12. Servi
drank the wine with difficulty. His head
was reeling. Tony was sitting opposite
him, telling tales of past deflowering.
Servi laughed and even slapped the table. He hoped that LaOmbra’s bladder would finally
brim. But the big man kept drinking. Finally, Tony pronounced “Gotta take a piss,”
and solemnly rose from the table, as if a great threshold had been
breached. Servi checked his pockets for
the two things that would make the scenario work: the bottle of powder, and the
packet of Tony LaOmbra’s letters to Maria.
Servi looked about. Carlo the
waiter was inside watching a football match, his back turned to Servi. Servi opened the bottle into Tony’s full
glass and stirred it with a trembling finger.
When the big man returned he immediately took a swig of the wine.
“Ahh,”
LaOmbra twisted his face. “Dis stuff tastes like piss.” But to Servi’s satisfaction, he drank down to
the dregs. LaOmbra looked at the clock
on the cathedral tower. “Jesus H.
Chirst, is dat da time? Shit, I’m gonna
be late for my, ahh, date!” and he laughed, and Servi joined, performing his
best semblance of a chuckle. Standing
up, LaOmbra swayed a bit.
“Jesus,” he said, “I musta drank
more of dis shit dan I thought.
Dear Aaron, his
mother wrote, we just received a letter
from you. Thank God. But the date is so old. Can’t the Italians send a letter on time? All
the good Italians came here to America. We get future letters and then a letter with a date that is two months old…
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