?”

“Put yourself in my position.”

“What do you mean?”

“This lovely young lady sitting in front of me. Callie Carpenter.”

“What about her?”

“She works for you. Reports to you.”

“So?”

“She’s got a girlfriend, yes?”

“For the sake of this conversation, let’s say yes.”

“I’m told her name is Gwen,” Sal says.

“Leave Gwen out of this,” Callie says.

“Please, dear. Hear me out while I speak to Mr. Creed. Because your life is literally on the line today.”

To me, he says, “Suppose you paid me money-for whatever reason-to kill Gwen, but I take it upon myself to not only kill Gwen, but Callie as well. Without even discussing it with you. Is there any possible explanation I could give you that would be-whatcha call-sufficient? That would sit well with the others who work for you? Is there any explanation I could give that would satisfy you as to why I killed your top person? Anything I could say that would allow you to forgive me?”

“Only one.”

“Then that’s the explanation I better hear. And the second thing?”

“Yeah?”

“I hope you don’t plan to tell me you killed Frankie because he would have been furious with me for killing his wife, and that he would have come after me, tried to kill me.”

“Why wouldn’t that be a good reason?”

“Because he personally approved the hit on Angie. Because his kids are grown and he had a new girlfriend he wanted to marry.”

“I hadn’t heard.”

“It’s true.”

“Do tell.”

“And third?” Sal says.

“Yeah?”

“I hope you don’t plan to tell me you killed Frankie because you found out he and Sophie were dealing drugs. Because I’m part of that deal.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. Now go ahead and give me your reason for killing the top person in my entire organization without my permission.”