Funny Money

25 Call Me Dad

There were a lot of drawbacks to having a criminal record. In most states, you couldn’t get a liquor license or vote in an election. If your crime was serious, you couldn’t drive a car or work as a civil servant or sit on a jury or run for office. You became persona non grata, at least to the government.

Another drawback was that you couldn’t have a serious conversation with a cop. Having a record meant you were criminal — even if you’d paid your debt to society and had been a model citizen ever since — and that made you an enemy in the eyes of the law.

Which was why his son didn’t press charges when the police showed up a short time later. Although Gerry’s rap sheet was nothing serious — an arrest for bookmaking, and a bust for marijuana when he was a dopey teenager — it was enough to paint a picture to a streetwise cop that he was no choirboy. Which meant the Mollos would get a chance to present their side of the story, namely that Gerry owed them fifty big ones. And, since New Jersey didn’t have a problem with people collecting debts — the casinos went out of state to collect markers all the time — his son might find himself in court.

Standing on the curb to Atlantic Avenue, Valentine watched the Mollos drive away in a black Lincoln, its rear slung low to the ground. Their first stop, he guessed, would be a hospital emergency room. Then back on the prowl. Guys like this didn’t learn their lesson; they kept coming back until you did something drastic to stop them.

He stepped into the manager’s office. The manager was working on a bottle of Johnny Walker, his eyes riveted to the portable TV on his desk.

“We’re at war,” he announced.

Valentine came around the desk. The TV was filled with shotgun-toting FDLE agents inside the Micanopy Indian Reservation Casino. Dead alligators were strewn about, some flopped on felt gaming tables, others belly-up on the roulette wheel, all shot in the head, oozing blood.

“Gators are an endangered species,” the manager said. “Government broke its own damn laws.”

“Did they nab Running Bear?”

“He’s still hiding in the swamps.”

Valentine dropped a twenty on the counter. “If those thugs show up again, call my room, will you?”

The manager pocketed the money. “I’ll keep an eye out for them. I like the way that girl of yours handles herself.”

Valentine was taken aback. That girl of his? What did the manager think, that Kat was his daughter?

“Me, too,” he replied.

Gerry was pacing his motel room like a caged animal.

“They’ll be back,” his son said. “You know that, don’t you?”

Valentine sat down on the bed beside Yolanda. She seemed to be doing better, her toughness coming through once the initial shock of being molested had worn off. He took her hand with both of his. “I’m really sorry I was such a flaring jerk this morning.”

She smiled faintly. “You made up for it this afternoon.”

“You going to be okay?”

“I’ll live.”

He saw Kat glance at her watch, then make a face and grab her jacket off a chair. “I’ve got to go pick up my daughter from school. It’s been nice meeting you folks.”

Valentine walked her out to the sidewalk in front of the motel. The wind was blowing off the ocean mean and cold, and he draped his overcoat over her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“Hey,” he said, “thanks for helping out.”

“You ever been to a wrestling show before?” she asked.

He had, as a kid, and hated every minute of it. The sight of big flabby guys in tights with monikers like Pretty Boy Williams and Mr. Wonderful was so repulsive to his childhood sensibilities that he’d asked his old man to take him home.

“Years ago,” he said.

“Like it?”

“I had a great time.”

“I’m wrestling at the Armory tomorrow night. Show starts at eight. I go on at nine-thirty.”

“I’ll be there,” he heard himself say.

A checkered cab turned onto Pacific and he waved it down. Kat handed him his overcoat and got in. She lowered her window, and he knelt down so their faces were inches apart.

“I like the way you fight,” she told him.

She closed her eyes, and Valentine realized she wanted to be kissed. Smooching the same woman for forty-five years had taken some of the thrill out of it, and he let his lips linger longer than he should have. She didn’t seem to mind. Standing, he watched the vehicle head north until it had been swallowed up by the city, then headed back to Gerry and Yolanda’s room.

His son was putting a hole in the carpet. Valentine shut the door and dead-bolted it, then said, “Something wrong?”

“You’re not funny,” Gerry said belligerently. “I asked you to help me, and look what happened. Those bastards are going to kill us. It’s just a matter of time.”

“They haven’t killed you yet,” Valentine said.

“Aw, for the love of Christ,” his son said, throwing his arms into the air. “I wish I’d never come to you with my problems. You get pleasure seeing me suffer, don’t you?”

“No,” his father lied.

Gerry sat down on the bed beside Yolanda. “You could have fooled me,” his son moaned.

“Someday you’ll have kids, and you’ll understand.”

Gerry looked at Yolanda and both of their faces seemed to melt at the same time.

“No,” Valentine said.

Gerry kissed the top of Yolanda’s forehead.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Really?” Valentine said.

They both nodded that it was so.

“How far along?”

“Twelve weeks,” his son said.

“Oh, boy,” Valentine said.

In their faces he saw a pair of lovesick pups, happy about the mistake they’d made. He put his hands on their shoulders and drew them close to him, kissing Yolanda’s forehead, then his son’s. Gerry looked at his father, smiling.

“Oh, boy,” Valentine said again.

“You’ve sure been good for business,” Dottie said, refilling their coffee cups.

“It’s the service,” Valentine told her.

She cackled like a mother hen and walked away. Gerry resumed telling his father how he’d taken Yolanda for a stroll on the Brooklyn Bridge the previous week. It had started raining cats and dogs, so he’d taken his jacket off and held it over their heads, then popped the big question.

“It was so beautiful,” his fiancée cooed.

Valentine was so damn happy he didn’t know what to say. She was a smart, lovely girl with morals and a solid work ethic. What more could he ask for?

“We want to get married soon,” Gerry told him.

“I’ll cover it,” his father replied. To Yolanda he said, “You want a big wedding?”

Yolanda wrapped her hand into his son’s. “We should talk about this later, when things calm down.”

“Okay,” Valentine said. “Whatever you’d like.”

Out on the street, a low-slung car drove past the restaurant and Valentine watched it pass. He didn’t think the Mollos had gone far, and turned to his son. “Not to spoil the party, but would you mind telling me how those guys found you so fast?”

“I screwed up,” Gerry said uncharacteristically.

“No, I screwed up,” Yolanda said. “I told Gerry I wanted to go to The Bombay and play Funny Money. My sister won a car, so I figured maybe lightning will strike twice.”

“The Mollos were there and spotted us,” Gerry explained. “It was all my fault.”

“No, mine,” she said.

They were already sounding like a married couple. Their dinners came. His son had ordered pancakes and sausages. Down south, they came wrapped and were called pigs in blankets. A strange concept to northerners, but one that Valentine found oddly appealing. He watched his son smother his pancakes with maple syrup. He was going to be as big as a house one day if he didn’t start watching what he ate. When he had a dripping forkful inches from his mouth, Valentine said, “I know it’s been a rough couple of days, but how would you and Yolanda like to do a little detective work for me tomorrow?”

His son put his fork down. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all,” Valentine said.

“After what we’ve just been through?”

“I’m just talking a couple of hours,” he said.

“That’s not the point.”

Yolanda put her fork down, and placed her hand on Gerry’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. His son looked at her. Yolanda whispered something under her breath. Gerry grimaced, trapped.

“Sure,” his son said.

Valentine sipped his coffee, enjoying himself probably more than he should have. Since the day he’d started talking, Gerry had been defying him. With Yolanda in the picture, that was all going to change.

“We’d love to, Mr. Valentine,” Yolanda added.

“Call me Dad,” he told her.