Stefanos said, “What the hell I’m gonna do now?”
“You know what you’re lookin’ at. But you gotta make that decision yourself. Whether you give up a piece of your place to those guys or not, that’s a call only you can make.”
“My place.” Stefanos’s eyes flashed. “My place. I’m gonna give up a piece of my place, now, eh?”
Karras had a drink, eyed Stefanos over the rim of the glass.
Stefanos said, “You know where I come from, Karras?”
“You told me.”
“My house was nothin’ but a stone hut, built into the side of a hill. I slept on a dirt floor, re, next to a fire. My family, all of us, we lived up in the mountains above the village. O pateras mou, he was a shepherd, and that’s where we had to stay. Away from everyone else. I lost two of my kid sisters one winter, Karras, you know about that?”
“Sure, Nick. You told me.”
“Sure I did. I told you, I know.” Stefanos pushed some hair off his face. “And now I got this. I got on the goddamn boat, and I came here, and I worked... for this. I got a brand-new car, and an apartment up in Mount Pleasant with steam heat in every room, and a closet full of suits. And I got this. This is my place. That’s my name on the sign out front. Katalavenis?”
“I understand.” Karras put the glass down on the counter. The sound of it cut the silence in the room.
“The thin one, the one who talked like a woman. He said he wants an answer by tonight. They’re gonna come back later, after we close down.”
Karras stared into Stefanos’s eyes. “You know, Nick, once you start this thing, you gotta be ready to go all the way.”
“I know. You let me worry about it, hokay?”
Karras shook his head. “I wish I could do that. But if you’re in it, Nick, I’m in it, too.”
“Forget about it.”
“I’m tellin’ you, I’m in.”
“And I said forget it. This is my fight.”
Karras glanced down at his twisted knee, then back at Stefanos. “It’s mine, too.”
Stefanos said, “Entaxi.”
Stefanos picked up the broom that leaned against the cooler, tapped the end of the stick against the pressed-tin ceiling three times. He and Karras headed back to the kitchen. By the time they had gotten there, Costa had come through the door that led to the apartment upstairs. His hair was uncombed and his hands were covered with bits of meat and bone.
“What the hell you want, Niko? I’m right in the middle of cleanin’ a little chicken.”
“Relax. I got somethin’ to tell you.”
Stefanos filled Costa in. When he was done talking, Costa rubbed his hands off on his apron.
“So?” said Stefanos.
Costa smiled crookedly.
“Good,” said Stefanos. “Tell your yineka to take in a picture show tonight, acous?”
“Toula hasn’t been out to a movie in ten years,” said Costa.
“Tell her to go out and visit a friend, then. I don’t care what you tell her. Just get her the hell out of the building.”
“Florek’s on tonight,” said Karras.
“Then go up to his apartment and give him the night off. Give it to him with pay. Tell him I said to take his koritsi out, the one with the red hair. Tell him I said to have a good time on me.”
“And what’re you gonna do?” said Karras.
“I’m gonna call Lou DiGeordano,” said Stefanos.
“Now you’re talkin, boss.” Costa laughed sharply, clapped his hands together one time.
“Karras,” said Stefanos. “What’d you use on those Japs over there in the Philippines?”
“I had an M-one.”
“I’m not talkin’ about your rifle, re. I’m talkin’ about your pistola.”
“A forty-five.”
Stefanos turned toward Costa. “How about you, Costaki? You need anything, before I call Lou?”
“I don’t need no goddamn pistol,” said Costa.
“What, you gonna face ’em with your bare hands?”
Costa shook his head. He spat on the kitchen floor.
29
Lou DiGeordano walked into Nick’s around closing time carrying a paper grocery bag in his arms. He nodded to Six as he passed him and went straight back around the counter and into the kitchen where Stefanos and Karras were standing around drinking beer and smoking cigarettes.
“Lou,” said Stefanos.
“Nick,” said DiGeordano. “Karras Jr.”
“Mr. DiGeordano,” said Karras.
“How’s your boy, Lou?” said Stefanos.
“Little Joey’s good.” DiGeordano stepped forward, tousled Karras’s gray hair. “Good boy, like you.”
Karras ran a hand through his hair, straightened it back out. He looked at DiGeordano, natty in his sharply tailored suit, a pearl-gray goose feather in the band of his hat. DiGeordano had dabbed a touch of wax in his moustache tonight; the smooth black hairs gleamed in the kitchen light. Karras smiled.
“Who’s watching the front?” said DiGeordano. “The titsune?”
“All the customers are gone,” said Stefanos. “He’s all right.”
“Where’s Costa?”
“He’s gettin’ himself ready in the back.”
DiGeordano looked back over the swinging doors one time, then walked across the kitchen and placed the grocery bag on the table. Karras and Stefanos formed a half-circle around him. DiGeordano reached into the bag.
“Here ya go, Karras Jr.”
Karras ground his cigarette under his shoe. He took the .45 from DiGeordano. He hefted the steel automatic in his hand. He pulled back on the receiver, straightened his gun arm, sighted down the barrel. He thumbed back the lanyard-style hammer, locked it, dry-fired the Colt into the wall.
“That okay by you?”
“Bullets,” said Karras.
DiGeordano handed Karras a magazine. Karras checked the load, then palmed the magazine into the .45. He safetied the gun, measured the weight of it in his palm, bolstered it behind the waistband of his trousers.
“Okay,” said Karras.
DiGeordano pulled a small, blue-steeled automatic with walnut grips from the bag.
“What the hell’s that?” said Stefanos.
“Double-action Beretta. Three-eighty.”
“An Italian gun,” said Stefanos. “I shoulda known.”
“Don’t worry,” said DiGeordano, a light in his eyes. “Me, I keep my pistols clean. This one here, it’s not gonna blow up in my face.”
“Uh.”
“How about you? You all set, Nick?”
Stefanos patted the front of his apron. “Yeah. I’m set real good.”
Costa walked slowly into the kitchen from the warehouse. He wore a white button-down shirt pulled out over his trousers. He stood with his back against the wall, did not move his head.
“You ready?” said Stefanos.
“Sure, Niko, I’m ready. What’s the plan?”
“I’m gonna get to that,” said Stefanos. “But you look kinda stiff. You ain’t worried or nothin’, are you?”
“Me?” said Costa. “I don’t give a damn nothing.”
Six’s head appeared over the doors to the kitchen. “Excuse me, boss. ’Bout time we locked up.”
“You go ahead, Six. Take off.”
Six looked the men over, grinned. “What you all fixin’ to do, overthrow the gov’ment or somethin’?”
“Why?” said Stefanos. “You gonna stick around and watch?”
“Thought I might,” said Six, “if this is about those lovers that was in here holdin’ that gun on me the other day.”