Strega - Andrew H. Vachss [84]
"Man's stone," she said.
"Your stone," I told her. "A small gift to show my great respect."
A smile lit up her face. "Very nice stone," she said.
I bowed my head, saying the matter was closed. "Tell me about new case," Mama said.
"I'm looking for a picture," I said, and told her what kind of picture and why I was looking.
Mama put her hands in the sugar bowl, tossing a pinch of the white powder on the table top, using her fingers to push it into a long narrow column.
"Everybody do something," she told me, drawing her finger through the bottom of the column, drawing a line. "Some people do more things, okay?" Drawing another line, leaving more than half the column between us. "Gambling, funny money, jewels," she said, each time flicking more sugar off the column. "Guns, stealing" More flicks of her finger—less sugar on the table. "Protection money, killing…" More sugar vanished. "Drugs," she said, and the last of the sugar was gone.
I got it. Everybody has to make a living. Everybody draws a line somewhere. The people who do kiddie porn are over the line no matter where you draw it. "I know," I told her.
"Business is business," said Mama, quoting her favorite psalm. "Everything has rules. Do the same way all the time. Reliable, okay?"
"Yes," I said, waiting.
"Even with war…rules," Mama said. I wasn't so sure—I'd been in one, but I let her go on.
"These people…" Mama shrugged, her face set and hard.
The soup came. Mama dished some out into my bowl. Gave some to herself. She bowed over the plates like she was saying grace.
Mama looked up. "No rules," she said.
"No rules," I agreed.
59
IMMACULATA came in the front door of the restaurant, made her way past the customers to our table.
"Hello, Mama," she said.
Mama smiled at her—a real smile, not the cat's grin she usually showed Max's woman. "You sit down with us, okay? Have some soup?"
Immaculata bowed. "Thank you, Mama. I have been told your soup is the finest of all."
That put the cap on it for Mama. "You help Burke on his case, yes? Very good. Very important case. Sit with me," she said, patting the seat next to her.
Immaculata shot her hips sideways and was next to Mama in a flash. She must have been working with Max—he'd been trying to teach me karate for a long time—I hoped he was having better luck with her. Mama gave her a generous helping of the soup, watching her bow over the food before eating, nodding her head in approval.
"Max coming?" she asked.
"Yes," Immaculata answered.
"Max good man. Fine warrior," Mama opened.
"Yes," said Immaculata, waiting.
"Good man. Make good father, yes?"
Immaculata's eyes were calm, but her golden skin flushed. She looked directly at Mama.
"You know? Even Max doesn't know."
"I know," said Mama, patting Immaculata's arm, her whole face smiling.
Immaculata watched Mama's face, then broke into a smile of her own. Without a word being said, she knew she wasn't a bar girl to Mama anymore.
60
MAX CAME out of the kitchen, bowed to everyone at the table, then slammed into the booth next to me, almost driving me through the wall. He pulled out a tattered copy of the Daily News, spread it on the table, and pointed to the charts of Flower Jewel's race with a thick finger. He spread his hands to ask a question—what did this "dq" crap mean anyway?
I used the sugar bowl and the salt and pepper shakers to show him how it had happened. Max nodded, moving his right hand in the "hit me" gesture blackjack players use when they want another card. We were going to bet on Flower Jewel the next time she raced. It wasn't like I had any choice—I handed Max a hundred, ignoring Mama's broad grin and Immaculata's look of benign interest.
Max made the sign of a galloping horse, checked to see that all eyes were focused on him. Then he pounded his chest over his heart, balled his right hand into a fist, and laid his forearm on the table with the underside up. The veins looked like electrical cords. He touched