“I wouldn’t go that far,” Russo says. “Maybe they have him playing a longer game. Maybe they’re after the Pena rip. Denny, we have to move that shit.”
“I did,” Malone says. “You’re a million and change richer than you were last night.”
“Jesus. On your own?” Russo don’t like that.
Malone tells him about selling the smack to Savino, and about Carlos Castillo and the Dominicans.
“You sold them back their own smack?” Russo asks. “Denny freaking Malone.”
“It ain’t over,” Malone says. “This Castillo wants to get us back for Pena.”
“Shit, Denny, half North Manhattan wants to whack us,” Russo says. “This is no different.”
“I dunno. The Ciminos, the Domos . . .”
“We have to have a talk with Lou,” Russo says. “That’s not right, springing them on you like that.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“The fuck, you the Lone Ranger lately?” Russo asks. “I feel like you’re keeping me out of things.”
A kid hits a ball to deep left and they watch as John tracks it down, snags it and holds it up for the umpire to see.
“Way to be, John!” Malone yells.
They’re quiet for a while, then Russo asks, “You okay, Denny?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I don’t know,” Russo says. “If there was something bothering you, you’d tell me, right?”
The words are there but they’re caught in his throat.
Everything changes at that moment.
His old priests might have told him that there are sins of commission and sins of omission, that it’s not always the things you do, but the things you don’t that cost you your soul. That sometimes it’s not the spoken lie but the unspoken truth that opens the door to betrayal.
“What do you mean?” Malone feels like shit. This is the one guy he should be able to talk to, to tell. But he can’t do it. Can’t bring himself to tell Russo that he’s become a rat. Unless Phil is trying to feel him out; maybe he’s starting to believe what Gloria Torres said.
Because it’s true.
Trust your partner, Malone tells himself.
You can always trust your partner.
Yeah, but can Russo?
Some motion in the parking lot catches Malone’s attention. He glances over and sees Caitlin get out of a Honda CR-V. She leans back in to wave good-bye, and then Malone watches her walk to the concession stand, get up on her toes and kiss her mom on the cheek.
Russo notices, but Russo notices everything. “You miss that?”
“Every damn day.”
“There’s a fix for that, you know.”
“Jesus, you too?” Malone asks.
“I’m just saying.”
“It’s too late,” Malone says. “Anyway, I don’t want it.”
“Bullshit, you don’t,” Russo says. “Look, you can still do what you want on the side, but keep the center the center.”
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“Va fangul.”
“Watch your language, my kid’s coming over.”
Caitlin climbs up the bleachers. Malone reaches his hand down to steady her and pull her up. She snuggles up against him. “Hi, Daddy.”
“Hi, sweetheart.” Malone kisses her on the cheek. “Say hi to your uncle Phil.”
“Hi, Uncle Phil.”
“Is that Caitlin?” Russo asks. “I thought it was Ariana Grande.”
Caitlin smiles.
“What’s new, honey?” Malone asks.
“I had a sleepover. At Jordan’s.”
“Did you have fun?”
“Yes.”
She jabbers on about all the fun little-girl stuff they did and then asks when he’s coming to visit them again and when can they come stay with him and then she sees a couple of friends down by the fence in back of home plate and Malone says, “It’s okay, Cait. You can go be with your friends.”
“But you’ll say good-bye, right?”
“Of course.”
He watches her go to her friends, then picks up his phone and finds Palumbo on the speed dial.
“Let me speak to Joe, please,” Malone asks.
“He’s on a call.”
“He’s in the men’s room jerking off,” Malone says. “Put him on the phone.”
Palumbo gets on. “Hey, Denny!”
“‘Hey, Denny,’ my ass,” Malone says. “The fuck, Joe? My wife has to call you three times, you still don’t show up? What’s that?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Is that right?” Malone asks. “So maybe next time you get a truck impounded for fistfuls of tickets, I’m busy.”
“Denny, how can I make this right?”
“When my wife calls, you get over there.” He clicks off. “Fuckin’ mook.”
“Do you love how when these guys do show up,” Russo says, “they never got the right tools? Whole truck in your driveway, they ain’t got the one tool they need to do the job. Donna, she don’t play. One time she told Palumbo, ‘I’d give you your check, but I don’t have the right pen.’ He got the message.”
“Yeah, that ain’t Sheila.”
“Italian women,” Russo says. “You want money from them, you get the job done.”
“We still talking plumbing here?”
“Sort of.”
“How are your kids?”
“The two boys are assholes,” Russo says.
“Anyway, you got their college taken care of now.”
“Pretty much.”
“So, that’s good, huh?” Malone asks.
“You kiddin’ me?”
They know what they’ve done and why.
If I go down, Malone thinks, my kids can feel bad about their criminal father, but they’ll feel bad from college.
But I ain’t goin’ down.
The game goes on for what feels like forever. A real low-scoring defensive battle, Malone thinks sarcastically, like 15–13, and John’s team wins. Malone goes down to talk to him. “You played good.”
“I struck out.”
“You struck out swinging,” Malone says. “Which is the important thing. And how many outs did you make in the field? Those are as good as runs, John.”
His kid smiles at him. “Thanks for coming.”
“Are you kidding?” Malone asks. “I wouldn’t miss it. The team going to Pizza Hut?”
“Pinkberry,” John says. “It’s healthier.”
“Well, I guess that’s good.”
“I guess so,” John says. “You want to come?”
“I gotta get back to the city.”
“Catch the bad guys.”
“There you go.”
Malone hugs him but doesn’t kiss him so as not to embarrass him. He says good-bye to Caitlin and then goes over to Sheila. “You didn’t come sit.”
“Marjorie never showed,” Sheila says. “Probably too hungover.”
Russo’s waiting for him in the parking lot. “Do we need to talk some more?”
“About what?”
“You,” Russo says. “I’m not an idiot. You haven’t been yourself lately . . . distracted . . . a real moody fuck. You been off the radar odd times. Couple that with this stuff behind Torres offing himself . . .”
“You got something you want to say, Phil?”
“You got something you want to say, Denny?”
“Like what?”
“Like it’s true,” Russo says. He’s quiet for a minute, then he says, “Look, maybe you got jammed up. It happens. Maybe you saw a way out. I can understand that, you got a wife, kids . . .”
Malone’s heart hurts.
Cracking like a stone in fire.
“It wasn’t me,” Malone says.
“Okay.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Yeah, I heard you.”
But he looks at him like he don’t know if he believes him. But he says, “Thanks, huh? For handling that thing.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
On Staten Island, it’s an expression of affection.
Chapter 23