Accidental Mobster (10 page)

“Oh, I don't really like to get my hands dirty,” Tommy replies. My eyes narrow.
Liar,
I think.
You're setting me up
. But really, what can I do at this moment? I must keep Tommy from revealing my past to the entire school until I can come up with another plan.

I turn to Vince. “What choice do I have?”

The ride home is quiet. Vince is still seething from the afternoon's non-fight, and I can tell he is angry at me for accepting Tommy's terms. I want to explain to Vince that I'm not going along with Tommy's plan, but I'm forced to agree to it until I can figure out a way to keep Tommy quiet.

With the exception of the Tommy incident, the first day of school was better than I had expected; so far, the other kids (and most importantly, the girls) are friendly. Will that change if they find out where I'm from—or worse, my connection to Mr. Doonesby? I can feel anger at my mom building inside of me again. Even now, when I have the chance to make a fresh start, her actions are haunting me. The kids at Newcastle are from wealthy families with good names. Or are they? I glance at the sullen Vince and think about Gino and Tommy's dad. I remind myself that, beneath the surface, things might not be as they seem. There is only one way to find out.

I think about Mr. Capriotti and again wonder whether the name has any connection to the one I heard last night. The English teacher seems nice, and I have difficulty believing he could be connected to the violent activity I witnessed yesterday. I have so much digging to do and, somehow, I must find time for a couple hours of homework. As Vince pulls up to the house, I notice a souped-up Honda in the driveway. When we walk inside the house, I see Julia and a tanned, blonde teen with huge muscles snuggling on the couch. They are kissing in between chatting on their cell phones, and I find myself feeling alternately grossed out by the blatant display of affection and amused by the fact that the two are talking more to outside callers than to each other.

As I set my backpack down on the hall floor with a loud
thunk
, I see Julia shoot me a superior look, which does nothing more than remind me that most pretty girls are like Julia, and fewer are like Portia. I experience a momentary pang of regret that Portia is spending time with Tony this evening, not with me, and that this was of my own doing. I know I should tackle my homework first, but I am impatient to start working on my plan to investigate Gino's activities. Gino is probably upstairs asleep at the moment, so I go first to his office, knowing I won't be noticed by Vince, who has probably retreated to his video games, or by Julia, who has a college student attached to her face. I take a brief look around the office, but nothing seems unusual. There are no papers saying, “More mob activity planned tonight,” and I feel foolish for hoping to find something so obvious. I start searching the office thoroughly, knowing that at any time Gino might come down the stairs and catch me. Surely I could come up with some story since he doesn't know that I have anything to suspect. I spot a box underneath the computer desk, but when I try to unlatch it, I realize it is locked. Not to be discouraged easily, I check the top drawer of the desk, the one in which people always keep pens and junk, and jackpot: I find a little key. I'm always puzzled by people who leave keys so close to the items they open. But even as my pulse pounds with excitement when the key turns the lock on the box, I am disappointed to find nothing inside except a baggie with yet another key and a scrap of paper that reads, “Gallo” followed by a number code. Well, the last thing I need is any more trouble with the Gallos, so I replace the baggie, lock the box, and put the key back. But I jump in the air when I hear footsteps in the hallway and leap behind the desk just as Julia glides by on her way out the door.

I roll my eyes. Not too much to worry about there.

I have almost given up on finding anything worthwhile when I notice that Gino's jacket is draped over the chair. Telling myself not to get too excited, I pick it up and check both pockets. Nothing. As I lay it over the chair once more, I feel defeated. I'm standing in the middle of the room, out of ideas, when I hear another set of footsteps. I know it's Gino because I can hear him on the phone. Quickly, I start to pick up the house phone so that I appear to be making a call, but Gino doesn't make it to the office. I can't see him, but I know he must be only a few feet from the door.

“Tomorrow? He knows it's dangerous for him to go there, right?” Gino says to the person on the other end. “There's a chance someone in law enforcement could see him. They know where we meet.”

I stand motionless, my hand on the phone, ready to lift it if Gino comes into view. “Fine. Nine-thirty. Tell him to meet us in the parking lot.” Gino slams his cell phone shut, and I instinctively pick up the phone and start laughing into it.

“Reggie, that's hilarious! I can't believe that happened on the first day of school!” I laugh hysterically as Gino comes to stand in the office door, and I think his eyes are judging whether I heard any of his conversation. I'm desperately trying to appear that I haven't.

“No way! That's awesome. Wish I could have seen that!” I continue. Gino smiles and heads for the front door. I collapse in the office chair just as the busy signal begins to blare from the phone. As Gino shuts the front door, I replace the phone and immediately pick it up again. I now have all the information I need. The specifics are not clear, but I think I can fill in the blanks. It's time to call for some help. Reggie answers after two rings. “Hello?”

“Hey, Reggie, it's Danny.”

“Hey, Danny,” Reggie responds, without much enthusiasm. “I guess you're going to Newcastle this year then, huh?”

“Just for a while,” I answer.

A long pause follows. I know Reggie is hurt by my leaving him alone at Ridley High our freshman year. “Look, Reggie, I wish I were there,” I lie. I do miss Reggie, but not Ridley.

“It's just not the same here.”
At least that's the truth
.

“Yeah, I'm sure it's real tough,” Reggie shoots back sarcastically.

“I can't help it! My parents can't have me right now, and this is the best option, all right?”

“All right.” Reggie says, but he sounds irritated.

I choose to ignore Reggie's hurt feelings for the moment. Instead, I start laying the groundwork for my plan. “Just because I live all the way over here doesn't mean we can't still hang out. In fact, I think I may have a little project we could do together.”

Reggie doesn't say anything, but I may at least have my friend's attention.

“Let's just say some of your suspicions about my new family might not have been so off base,” I hint.

Fortunately, Reggie catches on immediately. “Really?” he replies, his voice excited.

“Yeah, really. And it looks like I might need your help to find out for sure.”

“Okay. What do you want me to do?” Reggie asks, his voice eager, but now a little uncertain.

“You still have that crappy excuse for a car?” I joke, but I can't hide my jealousy. Reggie not only has a car, but because he spends part of his time in Pennsylvania with his dad, he has his driver's license in that state, which is less restrictive than New Jersey.

“Oh, real nice, Danny,” Reggie growls. “Of course I do. But you better show my car some respect if you want a ride.”

“Yeah, somehow it's hard to respect a beetle, even if it's an old one,” I shoot back. “But it will work fine for what we need to do.”

“Which is what?”

I pause, not sure how much information to divulge while any Vigliottis could be in the house. “Meet me at the bus stop for Old Newcastle at nine-fifteen tomorrow night and I promise I'll answer all your questions.”

* * * *

My accomplishments during the rest of the evening are small, at least as far as my schoolwork is concerned. I shouldn't ignore biology, history, and English homework, but my excitement for tomorrow night's task consumes most of my thoughts and energy. Dinner takes thirty minutes and involves probing questions from Ronnie about the first day of school. She receives answers from all three of us teenagers that I know do nothing to satisfy her avid curiosity.

Gino has dinner with the family, but he doesn't seem overly interested in his children's activities, although he does order all of us to get our homework done. He eats silently, with Ronnie shooting him concerned glances, which tells me that Gino is not always so silent and cranky at dinner. Gino's face brightens when the doorbell rings. He tells Vince to answer the door, and the man who is led into the kitchen by the grouchy teenager is someone I already know.

Gino introduces Frank Moretti to the family, and I take a moment to analyze him because I saw so little of him during my accidental spying the night before. Frank is quite a bit younger than Gino, with short brown hair and light skin. He doesn't have a strong Italian face, but his nose has the slight crookedness of one that has been broken. He is taller than Gino, probably at least six feet. Ronnie is her typical friendly self and invites Frank to sit down for some dinner, and although he seems willing, Gino quickly tells her they have somewhere to go. He strides out of the kitchen with Frank following closely behind, leaving Ronnie standing with a half-empty serving bowl in her hands and a hurt expression on her face. The rest of dinner is very, very quiet.

Later in the evening, Julia annoys me for about ten minutes when I am actually trying to do some homework in my room. She wants to interview me for an article for her journalism class, and she sits in the middle of my bed as I work at the little desk that is more ornate than functional. At this point, I decide to clarify to Julia that no one at Newcastle is to know where I grew up.

“You haven't told anyone where I'm from, have you?” I ask her sharply. She sniffs. “Of course not. I would never tell my friends someone from
Ridley
was staying at my house. I told them you were from Boston.”

“Why? I don't know anything about Boston!”

“Then I suppose you had better learn something about it. I'm sure people will be
really
curious,” she comments, stretching her bare feet out on my bed and wriggling her bright pink toes.

“Couldn't you have just made a town up?” I say, poking a hole with my pen through the paper that holds the three sentences representing what needs to be a three page history essay in less than two days.

“You can't just make up towns! People will know they're not real. Besides, Boston is exciting!” She is sprawled across my bed, now on her back, staring at the ceiling.

“Thanks, just what I need. More problems.” I rip up my paper and vow to use Vince's computer to write the essay instead.

“More problems?” Julia asks expectantly, raising herself up on one slender arm, her wavy hair going in every direction. I think she looks much prettier without her usual layer of makeup, but I quickly remind myself that she is a selfish girl who unquestionably has infinite ulterior motives.

“I meant ‘problems' as in all this homework I have to do this week,” I answer and start digging through my backpack, trying to appear busy. “Anything else I can help you with?” I ask in an irritated tone.

She scowls and scoots to the edge of the bed. “No. I'll just make up other stuff about you. At least my story will make you sound more interesting than you really are.”

Julia hops off the bed and walks to the door, before turning to me once more. “You should be nice to me, Danny. I influence a lot of people—especially girls—at Newcastle.”

She walks out the door, and I roll my eyes. I decide against doing any more homework in favor of working a little more on tomorrow night's plan. I want to think through every detail because I hate to drag Reggie into something dangerous without being prepared. At nine-thirty, just as I am contemplating putting a little more effort into outlining my history essay, Vince stops by and asks if I want to play a few video games.

“You finished your homework?” I ask.

“No. What do you care?” Vince replies, sounding more like an aggravated three-yearold than an eleventh grader. I shrug. I have to admit that playing a video game sounds like more fun than writing about the Louisiana Purchase, so I scramble off the bed and up to the game room with Vince. We race cars through the hilly streets of San Francisco, trying to set course records or run the other cars off the road. Usually Vince wants to play something violent, which means a lot of gore and death, but I like car racing more. If I had lots of money, one of the first things I would buy is a classic car with so much power under the hood that not even Vince's future Camaro could keep up.

After an hour of speeding through the city, Ronnie shows up to put an end to our game. Vince fights with her, which gives me the opportunity to sneak downstairs and into my bedroom. I catch Julia opening the door to put Baxter inside.

“See, I'm here,” I say, making a mental note to figure out a way to keep Julia away from my room tomorrow night.

She says nothing and hands me the squirming dog before heading back up the stairs. I take Baxter in and set him on the bed. The dog quickly curls into a ball on the comforter and stares at me.

“I should finish my homework, shouldn't I?” I ask. Baxter merely gazes up at me with a blank expression. “No, I can see it in your eyes, Baxter. You're ready to go to sleep, and so am I.” With that, I change into a clean T-shirt and boxers, get under the covers, and fall asleep, wondering how I can convince Portia that I'd make a great boyfriend.

* * * *

The next day at school, I am so excited and anxious about my plan to follow Gino that I barely tune into the conversation going on between Portia and Tony. This is not a problem until Portia asks me a direct question.

“Do you think she's pretty?” We are standing in the busy hallway next to our lockers before last period, and Portia is looking straight at me.