“I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-two. And I tried tohiresomeone first, but I didn’t have the money.”
“What about your Family? Can’t they help you out?”
I know which kind of Family Nick is referring to, and I know that for the Morellis, it would be an easy question. They look after their own. But Matt just shrugs. “My Dad turned rat on them. They want him dead as much as I do.”
“Then,” I point out, hating myself a little for it, “why not just tell them where your father is living now? Let them take care of it?”
Matt shakes his head vigorously. “My Dad’s old Boss, he’sdangerous. Doesn’t care about collateral damage. He killed another family just before we left, all of them. That’s partly why my Dad decided to run, and he told my Mom she could come with him or stay in Vegas with my brothers and sisters and die.” He bares his teeth in a not-smile. “Nicest thing that fucker has ever done, not just doing a dump-and-run. But these days, I tend to think he just wanted staff for his new fucking restaurant. We all work there—the kids after school. My Mom was—was—” He looks down, sniffing. “There’s a new chef these days,” he finishes with a hollow voice.
“And how did you come to be at the wedding?” I ask.
“I picked up a gig with the Alessi’s catering company. They’re the ones hiding us. My Dad offered them information if they’d give us protection.”
“What information?”
Matt gives me this punk-ass stare, the kind that tells me he’s the son of a powerful mobster. “Anything he can think of. Every time they have a question about Vegas, about the West Coast, he spills his guts rather than keep his mouth shut like a man of honor.” A look of contempt crosses his face. “He’s a dirty fucking rat. That alone should be enough for Mr. Fontana here to take him out. Right?” He looks at Nick, who seems thoughtful.
I keep up the questioning, since I don’t want to hear Nick’s response to that particular hypothetical. “How did you get Nick’s address? His email?”
“I looked them up in the caterer’s database.Duh.” I’m reminded suddenly of Sophia Vicente. They’re of a similar age, after all.
“Why didn’t you just send us your dad’s address instead of just his fake name? And why not his real name so we understood who we were looking for? Why—”
“BecauseI’mnot a fucking rat, okay?” he shouts, going pink in the face. “Not anaturalrat, I mean. You think this shit wasn’t hard for me? You don’t get it, man.”
Actually, I think Idoget it, at least partly. When I was his age, there were days I had fantasies of my father dying. Letting me live inpeace. But the whole thing is so dumb and so childish, could have gone wrong in so many ways for so many innocent people… “Youstupidkid. You were seriously willing to blackmailNick Fontanainto killing for you?”
“Well, I couldn’t do it myself. No one would give me a gun, and I tried already to stab him to death. I fucking missed. He beat me into the hospital for it.”
“Okay, stop talking.” I run my hands through my hair and look at Nick again, who has gone very quiet. “The less you talk to me about killing, the easier it will be to solve your problem.” Matt frowns in confusion. “Hell, I can at leasttryto get something through the family courts for your brothers and sisters, if they’re minors.”
“What?” Matt says in alarm. “No way, we can’t involve thelaw. My Dad would kill me soon as he knew. I can’t afford a lawyer anyway. Forget it. I’ll find someone else.” He tries to move past us, but Nick stops him with a hand on his shoulder. It’s not a warning hand, this time. It’s a hand of solidarity. Maybe even fatherly.
“First of all, if Carlowasgoing to do that, he’d do it pro bono and he’d move fast enough that your asshole dad would not be able to touch you or your family. But second, I don’t have much faith in CPS, either. Iamwilling to take your father’s name to my Boss and see if he’ll allow me to kill him.”
“Oh, myGod,” I say in exasperation, putting my hands over my ears. “I mean, should I just walk the fuck away for a minute while you two plan a murder?” Okay, I’ve been running around with Nicky the last few days, seriously entertaining the idea of his killing—well, it turns out, this kid right in front of us. But Iamactually under retainer for Nicky, and I am very muchnotMatt the Bartender’s lawyer. Quite apart from that, attorney-client privileged communication does not include planning a hit.
But that’s just a normal day’s work for Nick Fontana.
And now Matt lookshopeful. “I’d appreciate it,” I lip-read him saying to Nick.
All this talk about fathers has my own looming large in my head, his disapproval, his stupid rules and guidelines about how we interact with the Morellis. And I’m frustrated with myself. I set out to help Nick solve a problem that wasnevergoing to be legally solved. Nick could see that. I didn’twantto see it. But I’m seeing it now.
I’ve been playing pretend my whole career so far at Bianchi and Associates. I’ve been playing my father’s games.
I drop my hands from my ears.
“I’m not fucking around,” Nick warns him. “If this guy really is bashing you and the kids,andhe really killed your mom, my Boss won’t look kindly on it. Yousureyou want him dead? Sometimes a shit father is better than no father at all.”
“Not in this case,” Matt mutters darkly.
“How’d you know to follow me?” Nick asks unexpectedly. “That night at the wedding, I mean.”
“I wasn’t following you, not exactly. I was on the late shift to clean. I was hanging around outside, wishing I had the guts to approach someone and tell them about my father, see if someone,anyonewould help—and there you were, like a sign from God. And also…”
“Also what?” Nick prompts.
“Also, from what I heard about the Morellis, they were the ones who might help me. Because, I’m, you know.” He shuffles awkwardly.
