right. Nothing like a Caddy.”
“What’s something like that worth?”
“What the fuck is the matter with you? It’s not polite to ask people what things cost.”
“Sorry, Corporal. Just curious.”
“A lot,” Lanza said. “Save your pennies, Martinez.”
“Yeah.”
“Or get lucky, which is how I got that fucker.”
“Excuse me?”
“Las Vegas. You want a Caddy like that, you go to Las Vegas and get lucky.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“So how do you like the Airport?”
“I haven’t been out here long enough to really know. So far it’s great. I was in Highway.”
How the fuck did a little Spic like you get into Highway? You don’t look big enough to straddle a motorcycle.
“Yeah, I heard. So why did you leave Highway?”
“They made it plain to me that maybe I would be happier someplace else. Which was all right with me. I wasn’t too happy in Highway.”
They didn’t want you in Highway as little as you are. Those fuckers all think they’re John Wayne. And John Wayne, you’re not, Gom—Martinez.
“Well, walking around an air-conditioned building telling tourists where they can find the pisser sure beats riding a motorcycle in the rain.”
“You said it, Corporal.”
“The next time they announce a corporal’s exam, you ought to have a shot at it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not too good at taking examinations.”
“Some people are, and some people aren’t. Don’t worry about it.”
It wasn’t until a few minutes after midnight, when he put the key in the Caddy’s door, that Vito, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, realized that he had done something really fucking stupid.
He pulled the door open and slid across the seat, and then, cursing, lifted the fold-down armrest out of the way and put his finger on the glove compartment button.
Shit, it’s locked. I don’t remember locking the sonofabitch.
He found the key and unlocked the glove compartment, and exhaled audibly with relief. The Flamingo Hotel & Casino envelope was still there, right where he’d shoved it when he got in the car.
He took it out and glanced into it. There was enough light from the tiny glove compartment bulb to see the comforting thick wad of fifties and hundreds. He closed the envelope and stuck it in his pocket.
Not that much of it is still mine anymore.
I know goddamned well I didn’t lock that compartment. Maybe, this is a Caddy, after all, it locks automatically.
He closed the glove compartment door, slid back across the seat behind the wheel, put the ignition key in, and started the engine.
Starts right fucking off! There really is nothing like a Caddy.
He backed out of the parking slot, noticed that the old Olds the Spic kid drove was still there. Well, at least he knew what he was doing in the Airport Unit. The little fucker was too dumb to pass the detective’s exam, and too little to be a real Highway Patrolman, so they eased him out. They tossed him Airport Unit as a bone. He wondered if the little Spic was smart enough to know how lucky he was to be in Airport; they could just as easily have sent him to one of the districts, or somewhere else really shitty.
Vito decided he would be nice to the kid. Make sure he knows what a good deal he had fallen into. He might come in useful sometime.
He drove up South Broad Street and then made an illegal left turn onto Spruce.
What the hell it was after midnight, there was no traffic, and he was in his uniform, nobody was going to give him a ticket, even if some cop saw him.
He did decide to put the Caddy in a parking garage. If he didn’t, sure as Christ made little apples, some asshole, jealous of the Caddy, would run a key down the side or across the hood. Or steal the fucking hubcaps.
When he parked the car, he remembered this was the garage where the mob blew away a guy, one of their own, who had pissed somebody off. Tony the Zee DeZego. They got him with a shotgun.
Tony met him at the door of her apartment in a negligee. Nice-looking one. Vito had never seen her in it before.
“You didn’t have to wait up for me, baby,” Vito said.
“I went to bed,” she said, kissing him, but moving her body away when he tried to slip his hand under the negligee, “but Uncle Joe called me, and then I couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“What did he want?”
“He’s worried about those markers you signed at Oaks and Pines Lodge.”
“Why should he be worried? I’m