He doesn’t elaborate, just turns back around and hustles down the street.
Not to be too dramatic, even though I’m an actor, but the theme song ofLaw & Orderbegins to play in my mind because I’m going to kill him.
But considering how fast we’re walking, I only have a few minutes to premeditate my crime. I’m grumbling under my breath as he points to a sign.
“We’re here.”
I look up at the name of the place, suddenly confused. Antonio’s Fine Italian Chinese Cuisine is lit up in orange neon.
There’s no way this is a real restaurant, it has to be a mob front. What the heck is Italian Chinese food?
A slew of quiet curse words are whispered as Benny opens the door, and I walk in first. The place is dimly lit, with beads hanging down from the top of the entryway separating the dining area from the lobby. And the hostess is behind a stand that has a tiny replica of the Leaning Tower of Pisa and one of those cats whose paw bobs up and down.
Oh yeah, definitely a mob front.
“I’m not doing anything illegal,” I say, pointing my finger at Benny, my back to the hostess.
He has the audacity to look surprised.
“Trust me,” he rushes out.
That’s unlikely. I know him.
I’m about to say just that when Antonio himself joins us in the lobby. All three pounds of chest hair and golden Italian horn. He’s got a voice that projects even though his stature is more Joe Pesci. Still, he makes everything he says sound like you’re his best friend. His arms spread wide, greeting us.
“Benny . . . my guy . . . Come ’ere. Come ’ere.”
Benny mimics the approach, embracing him. They pat each other on the back before Pesci kisses his cheeks.
“Sal. How are you?” Benny smiles.
Oh, okay, so not so much an Antonio.
My best friend looks over his shoulder, motioning toward me.
“This is my friend Oliver. He’s a good guy ... you know ... the actor I was telling you about.”
Sal makes his way over to me, tugging me into a hug, then patting my cheek a little too aggressively. I’m not complaining because I’ve seenGoodfellas. I’d prefer not to sleep with the fishes.
He looks back at Benny. “He’s a good-looking kid ... a good-looking kid.”
If this really were a mob movie, this guy’s nickname would be Sally Two-Times, because he repeats everything twice.
“Thanks,” I offer, sincerely hoping that Benny didn’t get us into trouble for tonight.
I need rent money, not a felony conviction.
Sal says something quiet to the hostess, who nods before he waves us toward the hanging beads.
“Come on, yous guys, let me show you where the costumes are. The ladies are gonna eat you up. Benny, I owe you one for thinking this one up.”
Costumes? Thinking this up?
“This was you?” I whisper as Benny just shakes his head and holds up his hands. But still I add, “Dead to me.”
Something tells me by the end of the night my only option might be witness protection.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I say to myself, staring in the mirror.
