“It got away from me. I was at Casella’s—”
“I don’t want to hear it.” Nicky put his hand in the air.
“Who is delivering this telegram? I have a duty,” Hortense bellowed from above.
“We’ll both go. Get in, Gio.”
“Swell,” he said, climbing into the passenger seat of No. 4.
Nicky took the steps two at a time to retrieve the envelope from Hortense.
“You’re out of your mind,” Hortense whispered. “What if you get tailed?”
“I’ll hand him over.”
“If only that were true. Be careful, Nicky.” Hortense gave him the telegram and the folded map of the Pennsylvania interstate. “I mean it. Gio is chock full of nuts—you don’t have to go down with him. In fact, don’t.”
Gio ducked down in the front passenger seat, his face on his knees, as Nicky tooled through the streets on his way out of the city. As the cab cleared the circle outside the Philadelphia Museum and Nicky turned off onto the highway, Gio sat up.
“What kind of trouble are you in now?”
“Ah. Nothing to worry about.” Gio rolled down the window and inhaled the fresh air.
“You’re on the lam again.”
“It will pass.”
“There’s a comfort.”
“When I hit it, I’m Caesar. When I lose, it’s a problem. It’s a simple equation.”
“You lose a lot more than you win.”
“I don’t brag when I win.”
“Gio, you have to stop. The day will come when some thug isn’t going to be willing to wait for the bank to open on Monday morning so you can pay your marker and they’ll hurt you.”
“Nah. They wait.”
“You have a baby on the way. Think of your child. And Mabel.”
“Mabel’s all right.”
“For now. But you’re testing her patience.”
“Don’t talk to me about patience. You’re not even married yet.”
“I’m almost there.”
“You want some free advice?”
“Sure.”
Gio shook the cigarette pack until one emerged. He offered it to Nicky, who took it. He shook the pack again and pulled one out with his lips. He lit his cigarette with the car lighter, then offered the lighter to his cousin. “Don’t do it.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Marry Peachy.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I’m looking out for you.”
“How?”
“I know what it’s like on the inside. Stay where you are. Stay in your room in the basement with your radio and your freedom. You got a cocoon. A cocoon is nice for one. For two? Not so much. It gets cramped.”
“I want to get married, Gio.”
“So did I.”
“Don’t you love Mabel?”
“It would be a little late not to.”
“I agree.”
“I love her. And she’s having our baby. This is how life goes. And I go with life.”
“You have some say in the matter. Life doesn’t just unfold like a stack of baseball cards.”
“Since when?”
“Since always.”
“That’s not been my experience. I’ve been told what to do since I was born. If it wasn’t my parents ordering me around, it was my brother Dominic, and now it’s Mabel.”
“Or the bookies.”
“Them too. Somebody’s always after me for something. I’m pecked at from morning until night.”
“Because people want their money.”
“Regardless. It’s my natural state. Pecked like a seed stick by a flock of starving canaries. That’s me.” Gio ran his hands through his thick hair, then pulled at it, as if dollar bills could have sprouted from his head if he yanked hard enough. “You can’t change nature.”
Nicky looked at him. “You could change. You could stop gambling.”
Gio’s neck snapped so quickly in Nicky’s direction, both of them heard Gio’s vertebrae crack. “I can’t stop. It’s in me.”
“You have to fight it.”
“I do. Sometimes. I try. I keep the urge at bay for a while, and then it comes roaring back worse. It’s almost better if I sit in on a few games a week, blow a few bucks and a little steam. It evens out the need. If I hold back, it’s all I think about, and then I give in, and it’s like a levee breaks, and I’m back at the table, consumed to the point of drowning.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Tell me about it. I’m a prisoner of my own thirst to win at all cost. I disgust myself. But it also thrills me, and that’s the rub, cousin.” Gio flicked the stub of cigarette out the window. He leaned back in the seat, pushed the brim of the Western Union cap over his eyes, and fell asleep so quickly, it seemed like a hypnotist’s trick.
While Nicky marveled at Gio’s ability to sleep while he owed God only knows how much money to the most nefarious characters at the Casella Social Club, he also pitied him. Gio was depleted; his emotional resources were shot, and his bank account was drained. He and Mabel only fought behind closed doors, but the doors at 810 Montrose were so thin everybody knew when Gio had a bad week—and, for that matter, when he had a good one. Nicky imagined it must be devastating to crawl home penniless after losing a week’s pay at one of Casella’s tables instead of rushing home a winner, flush with cash, into the arms of your wife. No wonder Gio didn’t want Nicky to marry; he himself found no comfort in it—at least not when he lost.
Nicky found nothing on the radio that he cared to listen to as he spun the dial like a safecracker, so he rolled down the window and let the fresh air wash over him as he drove. Nothing woke his cousin, not even the sharp curves Nicky took at the base of the Pocono Mountains.
Signs with arrows pointing to the cluster of small villages in the folds of the foothills of the Poconos, including East Bangor, Bangor, and Roseto, were lined up on a single pole outside Stroudsburg. Nicky took the turn onto the road over the mountain toward his delivery destination.
Nicky came upon Roseto suddenly, a wishbone-shaped street taking him right to Garibaldi Avenue, the village’s main drag. An orange sun burst through pink clouds, its rays of gold and fuchsia illuminating a town decorated to welcome an important visitor. The porches of the homes were dressed with hanging baskets bulging with flowers, flags blew in the breeze, the Italian standard next to the American one, and twists of red, white, and green silk crisscrossed over the avenue as far as Nicky could see. There were hand-painted signs everywhere:
Welcome Ambassador Guardinfante!
Che Bello Ambasciatore!
Viva Italia!
Roseto Valfortore Eterna!
Nicky drove slowly up the street, stopping at the top of the hill at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church, the obvious architectural crown jewel of the town, which had a bell tower, an intricate rose window, and walls of stately gray granite, split with inlays of stained glass in swirls of ruby, emerald, and deepest blue. The church plaza was decorated for a celebration, the steps flanked with topiaries and more baskets of flowers, the handrails braided with ribbons.
As Nicky parked outside the entrance, the tires grazed the curb, waking Gio.
“Are we here?” Gio asked, startled.
“Not yet.”
Gio looked out the window and squinted at the enormous church and its imposing granite facade. “Did I die?”
“No, this is just a church. I’m going inside to say a prayer.”