clicked off the safety. Even through my gloves the gun felt colder than death, and as I made my way into the living room I had to breathe through my nose to keep from hyperventilating.
Easy does it, I told myself. And no matter what happens, don’t do anything stupid.
A bald head poked over the back of the recliner, and a plastic tube ran from the chair to the oxygen tank beside it. I spied the picture of Frank Sinatra hanging over the TV, and as far as prized possessions went, it was pretty underwhelming. I took a deep breath and made a wide arc around the recliner, keeping my eyes on Fat Nicky the entire time. He didn’t grunt, snore, or fart, and I reached out for the picture. It came off the wall with ease, and I was about to slip it in my backpack when the telephone rang.
“What the hell—” Fat Nicky said.
I spun around, and as I aimed my gun at Fat Nicky things began to make sense. The house. The car. My messed-up financial aid. They were all distractions to keep me from figuring out the real plan, which was for me to kill the man sitting less than five feet in front of me. The key to the entire charade was the part about faking Fat Nicky’s death. It was so stupid in an O’Rourke-kind-of-way that my family knew I would fall for it.
Fat Nicky rose from his recliner, and I pointed the gun at his forehead.
“Sit down, old man,” I said in the toughest voice I could muster.
He settled back in his chair and looked me up and down. “Okay,” he said in a weary voice. “Who sent you?”
I was too busy figuring out my next move to answer his question. The person who had made that phone call knew exactly when to do it, which meant that either Roy or Uncle Wonderful was outside watching my every move. They must have thought I’d freak out and shoot Fat Nicky the moment the phone rang. Or that he’d shoot me. Either way, they’d get what they wanted, which was money or revenge.
“C’mon, kid,” Fat Nicky said. “The least you can do is tell me who’s putting up the capital to have me killed.”
Funny you should mention that, I wanted to reply. Because I was thinking the same thing.
“You want to know something?” he said. “I’ve been sitting in this chair for over a decade waiting for you to come. When you didn’t show after the first couple of years I started to think you weren’t coming, and that maybe they forgot about me.” He started to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“I never thought you’d be so young and innocent looking. Are you toilet trained yet, baby?”
“Keep your hands where I can see them, and you can call me whatever you want. Just remember, I’m the person who’s going to hear your last words, so if you have something memorable to say, you should be nice to me.”
“You’re smart with your mouth, but you’re not too smart doing a job. If you were, I’d be dead already.”
“And miss all this great conversation?”
Fat Nicky smirked and said, “It was Martinelli who hired you, wasn’t it?”
“No.”
“Pozzaglia?”
“Sorry.”
“Juliano?”
“Not even close.”
“Who was it then? I give up.”
“Mr. DeNunsio.”
Fat Nicky blinked. “Who the hell is that? I don’t know any DeNunsio.”
“His nickname was Sally Broccoli.”
“I don’t know any Sally Broccoli, either.”
“You killed his family in the eighties.”
“What are you talking about? I never killed anybody.”
“What about those guys in that restaurant in Bay Ridge? The newspapers said you killed two of them.”
“I haven’t been to Bay Ridge in, like, twenty years. I think you broke into the wrong house, kid.”
I held up the picture and said, “Then why does the person standing next to Sinatra look so much like you?”
“Because it is me. So what? Last time I checked that wasn’t a reason to shoot a guy.”
“No, but blowing up a man’s family is.”
“Blowing up a—Hold on a second. Who do you think I am?”
“Fat Nicky Gangliosi.”
“The mobster? I thought he was dead.” The oxygen tube fell from his nose, and he reached up to adjust it.
“Put your hand down, or I’ll shoot you in the stomach.”
“Fine. Go ahead and shoot me. But I’m still not Fat Nicky Gangliosi.”
“Then who are you?”
“Louie Jingo.”
“That name means nothing to me.”
“Big deal. I’ve never heard of you either.”
But what he said made sense. The wide open backyard, the big picture window, the absence of