The Family Corleone (11 page)

“Hey!” Cork rapped on the passenger-side window and jumped into the front seat beside Sonny.

“
Minchia!
” Sonny straightened out his hat, which he’d knocked sideways jumping up when Cork startled him.

The back doors opened and the Romero brothers and Nico piled in. “What the hell was all that about?” Nico asked.

Sonny shifted around in his seat so that he could see into the back of the car. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said, and then he went on and explained what had happened with Tom and Kelly.

“
Christ!
” Vinnie said. “Tom screwed that dame!”

Cork said, “If Luca finds out…”

“Even your pop won’t be able to save him,” Nico said.

“What’s her play, though?” Sonny asked Cork. “She tells Luca, he’s liable to kill her, too.”

“
Liable
?” Angelo said. “I’d make book on it.”

“So?” Sonny said, looking at Cork.

“Hell if I know,” Cork said. He slumped back in his seat and tilted his hat down over his eyes. “It’s some kind of a mess.” He was quiet, and everyone in the car was quiet along with him, waiting for him to come up with something. “I’m too drunk to think about it,” he said, finally. “Sonny Boy,” he added, “do your friend Cork a favor and drive him home, will ya?”

“Okay, gentlemen…” Sonny straightened himself out behind the wheel. He thought about warning them against flapping their gums about Tom and Kelly and decided it wasn’t necessary. Of the three of them, Nico was the biggest talker—and he hardly ever said two words to anyone outside the gang. That was a big part of why he chose them. The twins were famous for talking only to each other, and even then not so much. Cork had the gift of gab—but he was smart and could be trusted. “I’ll drive the princess here home,” he said.

“We gonna lay low for a while?” Nico asked.

“Sure,” Sonny said, “like we always do after a job. We’re in no hurry.”

Vinnie patted Sonny on the shoulder and slid out the door. Angelo said, “See you later, Cork,” and followed his brother. With one foot out the door, Nico nodded toward Cork and said to Sonny, “Take this guinea-wop-dago-loving son of a bitch home.”

“Jaysus,” Cork said to Sonny, “they need to give that a rest.”

Sonny pulled out onto 126th. “Christ,” he said. “I’ve got to work tomorrow.”

Cork leaned against the door and tossed his fedora on the seat beside him. He looked like a kid falling asleep on a drive, his hair all funny, shaped by the hatband. “Did you see the tits on that hatcheck girl?” he asked. “I wanted to dive in there and swim till I drowned.”

“Here we go.”

Cork threw his hat at Sonny. “What’s the matter?” he said. “We can’t all have dames falling all over us, you know. Some of us got to rely on our imagination.”

Sonny tossed Cork’s hat back to him. “I don’t have dames falling all over me.”

“The hell you don’t,” Cork said. “How many you screwed this week? Come on, Sonny. You can tell your pal Cork.” When Sonny was quiet, Cork said, “What about that broad at the table next to us? Gad. She had an arse like the back of a bus!”

Sonny laughed, despite himself. He didn’t want to get Cork started on dames.

“Where you taking me?” Cork asked.

“Home. Where you asked.”

“Nah.” Cork tossed his hat up and tried to land it on his head. When he missed he picked it up and tried again. “I don’t want to go back to my place,” he said. “I haven’t done the bloody dishes in a week. Take me to Eileen’s.”

“It’s after one in the morning, Cork. You’ll wake up Caitlin.”

“Caitlin sleeps like the dead. It’s Eileen I’ll be waking, and she won’t mind. She loves her little brother.”

“Sure,” Sonny said, “ ’cause you’re all she’s got left.”

“What kind of thing is that to say? She’s got Caitlin and about five hundred more Corcorans spread around the city to whom she’s either immediately or distantly related.”

“Whatever you say.” Sonny stopped at a red light, leaned over the steering wheel to get a good look down the side streets, and then drove through it.

“Attaboy,” Cork said. “That’s showin’ the proper respect.”

Sonny said, “Eileen’s always saying you’re all she has left.”

“She’s got the Irish flair for the dramatic,” Cork said. He thought about that and then added, “You ever think about one of us getting killed, Sonny? You know, doin’ a job?”

“No,” Sonny said. “We’re all of us bulletproof.”

“Sure,” Cork said, “but you ever think about it?”

Sonny didn’t worry about getting killed, him or his boys. The way he planned things, if everybody did what they were supposed to do—and everybody
did
—then there shouldn’t be any trouble. He looked over to Cork and said, “I worry more about my pop. I hear things around, and from what I hear, he’s got some kind of trouble with Mariposa.”

“Nah,” Cork said, without having to think about it. “Your father’s too smart, and he’s got a bloody army protectin’ him. From what I hear, Mariposa’s gang’s a bunch of retards tryn ta fuck a doorknob.”

“Where do you come up with that shit?”

“I’ve got imagination!” Cork yelled. “Remember fifth grade? Mrs. Hanley? Face like a busted cabbage? She used to take me by the ear and say, ‘That’s quite an imagination you’ve got, Bobby Corcoran!’ ”

Sonny pulled the car to the curb in front of Corcoran’s Bakery. He looked up over the shop to the apartments, where, as he expected, all the windows were dark. They were on the corner of Forty-third and Eleventh, parked under a streetlight. Next to the bakery a wrought-iron spear fence guarded a two-story red-stone apartment building. Weeds grew in the spaces of the fence, and the little courtyard on either side of a rough stone stoop was littered with garbage. The windows and roofline of the building were trimmed with granite that must have at some point added a bright, decorative touch, but now the granite was dull and pocked and coated with grime. Cork didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get out of the car and Sonny didn’t mind lingering in the quiet.

Cork said, “Did you hear Nico’s father lost his job? If it weren’t for Nico, they’d all be on the breadline.”

“Where’s Nico tell them the money’s coming from?”

“They don’t ask,” Cork said. “Listen,” he added, “I’ve been waitin’
for the right time to tell you: Hooks doesn’t want us hittin’ Mariposa again, and if we do, we can’t use Luca as the middleman.”

“How come?”

“Too dangerous. Mariposa’s got a bee up his arse about us.” Cork looked out to the street and then back to Sonny. “We’re gonna have to do a stickup or a kidnapping or something.”

“We don’t do kidnappings,” Sonny said. “What are you, crazy?” When Cork didn’t answer, he added, “Just let me do the planning. I’ll figure out what’s next.”

“Good,” Cork said. “But it can’t be too long. I’m okay,” he said, “but the Romeros, the whole family’d be out on the street without the twins bringing in some dough.”

“Jesus,” Sonny said, “what are we now, the Public Works Administration?”

Cork said, “We’re like part of the National Recovery Act.”

Sonny looked at Cork and they both cracked up.

“We’re the New Deal,” Sonny said, still laughing.

Cork pulled his hat down over his eyes. “Jaysus,” he said. “I’m drunk.”

Sonny sighed and said, “I’ve got to have a talk with Pop. This going-to-work shit is killing me.”

“What are you gonna tell him,” Cork asked, through his hat, which had slipped down over his face, “you want to be a gangster?”

“I am a gangster,” Sonny said, “and so is he. Only difference is he pretends he’s a legit businessman.”

“He is a legit businessman,” Cork said. “He runs the Genco Pura Olive Oil business.”

“That’s right,” Sonny said, “and every grocery store in the city better carry Genco Pura Olive Oil or else take out fire insurance.”

“Okay, so he’s a ruthless businessman,” Cork said. He sat up and put his hat back on his head. “But, pal,” he added, “what successful businessman isn’t?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sonny said, “but legit businessmen don’t run the numbers and gambling and shylocking and the unions and all the rest Pop’s into. Why’s he got to pretend he’s something he’s not?”
Sonny leaned back and looked across the seat to Cork, as if he might actually be hoping for an answer. “He acts like people that cross him don’t wind up dead,” Sonny added. “See, to me, that makes him a gangster.”

Cork said, “I don’t see a dime’s worth of difference between the two, businessmen and gangsters.” He grinned at Sonny and his eyes lit up. “Did you see the Romeros with those choppers? Jaysu Christi!” He positioned his hands as if holding a tommy gun and shouted, “
This is your last chance, Rico! Are you coming out or do you want to be carried out?
” He mimicked firing the tommy gun and bounced around in his seat, banging off the dashboard and the door and seat back.

Sonny got out of the car, laughing. “Come on,” he said. “I gotta be at work in a few hours.”

Cork made it out to the sidewalk before he looked up and said, “Oh, Jesus.” He fell back against the car. “Shite!” he yelled and he hurried to the yard next to the bakery, took hold of two spears, and puked into the grass and weeds.

A window opened above the bakery and Eileen stuck her head out. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said. She had the same straight, sandy-blond hair as her brother, and it hung down on either side of her face. Her eyes were dark in the streetlight.

Sonny opened his arms in a gesture that said
What can I do?
“He asked me to bring him here,” he said, trying not to shout and still be heard.

“Bring him on up,” Eileen said, and closed the window.

“I’m okay.” Cork straightened himself out and took a deep breath. “That’s better.” He waved Sonny off. “You can go,” he said. “I’m fine now.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Cork said. He fished around in his jacket pocket and came up with a set of keys. “Go on,” he said, waving at Sonny again.

Sonny watched while Cork struggled first to find the right key and then to get it in the keyhole. “
Cazzo!
” he said. “How much did you have to drink?”

Cork said, “Just get this door open for me, pal, will ya? I’ll be fine once the bloody mystery of this door is solved.”

Sonny took the key from Cork and unlocked the door. “Eileen’s door will be locked too,” he said.

“Aye, it will, now,” Cork said, putting on the Irish, which he liked to do now and then.

“Come on.” Sonny put his arm around Cork’s waist and guided him up the stairs.

Cork said, too loud, “Ah, yer a good friend, Sonny Corleone.”

Sonny said, “Can it, will ya? You’ll wake up the whole building.”

Eileen heard the boys making their way up the stairs as she opened the door to Caitlin’s room a crack and peeked in. The child was sleeping soundly with her arm around a tattered brown and yellow giraffe she called Boo, for reasons unknown to humankind. Caitlin had latched onto the plush toy soon after James’s death and had been dragging it around with her everywhere in the years since. Now its fur was matted and its colors faded, and it was hardly recognizable any longer as a giraffe—except what else could a soft lump of matted yellow and brown material that was clutched by a child and apparently some kind of a creature with a long neck be besides a giraffe?

Eileen pulled a quilt up to Caitlin’s neck and straightened out the girl’s hair.

In the kitchen, she rinsed out the coffeepot and took a can of Maxwell House down from the cupboard. When the front door opened behind her and Sonny came into the kitchen practically carrying Cork, she turned and put her hands on her hips. “The two of you,” she said. “Will you look at yourselves?”

“Ah, Sis,” Cork said. He pulled away from Sonny and stood up straight. “I’m fine,” he said. He took off his hat and blocked the crown.

Eileen said, “You look fine, don’t you?”

Sonny said, “We were out celebrating a little.”

Eileen watched Sonny, steely-eyed. To Cork she said, “See that?” and she pointed to a newspaper on the kitchen table. “I’ve been saving it for you.” She looked at Sonny and said, “For both you boys.”

Cork took a careful step toward the table, leaned over the paper, and squinted at the picture on the front page of a sharply dressed young man sprawled out on the street, his brains splattered all over the curb. A crisp straw boater lay on the sidewalk beside him. “Ah, that’s the
Mirror
for ya,” Cork said. “Always lookin’ for something sensational.”

“Sure,” Eileen said. “Got nothin’ to do with you, does it?”

“Ah, Sis,” Cork said, and flipped the paper over.

“Don’t
Ah, Sis
me,” Eileen said. “I know what you’re doing.” She flipped the paper over again. “This is the kind of business you’re getting into. This is how you’ll wind up.”

“Ah, Sis,” Cork said.

Eileen said, “And I won’t shed a tear for you, Bobby Corcoran.”

“I guess I’ll be going,” Sonny said. He was standing by the door, hat in hand.

Eileen looked to Sonny and the hardness in her eyes melted a little. “I’ll put up some coffee,” she said. She turned her back on the boys and rummaged through the sink for the innards of the coffeepot.

“Nah,” Cork said, “not for me. I’m beat.”

“I’ve got to work in the morning,” Sonny said.

“Fine,” Eileen said, “I’ll make it for myself. Now you’ve wakened me,” she said to Cork, “I’ll be up all night.”

“Ah, Sis,” Cork said. “I just wanted to see Caitlin and have breakfast with her.” He let go of the table, which he had been holding on to with both hands, took a step around it toward the sink, and stumbled. Sonny caught him before he hit the ground.

“For God’s sake,” Eileen said. To Sonny she said, “Help him into the back room, will ya?” To Cork she said, “The bed’s all made.”

Cork said, “Thanks, Sis. I’m fine, I swear.” He straightened out his hat, which had been knocked askew when he stumbled.

“Good,” Eileen said. “Go get yourself some sleep then, Bobby. I’ll have breakfast for you in the mornin’.”

“All right,” Cork said. “Night, Eileen.” To Sonny he said, “I’m fine. You go on. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He took a careful step to Eileen, kissed her on the cheek—which she didn’t acknowledge—and then went off into the back room and closed the door behind him.