Wild Card

Nucky’s bald head turned beet red. He suddenly looked like a pressure cooker ready to explode. “You’re serious.”

“Damn straight,” Valentine said.

Nucky rose from the table, and motioned for Valentine to follow him. They walked through the empty restaurant and down the foyer, turned right at the maitre de’ stand, and entered the nightclub. It had been modeled after the Moulin Rouge, with a serpentine bar, a stage that mechanically moved up and down, and bar stools covered in zebra skin, their stripes highlighted by an ultra-violet light. The club was empty, except for the ancient mixologist, an old Sicilian named Arthur who’d been there since the beginning of time. They shouldered up to the bar.

“A Budweiser, Arthur,” Nucky said.

“Of course. And for your friend?”

“Tap water,” Valentine said.

Arthur smiled like Valentine had made a joke and he thought he was supposed to smile.

“Turn the TV on,” Nucky instructed.

“You wanna watch anything in particular?”

“I want to see the news.”

A big color TV hung from the ceiling behind the bar. Arthur climbed up on a chair and turned the set on. Then he poured their drinks.

“Talked to your old man lately?” Nucky asked.

“Leave him out of this,” Valentine said.

Nucky shrugged and sipped his beer. “I thought you were gonna drop by, see Zelda.”

“She still in her room?”

“Yeah.”

“You want something for her to do?”

Nucky perked up. “You got any ideas?”

“She can help clean up my goddamn house.”

The news came on. It was from a station out of Newark. One of the newscasters was a woman in her late thirties, the other a man about the same age. They spoke to the camera without acknowledging each other. It was like watching a marriage on the skids. After five minutes, a story about a killing came on. Nucky pointed at the screen.

“Here we go,” he said.

“South Philly crime kingpin Giuseppe “The Gip” Scarfone was killed by a car bomb in the God’s Pocket section of Philadelphia this morning,” the woman reporter said, standing on a Philly street corner with a scarf around her neck. “The bomb was so powerful that pieces of Scarfone’s sharkskin suit were found on a rooftop a block away. Also in the car were Antonio and Salvatore Andruzzi, known in law enforcement circles as The Twins. According to police, it is believed the killing was in retaliation for the slaying of Paul “The Lobster” Spinelli in New York two days ago.”

Nucky nudged Valentine with his elbow.

“You hear that?”

“What about it?” Valentine said.

“Guys that did that, same guys that broke into your house,” Nucky said. “You want my advice? Stay away from those feds. You’re scaring people, Tony.”

The old gangster finished his drink, and then he was gone.

Chapter 23

It was Liddy Flanagan who came to Lois’s rescue the next day.

Liddy was the oldest daughter from an Irish family with twelve kids, and knew a thing or two about taking charge. Hearing about the burglary, she’d gotten the afternoon off at the bank where she worked, then rounded up four women from her church, and appeared on Lois’s doorstep, armed with brooms and vacuum cleaners and plastic garbage bags. Seeing them, Lois had let out a shriek.

“You’re a godsend,” she exclaimed.

While the church ladies cleaned the house, Liddy sat with Lois at the kitchen table, and made her write down every single item that had been broken, or was missing.

“For insurance,” she explained.

The list ended up being two pages long. It made Lois miserable all over again. The family heirlooms and the presents they’d gotten at their wedding could never be replaced, nor the memories that went with them. But it was a start.

By early afternoon the broken furniture was sitting on a pile on the front lawn, and the church ladies were gone. Liddy had brought over a portable TV, and the two women sat on the rug in the empty living room and watched the soaps. Their favorite soap was called Endless Love. Although they both worked, they watched the show every day during their lunch breaks. So did most of their friends. When the program was over, Liddy let out a deep sigh.

“And we thought our lives were complicated.”

They went to the kitchen and stood at the counter. Lois fixed a pot of coffee, then picked up the phone and dialed a number. She spoke to someone in Italian for a minute, then hung up. Liddy quizzed her with a glance.

“That was my Aunt Rosealita in Brooklyn,” Lois explained, pouring two cups. “I call her every day, and explain what happened on the show.”

“Your aunt doesn’t speak English?”

“About ten words. Hello, goodbye, yes, no, pizza, coke, you know, the essentials. She immigrated here from Italy, came through Ellis Island with my folks. My mother used to translate the soaps for her. When Mom died, the tradition was passed on to me.”

“It’s good that you do that.”

“Thanks.” Lois leaned against the counter and blew steam off her cup. “Listen Liddy, I want you to come clean with me about something.”

“What’s that?”

“I think you know.”

“Honestly, Lois, I don’t.”