Justice (27 page)

Whitman sat. “Can we stop now? I’ve got a hell of an ordeal facing me. Namely, my uncle’s in town. He’s going to
nail
me as soon as he finds out I dealt with the police without my lawyer and behind his back.”

“Why’d you do it, then?”

“Because I had to.” He pointed to the camera. “Turn
the fucking thing off. I’m tired of my ten minutes of fame.”

Decker went over to the video camera and turned it off. He sat down next to Whitman. “Okay, Chris. Now we’re
really
off the record. Tell me what happened.”

“You don’t believe me.” Whitman’s eyes went flat. “You’re going to recommend against a deal, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to play the video and leave it up to the State.”

“And if they ask your opinion?”

“They won’t.”

“But if they did?”

Decker studied the boy. “With your mental history, Man One is about as good as we could get if it went to trial. Why waste time and money?”

Whitman closed and opened his eyes. “Thank you, Jesus, for sending me someone with a brain.”

“But that doesn’t mean I believe a word you’re saying.”

“I’m crushed.”

Decker glared at him. “Shut your friggin mouth, kid. I’m tired of this case and I’m really tired of
you
!”

Whitman licked his lips. “Sorry.”

Decker ran his hands over his face. “We both know you’re doing more time than if the case went to trial. I can’t figure out if you’re being noble or if you want to settle this quickly because there’s some major shit I’ve overlooked.”

Whitman took another drag on his cigarette. He spoke softly. “Unless you’re Catholic, you couldn’t understand. All the shit they brainwash you with. But she can’t escape it. Truth is, neither can I. To pose like she did for me…flaunting her body…her nakedness. Decker, I let those sketches go public, I screw up her head for
life
.”

He shook his head.

“Man, I
swore
that no one but me would ever see the
drawings. I owe it to her to keep my promise as best I can.”

“It’s worth being shitcanned for?”

Whitman gave a careless wave in the air. “In my family, doing time is a badge of honor. After a five-year stint, I come out, I got notches on my belt. Believe me, there are worse things than the hole.”

The kid turned slightly pale.

Decker said, “Like your uncle’s temper?”

Whitman shook his head. “God…what a fucking
mess
!”

“I’ll give you one thing, Chris. You must really care for her to go against Donatti.”

“Sergeant, for that little girl, I’d take a bullet between my eyes with a smile on my face.”

Decker regarded the kid. For once, he knew that Whitman was telling the truth.

Seeing his uncle
,
Whitman suddenly realized how short the man was. Short but muscular with hands like leather paddles. His face had grown fleshier…jowlier. Once a lean pit bull, Joey was now more like a bulldog. But his eyes…man, they never wavered once they hit their target. And today the poisoned darts were aimed straight at his face. Whitman forced himself not to look away.

Joey didn’t dress like the rest of them. He went for flair, not flash—designer from tip to toe. Even with his squat size, he somehow pulled it off. Today he had on a slate-colored double-breasted suit, white shirt, and a muted, rust-patterned tie. His breast handkerchief was a pleated flower and exactly matched the hue of the dominant color of the tie. His shoes were burnt-almond loafers, polished to a mirror surface.

The jailer opened the cell and told Donatti a half hour. Joey nodded. As soon as the door slammed shut, Whitman felt his heart in his chest. He stood up from his bunk, but his uncle motioned him back down with a flick of the finger.

Whitman sat.

Slowly Donatti walked over to him. As Joey stood above him, Whitman knew that he could take his uncle down with a single well-placed punch. It was all a psych game. Because he knew better than to
ever
lay a finger
on his uncle. He was a well-trained machine, just like Joey’s Neapolitan mastiffs—all three of them over two hundred pounds of vicious fighting dog. Yet a look from Joey sent them whimpering in the corner.

The smack across his face was so hard, Whitman felt it in his toes. Instantly, blood gushed from his nose, but he kept his hands in his lap and maintained eye contact.

Softly, Joey said, “That’s for disobeying me and moving without my permission.”

Another slam of dried beef against his jaw.

“That’s for wasting my money!”

A wood-hard backhand across his cheek.

“That’s for disobeying your lawyer and acting stupid.”

Another thwack.

“For getting yourself into this fucking mess and wasting my time and energy!”

A final crash over his face. Whitman felt something crack, felt pebbles in his mouth. Blood was pouring over his lips, down his face, dripping onto his chest and lap.

“And that’s for doing more time than you should have just to save a cunt some trouble.”

Whitman said nothing, did nothing. How the hell did he find out about Terry that
quickly
?

Donatti shook his head. “What am I gonna do with you, Christopher? Bad enough you fuck yourself up. Now you start fucking me up, too. What am I gonna
do
with you?”

Whitman didn’t answer.

“You’re lucky you got your mother’s face. Without your mother’s face, you got nothing, you know that? Benedetto’s ready to drop everything, ready to call everything off. You know what that means to me in manpower, Christopher? You know what that means to me in profits?”

Whitman was quiet.

“Benedetto don’t want no jerk-off like you as a son-in-law. Just lucky for you that Lorenza likes your face.
Or maybe it’s your dick, I don’t know…but that don’t mean it ain’t gonna cost me. I don’t want to even think about what it’s gonna cost me.”

Donatti flexed the fingers of his right hand and shook them out, eyes glued to Whitman’s face.

“I shoulda junked you when you came out of the loony bin. Even your own
mother
was ready to junk you. She was dying, she didn’t want to think about no fuck-up son. It was your aunt, God rest her soul, that saved your faggoty ass. She felt
sorry
for you. Well, now she’s gone. And lucky me…I inherit the problem.”

Donatti frowned, threw Whitman his silk handkerchief.

“Clean up your face. You’re a disgustin’ mess. I heard somethin’ snap. I break anything?”

Whitman took the handkerchief and forced his hands not to shake. He wiped his face, spit a mouthful of blood and enamel into his handkerchief. He ran his tongue across his mouth, felt razor-sharp edges. “Chipped a couple of teeth.”

“Front? Back?”

“Front ones, I think.”

“Good! I put a dent in that perfect, faggoty-ass smile of yours. You got a dentist out here?”

Whitman looked at the handkerchief—it was drenched in blood. He examined his jail blues, found a clean spot, and swabbed his face. “No, I don’t have a dentist. I ruined your handkerchief.”

“Fuck it.” Donatti held his son’s chin and examined his face. Whitman snapped his head back. “I’m bleeding like a slaughtered pig. I’ll ruin your suit.”

“So I’ll buy another one. Don’t jerk away from me like that.”

Donatti untucked his white shirt, spit several times on the tail, and began to clean Whitman’s face. “Your nose don’t look broke. Used to be I could crack a face in a single punch. I must be gettin’ old.”

“You didn’t punch me, you slapped me.”

“Good point.” Tenderly, Donatti dabbed his son’s bloodied lips. “You cause me nothing but grief, Christopher. First, you pork the school’s whore and she winds up dead—”

“It was stupid—”

“Shut up! Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking! Then you screw yourself up to save some nobody
girl
? What’s she do to you? Suck your brain out through your pipes?”

“I never even slept with her, Joey.”

“Then you’re
real
stupid! Make a smile.”

Whitman smiled.

“Yeah, I got both your front teeth.”

“Bad?”

“Nah, just small corner chips. Girls’ll think it’s kinda cute.” Donatti spit another wad of saliva onto his shirt. “Hold still.”

Whitman didn’t move.

Donatti said, “You put me in a bind, Christopher. You put yourself in a bind ’cause you know what I gotta do. I gotta mess her up, that’s what I gotta do. Except I don’t really feel like messin’ up a sixteen-year-old girl. Especially her. She’s very pretty.”

“You saw her?”

“Course I saw her. Moody tells me about the sketches, first thing I say to Tony is find the girl. I really should mess her up.” Donatti stood, studied Whitman’s face, then tucked his bloodied shirt back in his pants. “You pull shit like this, I gotta teach you a lesson big time.”

Calmly, Whitman said, “Tell Benedetto that as punishment for disobeying you, I’ll marry Maria.”

Donatti took a step backward. “
What
?”

“Tell Benedetto that as my punishment for moving without your say-so, you’re making me marry Maria.”

Donatti stared at him. “You seen Maria lately, Christopher?”

“I know what she looks like, Joey.”

“The girl’s moving to four hundred pounds. You’re
my son! Benedetto knows that even
I
wouldn’t do that to you.”

“It’ll get you back in Benedetto’s good graces. And it’s proper. The older daughter should marry before the younger one, right?”

“Except when the older daughter’s a retard.”

“She’s not a retard, she’s just simple. That’s all right. She can cook, she can clean, and she can probably make decent babies.”

“How you gonna screw her?”

“With my eyes closed. If I marry Maria, you won’t have to pay Benedetto grievance money, will you?”

Donatti shook his head. “He’ll owe
me
!”

“So do it.”

“What are you after, Christopher?”

“You know what I want, Joey.”

“Leave your pussy alone.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

“How do I make sure you don’t bolt on me?”

“Joey, I swear on my mother’s grave, I never even slept with her. Never.”

Donatti peered into his son’s eyes. “Tell me that again, Christopher?”

“I never slept with her. I knew I had to leave her. I figured, what was the point?”

“What was the point?” Donatti squinted. “What was the point? The point is to
fuck
her, that’s the point. What the fuck is wrong with you? You been hearing strange voices again?”

“No.”

Donatti studied Whitman’s eyes. “Maybe you didn’t fuck her. But she did something to make you crazy. She gives that good a blow-job, I’ll take a round with her.”

Whitman blinked several times. “She didn’t give me head, okay?”

Donatti gave Whitman a firm slap across his swollen face. “What the hell is wrong with you? All of a sudden sucking’s too good for your faggoty ass?”

“No. Not at all.”

“You spent too much time out here. All these faggoty-ass Hollywood types.”

“They like blow-jobs, too, Joey.”

Another slap. “Don’t wiseass me. What’s this girl to you if you didn’t do nothing with her?”

“I love her, plain and simple.”

“So how do I know you won’t bolt on me? It was bad enough worrying about Lorenza. I know you hate her guts.”

“I don’t hate her.”

“You hate her. Don’t argue with me. I know you hate her. She’s a bitch and a half, but at least she’s cute, right?”

“Lorenza is very cute.”

“At least she’s got a body. At least she ain’t a retard. So what do you got after you get out of the hole? Four hundred pounds of fat waiting to smother you in the sack? And you’re telling me you won’t bolt, Christopher?”

“I won’t bolt.”

“
I
gotta be a retard to buy that.”

“I won’t bolt because I know better. I know what you’d do to me. I know what you’d do to
her
.”

“She’s so special, maybe I’ll screw her myself.”

Whitman closed and opened his eyes, but said nothing.

Donatti grinned. “You fuck on me again, that’s exactly what I’ll do, Christopher. I’ll do it right in front of you.”

“I swear I won’t. I get out of the hole, I go straight to the altar with Maria. You’ve got my word.”

“That’s worth shit. You’re a liar.”

“What can I do to convince you? You want me to sign my name in blood?” He swiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I certainly have an ample supply right now.”

“And what about your piece of ass?”

“She’s out of the picture.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?”

“Yes. Because I love her. I don’t want her hurt.”

“You didn’t screw this girl?”

“No.”

“What’d you do with her?”

Whitman put his hand to his face and grimaced with pain. Every facial bone was sore to the touch. “Not much.”

“She give you a hand-job…maybe a little tongue along the rim—”

“Joey,
please
!”

Another slap. But this one was gentle. “You’re stupid for testing me. But I gotta say I don’t blame you. She’s a pretty one.”

Whitman was quiet. Then he said, “You’ll leave her alone?”

“She’s a pretty girl, Christopher,” Donatti said. “Pretty and lucky. And as long as you show up at the church, she’ll stay pretty…she’ll stay lucky.”

Whitman closed and opened his eyes. “Thank you very much, Joey.”

“In the meantime, you’re stuck in the hole for at least five years. That’s not great for me, Christopher.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Damn right you will.” He waved him off. “What the hell? Five years won’t hurt you none. Maybe even give you some spine…a few points with the guys back home. They think you’re a closet queer.”

“They think anyone who listens to classical music is queer.”

“They got a point.” Donatti grinned again. “Where are your cellos?”

“At the apartment.”

“I’m gonna send Davey down there. He’s good with an ax.”

“The Rowland Ross is worth money, Joey.”

“I need money? What
I
need is to teach you a lesson.”

“It’s worth about ten grand.”

“Well, it ain’t gonna be worth firewood by the time Davey finishes up.”

Whitman closed his eyes and shook his head. “Whatever you want. You know best.”

“I hope you really love her, Christopher. Because you just bought yourself five years extra service.”

“Two.”

Donatti furrowed his eyebrows. “You arguing with me?” Spittle sprayed from his mouth. “You got the nerve to
argue
with me?”

“Five years is outrageous. You wouldn’t respect me if I didn’t argue. Two years is fair. Especially because you won’t have to pay Benedetto grievance money.”

Donatti glared at him, then broke into laughter. “You may be something yet if I can train out all the faggoty-ass things that Donna, God rest her soul, trained into you.” He looked around the cell. “I can talk to some people if you want. Have you transferred back east. I got more pull over there.”

“I’d rather stay here.”

Donatti took in Whitman’s face. “You hate me, don’t you, sonny?”

“No. Not at all. I know you’re doing what you have to do. I know it’s nothing personal.”

“Ah, such beautiful words from your beautiful lips.” Donatti smiled. “You are so full of shit, Christopher. You hate my guts. That’s okay. You also fear me. That’s even better.”

Whitman was quiet.

Donatti took a seat on the metal bunk chained to the wall. “Okay. I’ll go with two years extra service. What do you say?”

“Thank you.”

“Kiss me.”

Whitman planted a kiss on each of Donatti’s sagging
cheeks. Donatti took Whitman’s chin and kissed his son’s forehead. Then he let go of his face and threw his arm around Whitman’s shoulder, rubbing it as he talked. “Okay, I won’t hurt your girl. You feel better?”

“Yes, I do. Thank you very much.”

“You know, you’re not a total fuck-up, Christopher.”

“Thank you.”

“I know you can do good when you put your mind to it. We both know that.”

“Thanks.”

“I do appreciate your help.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Yeah, but I still appreciate it.”

“Thank you.”

“I do love you. You know that, too, don’t you?”

“I know.”

“It just makes me mad when I blow fifty grand. It also makes me mad when you sucker-punch a cop. Last thing we need is the law mad at us.”

“It was stupid.”

“Real stupid.” Donatti checked his watch. “I got about ten minutes before someone comes to get me. Your face looks like something out of a funhouse.”

“I’ll tell them I fell.”

Donatti smiled. “You’re trying hard, aren’t you?”

“Very.”

“I appreciate that, too.” Donatti paused. “I really do, Christopher. And you know what I think? I think you’ve done enough penance. So I’m gonna do something for you.”