Spoonbenders

“And what about you?” she asked finally. “Is the machine right about you?”

“You already know,” he said. “I’ve told you every trick I’ve used.” All but two, he thought. The one he pulled this morning, and the one he was about to perform. He was going to do it later, over dinner, but she needed a little magic right now, on this bus crammed with soldiers and secretaries.

“Regard this ordinary chapeau,” he said, and doffed his fedora. “Absolutely nothing inside.”

She dabbed at her eyes with the knuckles of one hand. “Not now, Teddy.”

He reached inside. “And yet, something appears out of nothing.” He lifted his hand and showed her the black velvet ring box in his fingers.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“It’s a little cramped, but I’ll try to get on my knees.”

“No. Please.” She covered his hand with her own, pushing his fingers against the box. “I have to tell you something.”

“As long as it ends in ‘yes.’ ”

“Something’s happened.” Her face was so serious. “No. Someone has happened.”

His chest tightened. “Another guy?”

“Or girl,” she said. “We won’t know for a while.”

“Oh,” he said. Then: “Oh!” Then: “Oh my God!”

She watched him, still not smiling. Waiting for him to make himself clear. He said, “Are you sure? Have you talked to a doctor?”

“I didn’t have to,” she said. “I can see it.”

“What?”

“It’s not just remote things, Teddy.” She touched her belly. “I looked, and it was right there.”

“Jesus Christ on a stick,” Teddy said. He breathed out, looking at the seatback in front of him without seeing it.

“You can take it back if you want,” she said.

“What?” He couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

“The ring.”

She wasn’t making any sense.

“I need to know what you’re thinking, Teddy. I can’t see inside your brain.”

“What do I think?” He turned to her. His tears and the bright bus window behind her had made her face into a blur haloed in sunlight—a stained-glass angel. “I think this kid’s going to be the greatest thing in the world!”

“Welcome to the Hala Kahiki Lounge,” he said to Graciella. “The finest tiki bar in Chicagoland.”

She eyed the room’s bamboo paneling, the fringed lamps, the plastic, grimacing gods lining the walls. “I’m guessing it’s the only one?”

“Perhaps, perhaps. But don’t disparage an establishment merely because it’s outlasted its peers.” Patti the waitress greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and showed him to his usual table. He ordered a rum they flew in from Barbados. Graciella stuck with bourbon.

“So,” she said significantly, midway through her second drink.

“It’s really not a story for polite company,” he said.

“All day I sit in court listening to terrible stories,” she said. “And every night I talk to my divorce lawyer. I haven’t been in polite company for a long time.”

“You’re leaving Nick Junior?” He tried not to sound happy about it.

“If I can without killing him.” She waved a hand. “This story of yours. Get cracking.”

“Right.” He stirred his drink, deciding where to begin. “I told you I used to play cards with Nick Senior? There were a few of us who got together every week for a regular game at his place.”

“The pizza restaurant,” she said.

“Nick had a big table in the kitchen. He’d make pies as we played, open up the wine…”

Graciella gestured with two fingers: speed it up.

“Well then. One of these guys in the group, let’s call him Charlie, he was one of Nick’s best friends. They’d known each other for years, and Charlie did some work on the side for Nick. Nothing violent, but not exactly legal. They’d had this deal for years, no problems. Well, we show up for poker night, and there’s tension in the air. Seems Charlie has screwed up, and screwed up bad. A job went south, one of Nick’s friends got hurt, and Charlie lost a bunch of money that belonged to, well, certain people—”

“I know what the Outfit is,” she said.

“Of course you do, of course you do. And you’ve heard how much they care about their money. So Nick’s making a pizza for the group, white flour up to his elbows, and he starts asking Charlie about how he screwed up. Charlie’s nervous but he’s playing it cool. And Nick keeps talking at him, and the whole time they’re talking Nick’s running dough through the pizza roller—you know what that is?”

She shook her head.

“A big machine, with two rollers like metal rolling pins, squashes the dough. It gets going pretty fast, too. And suddenly two guys at the table grab Charlie by the arms and bring him up to the machine.”

“Oh God,” she said. Getting it now.

“Both hands,” Teddy said. “Shoved them in there. First thing that happens, the fingers get crushed flat. The rollers jam up on the wrists, but keep pulling. Then the skin rips off, all the way down to the fingertips.”

“Like a glove,” Graciella said quietly. She swallowed the rest of her drink.

“I’m sorry I had to tell you that,” Teddy said. “But when I think of you, and your boys…”

“No. It’s all right,” she said. She looked into the glass as if it was about to magically refill. “My husband didn’t kill Rick Mazzione,” she said.

“I didn’t say he did.”