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Authors: Frank Lentricchia
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machine. 8:45: “Eliot, Mark. We need to chat very soon about a matter of security. I’ll be by at 10:30. It’s worth your while to be there, if at all possible. Strictly unofficial, at this point.”
Angel, feet up on kitchen table: “Would that be Mark Martello of the regional office?”
“It would.”
“Heavy.”
“I need to get showered and changed, and you need to work on that computer. It stays here. The computer doesn’t leave.”
“No problem, señor.”
As Eliot leaves the room, Angel says, “Four bills is too totally generous. Angel hacks Martello’s ass for you while he’s at it, free of charge.”
Eliot turns and says, with a grin, “Yeah.”
“One more thing, Jefe. I’m sayin’ don’t come out of that shower naked and hard.”
Thirty minutes later, Conte appears in the front room freshly dressed, shaved and showered, to find his friend lounging on the couch with a second cup of cappuccino, watching the Nature Channel’s show on the primitive wolf.
“Don’t have something better to do, Angel?”
“Than gaze on my father?” (Pointing to television.)
“You have a job. It’s urgent.”
“Formerly.”
“Formerly?”
“It’s all good.”
“Speak normal English, Angel.”
“Nineteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Candy from a baby, Jefe. The Bosnian machine is open for you over there to what you need. As far as Martello, he’s interested in the Bosnian, but doesn’t have squat. He’s obsessing about this new Imam I can’t pronounce his name at the new Muslim synagogue. The word Sunday is big. A major act on Sunday is my belief. This Mirko you can read yourself. Shall we discuss the payoff, Jefe?”
“I can have it for you no later than tomorrow, when I presume I’ll be able to get out of the driveway and to the bank.”
“I’ll take one hundred in twenties then twenty per week for fifteen weeks.”
“I’m happy to give it to you all at once.”
“Can’t asept four hundred cold.”
“Why not?”
“You suffering memory dementia, Jefe? I’m
thirteen
, man.”
Eliot asks what he’ll do with his day off from school and Angel replies, “Barack’s BlackBerry, while I dream of The Land of the Midnight Sun.”
“You have quite a thing for Norway, Angel.”
“Vice versa, Jefe.”
Angel’s out the door when it occurs to Conte: How did he manage to make a second cappuccino while he was in the shower? He calls out: “How did you know how to work the cappuccino machine?”
“A new associate of mine, Jefe. In Palermo.”
Conte searches Mirko’s sent file back several weeks—nothing to the Imam. Inbox dominated by messages from Delores Delgado, who he believes must be the beauty of the hidden photo. Obstacles to young lovers. Two different worlds. Mirko’s reference to
Romeo and Juliet
. Delores’s puzzlement. Mirko explaining Shakespeare by reference to
West Side Story
. Muslim boy, Catholic girl. Star-crossed. She didn’t want him to use the word
tragic
, although she could be persuaded. There was a time and a place for them. Hold my hand. She said, “Please.” A long trail of messages. Love makes the world go away. She said, “I’ll take you there.” Conte is convinced that Mirko and Delores have eloped. As of late yesterday afternoon, no longer in Utica. Mirko and terrorism? Joke. Angel was right. They don’t have squat on Mirko. Conte suffers a pang of doubt. But who is this new Imam? Who, really, is Mirko Ivanovic outside the classroom?
Forty-five minutes to kill before Mark Martello arrives and Conte doesn’t know what to do with himself. No appetite for breakfast—the call from Catherine—how cold she was.
Catherine maybe lost, who said she’d never leave him. He paces. Stops at the front window to stare out at Mary and Wetmore—Wetmore ascending from Utica’s lowest point at Broad—crossing Catherine, crossing Bleecker—rising always to Mary, to end T-stopping directly before his house, 1318 Mary.
There again on the
Angel, feet up on kitchen table: “Would that be Mark Martello of the regional office?”
“It would.”
“Heavy.”
“I need to get showered and changed, and you need to work on that computer. It stays here. The computer doesn’t leave.”
“No problem, señor.”
As Eliot leaves the room, Angel says, “Four bills is too totally generous. Angel hacks Martello’s ass for you while he’s at it, free of charge.”
Eliot turns and says, with a grin, “Yeah.”
“One more thing, Jefe. I’m sayin’ don’t come out of that shower naked and hard.”
Thirty minutes later, Conte appears in the front room freshly dressed, shaved and showered, to find his friend lounging on the couch with a second cup of cappuccino, watching the Nature Channel’s show on the primitive wolf.
“Don’t have something better to do, Angel?”
“Than gaze on my father?” (Pointing to television.)
“You have a job. It’s urgent.”
“Formerly.”
“Formerly?”
“It’s all good.”
“Speak normal English, Angel.”
“Nineteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Candy from a baby, Jefe. The Bosnian machine is open for you over there to what you need. As far as Martello, he’s interested in the Bosnian, but doesn’t have squat. He’s obsessing about this new Imam I can’t pronounce his name at the new Muslim synagogue. The word Sunday is big. A major act on Sunday is my belief. This Mirko you can read yourself. Shall we discuss the payoff, Jefe?”
“I can have it for you no later than tomorrow, when I presume I’ll be able to get out of the driveway and to the bank.”
“I’ll take one hundred in twenties then twenty per week for fifteen weeks.”
“I’m happy to give it to you all at once.”
“Can’t asept four hundred cold.”
“Why not?”
“You suffering memory dementia, Jefe? I’m
thirteen
, man.”
Eliot asks what he’ll do with his day off from school and Angel replies, “Barack’s BlackBerry, while I dream of The Land of the Midnight Sun.”
“You have quite a thing for Norway, Angel.”
“Vice versa, Jefe.”
Angel’s out the door when it occurs to Conte: How did he manage to make a second cappuccino while he was in the shower? He calls out: “How did you know how to work the cappuccino machine?”
“A new associate of mine, Jefe. In Palermo.”
Conte searches Mirko’s sent file back several weeks—nothing to the Imam. Inbox dominated by messages from Delores Delgado, who he believes must be the beauty of the hidden photo. Obstacles to young lovers. Two different worlds. Mirko’s reference to
Romeo and Juliet
. Delores’s puzzlement. Mirko explaining Shakespeare by reference to
West Side Story
. Muslim boy, Catholic girl. Star-crossed. She didn’t want him to use the word
tragic
, although she could be persuaded. There was a time and a place for them. Hold my hand. She said, “Please.” A long trail of messages. Love makes the world go away. She said, “I’ll take you there.” Conte is convinced that Mirko and Delores have eloped. As of late yesterday afternoon, no longer in Utica. Mirko and terrorism? Joke. Angel was right. They don’t have squat on Mirko. Conte suffers a pang of doubt. But who is this new Imam? Who, really, is Mirko Ivanovic outside the classroom?
Forty-five minutes to kill before Mark Martello arrives and Conte doesn’t know what to do with himself. No appetite for breakfast—the call from Catherine—how cold she was.
Catherine maybe lost, who said she’d never leave him. He paces. Stops at the front window to stare out at Mary and Wetmore—Wetmore ascending from Utica’s lowest point at Broad—crossing Catherine, crossing Bleecker—rising always to Mary, to end T-stopping directly before his house, 1318 Mary.
There again on the
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