“What’s goin’ on?” said Recevo.
“We’re working it out,” said Karras. “It might not be tonight, but he’ll pay what he owes. I’ve got his word. He’s got himself in a little financial trouble right now, is all it is.”
“That’s horseshit. We get the money tonight.”
“You’re not gonna get involved here, Joe.”
“Watch me.”
Georgakos returned, poured beer into the glasses. He drank deeply from the glass, looked at Recevo in a too-cheerful kind of way. Recevo stood out of the chair.
“All right — you’ve been given enough time, old man. We want the money tonight.”
“Huh?” said Georgakos.
“You understand what I’m saying,” said Recevo. “You understand everything just fine. I want that money — now.”
“I’m gonna give it to you. But first I’m gonna have a dance. Hokay, vre gamoto?”
“What’d he call me?” said Recevo.
He called you a fuck, thought Karras. Karras said, “He called you his pal.”
Recevo took his hat off, smoothed back his hair. Georgakos went to the phonograph, started the same record once again. He turned up the volume.
“Ah, no,” said Recevo. “I’m tellin’ you, Pete, I’ve had it with this shit.”
Georgakos looked at Recevo, smiled. He began to sing: “Ta mallia sou ta kommena!”
As he sang, he raised his arms and started to dance. It was a solo dance, a zembekiko. Karras had seen his father do it at the Hellenic Club, or at home when he was happy or drunk.
“What the hell,” said Recevo.
He watched Georgakos, snapping his fingers to the music, hopping on one leg, tilting his head in his direction as he smiled that goddamned smile of his.
“Opa!” yelled Georgakos.
The blood began to drain from Recevo’s face.
“Ella, yiane tyn karthia mou,” sang Georgakos as he danced. He moved very close to Recevo. His eyes were locked on Recevo’s, and they were mocking and bright.
“The money!” screamed Recevo.
“Joe,” said Karras. But it was too late.
Recevo grabbed Georgakos by the collar of his shirt and threw him violently across the room. The Greek crashed into the phonograph, knocking it from the table and tumbling with it to the hardwood floor. There was a feline screech as the needle ripped across the vinyl, and then the record was in pieces on the floor. The old man sat there looking at the broken 78 as Recevo advanced on him from across the room.
Karras stepped in front of Recevo. He grabbed the lapels of his topcoat, jerked them together, got right up in Recevo’s face. They stood there inhaling the foul alcohol and tobacco smell of each other’s breath. It had been like this so many times, going back to when they were kids; they couldn’t hit each other; it would always end the same way.
The color came back to Recevo’s face. Karras released his grip on the lapels. He smiled. Recevo looked away. He bent down to pick up his fedora from where it had fallen, straightening it on his head. He walked from the room. Karras followed, closing the door behind him. He didn’t turn around, didn’t stop to say a thing to the Greek.
“Hey, Joe!” said Karras. “Come on, Joe, slow down.”
They were out on the sidewalk now, Recevo walking quickly and well ahead of Karras. Karras was shouting, getting no response. It was late, well past midnight, and quiet as a church. Their brogues made echoes as they slapped against the pavement. A light came on in a window down the block.
Recevo made it to the Mercury, got in, started it up. Karras slipped into the passenger side just as Recevo put the car in gear. Recevo pulled out, gave it too much gas against the clutch, left a little rubber on the street.
Karras laughed. “You keep driving this hunk of tin like that, it’s gonna fly apart.” Recevo didn’t answer, didn’t even smile. “Aw, hell, Joey, gimme a cigarette.”
Recevo reached into the pocket of his topcoat, passed over the pack. Karras lighted one, tossed the match out the window. He smoked some of the cigarette down, settled in his seat.
“Listen, Joe. About that back there. I didn’t mean to put my hands on you like that.”
“Forget it.”
“I thought you were gonna hurt the old guy, that’s all.”
“I said forget it.”
“Georgakos, he plays dice games with my old man, down at the club.”
“Your old man.” Recevo’s voice went low, stayed low and steady. “What the hell did your old man ever do for you anyway, Pete. I been hearin’ about it all my life, and I’m tellin’ you I’m sick of it. Your old man.”
Karras dragged on his cigarette. “You don’t get it.”
“It’s you that doesn’t get it. I was doin’ that old guy a favor back there. What I was gonna do to him is ten times softer than what Reed and his boys will do to him next. Not to mention what’s gonna happen to us. When Burke finds out—”
“I don’t give a good goddamn about Burke.”
“Sure you don’t. You don’t give a good goddamn about a damn thing, do you? It’s never gonna be your day. You’re indestructible. That’s it, isn’t it?”
“Go on, Joe. Turn it off.”
Recevo rubbed his cheek. “I gotta make a call.”
Recevo got the Mercury off New York Avenue, put it on 14th. He parked around F, told Karras to wait in the car. He jogged across the street to the 40 °Club, which he knew would be open late. There wouldn’t be a cover at this hour, and they had a phone in a booth with a door on it that sealed nice and tight.
He entered the club, found the booth, had a seat on the triangular wood bench inside it. He shut the door. The sounds of Joe Masters’s band died out. He rang Burke up, got him on the line.
“Burke here.”
“Mr. Burke, it’s Joe Recevo.”
“Joe. You get it done?”
“Yes and no. We saw him, but we don’t have the dough in our hands. We had a little problem—”
“That’s too bad for you.”
Burke sounded a little slow and slurry to Recevo. He knew Burke drank, heavily at times and mostly late at night. A hand went over the receiver on the other end. The hand came off to a trail of laughter from the others who were in Burke’s office.
“So let me get this straight,” said Burke. “You didn’t get the money.”
“No, but—”
“Karras queered it. Isn’t that right?”
Recevo shifted in his seat. “He made a deal with Georgakos. He’s gonna get the money from him in a couple of days. Three days, tops.”
“If I wanted the money in a couple of days, I wouldn’t have sent you over there tonight. Now I’m going to ask you again — did Karras get in the way of what I asked you to do?”
“Listen,” said Recevo. “It just wasn’t the right time, that’s all.”
Burke must have made a face or something, because there was an eruption of laughter on the other end. They were having fun with him, kidding him a little. That’s what it was.
But then there was no laughter. And Burke said, “We need to have a talk with your Greek friend. Tonight.”
A line of sweat slid down the back of Recevo’s neck. “No disrespect intended, Mr. Burke, but I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Not necessary?”
“What I mean to say is, Pete’s out. You don’t need to talk to him, on account of he’s gettin’ out. This business ain’t for him. He’s not cut out for this line of work, that’s all.”
“He’s out all right. We just want to give him a little retirement present before he goes.”
“Mr. Burke—”
“It’s like this, Joe. You have a kid, he does something wrong, you have to slap him every so often, so he gets the idea. You’re doing him a favor, like. We’re just going to slap your friend around a little bit, so he learns.”