“Why would she be afraid of me?” Nick asked, distraught. “I’m Pop-Pop. I’m God damn Pop-Pop.”
“All she wants is your word,” Teddy said. “If you promise to give up your interest in the real estate company, and promise that you won’t come after the boys or try to hurt her, she’ll give you the rest of the teeth.”
Nick shook his head in disbelief.
“Just your word,” Teddy said.
Nick leaned across the table. Teddy could see tears forming in his eyes. The old Nick never cried. The old Nick didn’t even own tear ducts. So maybe Graciella was right, and his grandsons had wrought a change in the devil. He hadn’t wanted to tell Graciella that he thought it was impossible, but he was willing to be proven wrong.
“I swear on my mother’s grave,” Nick said, voice hoarse with emotion. “I would never hurt Graciella. She’s like my own daughter. But if she—” His voice broke. “If she doesn’t want me to see the boys, if she thinks that’s really the best for them? Then I’ll do it. I’ll do it for them. Because I love those boys.”
Irene squeezed Teddy’s arm, hard.
“I’m so happy to hear that,” Teddy said. “I’ll let her know the good news.”
Nick didn’t shake their hands as they left. He was staring at the desk. At six pencils, two envelopes, and a collection of souvenirs.
Irene helped him into the passenger seat. Neither of them spoke.
He’d set up the feeble act back at Mitzi’s a couple of weeks ago, just so he’d have an excuse to have Irene in the room with him when he met with Nick. He needed her there, listening to the man talk. Every squeeze on his arm from her had meant a lie from that bastard.
They were two miles from the tavern when Teddy finally said, “Well?”
“He’s lying, top to bottom,” she said.
Teddy sighed. Of course he was. What a shame to be proven right.
“Let’s go,” Teddy said. “We need to warn Graciella.”
19 Irene
In the end, there was only one place to take them. Irene opened the front door to the house, peeked inside to make sure Buddy wasn’t naked or something, and said to Graciella, “As it turns out, we have a lot of spare beds.”
Graciella hadn’t wanted to leave her house. Dad, however, managed to persuade her without inducing panic. He’d presented the idea of a sleepover at his house as a lark, a bit of fun for the kids, while somehow getting across the idea that her sociopathic father-in-law might indeed want to break into Graciella’s home, kidnap his grandchildren, and shoot her in the head. Graciella took this implied news better than Irene expected. The woman’s primary emotion, however, seemed to be not fear, but anger. She was mad at Teddy, or else mad at herself for going along with him. Irene knew exactly how she felt.
Plus, who would want to leave that palace? Irene had known that Graciella had money, but she hadn’t realized just how much until she saw that home.
And now, unfortunately, Graciella was seeing theirs. Irene ushered her inside. Buddy was nowhere in sight, but he’d left a sawhorse in the middle of the living room. Sawdust coated everything.
“Uh, we’re doing a little renovation work.”
“I know,” Graciella said. “I was here earlier.”
“Right? Then come on in.”
Her sons looked around at the room, saying nothing. It hadn’t been easy to get them out of their house, either. The two younger boys, Adrian and Luke, didn’t have the first clue how to pack a bag, and the teenager, Julian, seemed to think that if he hid in his bedroom then they’d somehow forget about him and let him stay home. Fortunately, both Graciella and Irene knew how to herd young males.
And summon them. “Matty!” Irene called. “We have company!”
There was no answer from the basement. Was he sleeping again? How much downtime did a teenager need?
Dad came in through the back door. “The wagon’s all tucked away,” he said. He’d wanted to take the precaution of parking Graciella’s Mercedes in the garage and out of sight. “I know, it’s a silly thing, probably not necessary at all, but why not? No sense advertising your presence.”
Adrian, the youngest, held out a dollar bill to Teddy. “Now can you do a magic trick?”
Dad took the dollar from him. “You think you’ve been patient, eh?”
The boy nodded.
“All right, then. Ever hear of the shoe bank?” Dad sat down on the ottoman and pulled off a shiny black oxford. “The first step, so to speak, is to make a deposit.” He folded the bill with his stiff fingers and placed it inside the shoe. Even crude tools could do crude work. Enough to fool a child, perhaps. “Then we wait for interest to develop. Don’t worry kid, these are all jokes you’re going to get someday and just laugh.” He slipped the shoe back on and stood up. “Now the tricky part. How to make a shoe-to-shoe transfer?” He slid the money-laden shoe forward. “Let’s go toe to toe, shall we? No, the other foot—right foot to right. Press the tip against mine. This, you see, allows us to combine our digits. No? Nothing? Okay, now we order the money. This is called a money order.”
Graciella groaned.
“As I mentioned, someday, hilarious. Are you ready?” Adrian looked at his brothers, then nodded. Dad said, “Repeat after me: Money! Order!”
“Money order,” Adrian said.
“Transfer!” Dad said, and kicked his toe against Adrian’s. The boy hopped back as if he’d been shocked. Dad said, “Now let’s see if the wire went through. Take off your shoe, my boy.”
Adrian dropped onto his butt and pulled off his shoe. “Under the insole,” Dad said. “That’s right, pull it right out.”
The boy pulled out the foam insole. Underneath was a folded bill. “It made it!” Adrian shouted. He unfolded the bill. “And it’s a five!”
“Holy shit,” Graciella said.
“Mom!” Adrian said.
Graciella laughed. “How did you do that?” she asked Dad.
“He’ll never tell,” Irene said. She’d never seen that one before. It was a pretty good gag. He hadn’t touched the kid’s shoe, except to tap it with his foot.
“Now the best part,” Dad said. “You boys like video games? Because we’ve got a whole setup down there.”
“What kind of video games?” Adrian asked.
“A brand-new whosit whatsit.”
“An SNES?”
“Undoubtedly,” Dad said. “Right that way.”
Irene said, “If there’s a boy down there, wake him up.”
Adrian, one shoe off and one shoe on, jumped down the stairs. The older ones followed.
Dad was excited by all this drama, despite the danger. Or maybe because of it. Irene had always known that her father was once a gambler, what Frankie euphemistically called a “risk taker.” She’d thought that was all behind him. After Mom died, he was at first depressed and unengaged, then frustrated and unengaged, and finally just unengaged. All this time, she’d thought he didn’t like children, but maybe it was just that he didn’t like his children. Only an audience of strangers would find him entertaining.
“What are we doing for supper?” he asked Irene.
“Don’t look at me,” she said. “Where’s Buddy? And Frankie?”
“Buddy’s out back, cleaning the grill. Frankie, no idea.” He clapped his hands. “I guess we’re ordering out. What do the boys like?” His eyes lit up. “What about fried chicken? Boys love any food that comes in a bucket. I’ll get it. You girls get comfortable. Make her a drink, Irene. Graciella likes Hendrick’s.” And then he was gone.
“Wow,” Irene said.