Book II – Chapter 06: Fallo e basta

Posted On June 30, 2014

Summer was coming. Ferris didn’t like summer, for a number of reasons, but no amount of internal griping could keep the season away. He could feel it in the thickness of the air — the humidity that dragged in from the seaside and stuck to every surface imaginable. The thought of escaping to the air conditioned sanctuary of a nearby convenience store crossed his mind, but unfortunately he had agreed to meet Alex on the corner of Stone and 6th Street. This would prove to be the first of many poor decisions.

He gazed at the newspaper stand at his left, silently willing his pores to close. This was to be their second date and he had little intention of sweating his way through it. His gaze had nearly lost focus when a set of words caught his eye. The black print on the newspaper headline sharpened in his vision, forcing him to zero in on the text.

MARIANI INVOLVEMENT SUSPECTED IN STRING OF TRUCK HEISTS

The Marianis — once a contender for power in Southport, now reduced to a handful of survivors desperately trying to regain what they had lost. Ferris felt little pity for their syndicate. Though no Mariani had personally given him the wide scar on his side, they had, in a way, sponsored the memento.

He passed the vendor a dollar bill, keeping his eyes down as he began to read the article. He had only made it to the second sentence when a voice interrupted his effort.

“Hey, Ferris.”

“Oh, hi Alex,” he said, glancing up to watch her approach. “You made it.”

Alex was dressed a bit nicer than she had been on their first date. The sake bar they had reserved was by no means casual, nor was its week-long waiting list for a table. It was only through a string of favors and phone calls that he had managed to make the reservation. If she hadn’t offhandedly mentioned her love for chirashi, he might not have made the effort at all.

“It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

“Huh?” he droned, staring at her dumbly.

“The truck heists,” she explained, gesturing to the newspaper in his hands. “I heard a driver got shot.”

“Oh, oh right,” he replied, glancing down at the paper before hurriedly rolling it up. “Terrible.”

“I can’t believe we still have organized crime in this day and age,” she frowned, politely ignoring his fumbling. “But hopefully I can help put them all behind bars. Um, if I can get a job, that is.”

“B-behind bars,” he said, his voice fading at the last syllable. “Yeah. Er, yes. I mean, you’ll get a job. I’m sure you will.”

Ferris had now lost the battle against his own body; a bead of sweat began to trail from his temple. He had forgotten that an average person didn’t deal with gambling rings, body disposal, and suppressed Berettas on a monthly basis. He took in a breath, using the air to force down the fear that was trying to rise somewhere in his gut.

Through the years, he had been surprisingly successful in coming across as ‘normal.’ Now would be an inopportune moment to ruin his facade. A part of him wondered if this was wrong — to hide a significant portion of his life, to smile and agree like some kind of fraudulent imbecile. He liked Alex — he really liked her. If they were to get to know one another, it would become increasingly difficult to pretend he was a law-abiding citizen.

Then again, this was only their second date. Perhaps he was overthinking it.

“Are you okay?” Alex asked, tilting her head in concern.

“Ah, yeah,” he replied, pushing the newspaper into his bag. “It’s just this heat. It tends to make me stupid.”

“Me too,” she said with a laugh. “Well, then. Let’s find this place and sit in some A/C.”

“Sounds great.”

Unfortunately, neither he nor Alex would find refuge in the sake bar. Rather than a smiling host, they were greeted with strings of police tape, the yellow strips draped around the block like old Christmas lights. Broken glass covered the sidewalk — apparently someone had broken into the jewelry store beside the restaurant.

“Perfect,” Ferris sighed.

Alex was caught up in a mixture of disappointment and thrill. The scattered policemen and yellow tape seemed to pique her interest, though she was doing an admirable job of keeping it down.

“Damn,” she said. “I wonder when it’ll open again.”

“Probably not for a while,” Ferris replied, eyeing the crooked parking of the police cars that had overtaken the block. “What do you want to do?”

“If I weren’t wearing this dress, I’d say a diner,” she said, giving him a helpless smile. Alex’s point was indeed valid — her clothing would look fairly odd in an establishment that served pancakes and sloppy joes. “You know any other places around here?”

Ferris paused at her question, averting his eyes as he thought. He certainly did know an establishment in the area — one just down the street, in fact. It had a refined atmosphere, a reputable menu, and a terribly impressive wine list. Not only would he be able to get a table, but he was certain their meal would be on the house.

Unfortunately, the restaurant was run by a notorious criminal family — one he wasn’t quite ready to expose his relationship with.

“Sort of,” he started, running his hand over his head. “But you’re probably not in the mood for Italian, right?”

“I love Italian,” she said, her face brightening at the thought.

“Oh,” he said, then cleared his throat.

“Is it in Little Italy? That’s pretty close, I wouldn’t mind the walk.”

“Well, let me see if I can get a table. They’re pretty busy, so… no promises,” he said, forcing a smile as he slipped his phone out of his pocket. He took a few steps away, pressing buttons in an attempt to pretend it wasn’t on speed dial.

“Hello, Ristorante Giorgetti,” came a voice after several rings. It was Sergio. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, I was wondering if there are any tables available tonight?”

“I’m afraid we— Ferris, is that you?”

“Um, yes,” he replied, swallowing as he gave Alex a sideways glance.

“What are you calling for?” Sergio said, barking out a laugh. “Just come over.”

Ferris could feel the panic, which had started off as a tickle, beginning to swell tremendously in his chest. He closed his eyes, then cupped his hand over the phone.

“Senti, ho un appuntamento e ho bisogno che tu faccia finta di non conoscermi,” Ferris said, hoping that his Italian was correct. “Senza offesa.”

Sergio continued laughing; Ferris hoped that Alex couldn’t hear it through the phone.

“What, like you’re a stranger? Are we that embarrassing?”

“Sì, fallo e basta. Table for two — for Levinstein.”

“Sure, Fish. I mean, yes Mr. Levinstein,” Sergio replied. Ferris could hear him grinning through the phone.

“Un’altra cosa ancora…” he said, making sure to keep his voice low. “Tua sorella è lì?”

“No, Emily’s out tonight.”

“Okay, thank you,” Ferris said, finally exhaling. “We’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

He hung up, stuffing the phone in his pocket before turning to give Alex a helpless smile.

“So, did they have a table?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yeah. Lucky, right?”

“Great! Is there, um… a reason you were speaking in Italian?”

“They’re… they’re really authentic. His English wasn’t that great.”

“I see,” she replied, her voice slow.

“Let’s get going before they give our table away,” he blurted, hoping desperately that he hadn’t just made an enormous mistake.

Ferris realized, upon arriving, that his actual mistake had not been choosing Ristorante Giorgetti for his date. The true blunder was in trusting Sergio to take his task seriously.

“Welcome,” he said with a forced Italian accent. “Do you have a reservation, Sir?”

Ferris stared back at him, deadpanned.

“Yes. It should be under Levinstein.”

“Va bene. Ah, sì. Here we are. You called earlier — a table for two?”

“That’s right.”

“Un momento prego!” Sergio replied, giving the two a dashing smile as he gathered a pair of menus. The smile, melodramatic as it was, seemed to suit the Italian’s handsome features. His tawny hair was loosely combed and he had been fortunate enough to inherit his grandfather’s fair blue eyes.

‘I’m going to kill you,’ Ferris mouthed, his eyes dangerously narrow as they followed their host around the grand piano. Despite Sergio’s theatrical display, Ferris was glad that he could show Alex the restaurant. It had a polished interior, its walls lined with black and white photographs of family and notable guests. Candle sconces gave the space a warm glow, lighting the smooth wooden surfaces below. The air was rich with the scents of wine and garlic, reminding him that he was actually quite hungry.

“We hope you do not mind,” Sergio began as they passed the bar. “The only table, it is back in the private room.”

“That’s fine.”

From the corner of his vision, Ferris noticed a familiar pale face towards the back of the restaurant. Demos made brief eye contact with him before looking away. Apparently, Sergio had informed him of the ‘situation’ and he had the common sense not to approach.

Through a pair of mahogany doors was the back room, one which the Giorgettis often held gatherings or meetings in. There was a long table set in the center, one which Ferris had clear memories of —  the sound of his father’s voice, strikingly grim as he threatened a man across the table — the seat which Angelo Mariani, now deceased, had once sat in — they were all as clear as yesterday.

A brick fireplace occupied one end of the room, its mantle crowned with an oil painting of the Italian tall ship Palinuro. Not even a private room could escape Gino Giorgetti’s love for boats.

“We have short staff, so I will be waiting to your table,” Sergio crooned as they took their seats.

“Great.”

“Please, take your time,” he said with an embellished hand gesture, then turned to leave.

Fortunately, Alex wasn’t familiar with Sergio’s normally stoic behavior and thought little of the man’s performance.

“I’ve heard of this place,” she said, looking over the menu. “It’s supposed to be really good. I’m surprised we got a table. But isn’t it owned by—”

“Just good timing, I guess,” Ferris quickly interrupted, folding his hands on the table. The back room was normally reserved for parties, as well as an occasional customer demanding privacy for their date. At least Sergio had had the courtesy to place them there.

“So, anyway,” Ferris continued, ignoring the menu. “I’m, uh… I’m glad you could make time for this. You must be pretty busy with school.”

“Yeah. My master’s thesis is killing me,” she said, still skimming the list of dishes. “And I have to finish this book on solid-phase peptide synthesis by Monday. It’s actually pretty interesting, but…”

She stumbled over her words for a moment, unconsciously chewing her lower lip.

“It’s… it’s nice to have some free time. I’m usually happier alone, but… I really like talking with you.”

By then she was blushing, which in turn caused Ferris’ face to warm.

“Me too,” was all he could think to say.

At this, she smiled. The room was silent for a minute until Alex tore her eyes away in embarrassment.

“It’s better than talking to my cat, anyway. She’s a poor listener. Oh, jeez, do you like cats? Do you have one? Ah, no, why would you have a—“

“I have a dog,” he said gently. “A fat, stupid dog.”

Alex laughed, or started to, before covering her mouth with her fist.

“Oh, I’d really like to meet him someday. Or her, if it’s a girl. Er, not that I’m inviting myself to your house. Unless you want me to— um, right. Anyway.”

“I’d like that. We could watch that movie you mentioned last time… Brazil, right?”

“Yeah, I—“

Her reply was interrupted as Sergio returned to take their orders. He was ready with a pen and notepad, making sure to write each word with a flourish.

“Which wine would be good with the eggplant parm?” she asked, oblivious to the operatic batting of his eyelashes.

“Ah, a barbera, decisamente. We have a very nice Monferrato.”

“I’ll have a glass.”

“And for you, Sir?”

Ferris cleared his throat, showing Sergio with a tight-lipped smile that he would be discussing this evening with him later.

“The house pinot grigio,” he said. “And the bass oreganata.”

“Ottima scelta! I’ll be right back with your wine.”

“Please. Take your time.”

Alex leaned in as Sergio left, watching her date curiously.

“What was that you ordered?” she asked, her brow lowered.

“The bass,” he replied, wondering how that could possibly be suspicious.

“I didn’t see it on the menu.”

‘Oh,’ he thought. ‘That’s how.’

“Ah, I ordered it last time. I guess they recently changed menus,” he said, smiling weakly.

“Do you come here a lot?”

“Well, you know… once in a while,” he said, finding a sudden interest in the room’s decor. “With my mother. She loves their puttanesca.”

“That wasn’t on the menu, either.”

Ferris was finding it more and more difficult to manage his pseudo-smile. Just as he thought he might break under her scrutiny, the double doors opened once more.

This time, however, it was not Sergio that entered the room. A host led in a pair of men, both of whom were seated at another table near the window. Ferris glanced over briefly, wondering why one of their faces was so troublingly familiar. They spoke to one another in hushed voices, their conversation just low enough to miss.

“So much for privacy,” she whispered.

“Let’s puff up to defend our territory,” he said, knitting his brow in utter seriousness.

It seemed that Alex’s efforts to stifle herself had reached their limit. Her shoulders shook, followed by an extraordinary laugh — one which started with the suppressed wheezing of an old man, peaking into a giggle that bore an uncanny resemblance to a tropical bird’s mating call. Though she clamped her hands over her mouth, the laughter continued, muffled, into her palm.

“Oh god,” she groaned, now hiding her entire face. “Oh, no.”

“What?” he asked, checking his own laughter. “What’s wrong?”

“My laugh — you heard my stupid laugh. God, you probably want to go home now, don’t you?”

“I like it,” Ferris claimed, lowering his head in an attempt to catch her eyes. “It’s cute.”

“Oh god, shut up. It is not.”

“It is!”

His insistence seemed to rekindle the laugh and, before she could stop herself, she was once again wheezing. The men at the other table looked over briefly, then returned to mumbling over their menus.

“You’re a horrible liar,” Alex said, peeking at him from over her hands.

“No, really, I—“

His sentence was cut short by the creak of a door. From over Alex’s shoulder, he could see Demos’ figure through the crack. The Italian’s expression was urgent as he gestured for Ferris to step out. Noticing that Alex was still distracted by her own embarrassment, Ferris curtly shook his head, showing with a quick nod that he was occupied. Demos responded with an intense glare, waving his hand with even more insistence. After a moment, Ferris sighed.

“Ah, sorry. I’m going to find the men’s room. I’ll be quick.”

“You’re never coming back, are you?” she asked, still mortified.

“I will. I promise,” he assured her, then stepped away from the table.

Demos was waiting beside the piano with folded arms. He was still glowering, his fingers clenching impatiently on the sleeve of his suit.

“What is it?” Ferris hissed once the doors had closed behind him.

“That’s him. That’s the guy,” Demos said, as if it were obvious.

“What guy?”

“The cop,” Demos said, jerking his thumb towards the back room. “The one Lee told us about.”

Ferris fell silent, taking a moment to stare back at his friend.

“Oh,” he finally muttered, glancing back over his shoulder. “So that’s why he looked familiar.”

“He asked for the back room, probably because he knows we have meetings in there.”

“So what do you want me to do about it?”

“Just keep an eye on him,” Demos said, placing his hand on the piano’s sleek finish. “See if he leaves us any presents.”

Ferris let his eyes drop to the floor, considering his response in silence.

“I know you’re on a date, but this is important,” Demos said, this time more gently. Ferris knew what his answer would be — he knew from the moment Demos had first opened his mouth. No matter how much he protested at the start, in the end, Ferris could never tell him ‘no.’

“It’s all right. I got it.”

“Thanks. Now hurry up, get back in there.”

Once he’d returned to his seat, Alex seemed to have wrested back control of herself. Her breathing had calmed and most of the flush had left her cheeks.

“That was quick,” she said, gingerly adjusting her glasses.

“There was a long line. I’ll try later.”

As he spoke, he let his eyes flicker briefly to the other side of the room. Both men were still poring over their menus, looking rather inconspicuous in their business casual attire.

“So, Ferris…”

“Yes?” he said, blinking as he snapped his attention back to her face.

“Is there… a reason you’re pretending you don’t know these people?”

Ferris froze in place, his lips quirking as he processed her question.

“Ah,” he said, his tone flat. “Why do you—“

“It’s kind of obvious. I mean, the Italian on the phone, and your being weirdly familiar with everything here, and—“

“Okay. Yes,” he said, sighing as he rubbed his jaw. “You’re right.”

“And the reason…?”

“Well,” he started, swallowing as he threw together an excuse. “It’s true. I’m a regular here. And I know this place is maybe kind of famous for being owned by criminals, so I didn’t want you to think—“

“Why would I think poorly of you because you come to a restaurant? It’s not like you commit crimes.”

“Hah, yeah. I… I guess I was just being silly. Sorry I wasn’t honest,” Ferris mumbled before daring to look up at her expression. Luckily, there was much less anger in her eyes than he expected.

“I mean, I know it’s a dumb excuse, but… I really like you and, well… I didn’t want to make the wrong impression,” he added.

“You don’t have to lie,” she said, giving him a soft smile. “I like you, too — just how you are.”

Her words, well-meaning though they were, seemed to tear something inside of his chest — he felt suddenly ill, doing everything in his power to hide the nausea from his features.

“Thanks,” he said, somehow managing to get the word out of his throat. “I’m glad to hear that.”

From the corner of his eye, he caught movement from the edge of the other table. It was a subtle motion — a slight flick of the tablecloth, the sweep of a hand as it dipped beneath.

“Let’s be honest from now on, okay?” she said, leaning forward to place one hand over his.

“Yeah,” he replied, his eyes tightening. With one breath, he gathered himself. His spine straightened and he forced them down — the feelings of guilt, of pressure, of every sick, nagging emotion that was screaming from the back of his head. They were smothered, hidden away to be dealt with at a later time.

Ferris smiled.

“Now that I know about your cute laugh, it’s all free game, right?”

Just as she started to laugh once more, their wine arrived. Sergio placed two glasses on the table, one with a rich red, the other a golden white.

“Now, Sir, would you—“

“It’s okay, Serg,” Ferris sighed, giving the other man a weak hand wave. “She figured it out.”

“Aw, was it my acting? I thought I did a pretty good job,” he replied in a defeated American accent.

“No, no. It was me. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure? I tried to—“

“You were great,” Alex said, giving the tall Italian a thumbs-up. “I totally bought the accent.”

“Grazie mille!” he replied, bowing dramatically. Upon rising, he offered her a wink. “Enjoy your wine.”

“We will,” Ferris said, wishing he were standing so he could push the other out of the room by force.

The remainder of their dinner was considerably lighter — no further talk of lies or deceit came up and the food was, as expected, superb. He was glad that it was his turn to pay, as he could easily pretend that actual money was being exchanged. In reality, he couldn’t remember the last time he had paid so much as a cent at Ristorante Giorgetti.

“Ugh,” Alex groaned, holding her stomach as they exited the restaurant. “I’m full of gelato.”

“I’m full of regret,” he echoed.

Alex laughed, this time making no effort to hide the act.

“Ah, I think I left my wallet inside,” he said — he had, in fact, purposely left his wallet on the table to reinforce those very words. “But you go ahead. I’ll see you next week, right?”

“Yeah,” she answered, grinning at the thought. “Can’t wait.”

“Me too.”

They both stood for a while, unmoving, as if waiting for the other to take some kind of further action. Alex lifted her hand, dropped it bashfully.

“Okay, well, see you then,” she said, still red as she turned to leave.

“Get home safe.”

Once she was out of sight, he turned back into the restaurant. Demos was sitting at the piano, his eyes closed as he patiently played his favorite Satie piece.

“He left fifteen minutes ago,” Ferris murmured as he gazed out the window. “And he put something under the table. Probably a bug.”

Demos continued playing, letting his fingers run over the keys until the song was finished. Once the last note faded, he opened his eyes.

“Well then,” he said, looking up at his friend. “Let’s give him something to listen to.”

“You have something in mind, don’t you?” Ferris asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe. Do we still have that DVD player upstairs?”

A block away, an unmarked van sat parked beside a closed bodega. Inside were two men, both wearing headsets, and both quite full of Italian food.

“Do we really need to start now, Shaffer? We just left the place.”

“I just want to see if it’s working,” the man replied, adjusting the headset over his ears.

“I really don’t think—“

“Shh,” he hissed, holding up his hand. “Shut up, I’m getting something. You hear that?”

“Yeah, I hear it.”

“We’ve got conversation,” he said, straining to hear through the white noise. “It’s two men… something about… something about… an offer he can’t refuse?”

Groaning, the man’s partner tore off his headset, tossing it to the control panel with a pitiful clatter.

“Shaffer,” he said, covering his eyes with one hand. “You’re a fucking idiot.”