He tried to think about David Duganfield on the way home - Duganfield was a good thing to think about - but instead of Duganfield he found himself thinking about Ginelli by the time he was on the Triborough Bridge.
He and Duganfield had spent most of the afternoon in O'Lunney's, but Billy's first impulse had been to take his client to Three Brothers, the restaurant in which Richard Ginelli held an informal silent partnership. It had been years now since he had actually been in the Brothers with Ginelli's reputation it would not have been wise - but it was the Brothers he always thought of first, still. Billy had had some good meals and good times there, although Heidi had never cared much for the place or for Ginelli. Ginelli frightened her, Billy thought.
He was passing the Gun Hill Road exit on the New York Thruway when his thoughts led back to the old Gypsy of that was Heidi's doing - she had developed into a world-class nag when it came to Ginelli - but part of it had also been Ginelli's.
'You better stop coming around for a while,' he had told Billy.
'What? Why?' Billy had asked innocently, just as if he and Heidi had not argued over this very thing the night before.
'Because as far as the world is concerned, I am a gangster,' Ginelli had replied. 'Young lawyers who associate with gangsters do not get ahead, William, and that's what it's really all about - keeping your nose clean and getting ahead.'
'That's what it's all about, huh?'
Ginelli had smiled strangely. 'Well . other things.'
'Such as?'
'William, I hope you never have to find out. And come around for espresso once in a while. We'll have some talk and some laughs. Keep in touch, is what I'm saying.'
And so he had kept in touch, and had dropped in from time to time (although, he admitted to himself as he swung up the Fairview exit ramp, the intervals had grown longer and longer), and when he had found himself faced with what might be a charge of negligent vehicular manslaughter, it had been Ginelli he thought of first.
But good old tit-grabbing Cary Rossington took care of that, his mind whispered. So why are you thinking about Ginelli now? Mohonk - that's what you ought to be thinking of. And David Duganfield, who proves that nice guys don't always finish last. And taking off a few more pounds.
But as he turned into the driveway, what he found himself thinking about was something Ginelli had said: William, I hope you never have to find out.
Find out what? Billy wondered, and then Heidi was flying out the front door to kiss him, and Billy forgot everything for a while.
. there are a few
Chapter Three. Mohonk
It was their third night at Mohonk and they had just finished making love. it was the sixth time in three days, a giddy change from their usual sedate twice-a-week pace. Billy lay beside her, liking the feel of her heat, liking the smell of her perfume - Anais Anais - mixed with her clean sweat and the smell of their sex. For a moment the thought made a hideous cross-connection and he was seeing the Gypsy woman in the moment before the Olds struck her. For a moment he heard a bottle of Perrier shattering. Then the vision was gone.
He rolled toward his wife and hugged her tight.
She hugged him back one-armed and slipped her free hand up his thigh. 'You know,' she said, 'if I come my brains out one more time, I'm not going to have any brains left.'
'It's a myth,' Billy said, grinning.
'That you can come your brains out?'
'Nah. That's the truth. The myth is that you lose those brain cells forever. The ones you come out always grow back.'
'Yeah, you say, you say.'
She snuggled more comfortably against him. Her hand wandered up from his thigh, touched his penis lightly and lovingly, toyed with the thatch of his pubic hair (last year he'd been sadly astounded to see the first threads of gray down there in what his father had called Adam's thicket), and then slid up the foothill of his lower belly.
She sat up suddenly on her elbows, startling him a little. He hadn't been asleep, but he had been drifting toward it.
'You really have lost weight!'
'Huh!'
'Billy Halleck, you're skinnier!'
He slapped his belly, which he sometimes called the House That Budweiser Built, and laughed. 'Not much. I still look like the world's only seven-months-pregnant man.'
'You're still big, but not as big as you were. I know. I can tell. When did you weigh yourself last?'
He cast his mind back. It had been the morning Canley had settled. He had been down to 246. 'I told you I'd lost three pounds, remember?'
'Well, you weigh yourself again first thing in the morning,' she said:
'No scales in the bathroom,' Halleck said comfortably.
'You're kidding.'
'Nope. Mohonk's a civilized place.'
'We'll find one.'
He was beginning to drift again. 'If you want, sure.'